CDJMM – Volume 1 – Chapter 58 Writing in the Republic Era (57)

Saturday was a bright, sunny day.

In April, the weather was not yet hot, and the breeze carried with it the unique softness of spring. It was a rare moment of tenderness in Beiping. Bathed in the gentle, radiant spring sunlight, even the ragged beggars by the roadside seemed to take on a lazy, languid air.

He Jingwen hadn’t slept well all night. Practically at the crack of dawn, she dragged herself out of bed. By the time she reached the school gate, the sun had only just risen above the horizon.

She planned to first check the setup of the venue in the activity room, then wait with a few of the core members of the Literature Club at the school gate to welcome Mr. Watchman.

This entire process had been rehearsed in her mind countless times—yet it got stuck at the very first step. She was blocked in the corridor outside the Literature Club’s activity room. In front of her was a sea of people. With just a quick glance, she spotted students in the uniforms of Yanjing University, Tsinghua University, and Sino-French University!

Yanjing and Sino-French University were one thing—but why on earth were Tsinghua students here at their club event?

Then she heard something from Vice President Wang Bowen that left her utterly shocked and speechless—these people had all come to freeload on the lecture!

Who was the big mouth that had leaked the news?!

Her original plan was to hold a small lecture in the activity room, allowing the members to have a face-to-face exchange with Watchman. But now, with so many people suddenly showing up, how could their activity room possibly hold them all? Yet since the crowd had already come, they couldn’t exactly chase them away either.

After a moment of inner struggle, He Jingwen sighed.

“Looks like we can only change the location of the lecture.” She turned to Vice President Wang Bowen and said, “Go contact the Student Union, see if we can borrow the school auditorium.”

But before Wang Bowen could even squeeze his way out of the corridor, several Student Union members pushed their way in from the crowd. Leading them was none other than the Student Union President, a senior in the History Department.

The president greeted her with a beaming smile: “Junior, look at this crowd—your activity room definitely can’t hold them. As it happens, our school auditorium is free. Why don’t we just let Mr. Watchman give his lecture there? What do you say, junior?”

He Jingwen: … Damn it, we’ve been played!

And just like that, what was supposed to be a private Literature Club lecture inexplicably turned into a public lecture in the auditorium. The audience now included students from major universities all across Beiping. Anyone who didn’t know better would think the universities had secretly organized a grand joint assembly!

With the lecture venue finalized, He Jingwen checked her watch. It was already a quarter past eight! She had agreed to meet Mr. Watchman at the school gate at nine.

Quickly, she grabbed Vice President Wang Bowen and ran toward the gate.

Time ticked away in anxious waiting. Rickshaws came and went, trams stopped several times. Each time, she eagerly looked at the people getting off, yet each time she was met with disappointment.

She had never seen Watchman before, but somehow she just knew—none of those people getting off were him.

What should Watchman look like?

She had imagined it countless times, but couldn’t really put it into words. Still, she had an inexplicable certainty: when Watchman appeared, she would recognize him instantly.

Just as the sun rose to the treetops, another tram stopped at the school gate. From the surging crowd of passengers emerged a young man in a light-gray Zhongshan suit, suddenly and unpreparedly catching her eye.

Even by He Jingwen’s picky standards, the youth’s appearance was striking. His skin was fair, his eyes phoenix-shaped, nose straight, lips thin, his gaze clear and gentle. The corners of his mouth lifted slightly, giving him a refined and elegant air—the very image of a scholarly gentleman, steeped in the aura of books.

He carried himself with a straight-backed posture, walking toward her at an unhurried pace. The light-gray Zhongshan suit added a touch of solemn dignity to him, making it impossible for anyone to harbor even a trace of frivolous thought.

It’s him!

This was Watchman!

He Jingwen, thrilled, ran up to him and confidently asked, “You are Mr. Watchman, aren’t you?”

The young man smiled faintly, nodded, and replied in a warm voice: “I am. You must be He Jingwen, the president of the Literature Club?”

He Jingwen nodded excitedly and introduced the vice president to Le Jing: “This is Wang Bowen, our literature club’s vice president.”

Wang Bowen’s face flushed red. He lowered his head and gave Le Jing a deep bow, his voice trembling slightly: “Good day, sir!”

Le Jing was startled by such a grand gesture. He quickly helped him up. “We’re all about the same age—let’s treat each other as equals. There’s no need to be so formal.”

“That won’t do,” Wang Bowen refuted earnestly. “The learned are teachers. Though you are young, in terms of knowledge you are more than qualified to be our teacher! Before you, it’s only right that we show the courtesy of disciples.”

