CDJMM – Volume 1 – Chapter 50 Writing in the Republic Era (49)

The winter in Shanghai was quite different from the winter in Beiping. One was like a magical attack, the other like a physical one.

The damp, bone-chilling cold of Shanghai’s winter made it hard for the three northerners to adapt, as though the very marrow of their bones was soaked in icy moisture. The damp quilts never seemed to get warm. Not to mention that Le Jing’s health was already poor.

But since they had traveled thousands of miles to this most prosperous city of the Far East, it would make no sense to just stay home and avoid the cold—they ought to go out and look around.

So when Le Jing received Wu Yi’s telegraph reply—“just a small matter”—he pushed the incident of his cover being blown aside.

After all, it had already happened. Thinking too much was useless. At worst, it was just a few barks back in Beiping. They couldn’t reach all the way to Shanghai, thousands of miles away.

Thus, Le Jing and Yang Jinglun took Li Shuran out, with Ji Qi, the local, leading the way, and began to tour Shanghai in earnest.

Le Jing wandered through the streets and alleys, through every big and small corner of Shanghai, observing this dazzling city, this Pearl of the Orient, with the eyes of someone from a hundred years in the future.

At this time, the Oriental Pearl Tower had yet to be built, skyscrapers were not common, and the foreign buildings along the “ten-mile foreign district” were still brand new. The old cars from black-and-white photos honked their shrill horns.

Only the clear waters of the Huangpu River at the Bund had remained unchanged for a thousand years. Like a landscape from the past, like a dream spanning a century.

Le Jing thought to himself: in the end, he still preferred Shanghai a hundred years later.

Although in the future, housing prices were sky-high, the cost of living heavy, survival pressure immense, and air quality poor…

At least, in that time, Shanghai no longer had foreign concessions where foreigners lived above the law. On the streets, few people went without cotton-padded clothes, and corpses of those frozen to death were no longer lying by the roadside.

Even many beggars of later generations were better dressed than the poor of this era.

Le Jing took Li Shuran around Shanghai to enjoy themselves for three full days.

Then, on the fourth day at noon, a telegram from Beiping arrived. It was again delivered to Ji Qi’s home. Ji Qi had been out playing with them during the day, so he only found it in the evening after returning home, and immediately rushed it over to them that very night.

This telegram was once again brief:

“Yesterday’s morning paper published an article exposing Mr. Wheatfield’s true identity, and claiming Mr. has many disgraceful deeds in his past. Danger! How does Mr. respond?”

Though short, the telegram carried weighty news.

Le Jing lowered his eyes in thought, his fingers absentmindedly tapping the table, producing a dull rhythm.

Yang Jinglun, puzzled, asked: “Many disgraceful deeds?” He almost laughed at the absurdity, then reassured him: “Sir, you needn’t take this to heart. Surely someone is fabricating nonsense just to gain fame. Everyone knows what kind of person you are. No one would be deceived by such slander!”

Although Yang Jinglun did not know Li Jingran’s true identity, he absolutely refused to believe those four words: “many disgraceful deeds.”

He had known Mr. Li for more than half a year now. If he still couldn’t tell what kind of person he was, then he would be blind. Besides, by judging a man’s character through his writings, Mr. Li’s detachment from fame and wealth, his concern for the nation and its people, his sense of justice, and his compassion for the weak—such a man could not possibly have a shameful past.

Ji Qi also said: “In my opinion, such people don’t deserve a response. Some tabloids just love publishing groundless rumors. Even I, ever since Memoirs of a Courtesan became popular, have been written about as some lecherous libertine. Human tongues are sharp indeed. Only now do I truly understand the saying, ‘the more famous, the more rumors.’”

The tapping stopped. Le Jing lifted his gaze to his two dismissive friends and chuckled lightly. “If you truly knew my past, you wouldn’t be saying this.” A chilling, bone-piercing emotion flickered in those amber eyes as he answered frankly: “In the past, I was not a good person. I did many wrong things.”

