From street tabloids to the first newspaper of the Republic of China

The two walked out along the alleyway, not immediately returning to the former French Concession, but heading towards the International Settlement.

When it comes to eating lion's head meatballs, the "Lao Ban Zhai Restaurant" on Sanma Road is the most famous. Lin Wangzheng has spoken up, so Shen Zishi certainly can't be fooled.

My nephew has been here for two years and hasn't been able to go out for a decent meal much. Now that he's finally made some money, we're treating him to all the good things we can.

Walking north along Fenshan Road, after crossing the boundary marker, you'll reach the wide Edward Road, which is also the boundary between the International Settlement and the French Concession.

Occasionally, you can see a few cars speeding through the crowd, seemingly oblivious to the people they might hit.

Not far away is the famous Second Racecourse, which was first built in the fourth year of the Xianfeng reign. It is now the end of summer, but shouts can still be heard from inside, and occasionally you can hear a few bursts of laughter from "Old Qian Feng".

In contrast, the streets were somewhat chaotic.

"The tofu is so tender, I'll buy two pieces for one coin."

"The one-legged crabs are all huge!"

"We buy turtle shells, chicken gizzard skins, orange peels..."

Vendors were everywhere, selling vegetables, fish, and secondhand goods, all crammed together, their shouts rising and falling. Garbage was scattered everywhere, and in this weather, it stank.

Because of jurisdictional issues, this street was also a notorious "no man's land." Both concessions would intervene in matters here, but precisely because of this, the interests of the two concessions differed, resulting in actual jurisdictional confusion.

This area has become a notorious gray area, where the actual control and operation are carried out by underground criminal organizations.

The most typical examples are large gangs like the Green Gang, and local beggar gangs, etc.

Shen Zishi had been running and carrying things all day and was exhausted. Now he was being dragged along by Lin Wangzheng. As they walked, the two of them suddenly stopped.

To be precise, it was Lin Wangzheng who stopped.

Because he saw a person, or rather a group of people.

A dozen or so beggars were squatting under a wall on the street corner.

Among them were the old and the young, men and women. Some were wearing tattered clothes, some were shirtless, and some didn't even have shoes, walking barefoot in the sewage.

They squatted there, their eyes vacant and their faces expressionless, as if waiting to die.

"Nephew, what's wrong?"

Shen Zishi asked weakly.

Lin Wangzheng did not answer, but fell into his memories.

In his recollections from later generations, the problem of beggars during the Republic of China era was extremely serious, especially in Shanghai and Nanjing.

Most of them were refugees from other places, some were due to warlord conflicts and banditry, and others were due to unemployment or physical disability.

In short, these people are the outcasts of this era.

Shen Zishi saw through Lin Wangzheng's thoughts, sighed, took out some loose change, weighed it in his hand, and walked over to place it in front of the leading old beggar.

"Thank you, sir."

The old beggar thanked him in a hoarse voice.

Lin Wangzheng walked over, squatted down, and looked at him:

"Where are you from?"

The old beggar paused for a moment, seemingly surprised that someone would ask him such a polite question. He remained silent for a few seconds before saying:

"Anhui was flooded last year, and my family lost everything."

Lin Wangzheng nodded, asked no further questions, and turned to walk towards the French Concession.

Shen Zishi quickly caught up and looked at him:

"Want to investigate beggars?"

Lin Wangzheng turned around and glanced at the group of beggars:

"Why are they pitiful? I don't believe that 'the pitiful must have something hateful about them.' This is worth investigating in depth and revealing the key to it to the world."

......

The next day, August 18th.

Before dawn, the concessions, which belonged to the upper class, had just fallen asleep.

Footsteps echoed in the alley, pattering and clattering—it was the early riser emptying the chamber pot; in the distance, the jingling of rickshaw bells rang out—it was the early-morning driver heading to his shift.

Lin Wangzheng woke up groggily, stared at the tiles on the ceiling for a while, and only got up after he was fully awake.

Shen Zishi was still snoring, his snores rising and falling, like a bellows being pulled.

Newspapers from Shanghai were spread out on the table, and the oil lamp was almost burned out, flickering on and off.

Lin Wangzheng quietly got out of bed and took out the prepared clothes from under the bed.

A tattered t-shirt covered in stains, a pair of trousers covered in patches, and a pair of straw sandals that were almost worn out.

He bought these at a secondhand market yesterday for three coins.

He quickly put on the clothes, picked up a mirror and looked at himself for a while. He felt that his face, which was no less than Daniel Wu's, was a bit of a nuisance, so he quietly pushed open the door, went downstairs to the hotel kitchen and got some soot from the bottom of a pot.

Back in his room, he mixed the ash with water to make a paste, and then smeared it on his face and body in front of the mirror, watching his face gradually become dirty and old, as if a weathered stranger was looking at him in the mirror.

Finally, he used the last bit of soot from the bottom of the pot to rub his hair, making it fluffy and covering half of his face.

To a stranger, there would be no way of knowing what's really hidden beneath the disguise.

He placed the mirror on the table and carefully examined himself.

A beggar who looked to be about thirty years old, with disheveled hair and tattered clothes, had black ash smeared on his thin cheeks and a deliberate numbness in his eyes.

He wasn't a real beggar, and that's enough.

Finally, he tucked Shen Zishi's old cloth shoes into his pocket; these were his belongings that he planned to exchange for money.

Hearing the noise, Shen Zishi felt a sense of unease. He turned over, groggily opened his eyes, and saw a ghost standing in front of the bed. He jumped up in fright and shouted in a somewhat defensive manner:

"who!"

"It's me, it's me, what are you doing!"

Lin Wangzheng turned around, lifted his hair, and showed a look of disgust.

coward......

Shen Zishi rubbed his eyes, his vision gradually clearing, and opened his mouth wide:

"Huh? You, you... what is this?!"

Lin Wangzheng stuffed another small piece of dry rations into his pocket, just in case:

"I'm going to investigate the beggars. I won't be back for a few days, so don't come looking for me."

Shen Zishi sat down, frowning:

"You're going alone? That's too dangerous."

Lin Wangzheng had done far more dangerous things in his previous life, so he didn't take it seriously. He walked to the door but then turned back.

"I'm in the shadows, they're in the light. As long as I don't give myself away, no one will notice me. You can rest assured."

"Uncle, keep an eye on what's going on in the press lately. Wait for me to come back if anything happens."

Shen Zishi opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something, but Lin Wangzheng had already left.

The door was then closed with a soft "click" as it locked.

After leaving the hotel, Lin Wangzheng wandered through the narrow alleys, carefully avoiding people by walking along the walls, until he arrived at Aidoya Street.

As dawn broke, pedestrians were already appearing on the streets.

Vegetable vendors carried their loads to the market, rickshaw pullers squatted by the roadside eating flatbreads, and newspaper vendors shouted, "Newspapers for sale! Newspapers for sale!"

Lin Wangzheng kept his head down and deliberately hunched over, so no one paid attention to him; no one would notice a beggar.

This city has become accustomed to beggars.

Like street trash cans, garbage heaps in corners, and rats in sewers, they are part of the urban landscape—they exist, but are not seen.

The greatest act of charity is to pinch your nose and frown when you get close.

Now that he had a different perspective, Lin Wangzheng finally understood the status of a beggar. He felt a mix of emotions and his steps slowed down.

He mingled among the crowd, gaining sensory experience from the most basic contempt.

Journalists must overcome all difficulties to seek the truth.