Le Jing hadn’t expected someone so young to speak and act like such a pedantic old scholar. But when he saw that He Jingwen, the club president, wore an expression of complete agreement, he decided not to press the matter.

On the way, He Jingwen rather awkwardly explained the change of venue to him.

When Le Jing heard the lecture would be held in the school auditorium, he raised his eyebrows. When He Jingwen told him the audience would fill the entire auditorium, his smile grew a little forced. And when she finally revealed that the audience was composed of university students from all the major colleges of Beiping, Le Jing no longer knew what expression to put on his face.

To be honest, the only reason he agreed to this lecture was because He Jingwen had written in her letter that it was just a small internal exchange within the literature club. That was why he came. He never imagined it would turn into a grand speech in a packed auditorium.

He Jingwen was embarrassed as well, and she felt some resentment toward those who had come uninvited. “Sir, just say whatever you wish to say. If someone asks some foolish questions, you don’t need to bother with them.”

“I understand.”

Le Jing sighed inwardly.

Although giving a speech in the auditorium was never his intention, once he stood in the very center of that hall and faced the gaze of countless eyes, he wasn’t going to back down.

Fu Kemao sat nervously in the front row of the auditorium, staring intently at the empty podium. He knew that before long, a truly dazzling genius would step onto that stage.

From behind drifted several hushed whispers:

“Hah, what an attitude—making so many of us wait just for him!”

“Anyone who could write such crazy nonsense as The Path of a Beast clearly has an arrogant personality. It’s no surprise he puts on such airs.”

“Hmph! He’s just an ignorant yellow-haired brat who doesn’t know the immensity of heaven and earth! Just wait—I’ll crush his arguments later and leave him speechless.”

“Yes! Brother Kongfang, give him a lesson later…”

Fu Kemao’s brows furrowed tightly, and he could no longer bear to listen. He turned around and cut in coldly: “May I ask, gentlemen, what exactly is wrong with what Watchman wrote in The Path of a Beast? Speaking ill of others behind their back—surely that’s not the conduct of gentlemen?”

The two were startled into silence. One of them, a buzz-cut boy wearing the uniform of Sino-French University, smirked disdainfully. “Judging by your words, are you one of that Watchman’s lackeys?”

The other boy, also in a Sino-French University uniform, sneered as well. “And wasn’t it a gentleman who said, see no evil, hear no evil? You eavesdropping on us—does that make you a gentleman?”

Lackey?

Eavesdropping?

Second Young Master Fu almost laughed from sheer anger. He hadn’t even lost his temper yet, but these two had already begun insulting him! Truly intolerable!

Fu Kemao raised his brows and eyes, his voice dripping with sarcasm: “Heh, the truth is you’re just jealous of Mr. Watchman! He has not even reached twenty and yet could write such an outstanding work. Could either of you do the same? Nowadays people know of Watchman, but who has ever heard of you? You two nobodies—what right do you have to disparage him? Pah!”

The two boys were left blushing scarlet with shame, unable to find any words to refute him.

Just then, a girl walked to the very center of the stage and announced loudly: “Today, our Peking University Literature Society has invited the author of The Path of a Beast, Mr. Watchman, to give us a lecture. Please welcome him with applause!”

In the thunderous roar of clapping, a young man in a Zhongshan suit slowly stepped onto the stage. Facing the waves of applause, he gave a slight bow, then smiled and waited for the noise to subside before speaking:

“Hello, everyone. I am Watchman.”

The applause that had just quieted down suddenly surged again, threatening to blow the roof off the entire auditorium.

Le Jing raised his hand slightly, pressing it downward. Catching his signal, the clapping gradually subsided.

His gaze swept slowly over the varied expressions of the faces before him, and he felt a little sentimental.

“I originally thought this was just going to be a small internal exchange meeting with Peking University’s literature society. I never expected I’d end up standing on such a grand stage, facing students from colleges all across Beiping. To be honest, right now in my eyes, you’re all just turnips and cabbages—only that way can I avoid being so nervous I forget my lines.”

The words drew an immediate burst of laughter from the audience.

The host quickly seized the lively moment and cut in, “I didn’t expect even Mr. Watchman to suffer from stage fright! I thought you feared neither heaven nor earth!”

Le Jing chuckled. “I’m human. And as long as one is human, there will always be things to fear. So why do you have that impression of me?”

