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

It wasn't a silent cry; it was a sob that had been suppressed for a long time and could no longer be held back.

The sound was muffled in his palm, but everyone could hear it. However, no one understood why he was crying.

The living room fell silent immediately; no one spoke or moved.

Those with keen insight gradually guessed the general idea.

On the eve of the disaster report in the year Gui Chou, Zhang Jiluan was the chief editor of the Beiping branch of the revolutionary party newspaper Minli Bao. At that time, because of his support for the Second Revolution and his disclosure of the "Great Loan for Post-Disaster Relief," he published an article entitled "Alas, the Iron Certificate of Traitorous Betrayal," which sparked a nationwide wave of anti-Yuan Shikai sentiment.

As a result, martial law was declared in Beiping, and the military and political law enforcement offices surrounded the Minlibao newspaper office, thus beginning the Gui Chou disaster.

Among the journalists arrested and imprisoned by the military and political authorities at the same time as him were Cao Chengfu, a reporter for the Minli Daily; Ding Baocheng, the editor-in-chief of the Zhengzong Aiguo Daily; and Lin Zisheng, the editor-in-chief of the Baoguo Weekly...

Some of these people died before he was released from prison, while others were still alive. To this day, he still doesn't know whether those who were once alive are still alive or dead.

But he still remembers the last words of Lin Zisheng, who was imprisoned with him in Jiazi No. 6 prison. Lin Zisheng suffered severe torture every day, his body covered with scars, and the flesh under the shackles was worn down to the bone, yet he gave his medicine and food to Lin Zisheng before going to the execution ground.

"Yuan's faction wants to subdue us, but there will always be people who speak out in this world. The pen can never be completely cut down! I die today, but in the future there will be thousands upon thousands of me—my sons, my friends—who will trample on my corpse and continue writing in newspapers, in books, on every old newspaper pasted on the wall!"

May you all be like wild grass, springing back to life with the spring breeze!

Such bold words led to his punishment before his death. He was stabbed countless times, then his head was chopped off, and in the end, he died a mutilated death. No one suffered a more tragic fate than this stubborn man.

"Never forget, never forget, there are still millions of eyes behind these iron bars, longing for that day to dawn!"

And Lin Zisheng is not the only one who has expressed this expectation.

After Zhang Jiluan was rescued from prison, she raised Cao Chengfu's child, who had died in prison, but Lin Zisheng's family had not been found until today.

He had promised that those who were released would take care of the families of their fellow inmates.

With a cry of "Ah!", Zhang Jiluan finally broke down in tears, sobbing as she said:

"Mr. Lin, I've finally found him..."

Suddenly turning around, I found him there, in the dim light.

Everyone present immediately understood why he was in pain, and no one was unmoved.

Lin Wangzheng sighed, wiped his eyes discreetly, walked to Zhang Jiluan, squatted down, and gently patted his shoulder.

Shen Zishi stood in the corner, looked up at the ceiling, and his hands, which were tightly gripping his pipe, were trembling.

The sandstorm was quite strong, and sand got into my eyes. The book said to just look up.

Shi Jiaxiu walked outside the door, his back to everyone, his shoulders shrugging slightly.

Yesterday, Zhang Jiluan went to the Shenbao newspaper office, wanting to befriend "Mingjing" and asking who was behind the pen name. After he revealed the identity behind the pen name, Zhang Jiluan's expression became unnatural. He didn't take it seriously at the time, but now he understands why.

After spending a hundred days in that death row cell, how could one not be emotional when finally finding a fellow inmate and relative who had shared the hardships and was already dead?

The living room, which was originally filled with laughter and chatter, now had an incredibly somber atmosphere.

Shi Yonggeng, who ran out of the kitchen to tell the servants to bring out the dishes, saw his father wiping away tears under the eaves. He rushed over and hugged Shi Jiaxiu's leg, frantically chanting, "Who bullied you?" He would occasionally turn around fiercely, trying to find the "culprit" in the house.

Good heavens, why are so many people wiping away tears?

Isn't it only children who get acne?

After a long while, Zhang Jiluan gradually calmed down, wiped her face with her sleeve, stood up, hugged Lin Wangzheng, and her expression became much calmer.

"I'm sorry, I lost my composure."

His voice was still a little hoarse, but no one blamed him.

Zhang Jiluan turned around and looked at Shi Jiaxiu's back:

"Mr. Shi, thank you so much, thank you for finding him."

