CDJMM – Volume 1 – Chapter 6 Writing in the Republic Era (5)

Le Jing put down his brush after writing the final character. He stretched his sore back and finally let out a sigh of relief. He had thought too simply before—writing three thousand characters a day was no easy task for his worn-out body.

It had taken him an entire week just to finish the first draft of The Fengtian Locked-Room Murder Case. Afterward, there were revisions to make, plus the long, painstaking work of copying it all neatly. Even though Le Jing devoted every bit of his time to writing, it still took him ten full days to get the manuscript ready.

Fortunately, Fengtian Miscellany was a daily paper rather than a weekly or monthly one—this was the most important reason he had chosen it in the first place. As long as the editor accepted his work, it would be published the very next day, and payment would come quickly.

But if the worst came to pass—if his manuscript were rejected—then Le Jing could only pawn Li Shuran’s jewelry to tide them over. Since childhood, Shuran had been neglected and often deprived of food by Madam Wang, so the few trinkets she had were of little value. Still, they could fetch two or three silver dollars, enough to rent a place to stay and cover meals for a few days.

He could read and write, and his English was passable. If it came to that, he could change his name and find work as a bookkeeper or clerk, earning enough to survive without starving.

Although he had already prepared for the worst, Le Jing was still confident in the quality of his work. Even if it didn’t suit the tastes of Fengtian Miscellany’s editors, surely some other paper would take it—it was only a matter of time.

Beside him, Li Shuran—who had held her breath all this while, not daring to disturb her elder brother’s work—finally dared to speak.

“Brother, have you finished writing?”

Seeing him nod, she looked expectantly yet reverently at the stack of pages on the desk, densely covered with characters. “Brother, what’s your story about?”

In recent days, Le Jing had been giving her basic lessons whenever he found time, teaching her a few simple characters. But she was still a long way from being able to read books or newspapers. In modern terms, her literacy was lower than that of some kindergarten children. Still, learning was a lifelong endeavor—given time, Shuran might well surpass those who had received formal education since childhood.

Le Jing paused to gather his thoughts, then explained the story to her in simple terms she could understand.

As its name suggests, The Fengtian Locked-Room Murder Case tells of a locked-room killing that takes place in the city of Fengtian.

The story unfolds in the home of a wealthy merchant surnamed Wang. For his sixtieth birthday, numerous relatives, friends, and business partners come to celebrate.

That night, because his own residence was far away, the protagonist Zheng Yuan, along with a few other friends, accepted the old master Wang’s warm offer to stay the night.

But later that same night, those in the household suddenly heard the old master’s piercing scream from the storeroom. Rushing there, they found the door locked. Only after much effort did they manage to break it open, only to find the room pitch dark—the lights had inexplicably gone out. On the wall before them glowed four blood-red characters: “Blood Debt Must Be Paid.” Gasps filled the room, and then they discovered that the old master Wang lay in a pool of blood, lifeless.

As Le Jing narrated, the expressions on Li Shuran’s small face changed constantly. When he reached the part about the bloody characters on the wall, she let out a cry and shivered.

“Could it be a vengeful ghost claiming his life?” she asked fearfully.

Le Jing laughed and shook his head, then explained the case step by step from the protagonist Zheng Yuan’s perspective. By pointing out the inconsistencies and carefully unraveling the threads, the culprit’s method of murder gradually came into view. Li Shuran was utterly stunned, unable to recover for quite a while—the cleverness of the crime completely overturned her way of thinking.

Seeing the girl’s dazed look, Le Jing felt reassured. In later generations, his locked-room trick might be considered cliché, but for people of the Republic of China, it was something unheard of, a bizarre and fascinating mystery.

At this time, although many works by famous Western authors had included locked-room elements, the concept itself had not yet been formally defined, much less developed into a recognized school of thought. There certainly wasn’t the dazzling variety of tricks seen in later times. Thus, the locked-room device in The Fengtian Locked-Room Murder Case was far ahead of its era, and Li Shuran’s reaction was the perfect proof.

He straightened up the manuscript papers, planning to head out and mail them. Only then did he realize that he had forgotten something very important—he hadn’t come up with a pen name yet.

What kind of pen name should he use?

Almost instantly, three characters floated into Le Jing’s mind.

The Watchman.

Le Jing had transmigrated from the brilliant, radiant New China into the conservative and backward Republican era.

He knew how this great nation had fallen from the clouds into the mire, struggling in the darkness. He also knew that one day, decades later, this country that had fallen too long would rise again, disperse the black fog, and welcome the morning sun.

Then let him stand guard through this cold night.

The long night has fallen, but from this day forward, we shall watch over the light, battered and scarred, until death takes us.

Zhao Xiaosong was a senior editor at Fengtian Miscellany. His years in editing had given him sharp instincts; with just a glance at an article, he could usually tell whether it was worth publishing.

