CDJMM – Volume 1 – Chapter 60 Writing in the Republic Era (59)

The Watchman was assassinated while giving a lecture at Peking University!

This sensational news swept through the entire city of Beiping like a storm, shocking everyone.

All the reporters in Beiping adored the Watchman.

Just this one man alone had been enough to keep countless gossip tabloids and journalists fed.

The uproar caused by The Path of a Beast had yet to subside when the news broke that the Watchman had been assassinated!

For journalists, a writer who could constantly create explosive hot topics for them to report on was simply too considerate!

At this time, if you picked up any newspaper in Beiping, the front-page headline would be the news of the Watchman’s assassination.

Newspapers like Chaoyang Daily and Justice Daily—the more respectable publications—reported the incident truthfully. They recounted in detail how the assassin failed in his attempt on the Watchman’s life, how he escaped, and how the injured Watchman was shielded by a human wall formed by Peking University’s students and faculty. President Yang Jusi’s defiant words, “Kill me first, Yang, before you harm him!” were quoted in many of the reports.

This event threw the entire literary circle into panic.

The mere fact that someone had dared to attempt an assassination in broad daylight, right on campus, was enough to shake writers’ sense of safety to the core.

If today someone could brazenly attempt to kill the Watchman, then tomorrow, who was to say they themselves wouldn’t be targeted? The Watchman had been lucky enough to escape with his life, but could they expect to be just as fortunate?

So many literary figures simultaneously chose to speak up and make appeals.

Chaoyang Daily published one such story:

A Peking University professor named Liu Shuomei had always been disdainful of the Watchman. When The Path of a Beast was first published, the old professor had spent an entire week writing article after article, harshly criticizing both the author and his work. Yet, when the Watchman was attacked and injured, Professor Liu was among the first to stand up and form the protective human wall. Later, in multiple public settings, he denounced the despicable and terrifying assassination attempt, his words now full of sympathy for the Watchman.

So Chaoyang Daily reporters interviewed him, asking why his stance toward the Watchman had shifted so drastically.

Professor Liu replied: “I disliked the Watchman because I disagreed with his writing—that was a private grievance. But I now speak out for him because this concerns justice and righteousness.”

Aside from people like Professor Liu, who set aside personal grudges for the sake of justice, there were also many who spoke up out of loyalty and admiration, for they had always been fans or friends of the Watchman. News of the assassination left them seething with rage.

For example, Le Jing’s deskmate, Ding Hui. His father was the Deputy Director of the Police Department. Ding Hui, as the deputy director’s son, made good use of his privilege—he issued strict orders to the police to solve the case swiftly and capture the culprit as soon as possible.

There were also ordinary fans, who held no power and came from no influential families. All they had were the pens in their hands. So they wielded those pens to vent their emotions, writing words filled with integrity and justice.

Thanks to the unrelenting efforts of such people, the discourse in the respectable newspapers overwhelmingly sided with the Watchman. They denounced the mastermind behind the assassination and urged the authorities to capture the assassin quickly.

But the gossip tabloids were not nearly so noble.

In many of their reports, Le Jing was already dead. The supposed causes of death varied widely: shot in the head, stabbed to death, poisoned… The most outrageous rumor claimed that Le Jing was strangled by a female student over a romantic debt.

In some versions, he wasn’t dead, but instead left a vegetable, gravely wounded and near death, or paralyzed in bed…

As for the assassin’s identity, the speculations were endless. Some said it was a high-ranking party official, others claimed it was a gangster, still others pointed to a prominent figure in the literary world. Some even went so far as to suggest there had never been an assassin at all—that the entire incident had been staged by the Watchman himself.

“I’m really fine. It’s just a scratch, I wasn’t shot, and I’m not paralyzed either.” Le Jing, half exasperated and half amused, stood up and spun around in a circle to show Zheng Yiliang—who had come to visit him—that he was completely unharmed.

Zheng Yiliang looked him up and down carefully. Seeing that he was indeed alive and kicking, he finally let out a sigh of relief and laughed. “Do you know what the papers are saying about you? Half of them have already written you dead, and the other half are claiming you’re about to die.”

Le Jing said helplessly, “Those gossip rags will make up anything for sales. Don’t believe them.”

Once reassured of his friend’s safety, Zheng Yiliang moved to the serious matter. “What do the police say? Have they found the assassin?”

Le Jing shook his head. “With so many people there, the killer slipped away in the chaos. There’s no way to catch him now.”

Zheng Yiliang frowned, his expression a mix of anger and worry. “Do you have any suspects in mind?”

Le Jing gave another shake of his head and let out a self-mocking laugh. “I’ve offended far too many people.”

Hearing Le Jing’s words, Zheng Yiliang’s eyes instead flashed with pride and admiration:

“They hate you because you spoke the truth, because you tore off their hypocritical masks. That’s why they wish they could get rid of you as quickly as possible.” He lifted his head proudly. “Their hatred toward you, and this failed assassination attempt, are in fact the greatest tribute and praise to your success!”