"I didn't find him; he found his way out on his own."

Shi Jiaxiu shook his head and turned back: "Alright, let's eat... I'm starving!"

......

The dishes were served one by one.

The dishes are all from the Southern Chinese home-style cuisine: braised pork belly, steamed sea bass, sweet and sour pork ribs, and stir-fried seasonal vegetables. They are not extravagant, but the cooking skills are excellent, and you can smell the aroma from a long distance.

Shi Jiaxiu took out the yellow wine that Zhang Jiluan had brought and invited everyone to sit down:

"Come, come, sit down. Ji Luan, sit next to me. Wang Zheng, you sit here too."

The two people whose names were called sat down on either side of him, and the rest of the people also found seats and sat down, without any seating arrangement.

At first, some people kept their heads down and didn't speak, while others forced a smile, trying to lighten the somber mood. The atmosphere remained somber.

Shi Jiaxiu had his two wives pour a cup of wine for each person, then stood up with his cup in hand.

"The reason I invited everyone here today is just a regular family dinner, mainly to celebrate Wang Zheng joining the Shen Bao newspaper. But now I feel that there is something else that is more important."

He glanced at Lin Wangzheng, then at Zhang Jiluan, and continued:

"Starting from the disaster reported in the year of Gui Chou, our country's newspaper industry fell into a slump, and journalists suffered heavy casualties. Among those present here, many have experienced it firsthand, and more or less, have relatives or colleagues who died under the clutches of Yuan Shikai's party."

He raised his glass and said:

"So, for our first toast, let's raise a glass to those journalists who have died!"

Everyone stood up, raised their glasses, and spilled the wine under the table.

The wine was refilled.

Shi Jiaxiu raised his wine glass and shouted:

"This second cup is for those who survived, those who are still writing! Like Ji Luan, who walked through the gates of hell and experienced things we can't even imagine. He deserves our respect."

Everyone drank the wine in one gulp.

The wine glass was refilled.

Shi Jiaxiu, facing Lin Wangzheng, said:

"For this third toast, I propose a toast to forgetting the struggle! His father was persecuted, but he didn't back down. He took up his father's pen and published his articles in tabloids and in our *Shen Bao*, letting everyone in Shanghai see them. The pen can never be completely cut down! He deserves our respect!"

Everyone turned to Lin Wangzheng and toasted him in unison.

Lin Wangzheng downed the wine in one gulp. The rice wine wasn't very strong, but it made his eyes sting and he felt inexplicably like crying.

But he doesn't like to cry, and in the end, he didn't shed a tear.

Shi Jiaxiu put down his wine cup and waved his hand:

"Alright, alright, let's eat!"

Chopsticks moved, bowls and plates clattered, and glasses clinked on the table.

Someone served food to Lin Wangzheng, someone poured wine for Zhang Jiluan, someone asked Chen Huasheng if he had won any money recently, and someone praised Wang Yaoqin's GG department for its good performance recently.

The heaviness of the past few days was slowly dispelled by the steam from the food and the clinking of cups.

Shi Jiaxiu wasn't a big drinker; after a short while, his face flushed, and he put his arm around Lin Wangzheng, saying:

"Wang Zheng, guess how many copies of your investigative report were distributed nationwide?"

Lin Wangzheng chewed on the braised pork and shook his head.

Shi Jiaxiu gestured the number "three" and said:

"A peak daily circulation of 30,000 copies! You're truly a formidable warrior; I've never seen a journalist more valiant than you. If Huo Qubing, who led the northern expedition against the Xiongnu, had pursued a literary career, I imagine he would have been similar."

He poured Lin Wangzheng a glass of wine, pointed at the ruddy-faced Shen Zishi, and said with a thick lisp:

"If that bastard docks your pay, just tell me, and I'll get some people to deal with him!"

Lin Wangzheng was on the verge of tears. After thinking for a moment, he asked:

"Uncle, don't just say nice things. I don't believe that this article of mine didn't cause you any trouble."

Shi Jiaxiu waved his hand dismissively and said:

"What could possibly happen? It's just a warning from the concession authorities, telling me to be careful, but they wouldn't dare do anything. I'm a major taxpayer, so a little tact will do. As for the Chinese-controlled areas, they say they're going to revoke my postal service license, but that doesn't matter. I can survive on this for now. I don't believe Yuan Xiangcheng can outlive me. As for those Green Gang members and car dealerships, they're not worth a second thought."

