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

His tone was indifferent and unimportant.

Lin Wangzheng lowered his head and saw those two faces.

He looked to be in his fifties, his face blackened by soot, his cheekbones high, like a farmer who had toiled year-round. But a shard of metal was stuck in his chest, straining against the white sheet covering him, and his pupils were constricted, as if he were still looking at something before he died.

As for the other one...

When Lin Wangzheng saw that half of the face, he forcefully suppressed the urge to vomit.

Judging from only half of the face attached to the neck, he deduced that the deceased was not old, probably around his age. However, the manner of death was truly gruesome.

It's empty...

Lin Wangzheng took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

The surrounding noise suddenly disappeared; whether it was the shouts of the police, the chatter of the crowd, or the groans of the injured, all of it was shut out of my head.

He'd only been working for two days and he'd died here. Who could accept that?

What do these two people have to do with the imperial system?

Even if the literacy rate among printing workers is high, most of them learn while working. They might not even know what the three characters "Preparatory Committee for the Establishment of Peace" mean; they might not even understand the key to "constitutional monarchy," and they might never have read a profound book in their lives.

I come here to work because they're hiring and offer satisfactory wages.

Yes, they were selling their labor for Yuan Shikai's party, but could they really understand where the crux of the matter lay?

Where do they have the self-awareness to actively distance themselves from the cheerleaders of the imperial system and not contribute to it?

You can't say that printing workers deserve to die just because they're trying to make a living!

As a journalist, Lin Wangzheng knew he had a duty to enlighten people, and he thought a lot about the two corpses in front of him.

Historical progress often comes at a price, a price that no single individual can control. One cannot expect everything to proceed in an orderly fashion amidst chaotic class struggle and revolutionary terror of an eye for an eye—letting the guilty die and the innocent live.

Therefore, it is necessary to strive to reduce all unnecessary sacrifices.

That's the logic, but it should never be used as a reason to comfort those who are implicated. Otherwise, it will only push the masses away.

If there were fewer onlookers in the press and more people speaking out, making the innocent understand the crux of the matter, and if they understood that working for Yuan Shikai's faction would bring repercussions, and even if they understood that in the current world, even doing nothing doesn't make them innocent, as everything is inextricably linked to them.

Would that have prevented this tragedy?

Lin Wangzheng suddenly opened his eyes and looked up at the intact second floor. The editors of the Asia Daily were peering down, as timid as mice.

Not far away, Xue Dake was watching them with hostile eyes.

Why didn't the person throwing the bomb aim for the second floor?

Was it because they didn't want to kill Xue Dake? Were they afraid of killing Xue Dake? Or was it purely a deterrent, and they didn't expect to throw it to the second floor?

Regardless of the reason, there is only one outcome:

Those who deserved to die didn't, while those who shouldn't have died did.

Some revolutionaries in this era truly don't understand how to make a revolution!

The previous dock incident was a case in point, and so is this incident with the Asia Daily! The banner of anti-imperialism must never be used as a shield!

No wonder you keep failing...

"call!"

Lin Wangzheng suppressed his indignation and wrote down a line of text:

[Deceased persons C and D: Two printing workers, identities unknown, aged around fifty and twenty respectively, innocently implicated.]

After writing that line, he added the following:

The world has deteriorated to the point where people feel compelled to die. Even more tragic is that those who seek to change the world firmly believe that bombs can bring about change, even at the cost of harming more people. Those killed are not proponents of imperial rule, but workers seeking a living; the bombs stunned the guards, but failed to awaken the apathetic populace.

A night breeze blew by, making the pages rustle.

Mai Gaoyun looked at Lin Wangzheng with scrutinizing eyes, re-examining the young man before him.

He could clearly sense that the young man lost control for a few moments when he saw the worker's body, but quickly regained his composure and wrote down his thoughts with remarkable calmness.

This is something that shouldn't be something someone this age should have.

"Any more questions?"

Mai Gaoyun said coldly.

Lin Wangzheng was about to shake his head, but then quickly stopped and said:

"The last one."

Mai Gaoyun frowned slightly, but maintained a polite smile.

Lin Wangzheng pointed to the wounded who had not been transferred and asked:

Who were the injured people who were transferred earlier?

