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

the next day.

Lin Wangzheng went out while it was still dark.

The French Concession in Shanghai was a different world at night. The Bund was brightly lit, and the faint sounds of classical dance music drifted over – that was the nightlife of foreigners and the wealthy.

But the alley was pitch black, with only a few dim streetlights illuminating the bumpy stone road.

The old man selling wontons was packing up his stall, while the door of the barbershop hadn't been taken down yet.

The four essential qualities of a journalist are "the ability to think, the ability to run, the ability to hear, and the ability to write," which remain important standards for evaluating outstanding journalists even today. To obtain news, one must endure hardship; waking up early is nothing compared to what is expected, and even losing one's life is not a big deal.

The reason for choosing the pier as the first news story is simple—it's close by.

The nearest pier is Taikoo Pier, just a 15-minute walk along Kung Kwan Road. There are many laborers working hard at the pier, and naturally, there are many stories to tell.

These workers are illiterate, don't read newspapers, and don't trust outsiders. They are exhausted every day and have no interest in talking to anyone, making interviewing them extremely difficult.

But Lin Wangzheng knew that the dock held the secrets of the entire Songhu region.

Foreigners and their goods landed here, while people and goods from the Xia Kingdom set sail from here. The dockworkers were the backbone of this city, and also its most unseen shadow. They worked like animals, died like ants, and no one remembered their names.

However, if the workers were asked to stop their work, even for just one day, the Bund would have no interest in putting on a show of singing and dancing.

Major newspapers write about important figures, major events, and grand principles, but no one ever visits the dockworkers. This is a blue ocean market that tabloids should compete for.

When Lin Wangzheng arrived at Taikoo Wharf, dawn was just breaking on the horizon.

This is one of the most important shipping hubs in Shanghai-Nanjing Port, mainly accommodating Swire Shipping's Yangtze River and coastal routes. It handles passenger and cargo transport, as well as loading and unloading import and export goods, and is one of the three major foreign shipping companies alongside Jardine Matheson and Russell & Co. Due to historical reasons, it is commonly known as the "French Wharf".

He didn't rush to sneak in. He bought a pack of cigarettes and squatted in a corner all day, from dawn till dusk, and saw a lot of things.

Temporary workers who want to work need to get a work ticket from the contractor, and they need to pay the contractor for the work ticket.

This is called a handling fee, one penny per person per day. Paying it doesn't guarantee a ticket, but not paying it guarantees no ticket.

The dockworkers brought their own bar, rope, and shoulder cloth, and ate their own coarse grains and pickled vegetables.

Their clothes were so tattered and patched upon patched that they were known as "Bagua clothes"; their shoes were made of straw and had a lovely name: "Golden Silk Shoes." Under the intensity of heavy physical labor, a pair could only last for a week.

Even straw sandals cost money in the city, so some stevedores simply went barefoot, their soles developing thick calluses.

When working, workers carrying goods weighing hundreds of kilograms had to cross a "mountain jump," which was a one-foot-wide and ten-foot-long plank between the ship and the dock. With each step, the boat swayed with the wind and waves, and if they were not careful, they would fall in and either die or be seriously injured.

Lin Wangzheng witnessed a worker stagger in the middle, causing the people below to gasp in surprise. The man gritted his teeth and steadied himself, then came down with a face as white as paper.

He spent the whole day taking notes in his notebook, writing more than a dozen pages of dense text until his hand ached and his handwriting became increasingly illegible.

The next day, he changed into a linen shirt and tried to sneak into the dock.

As he approached the freight yard, a foreman stopped him. He was in his thirties, with a fierce face, carrying a bamboo stick, a whistle around his neck, and a stack of work tickets on his waist.

"Who are you? Get lost!"

The foreman's words were blunt.

Lin Wangzheng took out a pack of "Old Knife" cigarettes and handed it to the foreman:

"Brother, I'm here looking for work. Could you give me a ticket?"

