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

[Conclusion]

This reporter is not writing this to pity anyone, nor to offer charity. Pity and charity cannot save the hundreds of thousands of rickshaw pullers, nor can they save this country riddled with problems. The question is simply: When will the cattle and horses on the streets be able to live like human beings?

The reporter doesn't know the answer. But the reporter knows that this question will have to be answered sooner or later. Not with words, not with empty promises, but with a world where ordinary people can live like human beings. Until that day comes, this newspaper's reporters will often squat by the roadside, listening to the drivers tell their stories, and writing down every word. In the future, these words will surely become rivets on the pillar of shame!

The investigative report concludes here, and a poem in vernacular Chinese is attached at the end.

The sun blazed fiercely, the white clouds seemed to melt into fire, the wind steamed with the heat, and the river flowed thick and heavy.

[Going out, I hailed a rickshaw. Street dust swirled, pedestrians sought shelter under eaves; the market roared, everyone sought shade, not wanting to bother with anything.]

Inside the carriage, a passenger in a silk shirt fanned himself but still complained about the heat, frequently wiping his forehead with a handkerchief.

The driver's uniform was now salt-colored, and beads of sweat fell to the ground in three separate drops.

Shen Zishi put the manuscript away with great admiration.

How come he can't write a report like this! It's true that the new generation surpasses the old, and the old generation is left to die on the beach!

He blamed himself for a long time before finally asking:

"Where do you plan to send it this time?"

Lin Wangzheng thought for a moment, then hummed in response:

"The Strange News needs to calm down for a few days. Last time Cheng Ziqing came, although we didn't expose too much, the police station was definitely monitoring us. If we publish articles like this again, we won't even have a place to run if they come knocking on our door."

"Issuing the Shenbao newspaper?"

"Yes, after all, we used the interview allowance from Shenbao, so we have to produce content for them."

"You do have a conscience..."

Shen Zishi's tone was somewhat resentful.

Lin Wangzheng pretended not to understand and said:

"If you take someone's money, you have to do their work; that's the rule of doing business."

"Besides, the circulation of the Shen Bao newspaper is huge, with distribution outlets all over the country. Publishing this article in the Shen Bao newspaper will allow more people to see it."

Shen Zishi glanced at him, said nothing, stood up, stuffed the manuscript into his briefcase, tucked it under his arm, and prepared to leave.

Reaching the doorway, I turned back:

"How much payment do you want this time? Name your price, and I'll go and squeeze that bastard for it."

Lin Wangzheng covered his head, closed his eyes, and said:

"Just give us what you think is fair, don't ask for too much. Otherwise, we'll both be kicked out of the newspaper and go hungry..."

Shen Zishi paused for a moment, then smiled:

"You little rascal, you really know how to be a hands-off boss."

.......

It was fully light.

The fried dough stick stall had already been set up, and the batter was bubbling in the pot, making a "sizzling" sound as it was fried.

Shen Zishi bought three fried dough sticks, wrapped them in oil paper, and ate them heartily as he walked, oil dripping down between his fingers, but he didn't seem to care.

As the saying goes, good news makes people feel refreshed. Every time his nephew produces an article, it brings him a considerable income. Although it wasn't published in the "Strange News" this time, he still had a reason to ask Shi Jiaxiu for a sum of money.

Walking north along Dongxinqiao Street, you enter the International Settlement. After walking a little further, you will reach Wangping Street.

The streets were as bustling as ever.

The doors of the newspaper office were wide open, and the printers, covered in lead dust and their skin stained with ink, squatted at the entrance, eating the breakfast provided by the newspaper office, which was also their dinner.

Newspaper printing work typically takes place in the early morning. This "day and night reversal" is because newspapers need to be published in the early morning, requiring a complete nighttime work chain from receiving manuscripts, editing, typesetting to printing. While ordinary newspaper staff can work shifts, for these printers, "working during the day and resting at night" is the norm.

After greeting the familiar old workers, Shen Zishi went straight up to the second floor.

As I passed the open door of the editing room, I heard people talking inside.

Several editors were huddled together, holding newspapers and telegram drafts, discussing something.

"On the first day of September, a petition meeting was held in the Senate. Civil and military officials from Shandong, Jiangsu, Gansu, and Yunnan who were in Beijing formed a 'citizens' petition group' and submitted a petition to the Senate, publicly calling for a change in the form of government and the restoration of the imperial system."