Le Jing looked at Zheng Yiliang, who was holding his head high in pride, and once again thought of the assassination that would be aimed at Zheng Yiliang two years later.

He had been considering whether he could prevent Zheng Yiliang from dying in that assassination, but unexpectedly, he himself was almost assassinated even earlier.

Although he escaped this time, could he escape the next? And as for the assassination that would one day take Zheng Yiliang’s life—could he really stop it?

Zheng Yiliang had no idea what Le Jing was thinking. He was still sighing:

“You may have been lucky enough to dodge the bullet this time, but next time, you won’t be so lucky. My family has several guards who are skilled and loyal. I’ll lend them to you for now, so they can protect your safety during this period.”

Le Jing nodded, thanking Zheng Yiliang for his kindness. Indeed, this kind of “luck” was not something that could easily be repeated.

After escaping, he had carefully analyzed the entire incident. He reached a conclusion—someone had saved him.

First, the timing of his stumble had been far too coincidental. Then, after he hid himself, someone cried out, creating confusion that allowed him to escape. Put together, it looked very much like someone was deliberately helping him.

But who was it?

Was it infighting among the masterminds behind the scene?

Or was it some chivalrous “Robin Hood” who couldn’t stand by?

It was at this moment that Nakamura Ryota suddenly came to visit.

The first thing he said upon seeing Le Jing was: “Sir, leave China.”

Le Jing was stunned for a moment, then in the flicker of a thought, he understood. He hesitated for a few seconds, then calmly asked:

“I’m going to die, aren’t I?”

Nakamura Ryota’s eyes instantly turned red. He closed them in pain, and gave the slightest, nearly imperceptible nod.

“Who’s the killer?”

Nakamura Ryota lowered his head, biting his lip hard. With a weak, choked voice squeezed from his throat, he said:

“I… don’t know.”

Le Jing nodded knowingly. Just as he didn’t know who assassinated Zheng Yiliang, Nakamura Ryota—who came from another timeline—would not know who killed him either.

A hundred years is too long. Long enough for both his and the killer’s bodies to turn to white bones, long enough for all grudges and joys to lose their meaning. Only time itself could create such desolation.

Nakamura Ryota lifted his head and met the youth’s calm, lake-like gaze. He didn’t know what Li Jingran was thinking at that moment, just as he never knew there could be someone who, upon learning he was fated to be killed, could remain so composed.

“But there are suspects. I saw it on a TV program—think of it like a small film projection. The program said there were two organizations that were the most suspicious.”

Nakamura Ryota carefully spoke out two names. One was the secret service agency within the ruling party of this country; the other was the powerful underworld Qing Gang that dominated the nation’s underground.

The common point between these two forces was that both wielded enormous power.

Le Jing was silent for a few seconds, then suddenly laughed.

“To think that a few articles written by me, Li, could become such a thorn in the eyes of those two organizations—truly flattering.”

“Sir! I’m not joking!” Nakamura Ryota’s voice rose in an anxious growl. “It won’t be long before they kill you! With your extraordinary talent, you should not die so young!”

Le Jing gazed gently at the angry youth before him, a youth whose eyes held a furious but desperate lion. He patted his shoulder comfortingly, smiled, and said softly:

“No one is born undeserving of death. As long as the death holds value, then there is nothing to fear.”

“But this could have been avoided! As long as I tell you the date—”

“Can it really be avoided?” Le Jing shook his head. Calmly, he cruelly shattered the naïve hopes of this boy, who despite living two lives, had not shed his innocence:

“If they want to kill me, they can send someone at any time. Even if I escape once, I cannot escape a second time.”

Nakamura Ryota froze, stunned in place. In his eyes, the desperate lion let out a pained low roar.

“Then… there’s really no way? You’ll just wait for them to kill you?”

Le Jing shook his head again, spreading his hands with an air of recklessness.

“There must be a way, but I just don’t have an idea yet. I’ll need to think it over.”

“By the way, how much time do I have left before I’m killed?”

Nakamura Ryota clearly and accurately gave a number:

“185 days.”

Half a year.

That meant he might have only half a year left to write.

And only half a year to turn things around.

Le Jing thought to himself that he needed to carefully consider what to do.

First, he needed to figure out their motive.

Was it the contents of The Animal Realm that had touched a taboo?

Or was it something buried in his earlier works that had sown the seeds of disaster?

Or perhaps…

The Rise of the Dynasty.

Le Jing lifted his eyes to the rolling clouds on the horizon. For a brief instant, his gaze burst with dazzling brilliance, easing Nakamura Ryota’s hidden anxiety.

The youth’s eyes half-closed, shimmering with light.

If it really was The Rise of the Dynasty, then what exactly had they seen in this unfinished book?