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

The next day, at noon.

The sun shines brightly in the sky.

A girl selling flowers squatted in the corner, with several bunches of withered gardenias in front of her. Occasionally, someone would pass by and she would call out in a soft voice, "Sir, would you like to buy some flowers?" She would call out twice and then rest for a while, as if she herself thought that no one would buy any.

Lin Wangzheng was still lying in bed in his room on the third floor of the hotel.

The blanket only covered her stomach, and she was wearing the white socks that physical education students love.

He slowly woke up, his vision blurred as if by a veil. He rubbed his messy hair and patted his aching head before gradually recovering.

Yesterday I was too drunk to hold my liquor. I wrote a beginning and an outline, then fell asleep without even taking a shower. The whole room smelled terrible.

The view gradually cleared up. The bed next door was empty, the blankets piled up in a heap, as was typical of Shen Zishi. However, the person was nowhere to be seen.

Lin Wangzheng threw off the covers, slipped on his shoes, walked to the washbasin stand, scooped up some cold water, and splashed it on his face several times, instantly waking him up.

Lin Wangzheng, how could you let alcohol numb your brain? How could you be so depraved!

Starting today, I will abstain from alcohol!

Lin Wangzheng secretly vowed to himself, wiped his face clean with a towel, dipped it in water, and tried to press down his sticking-out hair in front of the mirror, but found that he couldn't. He decided to just leave it as it was.

I walked to the table and sat down. The manuscript paper on the table was still spread out, and the cap of the ink bottle was left on. The ink had dried and formed a black crust.

The dip pen had dried up, and the tip was stiff. The manuscript paper underneath, with a few lines of writing on it, now looked like scribbles.

[I. Who are the petitioners? — Officials. Not ordinary citizens.]

[II. Where does true public opinion reside? — It resides in the hearts of the people, not in petitions.]

[Third, polite refusal—the same old trick of offering and declining three times, we're tired of it.]

Fourth, genuine public opinion is reflected in daily life, not in public pronouncements.

[V. Conclusion—The distance between public opinion and imperial rule is as thin as a bowl of rice, a piece of clothing, and a bed.]

He stared at those lines for a long time, his mind a jumbled mess, completely forgetting what he had been thinking the night before.

So he simply picked up the ink stick and began grinding.

"Sizzle sizzle..."

As the ink slowly dissolved, his thoughts gradually returned.

I spread out a new sheet of paper, dipped my pen in ink, and wrote a line under yesterday's title.

[Commentary by: Wen Ding]

The character "鼎" (ding) symbolizes imperial power, and this pen name is perfect for questioning the imperial system.

What does Wending's article have to do with my media outlets like "The Wind Rises," "The Alarm Bell," "The Shout," and "Mingjing"...?

He wrote slowly, trying his best to maintain a proper balance.

Write it paragraph by paragraph, and deliberate on it paragraph by paragraph.

Some of his words he found laughable, or even absurd. But the most absurd things were unfolding in Beiping, and unfolding with utmost seriousness.

As the sun began to set in the west, he finished writing the last word, put down his pen, leaned back in his chair, and rubbed his rumbling stomach.

I picked up the manuscript and read it through from beginning to end. It conveyed two words from start to finish—

Chongta.

He still used his physical body to enter the tower.

In later generations, he would have earned the nickname "a political strategist of the Republic of China."

Especially the third part, although it didn't name names directly, was no different from squatting on Yuan Shikai's head and defecating.

Although *Shen Bao* was a newspaper published in the foreign concessions, the concessions were not a vacuum. Warnings had already been issued by people in the concessions and the Chinese-controlled areas, and Xue Dake was still active in Shanghai. Would publishing this article cause trouble for *Shen Bao*?

Zhang Jiluan said, "A journalist who hasn't been to jail isn't a good journalist." He spoke with nonchalance, but Lin Wangzheng had been to jail in his previous life, though it was a terrible experience. He wasn't afraid of death, but he was afraid of being absent for a while, only to find it too late when he came out.

It's time to make some appropriate adjustments. It's okay to be angry, but we can't just let our temper get the better of us.

"Knock knock knock—"

Just as I was pondering how to make the changes, I heard footsteps on the stairs. I knew immediately that Shen Zishi had returned.

Then, the door was pushed open.

Shen Zishi stood at the door, holding two oil paper packages, a dish of shredded ginger, and a dish of vinegar, his face beaming with joy.

"You're awake!"

He closed the door behind him, strode to the table, placed the oil paper package along with the shredded ginger and vinegar on it, and said:

"I knew you hadn't gone downstairs for dinner, so I brought you back some crab roe buns. Eat them while they're hot!"