"This isn't some kind of 'citizen petition' at all; it's clearly being manipulated by the Preparatory Committee for the Establishment of Peace and Order. Aren't all those 'citizens' officials? Who among the ordinary people went to petition?"

"And there's more! On September 6th, which was yesterday, Yuan Shikai replied to the Senate, saying something like, 'Reforming the national system is a complex matter, requiring utmost caution; hasty and rash actions may lead to many obstacles. As the President, I have the responsibility to maintain the overall situation and believe it is inappropriate.' Listen to that! It's as if someone is forcing him to become emperor!"

"It's just a tactic of retreating to advance... The more he does this, the more violently those petition groups will cause. In a few days, there will definitely be another batch of telegrams 'earnestly urging him to ascend the throne'."

"You know what, I heard they're already taking action! That damned Preparatory Committee for the Establishment of Peace and Order, who would have thought it would fall out of favor so quickly? Compared to these politicians, intellectuals' bottom line is still much higher."

Shen Zishi listened for a few moments, gave a cold laugh, and turned to leave.

My nephew was absolutely right. The most crucial issue for Yuan Shikai in restoring the monarchy lay in winning the hearts and minds of the people. But that's not something you can just conjure up, so he resorted to this self-deceptive act to cover it up.

The more I look back on these farces over the years, from the Gui Chou disaster report to the Confucius Association, and then to last winter's sacrificial ceremony to Heaven, the more I feel it's all a joke.

Can you cover up the eyes of 400 million people?

"Bang--!"

The door to the general manager's office was kicked open.

Shi Jiaxiu had stayed up all night and was just about to pack up and go home to catch up on some sleep when he was startled by what happened. His heart started pounding and he clutched his chest, feeling like he was about to faint.

Upon seeing that it was Shen Zishi, the expression on his face gradually turned into helplessness, tinged with a familiar composure.

However, this time he did not speak first. Instead, he stood up, turned around, opened the window, and gestured for Shen Zishi to jump down.

Shen Zishi frowned, one hand holding his bag and the other on his hip, and asked:

"What do you mean? You're not welcoming me?"

Shi Jiaxiu sighed, waved his hand, and laughed:

That is incorrect.

"Then why did you open the window, and why did you make that gesture?"

"Didn't you say before that if you brought your nephew here, you'd jump off this newspaper office? A man of his word doesn't break his promise, so go ahead and jump."

"..."

Shen Zishi was so angry that white smoke was billowing from his nostrils, and he was completely speechless.

Damn it, a petty person who has gotten their way.

Shi Jiaxiu felt much better after winning this round, and rubbed his tired eyes:

"Here to challenge us?"

Shen Zishi strode in, slammed his briefcase on the table, took out a stack of not-so-thick manuscripts, and waved them in his hand.

He raised his eyebrows as he spoke, looking somewhat smug.

"Name your price, and I'll give you the manuscript."

Shi Jiaxiu looked puzzled, his eyes fixed on the stack of manuscript papers:

"Did you write this?"

"you guess."

"I don't want what you wrote. Take your tabloid and publish it there."

"Get lost! This was written by my nephew! A survey of fifty rickshaw pullers—think about how much is appropriate to pay them!"

Shen Zishi bent over and leaned on the table, waving the manuscript paper in front of Shi Jiaxiu's eyes.

Shi Jiaxiu perked up, grabbed the manuscript paper, and stared intently down with his bloodshot eyes.

"The Life of Oxen and Horses: Interviews with Fifty Rickshaw Drivers"

[Our reporter: Ming Jing]

"Please sit down, don't stand."

Shi Jiaxiu's gaze was fixed on the paper, his finger pointing at the chair opposite him.

Shen Zishi said he wouldn't sit, but pulled the chair over, plopped down, crossed his legs, and said:

"Hurry up and look, time waits for no one."

Shi Jiaxiu was too lazy to argue with him and read very slowly.

When he saw the first part, "The Man Who Fell Off the Rice Paddy," he frowned slightly but didn't say anything and continued reading.

When he saw the second part, "The Ox-Horse Labor from Dawn to Night," his expression turned serious. His gaze lingered on the numbers for a long time, and he would stop from time to time to think, as if he were doing accounting, calculating the income of the rickshaw pullers and the exploitation rate.

When he read the third part, "Three Mountains Pressing Down on His Head," his brows furrowed into deep lines. His expression grew increasingly grim, especially when he read about police officers prying off license plates, passengers refusing to pay, and rickshaw companies exploiting drivers.

