CDJMM – Volume 1 – Chapter 44 Writing in the Republic Era (43)

Er Ya lay by the roadside, patiently waiting.

A few well-dressed gentlemen walked by, and instantly a large group of children rushed forward, surrounding them and shouting:

“Sir, spare a bite of food! Sir!”

Er Ya did not go. Her legs were broken—she couldn’t walk, only crawl. Even if she went over, she wouldn’t be able to compete with those able-bodied beggars.

At last, a few young female students came by. Her eyes lit up. Though her legs couldn’t walk, she could crawl almost as fast as those children with all four limbs.

“Miss!” she called loudly while crawling forward. “Please, I beg of you, show mercy and give me something to eat! I haven’t eaten in two days!”

Her plea worked. The students stopped, and the pity in their eyes filled her with joy. Then she saw them reaching into their pockets.

“Give me a bite to eat, miss!” she cried in panic, clutching the student’s shoe and whispering, “I don’t want money, just food.”

She couldn’t take money! If they gave her money, the others would rob her of it. Better to get food directly!

From afar, the aroma of pork buns drifted over. Er Ya swallowed hard, staring longingly in that direction, her stomach growling even louder. Compared to sour, rancid slop, how much better would a pork bun taste?

The two students noticed her gaze and asked gently, “You want to eat pork buns, don’t you?”

Er Ya nodded desperately.

Soon, a big bag of steaming pork buns was placed in front of her. She grabbed them with both hands and stuffed them into her mouth as fast as she could, choking and rolling her eyes, but never stopping.

Even if she choked to death on the buns right now, she thought, she would die happy. Hunger was worse than death.

“Don’t rush, eat slowly, no one is going to take them from you,” the student urged kindly.

But Er Ya laughed at their naïveté in her heart. How could no one steal from her?

Sure enough, the smell of pork buns quickly attracted greedy stares.

“Buns!”

“Give me some!”

“They’re mine!”

A swarm of street children suddenly leapt out from nowhere, ferociously snatching buns from her hands.

Er Ya hugged the bag tightly to her chest, ignoring the fists and kicks landing on her body as though she felt no pain, opening her mouth as wide as she could and mechanically shoving buns inside.

The two female students had never witnessed such savage fighting over food. Though they cried out again and again, “Stop hitting her!” no one paid attention.

In the end, the students bought more pork buns and threw them far away. Only then did the others abandon their beating, rushing off to grab buns and devour them desperately, just like Er Ya.

Covered in bruises, Er Ya lay face down on the ground, silently stuffing buns into her mouth.

Suddenly, she felt something cool on her hand, like raindrops. She blinked in confusion—was it raining?

Then warmth spread across her head. Someone had placed a hand there. Startled, she jerked it off instinctively, raising her guard even as she chewed, only to see the two female students looking down at her, crying their eyes out.

“You… you should come with me,” one of them said through tears. “I’ll take you somewhere you’ll never go hungry again.”

Er Ya froze, even forgetting to chew the bun in her mouth.

Her legs—her father had broken them himself. He loved to drink, and once drunk, he loved to beat her. For as long as she could remember, she had endured beatings. Finally, after he broke her legs, she crawled away from home without looking back, surviving since then by begging along the streets.

She couldn’t understand why anyone would willingly take in a cripple for free. But those words—you’ll never go hungry again—were far too tempting. So she followed them.

She was just a crippled beggar. What could anyone possibly gain by tricking her?

What shocked her to the core was that the two students even hailed a rickshaw just for her! A rickshaw—something only wealthy masters and madams could afford to ride. How could a beggar like her deserve such a thing?

She wanted to get down, but the two girls didn’t allow it. So she sat trembling in the rickshaw for a long while, until it finally stopped before a large courtyard house in the suburbs.

The courtyard was spacious, with a wide yard out front. Many children played inside. Some wore clean, neat clothes, while others, like her, were dirty and ragged, still dressed in beggar’s rags.

Timidly, Er Ya asked, “Miss… what is this place?”

The student smiled and replied, “This is an orphanage. From now on, you’ll live here. You’ll have food to eat and clothes to wear.”

Er Ya stared blankly for a long moment before asking in confusion, “Am I already dead? Is this the heaven people talk about? Are you all immortals?”

The student laughed softly, patting her head. “No, this is the human world, and we’re just ordinary people. We can’t save everyone—but if we can save a few, we will.”

Er Ya nodded, half-understanding, half-not.

The following days felt like a dream to her! She didn’t have to work, didn’t have to go out begging—she only needed to stay in the house and do nothing, and someone would bring her food every day! And no one was allowed to steal it from her! When someone once tried to snatch her meal, the steward here gave that person a beating!

Life here was so good that Er Ya even started to feel uneasy. Could she really live this happily? Wouldn’t she be punished by heaven? And how long could such happiness last?

…

Early Sunday morning, Le Jing and many of her classmates arrived at the orphanage on the outskirts of the city. This time, the girls in the class had managed to rally quite a crowd; nearly the whole class had come along, each carrying big bags of things for the orphans.

Standing outside the gate, Le Jing nodded in satisfaction. The estate was located in the suburbs, so at least the land price wouldn’t be too high. From the look of it, the house was new, obviously built only a few years ago.

