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

The following day, Wangping Street.

The smell of ink mixed with the smoke from the breakfast stalls mingled in the morning breeze, seeping into the nostrils of every passerby.

Lin Wangzheng stood at the entrance of the Shenbao Hall, straightened his long gown collar, and his hair was still parted in a 3/7 ratio, making him look like a proper scholar.

Upon entering, I saw that the printing workers on the first floor had already finished their shift and looked exhausted. The supervisor on duty, recognizing a stranger, proactively approached and asked:

"Sir, what can I do for you?"

Lin Wangzheng cupped his hands in greeting:

"Come and get your press pass from Mr. Shi."

The steward's eyes lit up, and he quickly said that Shi Liangcai had already informed him, and he could just go upstairs.

Lin Wangzheng went up to the second floor and knocked on the door of the general manager's office.

"Enter!"

Push the door open and go inside.

Shi Liangcai was dressed in a sharp suit today, his hair neatly combed, showing no trace of the drunkard he had been the night before. He was sitting at his desk reading documents.

Compared to Shen Zishi, who sleeps like a logger, it's no wonder one of them became a media tycoon, while the other brought a detective to arrest his own people...

Upon seeing Lin Wangzheng, Shi Liangcai hurriedly put down his documents, stood up, and greeted him with a beaming smile.

"You're here! Come, come, have a seat! You're much more polite than Shen Zishi; I'm not used to it."

Lin Wangzheng sat down across the desk, took the teacup Shi Liangcai offered, and without exchanging pleasantries, went straight to the point:

"Uncle Shi, where's your press pass?"

Shi Liangcai opened the drawer, took out a kraft paper envelope, and handed it over:

"Take a look."

Lin Wangzheng opened the envelope. Inside was a small cardboard pouch, similar to a driver's license from his previous life. It was exquisitely crafted, with thick paper that felt high-quality to the touch. The cover was printed with the words "Shenbao Press Reporter Card," and inside were his name and number, stamped with the red seal of Shenbao Press.

A press pass from a major newspaper is still useful, especially for a newspaper like the Shen Bao, which has a daily circulation of over 20,000 copies and distribution outlets all over the country. Wherever you go, people will give you some face.

Even ordinary police officers, patrolmen, and detectives cannot arbitrarily touch the person holding this certificate.

Why? Because no one dares to easily offend such a big newspaper, otherwise a single article could ruin a person's reputation.

Lin Wangzheng carefully put away his press pass:

"Thank you, Uncle Shi."

Shi Liangcai waved his hand and laughed:

"You're the one who's handling the application now, so it's your duty."

Lin Wangzheng nodded, stood up, and said goodbye:

"Okay, I'll be going now."

"Why don't you stay for breakfast?"

"I ate on the way here. Today I'm going to do an interview, and I'll be busy for the next few days."

Upon hearing this, Shi Liangcai did not try to stop him, nor did he ask who he was going to interview. He simply rose to see him off, repeatedly admonishing him:

"Okay, whatever you write about, you have to give me this article. You won't be shortchanged on the payment!"

Lin Wangzheng nodded and extended his hand with a very confident air.

I need money!

How can you make news if you don't have money!

Shi Liangcai was taken aback at first, then immediately realized what was happening, nodded happily, took out his money pouch, and took out ten silver dollars:

"Come ask me for more if you need more."

Lin Wangzheng beamed with joy:

"Alright! Uncle Shi is so generous!"

.......

A short while later, the application was submitted outside the office.

Lin Wangzheng stood on Wangping Street, looking around, trying to find out where the rickshaw pullers were.

Last night, after having dinner at Minleyuan, he sat in a rickshaw and watched the rickshaw driver's back as he ran ahead of him. He then decided to write a report about rickshaw drivers.

It's not something I wrote hastily, nor was it something I made up while sitting in the office.

Instead, he actually squatted by the roadside, talking to each person one by one, asking questions one by one, and recording their lives, their suffering, and their helplessness in detail. This is his investigative style.

With the reporter's pass from the Shen Bao newspaper, creating this content became much easier. There was no need to go undercover anymore; they could simply select targets on the street.

His goal was to interview at least thirty rickshaw drivers, believing that this would yield more universally relevant information. Of course, the more interviewees, the better, but his preference for working alone meant he was unlikely to be very efficient.

As a result, a person walked towards them.

This man was in his early thirties, dressed in an old-fashioned scholar's long gown. The incongruous thing was the large cigar he had in his mouth; he walked with an arrogant swagger, exuding the air of a street urchin from Northeast China—I wondered whose spoiled rich kid he was…

He was followed by two attendants, one carrying a heavy briefcase and the other a suitcase. They looked travel-worn and must have just arrived in Shanghai.