When he reached the fourth part, "Living on the Bottom Line of Humanity," he stopped, tapped his fingers on the table with some emotion, shook his head, and continued reading.

When he saw Part Five, "The Ending Where No One Cares," he tapped the table a few more times with his fingers, this time more heavily than before.

Shen Zishi waited by, glancing at the ceiling, then out the window, then at the calligraphy and paintings on the wall. When he got really bored, he picked up a cigarette from the table, lit it, and started smoking.

Smoke filled the office.

Shi Jiaxiu coughed twice from the choking, but didn't look up because his face turned very ugly after seeing Tang Hengzi's part.

The newspaper "Shen Bao" also reported on this matter, but this interview made the journalist who reported on it feel utterly ashamed.

This, of course, had nothing to do with Lin Wangzheng; he merely wrote down what he saw and heard. Yet, this passage—"The rickshaw puller Tang Hengzi, whose body was half blown apart, appeared only briefly in a news report before dying silently. History only remembers Commander Zheng and the arrested revolutionaries, but forgets his two young children and his wife forced into prostitution. This is the fault of us journalists, and the tragedy of this world."—is truly ironic.

He used stark, blood-stained facts to utterly humiliate and mock the professional values ​​of many journalists.

You report on important figures and major events, but turn a blind eye to these lowly, insignificant people, and don't even know they're dead. How can you have the face to talk about "people's livelihood" or "political situation"?

But I, Lin Wangzheng, am determined to write biographies for these insignificant people!

"Is Tang Hengzi really dead?"

Shi Jiaxiu asked, unwilling to give up.

Shen Zishi shook his head, a cigarette dangling from his lips, and said:

"I believe my nephew... To put it bluntly, you know in your heart what kind of lives those drivers lead. How can someone whose body has been blown to pieces survive?"

Shi Jiaxiu felt a little numb. He tugged at his hair, grabbed a cigarette, lit it, and continued looking down.

When he reached the sixth section, "Pitiful and Tragic," his expression became complex. There was surprise, confusion, and finally, an indescribable feeling, followed by gasps of amazement:

"It's rare to see the driver's faults mentioned as well."

There are many good people in this world, but most of them are driven by pity. Few investigators can be so "calmly angry," both angry at the bloody facts and calmly analyzing the opposite side.

Just as Chen Huasheng said, what we have seen so far is probably not all of Lin Wangzheng's abilities.

Shen Zishi stubbed out his cigarette, tilted his chin back, and said:

"My nephew said that we can't just write about how pitiful people are; we also have to write about how hateful they are. If we don't write about how hateful they are, the article won't be fair. And writing about how hateful they are isn't enough; we also have to write about why they are hateful, and who made them hateful."

"That's really impressive."

Shi Jiaxiu exclaimed sincerely, "Writing about the pitiful is compassion; writing about the hateful is justice. Compassion is easy, justice is difficult... I've struck gold!"

Shen Zishi turned his head away unhappily.

Shi Jiaxiu felt much better and continued reading Part Seven, "How much bitterness has been swallowed by the three words 'bad fate'?" He was also deeply moved and recalled the self-deceiving words he had heard since childhood.

What's wrong with one's fate? Fatalism is the best comfort...

When he reached Part 8, "The Tram Has Arrived, Is the End of the Rickshaw Pullers?", Shi Jiaxiu read that section again after finishing the first part.

This segment is quite important because much of the controversy surrounding rickshaw drivers revolves around it.

Those philanthropists, sociologists, and politicians who advocate "abolishing the rickshaw system" and "implementing the tram system" only care about solving problems, without caring what happens to the people who are being solved after the problems are solved.

"That's a sharp question. If rickshaws are abolished, what will happen to the drivers? Just talking about abolishing them without mentioning replacements is easy for someone who doesn't understand the situation."

"You don't trust the articles my nephew wrote?"

"Don't worry, don't worry..."

Because Shen Zishi kept referring to "my nephew" in every sentence, implying "my father is Yuan Shikai," Shi Jiaxiu no longer wanted to talk to him.

He turned to the last page, read Part Nine, "People's Livelihood is a Mirror of Politics," and the final "Conclusion" section, and was deeply moved.

He had seen this approach of combining public opinion surveys with political commentary before.

What he had never seen before was that Wen Zhang could write so beautifully!

"When will the cattle and horses running through the streets finally live like humans?"

Shi Jiaxiu read it aloud softly, as if asking himself a question.