Lin Wangzheng put down his pen and quickly opened the oil paper package. The crab roe buns were steaming hot, the dough so thin it was translucent, revealing the golden filling inside, so delicious it made one's nose itch.

He looked up, puzzled, and asked:

"Uncle, why are you being so generous today?"

"What are you saying? When have I ever been ungenerous?"

You are often not generous.

"...Actually, I went to ask Shi Jiaxiu for royalties and used your royalties to buy it."

Shen Zishi chuckled after being exposed.

Anyone would pretend to be rich by taking other people's money.

Lin Wangzheng poured the shredded ginger into the vinegar dish, picked up a crab roe bun, took a bite, and exclaimed how delicious it was that his eyebrows almost fell off. He asked indistinctly:

"How many?"

"How much what?"

"How much did Uncle Shi pay you for the manuscript?"

"Fifty."

Shen Zishi held up five fingers.

Lin Wangzheng thought for a moment, swallowed the bun, and said:

"Then give me ten yuan, and keep the rest for me."

Shen Zishi, who was taking out his purse, froze. After a long pause, he took out ten yuan and placed it on the table before asking softly:

"You're leaving the rest with me? Aren't you afraid I'll run off with the money?"

"You're my uncle, right? My whole family is dead. Who else can I trust if not you?"

Lin Wangzheng waved his hand dismissively: "Save all your money for when you get married. You're getting on in years and you still don't have a wife... Look at Uncle Shi, he married two at once. No wonder you're always jealous of him. Go on some blind dates and settle down soon."

Shen Zishi was so moved by these words that he almost burst into tears, wishing he could hug Lin Wangzheng and give him a kiss.

Lin Wangzheng quickly pushed aside the disgusting man's uncle, picked up the manuscript paper, and handed it to him:

"Take a look at what I wrote, and give me some feedback."

Shen Zishi took the manuscript, lit his pipe, put it in his mouth, and sat down to examine it closely.

"The gap between imperial rule and public opinion, a commentator vying for power... Isn't that a bit too direct?"

Lin Wangzheng did not answer.

As soon as he finished reading the preface, Shen Zishi sensed a strong smell of gunpowder.

Especially the title "President Yuan," why don't they even act it out anymore!

[I. What kind of citizens are the "petition group" members?]

[A citizen, literally speaking, should be an ordinary person. Farmers, laborers, rickshaw pullers, vegetable vendors—these are citizens. Last month, this reporter squatted on the side of a road in the foreign concession, interviewing fifty rickshaw pullers, asking them if they knew what a "national system" was; nine out of ten shook their heads. When asked if they wanted an imperial system, one old rickshaw puller retorted, "If that thing came, would it let me pull a few fewer trips?" The reporter said he couldn't answer.]

[But these petitioners aren't cart pullers or farmers. A quick glance at the newspapers reveals they are "civil and military officials in Beijing," high-ranking officials. For officials of the jointly governed government to petition for the emperor's return—what kind of public opinion is this? This is official opinion. If Westerners saw this, they'd probably laugh their heads off. Gathering a few dozen officials, dressed in plain clothes, handing over a petition—does that represent 400 million compatriots? I doubt anyone would want to be represented like that.]

[If this must be called "public opinion," then if ordinary citizens organized fifty rickshaw pullers tomorrow to submit a petition saying "We need to eat," wouldn't that also be considered public opinion? Or if a brothel madam gathered a group of underground prostitutes to submit a petition to "revoke the official prostitution licenses," wouldn't that also be considered public opinion?]

[Of course not. No one could submit the rickshaw driver's petition. The brothel license represents a huge business, so its cancellation is even less likely. Ironically, the "public opinion faction" is turning a blind eye to this.]

"this!"

After reading the first section, Shen Zishi couldn't hold back anymore.

This is way too "hard-line," full of sarcasm both overt and covert, treating those officials like they're not human at all.

II. Where is the true public opinion? It resides within the hearts of "true citizens."

[You may still remember the investigative report on rickshaw drivers published in this newspaper. Of the fifty drivers, thirty were refugees who had fled to the city after their farming businesses failed. They toiled all day for five or six cents. Their daily meals consisted of coarse rice, rotten meat, and dried salted fish. They dared not seek medical attention when sick, continuing to drive even when coughing up blood. Their lodgings consisted of seven or eight people crammed into a small attic, their bodies covered in bedbug bites, or simply drenched in burrs.]

When our reporter asked them, "What do you want?" the answers were invariably the same: "We want to have enough to eat, we want to stay healthy, and we want someone to take care of us when we get old."