Yang Jinglun froze, instinctively trying to justify it: “Who hasn’t done foolish things in their youth? Who can guarantee they will never make mistakes in life? Sir, you needn’t brood over it too much.”

Even now, he still naively thought that the “wrong things” Mr. Li mentioned referred to nothing more than youthful folly—chasing women, drinking too much, and the like.

But Ji Qi sensed something different from Le Jing’s expression. He studied him closely and asked: “What exactly did you do wrong in the past?”

Under the flickering candlelight, the youth’s fair features seemed to waver in brightness and shadow. His transparent amber eyes darkened, like white jade stained with ink, carrying a dangerous, ghostly aura.

He narrowed his eyes, yet his smile remained calm and carefree. Instead of answering, he said: “I was actually wondering when this matter would finally be exposed. As I grow more famous, I never expected my past could be hidden forever. Now that it’s come out, it could only have been him who did it.”

Ji Qi was baffled and stood up anxiously. “So what did you do in the past? Hurry and tell us so we can help you figure out a solution!”

Le Jing’s eyes curved into a smile, beautiful and serene. “I don’t even know, in that man’s article, what crimes he’s written about me. Though I can guess the general direction, I still need to read it myself to truly understand.”

Seeing their confusion mixed with worry, he still found the mood to comfort them: “No one can ever completely escape their past. Now is simply the time for me to pay the price. If I can get through this, then I’ll no longer need to fear my past haunting me again.”

Although it was not his past—it was Li Jingran’s.

But since he now walked the world under Li Jingran’s name, naturally he had to bear that past as well.

By worldly standards, Li Jingran had not been a good man. He indulged in every vice—drinking, whoring, gambling, drugs—his body ruined by excess. In the end, it was the withdrawal symptoms that brought on a fatal fever, allowing Le Jing to inherit his body and continue to live in this world.

Using the words “full of disgrace” in the telegram was already being polite.

From the very beginning, when Le Jing started writing, he had already anticipated that sooner or later there would be a storm stirred up by his past. When his prison photo was exposed, he thought the storm was upon him. But after Li Jingliang inquired once at The Literary Gazette, there was no further movement.

This storm could turn out big or small, depending entirely on how he handled it.

As for the person behind it all—Le Jing didn’t even need to think. It was certainly someone from the Li family, and the biggest suspect was Li Jingliang.

After all, he had just given Li Jingliang a severe beating, and with his classmates threatening him, someone with Li Jingliang’s character would never dare to retaliate openly. He would only sneak around behind the scenes.

Li Jingliang had already grown suspicious because of the photo. Now, after being humiliated by him and his classmates, he would probably recall those suspicions and go to The Literary Gazette to verify something.

What Le Jing didn’t know was that his guesses were already eight or nine parts correct.

Li Jingliang finally put down the newspaper he had read who knows how many times, his heart surging with exhilaration.

He never expected that his dear elder brother, after leaving home, would turn into a famous writer. If he hadn’t pried open the editor’s mouth at The Literary Gazette with money, he would never have believed it.

Remembering Li Jingran’s days of debauchery and idleness, a chill crept into his heart. Could it be that he had been concealing his true abilities all along? That he was scheming this deeply?

Li Jingliang refused to believe it. But even more, he refused to accept Li Jingran’s talent!

He must have found a ghostwriter!

That useless trash could never have written such works!

He would tear off his mask and show everyone what kind of shameless fraud “Watchman” really was!

Thinking of the article published in the paper, pride swelled in his chest. He had spent a whole week preparing it, memorizing almost every word and phrase. Later he even arranged for others to write follow-up pieces. Surely, this would leave Li Jingran utterly ruined.

Pulling back from his fantasies, he opened a drawer and began reading his parents’ reply.

His father scolded him for acting rashly and airing the family’s dirty laundry.