Lin Wangzheng glanced at him, and the man also glanced at Lin Wangzheng. The two brushed past each other.

Lin Wangzheng continued walking forward, while the other person continued walking towards the Shenbao building.

After walking a distance, Lin Wangzheng turned around and glanced at the person's back.

Although he didn't know who this person was, he had a hunch that this person was not simple.

He doesn't seem like a nice guy...

He shook his head, put the matter out of his mind, and continued walking.

Trust Shi Liangcai!

At the entrance of the Shenbao building, Xue Dake turned around and glanced at Lin Wangzheng, then asked his entourage:

"Who is this blond-haired brat? He doesn't look like a kind person."

The attendant shook his head:

"I don't recognize him; he's probably a student passing by."

Xue Dake frowned, said nothing more, and turned to walk into the Shenbao building.

Start by hosting a feast in the Shen Bao newspaper!

......

On the other side, at the intersection of Sanma Road and Wangping Street.

This location is in a bustling area of ​​the International Settlement, with many people, cars, and drivers.

Because of the impact of trams, rickshaw drivers don't usually congregate on main roads like Nanjing Road, since most main roads have tram lines, and people would choose the cheaper and faster mode of transportation. Unless it's something urgent, people rarely take rickshaws.

Therefore, rickshaw pullers usually wait for passengers in places inaccessible by trams. However, competition was inevitable. In addition to the competition among rickshaw pullers themselves, there was also competition from donkey carts, horse-drawn carriages, bicycles, and sedan chairs, making business not easy.

After all, the "Eastern car," which was introduced as early as the thirteenth year of the Tongzhi reign, has hardly become a novel or efficient means of transportation after so many years of development.

Before the end of 1913, the rickshaws in the Shanghai International Settlement were all modeled after those from Japan. They were tall, with two wheels covered in sheet metal, making a rumbling noise when they went out. Because wheel damage would damage the roadbed, the Settlement mandated that the iron wheels be replaced with rubber wheels. Rubber wheels not only reduced shock but also noise, and the models of the rickshaws gradually changed in style.

Lin Wangzheng's first interviewee was a middle-aged rickshaw driver in his forties. His exposed skin was dark, and he was as thin as a bamboo pole. His upper body was hunched over, and he wore a blue uniform with the Yixing Bike Club and his number printed on the back. He wasn't wearing shoes, and the thick calluses on his feet made him seem as if he wouldn't feel anything even if he were stepping on red-hot coals.

Instead of going up to ask directly, he squatted down by the roadside, used the interview funds to buy a pack of "Pegasus" cigarettes, opened it, took out one, lit it, and slowly smoked it.

He was waiting, waiting for the driver to stop.

As an investigative journalist, I naturally know that patience is the most important thing for such in-depth investigations.

You shouldn't bother people when they're busy.

When a driver is waiting for passengers, he is naturally anxious and has no time to chat with strangers; when a driver is picking up passengers, his mind is on the road and he has no time to chat with you.

We should wait until they are resting, such as when they are eating or when they finish work, before trying to approach them for an interview.

You must not rush, or you will get no results.

They waited until noon. The middle-aged driver had made three trips. He parked the car here, took a water bottle from the car, unscrewed the cap, and took a sip of water.

The reason we had to return here to rest was that the drivers were divided into gangs, and if they wandered around between different gangs, they would be driven out of the territory at best, and at worst, they would be beaten up.

In addition, both the International Settlement and the French Concession had promulgated the "Regulations for the Management of Japanese Carts" as early as the 20th year of the Guangxu Emperor's reign. These regulations stipulated that empty carts were not allowed to loiter or wander on the streets, but could only wait in designated waiting areas. For violators, the police would revoke their licenses or impose fines, and no cart driver dared to take that risk.

Just as the driver patted his stomach, took out flatbread and pickled vegetables from the carriage, and ate his lunch with plain water...

Lin Wangzheng stood up, walked over, took out his newly bought cigarettes, took one out, and handed it to him.

"Hey bro, wanna have one?"

The driver glanced at him, took the cigarette, and put it in his mouth. Lin Wangzheng lit it for him. He took a drag, smoke exhaling from his nostrils, and relaxed a bit. Thinking Lin Wangzheng wanted a ride, he said in a very humble manner:

"Sir, please have a seat. I'll start running after I finish this meal."