[Our reporter then asked, "Do you want an imperial system?" Most people were stunned and retorted, "What's that? What does it have to do with me? Whoever can feed me, I'll support." How honest is that? Public opinion isn't about submitting petitions; it's about the food in people's bellies, the clothes on their backs, and the roof over their heads. If people are hungry, you can't explain "the form of government" to them because they have to go to work. If people are freezing, you can't explain "constitutional monarchy" to them because they're about to die. It's not that they don't want to care about national affairs; it's that they don't have the energy to care, and no one has taught them how.]

[Gentlemen of the petitioning group, you sit in your government offices, fanned in summer and warmed by charcoal fires in winter, paid for your work and carried by carriages, your petitions eloquent and full of classical allusions. Do you know what kind of lives the common people are living not far from your government offices?]

[You don't know. Or rather, you pretend not to know. But you talk about "public opinion" more casually than a brothel owner hanging up a sign.]

Facts speak louder than words, and using recent hot topics as a weapon is a smart choice.

But what Shen Zishi didn't understand was why Lin Wangzheng would use the word "listing" so directly this time, as if he wasn't even acting.

Wouldn't those petitioning officials be furious to see themselves being called "public opinion prostitutes"?

[Part Three: The So-Called "Polite Refusal" Drama]

[I'm not ignorant of history; this kind of "three refusals and three offers" trick is described countless times in books—first, claiming you don't want the job, making excuses, then "reluctantly accepting," all the while complaining about your subordinates, and donning that yellow robe, appearing to be the will of the people and the mandate of heaven. Regardless of anything else, the "face-saving project" must be done perfectly—how "sage" and "wise" you are!]

The problem is, this same old drama has been played out so many times that the public is tired of it.

[If you truly don't want to, it's a simple matter. Issue a clear statement: "I absolutely will not accept this; anyone who dares to persuade me further will be considered a traitor." Close that association, shut down that newspaper, and send those petitioners back home. Clean and efficient.]

[They say they "cannot comply," yet keep those people on to continue their activities; they say they "are unwilling to take responsibility," yet allow petition delegations from various provinces to submit petitions. What is this called? This is called "wanting money but not wanting to entertain guests." I speak bluntly, but the logic is sound.]

After reading this passage, Shen Zishi's hands were trembling violently!

Isn't this a direct attack on Yuan Xiangcheng, implying that he's not even as good as a prostitute?

Lin Wangzheng turned his head and glanced at him:

"What's wrong?"

Shen Zishi hesitated, deciding to finish reading before speaking:

"It's nothing."

"Then why are your hands shaking like you're fanning yourself?"

"..."

Why are you shaking? Don't you know why?

IV. Genuine Public Opinion and False Public Opinion

Actually, what I want to say is a simple truth: public opinion isn't a petition; it's the reality of life.

A person is content if they have enough to eat and wear, a place to live, medical care when sick, and support in their old age. A person is dissatisfied if they are hungry, cold, live in a shack, and are left to die when sick. Even if you change the sign, they will still be dissatisfied. Where does public opinion come from?

Those in the petitioning group were satisfied. Because no matter who was in power, they were still officials. Even if the leadership changed, they would still be officials, still receive their salaries, and perhaps only their posture of kowtowing would change. That's why they shouted the loudest, because they suffered no loss. But the rickshaw puller was different. No matter who was in power, he still had to pull the rickshaw. The higher-ups wouldn't pay his rent, wouldn't build him a house, wouldn't bring him medicine when he coughed up blood. So the rickshaw puller didn't care; he cared about earning an extra two cents tomorrow. This is the true will of the people, and the same applies to ordinary people in other professions.

How many of the red handprints on those petitions were actually left by ordinary people? The common people don't know. But they do know that if you asked tens of thousands of rickshaw pullers in Shanghai to leave their fingerprints, nine out of ten wouldn't. It wasn't that they weren't patriotic; it was that they felt this matter had nothing to do with them.

This section is less intense and well-reasoned, suggesting that the tone softened after writing the previous sections.

With only the last paragraph remaining, Shen Zishi hurriedly looked down.

V. Conclusion

[I'm not writing this to oppose or support anything. I simply feel that a country's "public opinion" shouldn't be represented by just a few dozen officials submitting petitions.]

True public opinion resides in the fields, at the docks, in the shantytowns, and in the sweat and blood of the cart drivers. If those in power truly care about public opinion, they should go to these places, ask the people what they lack and what they want, solve the problems, and public opinion will naturally emerge. They shouldn't sit in their offices listening to a few sycophants spouting nice words. As for those "polite refusals," I, the common people, think: enough is enough. The people aren't stupid; they'll laugh after seeing it too many times.

The distance between public opinion and imperial rule is not the distance of a petition; it's the distance of a bowl of rice, a piece of clothing, a house that doesn't leak, and a bed to lie down in. If this distance isn't shortened, changing the signboard won't help.