Lin Wangzheng finally breathed a sigh of relief and raised his wine glass:

"Then I really must drink with you today!"

......

The Songhu area was quiet late at night.

The shadows of the three people were stretched long and short by the streetlights, and were crookedly imprinted on the stone road.

The drinks we just had weren't heavy, but they had a strong aftereffect.

With a slight breeze, it started to sway and tilt.

Lin Wangzheng's steps were unsteady; even though he was walking on the road, it felt like he was stepping on cotton.

Shen Zishi is in an even worse situation; he's no longer driving in a straight line, veering left and right like a car with a malfunctioning steering wheel.

Zhang Jiluan walked at the front, her steps were fairly steady, but the base of her neck was flushed, and two buttons on her collar were undone, revealing a section of her shirt collar.

"Uncle, are you sure you can do it... If not, I'll carry you back."

"Alcohol emboldens cowards," Lin Wangzheng said, completely lacking self-awareness.

Shen Zishi flung his hand away and mocked mercilessly:

"You think you can carry me? You can carry me today, but tomorrow I'll be taking care of you in the hospital! Look at me, how steadily I walk..."

As soon as he finished speaking, he stumbled and looked as if he was about to fall to the ground.

Lin Wangzheng was so busy laughing that he completely forgot he should be helping her up.

Zhang Jiluan was quicker to react; she hurriedly supported Shen Zishi, and with all her might, gritted her teeth and said:

"Mr. Shen, you should go on a diet."

Shen Zishi steadied himself, straightened his collar, and put the pipe in his mouth:

"What do you know? With all this muscle, I could fall and it wouldn't hurt me at all!"

The three walked along Edward Road, and none of them suggested taking a taxi.

Lin Wangzheng didn't want to sit, Zhang Jiluan didn't care, and Shen Zishi had forgotten about it.

"Brother Zhang... I'll still call you elder brother. I want to ask you something."

Lin Wangzheng suddenly spoke.

Zhang Jiluan glanced at him and nodded.

Lin Wangzheng slowly said:

"What's it like for my father in prison?"

The night wind suddenly picked up, making the leaves of the plane trees along the roadside rustle loudly.

Zhang Jiluan paused, but didn't stop. He lowered his head, staring at the stone path beneath his feet, and remained silent for a moment before speaking in a low voice:

"Mr. Lin is the most principled person I have ever met."

Lin Wangzheng remained silent, listening quietly.

Zhang Jiluan offered him a cigarette, lit it, and continued speaking:

"In the Military and Political Law Enforcement Department, there are prisons A, B, C, and D. People who are arrested are thrown in according to their crimes, and those in prison A suffer the most. Your father and I are both in prison A."

"Before your father was executed, there wasn't a single good piece of flesh on his body. His back, legs, and arms were covered in scars. Some had scabbed over, some were still bleeding, and some scabs had been broken open, causing blood to seep out and stick his clothes to his skin. It hurt to move even a little."

Lin Wangzheng clenched his fists and stopped in his tracks.

Shen Zishi stopped walking, leaned against the wall, took the pipe out of his mouth, and held it in his hand.

Zhang Jiluan stopped in her tracks, looking at her feet, her voice trembling:

"We could see him being taken out for torture every time. They used every trick in the book; even the imperial prisons of the Ming Dynasty couldn't have done it better. But he didn't plead or cry out. He was tough. He told the executioners, 'Tell that bastard Lu Jianzhang not to think that killing one Lin Zisheng will make thousands of other Lin Zishengs submit.' Every time he said these words, those bastards would work even harder, but he remained silent, which often led to even more brutal persecution."

He bit his tongue, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth reminding him of his time in prison, and continued:

"Those spies never wanted anything from your father. They neither asked him to risk his life nor to submit. These beasts who take pleasure in killing people spend their days finding ways to torture prisoners!"

"Every time your father was tortured, the guards would give him a small amount of medicine, enough to keep him alive, but it would never make him better. He would use it at first, but as his injuries worsened, until bone fragments pierced through his flesh, the surrounding red flesh turned inside out and oozed pus, he simply stopped using it and gave the medicine to us."

"I asked him, 'Why don't you use it?' He said, 'You are still young, I am already old, it's not worth it.' Later, he simply gave us his food. Do you know what we ate every day? We ate the leftover swill from those spies, and there wasn't enough for everyone. Even so, he still gave everything to the young people."