The corners of Li Jingliang’s lips curved into a mocking smile. He knew his father all too well.

That rebuke only meant one thing: now that Li Jingran was famous and could bring him profit, this article not only placed him in opposition but also threatened to strip away his usefulness.

But he was certain his father would compromise.

Because in that family letter, he had included a proposal his father could never refuse.

Once the report was published, plenty of busybodies would naturally head to Fengtian to investigate. Li Jingran’s past deeds weren’t secrets—it would be easy to uncover them.

Of course, even if no one actually investigated, newspapers would still run “investigative reports,” letting readers know just how disgraceful Li Jingran really was.

If Li Jingran wanted to put an end to the scandal, to shake off the brand of being an unfilial and disloyal son, then his parents would have to step forward and publish clarifications in the papers to vouch for his character.

This way, their father could use the matter as leverage to completely control Li Jingran. At that point, regardless of whether he truly had talent, he would be nothing more than a dog of the Li family. Whatever money he earned would naturally belong to them.

At this thought, Li Jingliang even began hoping that Li Jingran hadn’t used a ghostwriter.

Because by then, Li Jingran would already be ruined, despised by all. His name could be borrowed to publish novels under, his talent would not be wasted, and the Li family’s reputation, tainted by that “unfilial son,” could be cleansed, restoring their prestige.

He pulled back from these wandering thoughts and continued reading his father’s letter. Sure enough, toward the end, his father’s tone shifted, saying he would write to Li Jingran and carefully discuss what to do next.

Li Jingliang smirked, almost seeing the glory of restoring the Li family’s name.

Of course, Li Jingran was just the beginning. He hadn’t forgotten a single face of those who had humiliated and beaten him that day! Did wealth and power make them so great? “Better to bully an old man with white hair than to bully a poor young man!” One day, he would climb to the top and grind them all under his heel!

Le Jing had always been patient.

While waiting, he sent out some telegrams and wrote a third of an article he had been planning for a while.

He was confident that with Memoirs of a Courtesan so popular in theaters, Shanghai newspapers would gladly reprint any gossip about the original author.

He didn’t have to wait long.

Three days later, Huangpu River Daily published the full article.

When Yang Jinglun and Ji Qi burst into his room, Le Jing had just finished reading it word for word. The article was titled “The Hypocrite Watchman.”

“Sir, this article is fake, isn’t it?!”

“Jingran, you didn’t do those things, right?”

Meeting their bewildered and anxious gazes, the young man propped his chin on his hand, tilted his head slightly, and smiled lazily:

“Most of it’s true. Some of those things I really did, some were wrongdoings, and some I can answer to my conscience for.” He paused, then added: “Of course, I wrote the article myself. Editor Yang can testify to that.”

Meeting the boy’s gaze, the dumbfounded Yang Jinglun silently nodded. Ji Qi, usually quick with words, was struck speechless, not knowing what to say.

The boy glanced at them, mischief flashing in his eyes:

“What, am I not allowed to turn over a new leaf?”

Ji Qi rubbed his face and gave a helpless laugh:

“You’re turning over a new leaf a bit too completely, don’t you think?”

At that, the boy laughed happily: “That’s the only way it’s dramatic enough—worthy of becoming a moral example, don’t you think?”

Yang Jinglun finally regained his composure. The look he gave Le Jing was full of complexity. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t reconcile this elegant, noble youth with the man described in the article—a gambler, drunkard, debauchee, unfilial wretch.

“Sir, there must be more to this, right? You had your reasons, didn’t you?”

Le Jing thought for a moment, then smiled serenely:

“What do you think of this role: someone who endures humiliation, sacrifices his innocence, and stains his name all for the sake of filial duty?”

Yang Jinglun’s eyes lit up. He didn’t quite understand what Le Jing meant by “role,” but he understood everything else. Excitedly, he said:

“So it really was false? You only pretended to be… that way because you had no choice?!”

To that, Le Jing only gave him a meaningful smile.