That's all I have to say.

Shen Zishi gently put down the manuscript, took off his pipe, tapped it on the table, and didn't know what to say.

He was afraid that offering his opinion would upset his nephew. So, he simply poured him a cup of tea and pushed it in front of Lin Wangzheng.

Lin Wangzheng finished the last crab roe bun, took two sips of his tea, and said:

"I know what you want to say, so just say it. I'm showing it to you so you can say it."

Shen Zishi nodded, hesitated for a moment, and then spoke:

"Wang Zheng, your article is well-written... but... don't you think some parts are a bit too blunt?"

Lin Wangzheng raised his chin, signaling him to continue.

Shen Zishi pointed to the third paragraph and said in a low voice:

"The first two paragraphs are fine, but this one is really dangerous. Not naming names is fine, but everyone knows who you're talking about. Insulting those monkeys in the Senate is completely different from insulting Yuan Shikai!"

Lin Wangzheng leaned back in his chair and rubbed his stomach.

"I know."

"You knew that, yet you still wrote it?"

"So I plan to revise it. All references to Yuan Shikai will need to be significantly revised or deleted entirely."

"call!"

Shen Zishi breathed a sigh of relief and put the pipe back in his mouth: "You're much calmer than I thought. I thought that after listening to Zhang Jiluan, you would..."

"What?"

"It will be sent out regardless of the consequences."

"Then you underestimate me."

Lin Wangzheng smiled and shook his head.

He stood up and paced around the room, saying as he digested his food:

"Anger is a good thing, but it shouldn't cloud judgment. I'm not someone who doesn't understand that. My father died at the hands of Yuan Shikai's faction, and his death was so tragic. I hate Yuan Shikai's faction more than anyone else. National and personal hatred come together and are directed at the same group of people. So, when I wrote this article, I was a little angry... I'm only a person, and I also have joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness, don't you think?"

Shen Zishi was about to say something when Lin Wangzheng raised his hand to interrupt him:

"But journalists should have professional ethics. The articles they write are for others to read, not for momentary gratification or to show off their heroism. It would be foolish to abandon a protracted struggle just to vent one's temper."

Shen Zishi listened quietly.

Lin Wangzheng put his hands behind his back and continued:

"Compromise when necessary is not surrender; it is a retreat that must be made based on the disparity in actual power. This is called the unity of principle and flexibility. As long as we do not give up the struggle, it becomes a strategic issue. Refusing all compromise and accommodation is pure naiveté and is destined to be a futile effort."

Shen Zishi watched his retreating figure and suddenly smiled:

"Where did you learn that from?"

"I heard it from someone when I was in school."

"Who?"

"An ordinary person... He's still alive, and in a few years you'll hear his name resound throughout the world."

Lin Wangzheng didn't intend to explain in detail and sat back down in his chair.

He stared at the manuscript, deep in thought.

An article like this will lose some of its sharpness no matter which part is changed.

What should I do...?

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.

The taste of the crab roe bun was still lingering in my mouth—it was indeed delicious, but the aftertaste was a bit cloying. I picked up a glass of herbal tea and took a sip; the bitterness washed away the cloying taste.

Shen Zishi noticed his distress and, without disturbing him, silently lit a cigarette for him.

Good nephew, keep it up!

Lin Wangzheng, with a cigarette dangling from his lips, closed his eyes.

The main contradiction now lies in the conflict between the petitions criticizing the imperial system involving Yuan Shikai and the degree of freedom of speech. The restriction on freedom of speech here is largely due to the adoption of editorials as a direct method.

The editorial was too direct, full of ammunition, and not suited to the current situation.

We need to find a more subtle yet critical approach!

What should we change it to?

「!」

A mischievous idea suddenly flashed through Lin Wangzheng's mind.

He suddenly opened his eyes, looked at Shen Zishi, and smiled:

"Uncle, Yuan Xiangcheng still needs to be approved. He's the ringleader of this farce; we can't refuse."

Shen Zishi hurriedly took down his pipe, frowned, and asked:

"Then why did you say all that just now?"

Lin Wangzheng explained:

"I'm talking about a different approach, a different method to criticize him. This method is more subtle, making it impossible for anyone to find fault with him."

"Change to what?"

"novel."

"What?! You can do that too?!"

Shen Zishi almost jumped up.

You can write novels, why didn't you say so sooner!

Writing novels is the most profitable thing right now! If you're so talented, you should have shown it off earlier!

Lin Wangzheng smiled mysteriously, pulled out a blank sheet of paper, and wrote a title.

[The Emperor's New Clothes (Adapted Draft)]