Lin Wangzheng shook his head, took out his press pass from his pocket, and handed it over:

"I'm not asking for a ride. I'm a reporter from the *Shen Bao* newspaper, and I'd like to chat with you for a bit, is that alright?"

The driver glanced at the press pass, his expression instantly turning wary. He took a step back and asked in a low voice:

"What are we talking about? I haven't broken any laws!"

Lin Wangzheng quickly waved his hand and explained:

"I'm not investigating a case, I just wanted to ask about your rickshaw pulling job. Is it tiring? How much do you earn a day? How many people are in your family? It's just a casual chat, it won't interfere with your work."

You can't act like a journalist; you have to make the interviewees feel like you're one of them, that you're genuinely listening to them, and not trying to trick them into revealing information.

To put it bluntly, the key to this kind of street interview is sincerity.

Hiding things will only lead to nothing. Even if this person refuses, among all the rickshaw pullers in Shanghai, there will always be someone willing to speak up.

The driver glanced at him again, his wariness lessening somewhat, but not completely gone.

Lin Wangzheng didn't rush to ask questions. Instead, he sat down on the curb next to the car, patted the seat next to him, and gestured for the driver to sit down as well.

The driver hesitated for a moment, then sat down with the flatbread in his hand.

The two sat on the curb, smoking, eating, and watching people come and go on the street.

After a while, Lin Wangzheng asked:

"Brother, what is your surname?"

"this......"

"Don't worry, your name won't appear in the newspaper."

"My surname is Wang, just call me Wang Er."

Only then did the driver dare to reveal his name.

Lin Wangzheng nodded, then asked:

"Brother Wang, how many years have you been pulling a cart?"

Wang Er looked up, thought for a moment, and said:

"It's been more than four years, almost five."

"Judging from your accent, you're from northern Jiangsu? Did you used to be a farmer?"

"Yes, my family had five mu of land, and it flooded every year. The first year it was flooded, so we borrowed money to plant the second year; the second year it was flooded again, and we were in debt on top of debt. The landlords were demanding rent, and the government was asking for grain, so we couldn't survive. At night, I rolled up a tattered quilt and traveled along the canal for a month until I reached Songhu. For the first three days, I slept on the side of the road. Later, a fellow villager introduced me to a job, and I was able to rent a cart and do this kind of work."

"That's how it is..."

Lin Wangzheng took out a small notebook and pen from his pocket and quickly started taking notes.

Wang Er glanced at him but did not stop him.

In public surveys, don't immediately pull out your notebook; that will make the interviewee nervous. Start by chatting casually to build rapport, and only begin taking notes once they're relaxed. Even after you start taking notes, make sure they feel you're listening attentively, not just mechanically transcribing.

After chatting for about fifteen minutes, Lin Wangzheng stubbed out his cigarette, stood up, took out a silver dollar from his pocket, and handed it over.

"Thank you, Brother Wang. Please take this money and buy yourself a bowl of noodles."

Wang Er was stunned for a moment, then quickly waved his hand:

"No, no, how can I accept your money?"

"Keep it."

Lin Wangzheng stuffed the money into his hand and said sincerely, "It's my duty to take up your rest time."

The driver clutched the money, his lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but in the end he said:

"Thank you, sir."

Lin Wangzheng nodded and smiled, then turned and left. After taking only a few steps, he wrote a summary on the latest page.

Wang Er, 42 years old, has been pulling a rickshaw for five years. A native of Jiangbei, he previously farmed but fled to Shanghai after a flood. His daily income is about 1.2 yuan, with rickshaw rental costing 0.6 yuan, leaving him with a net income of 0.6 yuan. He is barely making ends meet; his wife washes clothes for others, and they have three children.

This is the first interviewee.

......

afternoon.

After having lunch at a small stall, Lin Wangzheng continued to stroll around Wangping Street, stopping at every intersection to chat with the drivers.

He handed out cigarettes one by one and gave out small amounts of money, and in such a short time, he interviewed three people before finally arriving at Jiaotong Road.

He used the same method for every interviewee—

First, get close to them, then ask questions, and finally pay them.

Some people are willing to chat, some are not. He doesn't force those who aren't willing; he just finds someone else.

On this street, a rickshaw driver sat by the roadside, shirtless, his knees swollen like buns, grimacing in pain.

Lin Wangzheng walked over and squatted down next to him:

"Brother, what happened to your leg?"

The driver looked up at him but didn't say anything.

Lin Wangzheng took out a cigarette and handed it to the driver. The driver hesitated for a moment, then took it and lit it.

After taking a couple of breaths, the driver seemed to feel much better and said in a hoarse voice:

"I just picked up a customer, and I was running too fast, so I tripped and fell, hitting my knee on the ground."