At the entrance stood a boy in a gray Zhongshan suit, about the same age as Le Jing. His skin was pale, and his eyes were squinted, making him look as though he hadn’t slept.

“Finally! You’ve come at last!” Though his grin nearly reached his ears, he still squinted and spoke in a falsely modest tone: “It’s enough that you came, why bring so many things… Shunzi! You clueless fool, hurry up and help the stewards take the things. What if the classmates tire themselves out?”

Only then did Le Jing realize the boy wasn’t squinting from sleepiness—his eyes were simply small by nature, the kind of permanently half-closed eyes like the singer Li Ronghao’s.

Cao Wanying put her hands on her hips and said to “Li Ronghao”: “Fu Kema, I brought you all these people. How are you going to thank me?”

So this was Fu Kema, the young master of the Fu family, and the one running the orphanage.

Fu Kema gave her a fawning smile, spilling out a flood of flattering words before Cao Wanying magnanimously spared him. With a wave of her hand, queen-like, she declared: “Classmates, let’s go inside and see the children!”

Le Jing followed the group inside, carefully examining the surroundings. The courtyard was filled with children running about. They looked fairly healthy, and their clothes seemed new.

Le Jing nodded in approval, then struck up a conversation with Fu Kema: “Young Master Fu, how many orphans are you housing here?”

Fu Kema blinked his small eyes and thought carefully. “About two or three hundred.”

Two to three hundred—quite a lot. “And how does Young Master Fu plan to settle them in the future?”

Fu Kema’s tiny eyes filled with confusion. “Just raise them, of course. What else?”

The corner of Le Jing’s mouth twitched. “You can’t possibly raise them for their whole lives, can you?”

“Of course not!” Fu Kema sighed, unable to resist pouring out his woes.

“You have no idea, raising kids costs a fortune! I don’t have nearly enough money. Every day I’m begging and pleading like some panhandler, going everywhere to scrape together donations. Honestly, I don’t even know how long I can keep this up—I just have to take it one step at a time.”

Meeting those Li Ronghao-like small but watery eyes, so earnest and helpless, Le Jing felt no sympathy—if anything, he almost wanted to laugh. This kid was truly a fool.

So Le Jing patiently analyzed for him: “When you can’t afford them anymore, they’ll just end up back on the streets, with their situation no better than before. Worse still, as the saying goes, ‘a bushel of rice given breeds resentment.’ They may even come to hate you for it. It’s better to teach them a trade. In their spare time, they can work and study, make handicrafts to sell, and reduce your burden.”

Fu Kema strained to widen his eyes in exaggerated shock. He slapped Le Jing’s shoulder, and his accent suddenly turned northeastern: “Whoa, big brother, you’re so smart! You’ve got a future ahead! Wanna follow me from now on? I’ll make sure you live the good life—eat well, drink well… Wait a sec.

Suddenly realizing something tragic, his face crumpled: “I’m broke! I can’t even support underlings! Boo-hoo-hoo… Do I even deserve the surname Fu?!”

Le Jing: …

He brushed the hand off his shoulder and, meeting those watery squinted eyes, decided not to argue—for Li Ronghao’s sake, if nothing else. Turning away, he left Fu Kema wallowing in melodramatic grief, crossed the courtyard, and entered the house to inspect the facilities inside.

Meanwhile, Fu Kema was still struggling to piece together his shattered heart. Shunzi leaned in close to whisper in his ear: “Young Master, Li Jingliang is outside. He says he wants to see you.”

Fu Kema’s expression soured further, and he snapped: “What does he want? Go tell him I won’t see him.”

Ever since Qi Mingzhi had enlightened him, Fu Kema had started finding everything about Li Jingliang unpleasant. The boy’s gaze was insincere, his smile fake—obviously scheming. And later, he had found out that Li Jingliang often went around flaunting his name to throw his weight around! That settled it: Fu Kema completely avoided him from then on.

“Li Jingliang says he’s here to make a donation.”

Hearing that, Fu Kema immediately wavered. He really was strapped for cash lately. To fund the orphanage, he had emptied his own savings and even borrowed money from Qi Mingzhi and his older brother. His father refused to give him any, telling him to figure it out on his own. He was nearly at the end of his rope.

So, grudgingly, he shuffled to the door, plastered on a fake smile, and held out his hand: “I heard you’re here to donate money? Where’s the money?”

Li Jingliang’s smile stiffened, but after a few seconds he forced his expression back into place, adopting a pitiful look. “I’ve thought it over and over, but I can’t figure out what I did wrong to upset you. Could you tell me? I’ll change, I swear!”

After all, they’d been friends for so long. Fu Kema couldn’t quite harden his heart. He mumbled:  “It’s just that our ideas don’t match, that’s all.”

Inside, Li Jingliang was fuming, nearly exploding with rage. He longed to slap the fool silly. Never in his life had he lowered himself to beg like this! A gentleman’s revenge can wait ten years—today’s humiliation, he would remember.

Lowering his head to hide his twisted expression, he made his voice sound even more pitiful:  “Then it must be my ideas that were wrong. I’ll change them. You’re my best, my only friend—I don’t want to lose you.”

Fu Kema softened a little. “Fine, come in first. Let’s have a proper talk.”