CDJMM – Volume 1 – Chapter 47 Writing in the Republic Era (46)

In truth, this trip to Shanghai to watch the film Memoirs of a Courtesan was a bittersweet one for Yang Jinglun.

As a devoted fan of the novel, seeing one of his favorite works adapted for the big screen filled him with anticipation and excitement. Yet, at the same time, he couldn’t help feeling torn. Because today was also the official release of the print edition of Rise of the Dynasty!

Moments like this really showed the advantage of having a good relationship with the author. While everyone else was eagerly waiting for the book to hit the shelves, Yang Jinglun had already gotten his copy directly from Le Jing ahead of time. Still, he felt reluctant to leave, since he wanted to witness the public’s reaction once Rise of the Dynasty was released.

Honestly, seeing others lavish praise on the book in the newspapers made him even happier than being praised himself.

He muttered under his breath, “I wonder how Rise of the Dynasty is selling today?”

Le Jing gave him an amused glance. “Isn’t that Editor-in-Chief Wang’s concern?”

Yang Jinglun froze for a moment, then suddenly realized, “Oh right, Rise of the Dynasty isn’t even published by our paper!” Saying this, he looked at Le Jing a little resentfully, asking once more for confirmation, “Sir, aside from ‘Lin Zhongqi,’ you don’t have any other pen names, do you?”

“No.”

A pause. As the train was about to arrive at Tianjin Station and they prepared to get off, Yang Jinglun spoke again: “Sir, why didn’t you publish Rise of the Dynasty with our newspaper in the first place?”

Le Jing looked at him in silence, as if to wordlessly ask: What do you think?

Yang Jinglun gave a sheepish smile, muttering, “Well, times have changed, haven’t they? Now so many prominent figures are openly praising Rise of the Dynasty. Even if we serialized it in our Literary Gazette, no one would object… If nothing else, we could even create a special serialization section in our paper just for your novels, sir!”

Le Jing replied bluntly, “Then why don’t you just challenge the Beiping Novel Gazette to a fight? If you win, you can serialize Rise of the Dynasty.”

Yang Jinglun rubbed his nose awkwardly. “Sir, you really like to joke. If only it were that simple.” Then, more seriously, he added, “But sir, if you ever have a new serialization in the future, regardless of the genre, please do consider Literary Gazette.”

Different newspapers had their own readership and functional positioning, but as commercial papers, profitability was always their primary goal. The massive profits generated by Rise of the Dynasty left Yang Jinglun deeply tempted, hence his earnest plea.

Since it was just a matter of “considering,” and the final decision would be another matter altogether, Le Jing readily agreed.

The three of them disembarked at Tianjin Station, transferred to another train heading to Nanjing Pukou, then boarded a ferry across the Yangtze River, hired a rickshaw to Nanjing Railway Station, and finally took a train from there to Shanghai.

Sounds complicated, right? Some might ask: why not just take a direct train from Beiping to Shanghai?

The reason was simple.

Because there was no direct line from Beiping to Shanghai, meaning Le Jing and the others had to transfer multiple times to reach their destination. There were quite a few railways during the Republican era, but they were often not interconnected.

The journey from Beijing to Tianjin, which in later times would take only thirty minutes by high-speed rail, had taken them more than six hours by train. By Le Jing’s estimate, traveling nonstop day and night, it would still take them another day or two to finally reach Shanghai.

Still, this was also a rare travel opportunity. That was why Le Jing had specially arranged leave for Li Shuran, intending to let her take this chance to experience the great rivers and mountains of the motherland.

Fu Kemao, on the other hand, had been restless the entire morning.

Today was the release day for the print edition of Rise of the Dynasty. Early in the morning, he had sent his personal servant, Zhang Shun, out to buy the book. But it was already late in the morning, and Zhang Shun still hadn’t returned!

He sat there, shaking his leg nervously, thoughts running wild. Could something have happened to Zhang Shun? Or perhaps Zhang Shun had lost the book and didn’t dare come back?

“Smack!” Fu Fanlin rolled up a newspaper and struck his son’s leg. “Stop shaking your leg! Do you think you’re some country bumpkin?!”

Fu Kemao glared but didn’t dare protest. He immediately set his legs down properly and sat stiffly upright. Sneaking a glance at his father, who sat composedly in his chair, he couldn’t help grumbling inwardly: The old man is just pretending to be calm. Inside, he’s probably even more anxious than me. He’s just good at hiding it.

Ever since he had discovered those newspaper clippings about his own mysterious disappearance in his father’s study, Fu Kemao realized that his father wasn’t as dignified and proper as he pretended to be. What kind of “proper” man would secretly steal the clippings his son had painstakingly collected?!

Time ticked by slowly in their anxious waiting. The glaring sun climbed high into the sky. Just as Fu Kemao was about to send someone else out to check, Zhang Shun finally returned.

Panting heavily, sweat dripping down his face, he stammered breathlessly, “Young master… I went to every bookstore nearby… none of them had the book…”

Fu Kemao was so shocked that he leapt to his feet and asked in disbelief, “Didn’t I send you to buy the book early this morning???”

Zhang Shun panted a few times, then gave a bitter smile. “Young Master, some people were already camping out at the bookstore with bedding since last night. By the time I got there, the line was already very long.”

Fu Kemao felt both proud and troubled—proud that the book he loved was so popular, but troubled because it was too popular.

Unable to help himself, he turned toward Fu Fanlin. “Dad, could you maybe contact the publishing house and ask them to send us two copies?”

