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

August 22nd, early in the morning.

Two unfamiliar young men arrived. According to Old Ma, these were the top-notch thugs sent by Uncle Sun's superior, "Uncle Sun." They were specifically responsible for maintaining order, collecting debts from the various gangs under his command, and dealing with disobedient individuals.

Uncle Sun called everyone together and began the "handover" process.

Under the supervision of the thugs, they took stock of the accounts from this period and also searched for any hidden items.

"What's the deal with your straw sandals?"

Uncle Sun took out Lin Wangzheng's worn-out straw sandals.

Lin Wangzheng was covered in sweat:

"I stole them on the road, so I wouldn't be stuck without shoes and nowhere to go."

Uncle Sun nodded, but didn't say he would confiscate it; he returned it to Lin Wangzheng.

Then, in front of everyone, he handed over the accounts for the past few days. He took 60%, and gave 30% of it to his thugs.

After the thugs left, he began to distribute the remaining 40%.

It was mainly based on seniority and performance, and in the end Lin Wangzheng received five coins.

"Fuck you, skin him alive! Disgusting!"

Lin Wangzheng looked at the five pitch-black copper coins and cursed inwardly.

He begged for thirty copper coins in three days, but only received five. That's far too little!

So he squatted down next to the garbage heap and began to withdraw into himself.

The little flea had no relatives or friends, and if it felt someone was fierce, it would follow them closely.

He would squat down when the adults squatted down, and stand up when the adults stood up, afraid of being too slow.

"You are not a beggar."

A sound suddenly rang out behind me.

Lin Wangzheng stiffly turned his neck.

Uncle Sun stood behind him, holding two iron walnuts in his hands, looking at him expressionlessly.

"What?"

Lin Wangzheng tried to calm his voice.

Uncle Sun didn't answer. He walked over to him, squatted down, and sat next to him.

"I've been watching you for three days, and everything else looks similar, but your squatting posture is wrong... Your back is too straight. Beggars don't squat like that because it's tiring."

"Last night, you were too kind to this child. A beggar wouldn't easily give away his food, so I'm certain you're not a beggar."

Well-reasoned and supported by evidence.

After all, Lin Wangzheng's decision was made on a whim, and he didn't have much understanding of beggars beforehand. Little did he know that even the most meticulous plans can have flaws. In the eyes of those with ulterior motives, these flaws would be magnified infinitely.

His heart sank to the bottom as he considered whether he should take the little flea with him when he tried to escape.

The little flea sensed something was wrong and began to tremble.

Uncle Sun, however, showed no intention of making trouble, and pressed on with further questions:

"You don't need to be so afraid. If I want to hurt you, you can't escape."

"I'm just curious, who exactly are you? A detective from the police station? Or a spy for another gang?"

Lin Wangzheng looked at him, hesitated for a long time, and decided to tell the truth:

"reporter."

Uncle Sun's expression didn't change, only the walnuts in his hand paused for a moment:

Which newspaper?

"Strange News Report"

"The one that wrote the interview with the dockworkers and engaged in a war of words with Yuan Shikai's lackeys?"

"Yes."

"Did you write all those articles?"

"...Not entirely."

Lin Wangzheng did not answer truthfully, but instead cautiously revealed his abilities in a subtle way.

Uncle Sun looked at him for a while, then suddenly smiled, put the walnuts into his pocket, took out a pack of cigarettes from his coat, lit one, and handed it to Lin Wangzheng:

"Good courage, and the ability to endure hardship."

The two squatted beside the pile of garbage, smoking, and neither of them spoke.

The beggars gradually came out onto the street. Old Ma and his companions glanced at them with surprise, but didn't bother to interfere.

After finishing his cigarette, Uncle Sun said:

"What's the point of you writing about beggars?"

Lin Wangzheng said softly:

"Let more people know."

Uncle Sun chuckled:

"So what if they know? Does knowing stop them from being beggars?"

Lin Wangzheng did not answer directly:

"Relying on news won't work, but not having this kind of news is also not good. We can't throw the baby out with the bathwater."

Uncle Sun stood up, threw the cigarette butt on the ground, and stomped it out.