That morning, with a cup of fragrant tea in hand, he began leafing through the manuscripts that had been delivered that day.

The Flirtatious Concubine? Yet another erotic novel. The prose wasn’t quite up to standard either. The writer needed to polish it more. Zhao Xiaosong jotted down his rejection comments.

Sequel to Strange Tales? Another story about a female ghost and a scholar. Clichéd, no value in publishing.

The Fengtian Locked-Room Murder Case? Most likely just another so-called “murder” story that turned into an erotic novel halfway through. Ever since Old Master Chen’s The Adulterous Corpse Dismemberment Case had caught fire, countless imitators had sprung up. Zhao Xiaosong had read far too many of those by now.

The handwriting on this one was merely neat—childlike, even—likely from a student. Probably nothing outstanding.

Still, out of habit, Zhao Xiaosong let his eyes skim over the lines—and his expression immediately changed.

He began devouring the story hungrily, his emotions rising and falling with the twists of the case. At times his brows furrowed tightly, at times his face lit up in sudden realization. When he reached the scene where the protagonist Zheng Yuan identified the culprit and laid out his reasoning, Zhao Xiaosong slapped the table in sheer admiration.

He had just been puzzling over it himself: the storeroom where Master Wang had died had been locked from within; only Master Wang had the key; and there were no signs of forced entry. How could the killer have entered to commit murder? Zhao Xiaosong had even considered supernatural intervention. Never had he expected the truth to be like this.

The murderer turned out to be Master Wang’s steward. Once, the steward too had been a child of a wealthy family, but his clan had been ruined through Master Wang’s schemes. To avenge them, he had taken on a false identity, sold himself into servitude, and entered the Wang household. After years of patient planning, he won Master Wang’s trust and was promoted to steward—all while waiting for his chance at revenge.

On the day of Master Wang’s birthday banquet, Master Wang carelessly forgot to lock the storeroom. The steward seized the opportunity. Knowing that Master Wang suffered from a weak heart, he smeared glowing red powder on the wall, writing “Blood Debt Must Be Repaid,” and locked the storeroom again. That night, when Master Wang came as usual to check the inventory, the steward cut the power. The sudden appearance of glowing blood-red characters on the wall gave Master Wang such a fright that his heart gave out and he collapsed unconscious.

When everyone rushed to investigate, it was the steward who boldly broke open the locked door. While the others were distracted by the ominous writing, he pretended to check on Master Wang’s condition. With that excuse, he approached the unconscious man—and drove a knife straight into his heart. Which meant that when Zheng Yuan and the others burst in, Master Wang had still been alive, merely unconscious. It was the steward who, brazenly before everyone’s eyes, dealt the fatal blow.

Such a cunning plan—but it had one fatal flaw. And it was this flaw that allowed Zheng Yuan to uncover the truth.

When writing with the fluorescent powder, the steward had been too nervous to notice that some of it had brushed onto his sleeve. That red dust became the decisive evidence that convicted him.

The story had ended, but Zhao Xiaosong’s heart was still racing, unable to calm down. The ingenuity of this plot was the finest he had ever read. That a mere steward could devise such an elaborate and deceptive scheme! If not for Zheng Yuan’s razor-sharp perception, people might really have believed it was the work of vengeful spirits. And Master Wang—having destroyed the steward’s family—his death was no more than karmic retribution. Truly, a reminder that one should live with kindness and decency.

With Zhao Xiaosong’s years of editorial experience, he could say with certainty: this was a masterful work. The story was ingenious, the twists gripping, and it carried a profound moral lesson. A first-rate piece indeed!

The author’s name was The Watchman—a pen name Zhao Xiaosong had never heard before. And that neat, almost childlike handwriting… now struck him as something unpretentiously elegant, a beauty in its simplicity. Could it be that some famous writer had chosen to submit under a pseudonym?

Then he saw the return address. It was none other than the residence of the renowned scholar, Li Tingfang!

Could it be… Master Li himself writing under another name?

But the style of writing didn’t match Li’s at all… Perhaps a younger member of his household had submitted it?

Zhao Xiaosong didn’t know the truth yet. He only felt certain that anyone capable of writing such a polished story could not possibly be a newcomer. Whoever this mysterious author was, the fact that they had chosen to submit to Fengtian Miscellany meant the magazine must seize the chance to win their favor, in hopes of securing long-term contributions.

At the magazine, new writers were usually paid five jiao per thousand characters. But for this possible Master Li—or at least a promising writer from his household—Zhao Xiaosong decided they must show extra sincerity.

After a moment’s thought, he made up his mind: one yuan per thousand characters. Not too much, not too little—just right to show their good faith.

Immediately, Zhao Xiaosong took up his pen and drafted an enthusiastic reply. He heaped praises upon The Fengtian Locked-Room Murder Case, expressed a warm welcome for future submissions, and enclosed the official stamp needed to collect payment at the post office. Then he sent it all off to the mysterious author, The Watchman.