He stopped, took off his glasses, and wiped the lenses with the back of his hand.

There was no dust on the lenses; he just wanted to wipe them clean.

"Cao Chengfu is dead, Ding Baocheng is dead, and your father is dead too. He died the most tragically, but I don't want to talk about it."

Zhang Jiluan trembled all over: "That son of a bitch Lu Jianzhang killed us like killing a chicken or a duck, without any reason. This is the rule of law of the Yuan Party."

The pipe in Shen Zishi's hand snapped with a "crack".

Lin Wangzheng looked up at the sky, then glanced at Zhang Jiluan, his expression unreadable.

"One day... I will find the people who walked out of the military and political law enforcement department alive, and I will make public everything they went through... every single thing, every detail, every scar."

Zhang Jiluan nodded and said:

"I'll be waiting. I'll wait until my report is up and running. I won't let you fight this alone. What are you planning to write next?"

Lin Wangzheng fell into thought.

Social survey? I'm a bit tired these past two days and want to rest.

Then I'll write political commentary, but what should I write about?

He turned to look at Shen Zishi and asked:

"Uncle, what's been going on with Yuan Shikai's faction lately?"

Shen Zishi blurted out without hesitation:

"The Senate launched a citizens' petition group, centered around the Preparatory Committee for the Restoration of the Monarchy. Civil and military officials from various regions stationed in Beijing formed the petition group and submitted a petition to the Senate, publicly calling for the restoration of the monarchy. That traitor Yuan Shikai deliberately retreated as a feigned advance, saying that he could not comply."

Lin Wangzheng nodded and said:

"Then I'll write this."

......

Dongxinqiao Street, a small hotel.

After parting ways with Zhang Jiluan, the uncle and nephew did not wander around; they remained silent all the way back to their home.

Shen Zishi asked the landlady for hot water, took a shower downstairs, and said he would come up later.

Lin Wangzheng went upstairs, opened the door, lit the lamp, and sat down at the table.

Zhang Jiluan told him everything Lin Zisheng had said before he died.

To be honest, he didn't have any feelings for the middle-aged man in his memory. But the original owner's obsession was too deep, and from his own emotional perspective, hearing these stories actually made him very sad.

Or rather, very angry.

He stared at the paper on the table for a long time. His mind was filled with imagined scenes that wouldn't leave him for a long time.

What incredible willpower it must take to endure that kind of torture!

"Ugh!"

Lin Wangzheng sighed and began to think about how to begin writing.

Anyone with ulterior motives must cloak themselves in the guise of "public opinion." Only in this way can they grasp the legitimacy of history.

Now, people from all walks of life are flocking to the forefront, vying to represent public opinion in order to achieve the goals of a certain party or faction.

Beneath this veil of supremacy lies only their own petty schemes.

Lin Wangzheng admitted that he was the same way, and there was nothing to be embarrassed about.

However, "public opinion" is a holistic concept that encompasses all classes and has different content at different times—there is a revolutionary class that yearns for change, and there is a conservative class that attempts to reverse history. The former represents historical progress, while the latter represents historical reaction.

The latter should naturally be excluded from "public opinion" because their interests are fundamentally incompatible with those of the people. Yet they shamelessly represent public opinion, which is nothing short of a historical joke.

Therefore, whether one speaks for the broad class that desires change is the true measure of "public opinion." Thus, Lin Wangzheng is not ashamed of this.

Thinking of this, Lin Wangzheng unscrewed the ink bottle, dipped his pen in the ink, and wrote a title.

The Distance Between Imperial System and Public Opinion

After a moment's thought, he put down his pen again:

The capital city has been quite lively these past few days.

On September 1st, the Senate held a large meeting. While called a "senior government," it was essentially an agency exercising the functions of the National Assembly. Many people attended—civil and military officials from Shandong, Jiangsu, Gansu, Yunnan, and other provinces—who had formed a so-called "citizens' petition group" to submit a petition openly calling for a change in the form of government. The scene was enthusiastic and powerful, as if the entire nation had been eagerly anticipating this event.

A few days later, President Yuan replied to the Senate, saying that he was "unwilling to shoulder such a heavy responsibility" and "could not comply" with the petition. His words were polite, his posture convincing, as if he were being forced, as if the people were insisting on bestowing some title upon him, which he could not refuse.

What a clever "polite refusal."

[Forgive my ignorance, but after reading the newspaper several times, I still can't figure out where this "public opinion" came from.]