Fu Fanlin glared at him. “You brat…”

Reflexively, Fu Kemao shrank his neck and quickly said, “Sorry, just pretend I didn’t say anything—”

“It’s rare you can actually come up with a decent idea.” Fu Fanlin slowly stood up.

“I remember at a recent banquet I received the business card of the president of Beiping Publishing House. I think it had his number on it…”

“Ahhhh Dad, I love you to death!” Fu Kemao threw his arms around Fu Fanlin and planted a big kiss on him, only to get punched for his troubles.

“Speak properly! Don’t copy those foreigners! Isn’t it disgusting for two grown men to act like that?!”

Fu Kemao covered his head and giggled foolishly. Even though his father scolded him, his heart felt warm. Who would’ve thought that Dad was actually willing to use his connections for The Rise of the Dynasty! After all, since childhood, his father had always taught him: you can owe money, but you must never owe favors. But then again, if the exception was for The Rise of the Dynasty, it wasn’t strange at all.

With the president of Beiping Publishing House stepping in, the matter was handled quickly. By evening, two deluxe editions of The Rise of the Dynasty were delivered to the Fu residence.

Overjoyed, Fu Kemao snatched the books from Fu Fanlin, inhaling the rich fragrance of ink that made him feel refreshed and elated.

And these weren’t the same editions available on the market!

The deluxe edition not only had the author’s autograph, but also came with a beautifully designed dust jacket and illustrations! Just as Fu Kemao was eagerly admiring the artwork, his ear was suddenly yanked hard.

“Ow ow ow! That hurts!” Fu Kemao looked up in shock and grievance at his father, who was tugging his ear. “Dad! What are you doing?!”

Fu Fanlin snorted coldly, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“Be honest with me—how exactly do you know Mr. Lin Zhongqi?”

“Huh?” Fu Kemao stared blankly at him, almost wondering if he’d left his ears at home.

“I’m asking you a question—don’t play dumb with me!” Fu Fanlin roared. “Fu Kemao, I’m warning you—if you don’t explain this clearly, we’re not done!”

After a round of noisy, confusing back-and-forth, Fu Kemao finally realized that the problem came from the preface of The Rise of the Dynasty.

Unlike Fu Kemao, Fu Fanlin was an old-school scholar, and naturally, out of respect, he had carefully read the preface written by the author. And in doing so, he came across a very familiar name.

In the preface, Lin Zhongqi mentioned that he had recently heard of a student from Luming Middle School who not only founded a relief society for homeless children, but also used his own money to open an orphanage for them. He praised this young man for being so dedicated to his country and people at such a young age, worthy of admiration and emulation. He ended with the sigh: With such youthful talents in China, how can the nation not prosper?

And that student’s name… was Fu Kemao.

Fu Fanlin scrutinized his son’s perpetually dopey face, up and down, trying but failing to see the “promising young talent” that Mr. Lin described. If all of China’s future heroes looked like this idiot, then the country was doomed.

Fu Kemao, having just finished reading the preface himself, was dazed—like a neglected concubine suddenly being summoned by the emperor.

Lin Zhongqi praised him!

Lin Zhongqi called him a promising young talent!

His reputation had spread so far that even Lin Zhongqi had heard of him!

Puffed up with pride, he batted away his father’s hand that was pinching his face. “Show some respect to this young talent! After all, the future of China depends on me!”

Fu Fanlin: ???

“You’re getting too bold!” came a thunderous shout that echoed through the Fu residence. “If I don’t beat the life out of you, I’ll take your surname!”

“Waaah! Dad! We already have the same surname… don’t hit me—ow ow ow I was wrong…”

Meanwhile, far away on a train, Le Jing had no idea about the small storm in the Fu household. At this moment, he was on his way to Nanjing.

Since it was rare for him to travel, Le Jing decided to take the opportunity to properly enjoy the magnificent scenery of the Republic. At the very least, he couldn’t let the train fare go to waste. After all, the total for the three of them came to 147 silver dollars—equivalent to tens of thousands of yuan in later generations.

So this time, he deliberately slowed down, sightseeing as they went, which stretched their journey out several times longer. They stayed in Nanjing for two or three days, eating, drinking, and having fun, and even sampled the famous salted duck before finally boarding a steamer to cross the Yangtze River. Their next stop was Nanjing Railway Station.

The steamer bustled with people of all backgrounds. Since Li Shuran was a girl, Le Jing bought her a first-class ticket for a private cabin. He and Yang Jinglun, being men, weren’t picky and stayed in a third-class eight-person cabin.

One tall, thin man with glasses was among their cabinmates. He carried a large woven sack, which, judging by its shape, was filled with books.

Yang Jinglun couldn’t help but comment, “This gentleman must be a true scholar. Are you off to study somewhere?”

“No, no, you misunderstand. These books aren’t for me—they’re for others.” The man smiled, waving his hand before opening the sack for them to see. “Judging by your accents, you’re from Beiping, right? Then you must know about The Rise of the Dynasty? Not only is it wildly popular in Beiping, but many newspapers in Shanghai have been reprinting it too!”

“So when it was published in Beiping this time, a lot of my friends in Shanghai asked me to bring them a copy.” He shuddered a little at the memory of the Beiping book craze. “To collect just these few books, I had to run all over town to multiple shops. Luckily, I queued up before dawn—otherwise, when I get to Shanghai, my friends would kill me if I showed up empty-handed!”

This young man was, in effect, the Republic-era version of a human purchasing agent.