After a while, he finished reading the last part of the vernacular poem, then put down the manuscript and looked at Shen Zishi:

"I will not change a single word of this article."

Shen Zishi paused for a moment, then tapped his ear:

"Really not changing a single word?"

Because there was no complete freedom of speech in the Shanghai International Settlement, the Shen Bao newspaper was adept at "dancing in shackles" in order to avoid trouble, and its wording was as mild as possible. The fact that it dared to say "not a single word changed" now proves that it was indeed moved.

Or rather, they dare not make any changes, because if they do, it won't have the same feel.

Shi Jiaxiu nodded, his voice firm:

"Your nephew interviewed fifty people; every single word he wrote was drawn up by himself through his own efforts in finding out the answers and asking questions. What right do I have to change it?"

"Such a social survey will definitely leave a mark on history, so I'm going to put it on the front page tomorrow and report it to the world with a whole page... As for this vernacular poem, although it doesn't follow the rules of classical Chinese, I think it's quite interesting. Let's publish it in 'Free Talk' and see how Lao Wu arranges the layout."

Shen Zishi looked at his old friend, almost moved to tears. He rubbed his hands together and asked the question he cared about most:

"What about the royalties? Don't just talk about these empty promises... Let me tell you, Di Pingzi's Youzheng Bookstore also came to me, saying they wanted to poach some of my people. If I hadn't run into some trouble recently and didn't trust the people who came to me, I would have definitely agreed to their offer. If you're asking for too little, I'll turn around and go to the place next door right now."

The atmosphere that had been painstakingly built up was instantly shattered.

Shi Jiaxiu really wanted to say, "Can't you stop being so vulgar?", but he still roughly counted the characters, estimating it to be over seven thousand words. After thinking for a while, he waved his hand dismissively:

"Never mind! I'll pay this piece 8,000 words, five yuan per thousand words, forty yuan in total! I'll round it up for Wang Zheng, fifty yuan, as an incentive!"

Nowadays, the payment for articles in Shanghai newspapers is mostly one yuan per thousand words, with a maximum of three yuan per thousand words. The Shenbao newspaper also follows this rule.

For a newcomer to the newspaper industry like Lin Wangzheng, if he were to use this pseudonym to submit articles to other newspapers, he would probably only earn one or two yuan per thousand words.

But rules are rules, people are flexible, and the actual payment for a manuscript will definitely depend on the author's reputation and the content.

The starting price is five yuan per thousand words, which is closely related to the content. Furthermore, Lin Wangzheng's previous articles have already demonstrated his skill level.

Most importantly, investigative journalists risk their lives to seek the truth, so a rate of five yuan per thousand words is the most reasonable.

Shen Zishi suddenly felt that it wasn't so bad for Lin Wangzheng to work for the media magnate.

For fifty yuan, he doesn't need to put in any effort to run the newspaper, nor does he need to bear any risks. This business is more than good.

Seeing that Shen Zishi remained silent, Shi Jiaxiu assumed he was dissatisfied and cautiously asked:

"Is it too little?"

Shen Zishi immediately put on a smile and said with a fawning expression:

"Not at all, I think Boss Shi is the one with a conscience."

Shi Jiaxiu waved his hand and said with a smile:

"Stop joking, but don't secretly deduct his money."

"How could that be? I'm just saving it for my nephew so he can use it when he gets married."

"You son of a bitch!"

"Let's go!"

Seeing that Shi Jiaxiu was about to hit someone with a teacup, Shen Zishi quickly stood up and ran away.

"etc!"

Shi Jiaxiu put down his teacup and called out from behind.

Shen Zishi turned around, not daring to approach.

Shi Jiaxiu pulled out a piece of paper, wrote a line on it, and gestured for Shen Zishi to come and take a look:

"This is the editor's note. When you leave, please hand it to Old Chen and ask him to polish it up."

Shen Zishi approached, took it, and glanced at it.

It says:

[Editor's Note: This long article was compiled from interviews with fifty rickshaw pullers by our reporter. Every word is written in blood and tears, every sentence is deeply sorrowful. The people's livelihood is in such dire straits, yet in the capital there are still voices advocating for "restoration," grand pronouncements that disregard the plight of the common people. In our opinion, if rickshaw pullers cannot be fed, housed, cared for, and supported in their old age, all talk is empty rhetoric. We hope that those in power, those who discuss politics, and those who ride in rickshaws will all read this article.]