The foreman took the cigarette, looked him up and down, and sneered:

"With your build, can you carry that?"

Lin Wangzheng sneered:

"Give it a try."

The foreman pointed to a bag of sand next to him:

"Let's pick it up and take a look."

The bag of sand looked to weigh over sixty pounds. Lin Wangzheng bent down, held his breath, and stumbled on his first step, as if he were carrying a huge weight.

He gritted his teeth and walked forward, but his foot slipped and he fell to the ground, scattering sand everywhere.

The foreman laughed heartily, and several workers nearby laughed too. After they finished laughing, they all walked away, and no one paid any more attention to him.

He stubbed his knee, gasped in pain, and lay on the ground, unable to get up.

A middle-aged worker put down his bowl of water, came over, and helped him up.

"Brother, you've never done manual labor before, have you?"

Lin Wangzheng shook his head and patted the dirt off his clothes.

"You're so young, find some other work. The docks aren't a place for scholars."

The middle-aged worker pointed to two teenagers not far away:

"See those two brothers? Their surname is Chen. The older one is seventeen and the younger one is fourteen. They're doing the work of one person. It's too much of a loss for you to come alone."

Lin Wangzheng nodded and asked:

"What is your surname, elder brother?"

"His surname is Shang, so just call him Lao Shang. The Shang in Shangshu (Minister of State) is not the Shang in Shangxia (above and below)."

Old Shang grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth.

Lin Wangzheng thanked him and turned to leave.

Dockworkers have a guild mentality and don't trust outsiders. If you chase after them with a notebook and ask questions, they'll think you're a government spy and will run away as fast as they can.

You have to make them feel like you're one of their own. Don't rush them, or you won't get any information out of them.

......

On the evening of the third day.

Lin Wangzheng brought a pot of wine, a bag of peanuts, and a bag of pig's head meat, and squatted outside the dock waiting for Lao Shang to finish work.

There are many theories about practical journalism, but abstractly speaking, it all boils down to how to access information and then how to bring it to light. If you follow the textbook blindly and insist on conducting interviews in fancy coffee shops, that's called dogmatism.

These are all principles he discovered through trial and error in his previous life.

When it was completely dark, Lao Shang came out.

He supported his lower back and moved slowly, step by step. His linen shirt was soaked through and clung to his back, revealing his bones.

His face was dark and he looked ten years older than yesterday.

"Brother Shang!"

Lin Wangzheng quickly stepped forward.

Old Shang looked up, saw it was him, and paused for a moment:

Why haven't you left yet?

Lin Wangzheng shook the wine pot in his hand:

"Can't find work, reluctant to leave, want to grab a drink together?"

Old Shang hesitated for a moment, then nodded and squatted down next to him.

The two men drank wine while eating peanuts and braised pig's head. The wind blowing from the Huangpu River carried a fishy smell and the smell of coal smoke.

Lin Wangzheng lit a cigarette for Lao Shang. It was one of those rolled-up newspaper cigarettes, strong and popular among laborers because it was the cheapest.

Old Shang took a drag of his cigarette and suddenly said:

"You're not here to find work."

Lin Wangzheng was startled.

Old Shang pressed on, asking:

"You look like a scholar, but you can't carry the goods, and you refuse to move. You just wander around the docks every day. What are you trying to do?"

Lin Wangzheng thought for a moment and decided to tell the truth:

"I'm a reporter."

Old Shang's hand trembled slightly, and cigarette ash fell onto his trouser leg. He subconsciously looked around, as if afraid of being overheard.

"Don't be afraid!"

Lin Wangzheng took out ten coins and placed them between the two of them: "I just want to interview dockworkers, without writing their names or specifying which dock, so no one can trace it back to you. Take this interview fee, consider it as a chat with me."

Old Shang looked at the ten coins, then at the sincere-looking young man before him, and finally chose to push the money back.

"It's free. If you want to hear it, I'll tell you."