"Go ahead and write, I won't stop you, but you have to promise me one thing."

"What?"

"I can't take any more trouble, so don't write anything that will allow others to find this place."

"it is good."

Lin Wangzheng nodded.

Uncle Sun turned and left.

Lin Wangzheng stood up, propping up the little flea's head:

"Uncle Sun! What are you going to do with this child?"

Uncle Sun stopped and whispered:

"If we keep them, they'll be able to work, and then they'll have to beg for food. What else can we do?"

......

noon.

Lin Wangzheng took the little flea to the dock and found the rat.

Seeing the mouse's eyes darting around, Lin Wangzheng asked curiously:

"How do you tell who are beggars and who aren't?"

The mouse chuckled.

"Eyes, I look at the eyes."

"Eyes?"

"Yes, people who flee famine have different eyes. You can tell at a glance that they have nowhere else to turn."

"I see......"

Lin Wangzheng nodded thoughtfully.

But while it sounds simple, it's actually quite difficult to do.

Mice are so good at reading people's expressions that most people can't match them.

They spent the whole afternoon squatting at the dock and found two people, or rather, two people they had stolen from other gangs.

One was a middle-aged man in his forties from Anhui, whose home had been flooded and who had fled alone. The other was a young woman with a two- or three-year-old child from northern Jiangsu; her husband had died on the way to escape famine.

The rat took the two men back to the shed, handed them over to Uncle Sun, asked them a few questions, and then let them stay.

The man is alright; he's already numb to it.

The woman, perhaps confused or grief-stricken, hid in a corner, holding her child and wailing softly. The little flea, hearing this, also had tears welling up in its eyes.

Lin Wangzheng handed the little flea a steamed bun and a bowl of water, instructing him to give them to the woman.

Xiao Tiao nodded, handed the steamed bun and water to the woman, and didn't say a word.

The woman looked up, glanced at the two of them, took the steamed bun, didn't say thank you, and with her head down, broke the bun into pieces and fed it to the child little by little.

The child stopped crying.

......

August 23rd, the fifth day.

Lin Wangzheng followed a beggar named "Wu the Cripple" out to beg.

Wu the Cripple was in his thirties. Every day, he was carried to the bustling city entrance, where he would sit by the roadside with his broken leg out, waiting for people to give him alms.

"How did you get this leg?" Lin Wangzheng asked him from the side.

Wu the Cripple smiled bitterly:

"He gambled away his entire fortune and got beaten up."

"If I could do it all over again, would I still gamble?"

"meeting."

Why?

Lin Wangzheng was puzzled.

Wu the Cripple patted his broken leg and said rather nonchalantly:

"I know what you're thinking. You probably think I'm pathetic. You know, this rotten leg is my biggest asset."

"Without it, I can't beg for much money in a day. With it, people feel sorry for me and will give me more."

"He deserved it, and he was truly despicable. But in the end, he was just living a different way."

His tone was calm and resigned as he continued:

"What do you think we beggars do with the money we earn? Smoking opium, gambling, visiting brothels... that's our life."

Lin Wangzheng didn't know what to say, so he walked over and sat down.

Poverty slowly erodes a person's dignity until nothing is left.

......

August 24th, the sixth day.

That night, something happened in the shed.

The new male beggar who arrived the day before yesterday secretly hid some money.

According to the rules, all the money collected each day must be handed over.

As a seasoned veteran, Uncle Sun immediately noticed something was wrong with him. He found three coins on his person and his expression turned rather grim.

The man knelt on the ground, trembling, pleading, "I won't do it again," "Please forgive me," but he received no forgiveness.

For underground gangs, no matter how small they are, rules are rules, and no one can break them; it's essential for their survival.

Uncle Sun didn't say anything, but simply pulled out a wooden stick and struck the man's back repeatedly, his pig-like screams echoing in the night air.

Everyone else in the shed huddled in a corner, heads down, too afraid to look or make a sound.

Lin Wangzheng stood at the back of the crowd, clenching his fists.

In his previous life, when he was an undercover agent in a black brick kiln, he had seen similar scenes. No one dared to resist, because the price of resistance was death.