Lin Wangzheng frowned:

"Why don't you see a doctor?"

The driver gave a wry smile:

"In the foreign concessions, a hospital registration cost five cents, and medicine cost two dollars, with no guarantee of a cure. Once you went to the hospital, the money just kept flowing out, and the whole family would starve. You just had to bear with it."

Lin Wangzheng handed the driver a dollar. The driver declined for a long time, but finally accepted it.

"May I interview you?"

"I think you look like a reporter, so feel free to ask."

"How many years have you been pulling a cart?"

"Less than three years."

"What did you do before?"

"I worked in a yarn factory, but the factory closed down, and there was no work, so I pulled a cart."

How much can you earn in a day?

"I'm still young and can still run around. When business is good, I can earn about 15 or 16 cents a day, sometimes more. After deducting the rental fee, I'm left with a little over a dollar. When business is bad, I can only earn 10 cents a day. After deducting the rental fee, I'm left with only 5 or 6 cents."

Is it enough to cover household expenses?

As Lin Wangzheng asked the questions, he took out his notebook to write them down.

"It has to be enough, even if it's not enough..."

The driver sighed, "I'm considered lucky. Many people don't earn as much as I do. My wife stays home to take care of the children, so we live frugally, just barely making ends meet."

Lin Wangzheng nodded.

Based on his interviews with several people, the income of a middle-aged rickshaw puller who has only been pulling a rickshaw for a few years is significantly different from that of a rickshaw puller who has been pulling one for more than five years.

The former may not be extremely wealthy, but they can at least make ends meet; the latter live in extreme poverty and may lose their ability to work at any time.

He recalled his past life, when some people said that being a rickshaw puller in the Republic of China era was a good profession. They used the example of Xiangzi eating meat in "Rickshaw Boy" to argue that heavy physical labor required eating meat, and that one could not work without it, so their lives were actually quite good.

This viewpoint is actually biased and tends to romanticize the Republic of China era.

This kind of viewpoint stems from purely theoretical deduction, ignoring the extremely exploited plight of rickshaw pullers during the Republic of China era. It's as if the vampires oppressing them could actually provide them with a life of plenty.

First of all, even though it was only the early years of the Republic of China, rickshaw pulling was not a new industry. The labor market associated with it was already saturated, and there was no widespread possibility of making a good life simply by pulling a rickshaw.

Secondly, rickshaw pullers' income is unstable. Xiangzi is a physically strong rickshaw puller, so he can naturally earn a good income when business is good. Without a family to support, he would definitely try his best to eat and drink well to conserve his strength for the next day's work. But this is ultimately a plot device in a literary work; the "good life" in the early stages is meant to highlight the "misery" after the dramatic change.

In reality, Xiangzi was a "minority" among rickshaw pullers, and he didn't earn that much money every day. If he encountered illness, a car accident, or even death, the family life of a rickshaw puller would be severely damaged and plunged into despair, with almost no ability to withstand risks.

Not to mention, this kind of income comes at the cost of burning through one's life force and cannot be sustained for more than a few years. In "Rickshaw Boy," Xiangzi worked tirelessly pulling a rickshaw for three years to save money to buy his own. But in reality, after buying his own rickshaw, Xiangzi would have little ability to work, and his only options would be to sell the rickshaw, change professions, or wait to die.

Literary tales cannot accurately reflect the plight of these "modern-day beasts of burden." The truth is, do exploiters care about the lives of laborers? They have to honestly risk their lives to run until they can't run anymore.

Lin Wangzheng wrote these down and then asked:

"What are you most afraid of encountering when you're pulling a cart?"

Without a second thought, the driver patted his knees:

"That's what I'm afraid of... Every day I'm sick means one less day of money; if I'm sick for three days, the rental company will have to rent the car to someone else. And it won't be so easy to rent it out again next time..."

Lin Wangzheng asked a few more questions, wrote them down, bid farewell to the coachman, and began organizing the information from his trip.

Interviewee 5

[Name unknown, young adult, with a northern Jiangsu accent. He's been pulling a rickshaw for two and a half years; he previously worked in a cotton mill, which closed down, after which he became a rickshaw puller. His highest daily income is sixteen cents, plus five cents for rickshaw rental, resulting in a net income of one silver dollar; his lowest is ten cents, plus five cents for rickshaw rental, also resulting in a net income of five cents. His wife stays home to take care of the children and doesn't work outside the home. Even with such a high income, he's afraid to seek treatment for a leg injury because hospitals are notoriously expensive.]