"I have a question for you: why are you writing all this?"

Lin Wangzheng thought for a moment and replied:

"Let more people know."

......

late at night.

Lin Wangzheng returned to the small hotel and organized the contents of his overseas visits over the past few days.

Not long ago, Lao Shang said a lot.

There are several ways to calculate wages, but the main methods are daily or piecework.

However, dockworkers were exploited by three layers of people: capitalists, compradors, and contractors. Among them, the contractors were the most ruthless. They not only beat people on a daily basis, but also embezzled wages, deducted wages, and lent money at high interest rates. It was common for a dockworker to owe dozens of silver dollars after a year of work, and he could never leave the dock for the rest of his life.

Therefore, to earn two cents a day, one had to move six tons of goods, resulting in an exceptionally high rate of surplus value.

Work-related accidents happen every day. If someone is injured or disabled, the contractor simply kicks them out without paying them a single penny.

Most of the dockworkers were refugees from other places. When they arrived in Shanghai, they had nowhere to live, so they built sheds on the wasteland using bamboo and straw mats. These sheds were called "rolling dragons" and provided no shelter from the rain in summer or warmth in winter.

During the months when there was less work, people had to fight for jobs to make a living. There were gangs at the docks, such as the Northern Jiangsu Gang, the Anhui Gang, and the Shandong Gang, and they were extremely hostile to each other.

The fiercer the competition, the lower the wages, creating a vicious cycle.

Old Shang also showed the scars on his back, which were from being slashed with a shovel, resembling a hideous earthworm. He said that many people didn't starve to death, but instead died from being beaten by their fellow workers.

[The Backbone of Songhu: Exploring the Lives of Dockworkers]

Lin Wangzheng lit an oil lamp, put down the title, and wrote in one go until morning.

Old Li (pseudonym) is 43 years old this year. He has been working at the dock for more than ten years, and his back is so sore that he can no longer straighten up, but he still has to carry six tons of cargo every day.

He said, "What else can I do but carry the load? I have two kids waiting to be fed. I just have to grit my teeth and the day will pass."

The middle section describes Lao Shang's face, his scars, and the life he lived.

He wrote about how the dock foremen beat people, how many meals the workers ate a day and what they ate, how they stretched every penny to its limit, and all the trivial things he interviewed.

Without classical Chinese phrases or archaic language, it simply tells the story of a group of people in the most straightforward way.

Dockworkers are human beings, not domesticated livestock. Yet, on the docks of Shanghai, they were treated no differently. Hooked on ropes, they became mules; carrying cargo boxes, they became machines. The foreman's whip and ledger constantly reminded them: here, the price of a person was clearly marked. But upon closer inspection, these silent backs bore the weight of the city's extravagance and very breath; their sweat seeping into the wooden planks was the unchanging, authentic tide of the Huangpu River.

[Reporter: Feng Sheng]

Finally, Lin Wangzheng added an editor's note.

[Editor's Note: This report was written based on on-site interviews conducted by our reporters. There are tens of thousands of dockworkers in Shanghai, and their lives are similar to Old Li's. Why did our newspaper write about this? Because this newspaper is for the people. Dockworkers may be illiterate, but their lives deserve to be written down.]

After writing the last word, it was already dawn, and Shen Zishi slowly woke up.

He handed the manuscript to Shen Zishi.

After reading it, Shen Zishi's expression changed several times:

"If you write this, won't the contractors cause trouble when they see it?"

Lin Wangzheng yawned and said shamelessly:

"Then let them come. We don't have any belongings in this house, so we can run away anytime."

This is what it means to have nothing to lose and nothing to fear.

Shen Zishi fell silent, staring at the manuscript for a long time before finally sighing.

"You go to sleep first, I'll handle the layout."

Lin Wangzheng nodded and walked towards the bed:

"Let's change the journal format from now on. We'll polish the content of each issue carefully. Remember to add the content I mentioned to this issue."