After being hit a dozen or so times, the man stopped yelling and lay on the ground trembling, like a dog with a broken spine, utterly devoid of dignity.

Uncle Sun dropped the stick and squatted down:

"The first time, I'll give you ten blows; the second time, I'll break one of your fingers; the third time..."

He didn't say anything more, but everyone knew what he wanted to say.

The man lay on the ground, crying and wailing:

"I won't do it again, I'll never do it again..."

The shed was eerily quiet.

Uncle Sun glanced at Lin Wangzheng, then turned and walked back to his shed.

Lin Wangzheng walked over to the man, helped him up, and helped him sit down in a corner.

The man's back was torn open, his clothes stuck to the wounds, and blood slowly seeped out.

"Thank you..."

"It's okay."

......

August 25th, the seventh day.

The man groaned all night, and Lin Wangzheng didn't sleep a wink again.

Early in the morning, after the beggars gradually came out onto the street, Lin Wangzheng chatted with Uncle Sun until noon before preparing to leave.

The little flea wanted to come with him, but he himself was covered in a foul odor and might be assassinated by spies one day, so he really couldn't afford to raise a child.

Given his uncertain future, perhaps letting Little Flea follow this small beggar gang is the best option.

He specifically begged Uncle Sun, even taking out the money he had earned over the past few days, to take care of Little Flea. He promised to come back in a few days to help everyone.

Uncle Sun agreed; a man like that wouldn't lie.

After spending some time with him, Lin Wangzheng could tell that Uncle Sun wasn't the kind of beggar boss without any bottom line. He would definitely let the child beg, but he would never cripple the child, etc.

"Let's go. This kid will stay with me for now. You can take him away whenever you come back."

Uncle Sun pressed down on the little flea's head and spoke slowly.

Lin Wangzheng nodded, squatted down in front of the little tumbler, gently wiped away his tears, and softly comforted him:

"Don't cry. I have some things to do, but I'll definitely come back to see you later, okay?"

The little one cried silently, then nodded.

Lin Wangzheng got up and left. After walking for a long time, he finally returned to Dongxinqiao Street.

When I opened the door, Shen Zishi was having lunch. It was a bowl of clear soup noodles with a few drops of sesame oil and some chopped green onions on top, which smelled quite tempting.

Hearing the noise, Shen Zishi was startled. When he saw a homeless man rushing into the house, he was almost frightened and screamed. But when he looked closely, he realized it was Lin Wangzheng.

"Where did you go? What happened to you?!"

Shen Zishi panicked when he saw Lin Wangzheng's current state.

He looks a hundred times more disheveled now than when he went out; it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say he's pale and emaciated, and he can't possibly dress up!

Lin Wangzheng was too exhausted to explain. He quickly took off his clothes and pounced on the table like a hungry tiger, slurping up the noodles with his chopsticks.

After finishing his meal, he didn't say anything, just stared blankly at the manuscript paper on the table.

Shen Zishi noticed something was wrong with him, walked over, and sat down next to him:

"What's wrong?"

Lin Wangzheng held back for a long time before asking:

"Uncle, do you know how those beggars survive?"

Shen Zishi shook his head.

Lin Wangzheng did not explain further, but picked up his pen and spread out the manuscript paper.

He has seen and heard a lot these days.

Now, he wants to write down everything he has seen and heard.

"A Beggar's Cave Chronicle: The Visible Shadows on the Streets of Shanghai"

The title was written in one go.

He thought of Uncle Sun, Old Ma, Old Liu, Little Flea, and others, the nauseating stench still lingering in his nostrils.

Shen Zishi pinched his nose and approached, and saw lines of text jump out without hesitation.

[Foreword:]

Beggars with grotesque faces stretch out their rotting hands and feet; starving mothers lift their pitiful, crying infants from their swaddling clothes; filthy children run towards you, begging for alms. This is the everyday scene that can be seen everywhere on the streets of Shanghai.

I made myself look disheveled and squatted among the beggars on the street for half a day before finally being led by a beggar leader into a swarm of "rolling dragons" (a type of hut). This was just one inconspicuous den among the tens of thousands of beggars in Shanghai.