“Because of your articles, of course! Especially The The Path of a Beast—that piece gave me goosebumps all over, left me sweating cold. To be able to write something so terrifying, surely it means you fear nothing at all?”

Le Jing understood instantly. This was a direct way to guide the discussion toward his works.

He caught the cue and prepared to talk more about his creative process when a mocking, nasal voice rang out from below:

“In my opinion, that’s nothing more than a cheap trick! Just deliberately going against the crowd to make yourself look different!”

Le Jing paused, then smiled good-naturedly. “Which classmate just spoke?”

Under Fu Kemao’s angry glare, “Brother Kongfang” from the back row raised his head and stood up.

“From what this classmate says, it seems you don’t approve of my article?”

“That’s right!” The crew-cut boy lifted his chin. “Your article is nothing but heresy! Anyone who agrees with it must be out of their mind!”

Le Jing smiled. “Then may I ask, which part of my article do you consider ‘heresy’?”

“All of it!” the boy said firmly, glaring at Le Jing. “Our country is built upon filial piety. Parents toil and sacrifice to raise their children. As children, it is natural to be filial to one’s parents. Yet your article encourages children to hate their parents! Such heretical nonsense only corrupts the people and shakes the very foundation of our nation!”

Le Jing responded with a smile. “Everything you’ve said is based on the assumption that parents toil and sacrifice for their children. But what if parents do not? Must the children still be filial then?”

“A mother suffers ten months of pregnancy to bring forth a child. That life is given by the parents. Later, they will provide food, clothing, and care. Isn’t that already toil and hardship?”

“I know a girl,” Le Jing said. “The moment she was born, her father wanted to drown her. Though a fortune-teller saved her life, she was then raised in a pigsty—eating pig feed, sleeping with pigs. From childhood, she was forced to do all the housework for the family, and whenever her parents were displeased, they beat and cursed her. Tell me, would you call that ‘toil and sacrifice’? Should that girl be expected to show filial piety to such parents?”

The boy froze for a few seconds, then sneered. “You’re just making this up! How could any parents treat their child so cruelly? I’ve never heard of anything so outrageous!”

Le Jing’s smile widened. “What an arrogant claim. Just because you haven’t heard of something, does that mean it doesn’t exist? You’ve never heard of my sister—does that mean my sister doesn’t exist? You’ve never heard of England’s history—does that mean England has no history? You’ve never heard the earth is round—does that make the earth flat?”

The boy was stunned by the barrage of questions. After a long pause, he stammered, “Of course I’ve heard of England’s history, and I know the earth is round! Those are common knowledge! Just like parents love their children, and children must be filial in return—it’s all common sense!”

“Before Copernicus,” Le Jing said with a laugh, “many people also thought it was common sense that the sun revolved around the earth. Before Galileo, many people thought it was common sense that heavy objects fall faster. So tell me, is what you call common sense always correct?”

The boy was struck dumb.

Le Jing continued, “The so-called common sense in your mouth is nothing more than what you believe to be common sense. It cannot represent the majority. Does the sun rise in the west just because you insist it is common sense?”

The boy’s face flushed scarlet. He gritted his teeth and retorted, “You’re just twisting words!”

Le Jing sneered. “And you are simply mistaking yourself for the whole world.”

Someone suddenly began clapping. “Well said!” The applause spread quickly throughout the auditorium.

“Another one who’s studied himself stupid.”

“How can someone so narrow-minded even get into university?”

The boy’s cheeks burned under such blatant ridicule. Furious, he flung his sleeve and stormed out: “Summer insects cannot discuss ice! If paths diverge, we cannot walk together!”

Someone shouted, “Look! The frog is crawling back into the well again!” The hall burst into uproarious laughter.

After the boy’s departure, Le Jing’s speech proceeded smoothly. Perhaps because of that earlier exchange, no other heckler dared to challenge him.

…
…

When Le Jing finished and stepped down from the stage, he was immediately surrounded by eager students.

“Sir, could you sign my Memoirs of a Courtesan?”

“Me too, me too! Please sign mine as well!”

Le Jing smiled warmly. “Don’t rush, don’t rush. Form a line, one by one, no pushing…”

In the jostling, someone tripped him. He stumbled forward instinctively—and at that very moment, a thunderous bang split the air. Something scorching hot grazed past his ribs.

In that instant, lightning flashed in his mind—

A bullet!

Someone was trying to assassinate him!

His body had never reacted so quickly. He rolled and crawled desperately out of the heaving crowd, ducking behind the back of a front-row chair, panting heavily.

He knew—the killer was hidden nearby, watching him.