Without hesitation, Mai Gaoyun slowly began to speak:

"Regarding the specific circumstances of the injured, we are still compiling statistics. The personal information of the injured is protected by law, and we cannot disclose it to the public without their consent or authorization from their families. Furthermore, relevant medical information involves personal privacy, and your newspaper has no right to inquire about it."

Lin Wangzheng raised his hand, interrupting his rambling:

"Mr. McGowan, I'm just asking who they are, not their names, where they live, or what they do. I'm not here to check their household registration. Just tell me how many people were sent away and roughly what their identities are. That shouldn't violate any regulations, right?"

Mai Gaoyun's smile faded as he stared at Lin Wangzheng.

The two stared at each other for a few seconds.

Mai Gaoyun gleaned something from Lin Wangzheng's eyes—

If you dare not tell me, I'll write it down when I get back:

Regarding the specific details of the injured, we are still compiling statistics here = I know it very well.

[This is not convenient to disclose to the public = We do not want to announce it to the public]

England isn't without journalists like that; if they give that look, someone on Downing Street is in trouble.

Because journalists can write about anything, and once they write it, people can see it, and once they see it, people will believe it, and once people believe it, there will be consequences.

Even if the reporter is arrested afterward, it will only make it seem like his words hit some embarrassing spots, ultimately benefiting others.

The first law of politics: Only what is officially denied is credible!

"Three."

Mai Gaoyun leaned down and spoke in a low voice, so that only Lin Wangzheng could hear him: "One is a British detective from our police department, and the other is a Chinese constable. They are not in any danger."

He paused, hesitating whether to reveal the identity of the last person.

Lin Wangzheng didn't urge him; his hand remained suspended over the notebook as he waited patiently.

Mai Gaoyun's voice lowered even further as he said:

"The last one was the bomber; he's been taken to the hospital and his life has been saved."

Lin Wangzheng quickly jotted down these details.

[Key injured: Three people in total: a British police officer, a Chinese police officer, and the bomber. None are in life-threatening condition.]

The pen tip scratched across the paper, a sound that seemed insignificant in the bustling street, but Mai Gaoyun heard it clearly.

Lin Wangzheng didn't look up, and said seemingly casually:

"Thank you for the information, Mr. McGovern. Which hospital has the person been taken to?"

Mai Gaoyun had received formal training; he wouldn't be so easily tricked into revealing information. His expression changed instantly, and his tone became genuinely serious:

"This question involves specific aspects of the case investigation, and I cannot answer it for you."

"I just want to know where the injured are receiving treatment so I can go and interview them..."

"You cannot, and should not, conduct the interview. If anything happens to the arrested person because of your newspaper's news, you, as a journalist, cannot escape responsibility. You should take heed."

Mai Gaoyun looked down at Lin Wangzheng and said, "This matter ends here. Write what you saw, what you heard, and what you learned from this place. Don't dig deeper; it won't do you any good."

From his perspective, there's nothing wrong with what he said.

Next, we will definitely need to investigate the organization behind the bomber and the source of the bomb. Naturally, we cannot reveal the bomber's detailed information, otherwise, what if the organization behind him takes action?

Journalists are indeed the enemy of the government.

Capable journalists are the enemies the government least wants to face.

Lin Wangzheng did not back down, and looked up directly at him:

"Mr. McGowan, may I take this to mean that you are publicly declaring that there is no freedom of speech in the foreign concessions?"

Mai Gaoyun was taken aback for a moment, then smiled, regaining his usual composure. He took a step back, straightened his tie, and said in a very gentlemanly manner:

"You are a reporter, and I am a police officer. We keep to ourselves, but there are some things you shouldn't know. If you do, it won't be good for you, for me, or for anyone else."

"There is an old saying in the Xia Dynasty: 'Those who understand the times are heroes.' I hope you understand."

Lin Wangzheng nodded and did not ask any further questions.

[Note: Mai Gaoyun declined to disclose the specific location where the injured were taken to the hospital, stating that it was related to the case investigation and could not be disclosed to the public. The reporter expressed understanding but said they would try to find out through other channels.]

They know, but they refuse to repent.

After finishing writing, he bowed slightly:

"Thank you, Mr. McGovern, please continue with your work."

After speaking, he stepped aside and began selecting his next interviewees.

Mai Gaoyun watched his retreating figure, a something more evident in his eyes.

It wasn't anger, nor was it vigilance.

A few days ago, Pierce asked him a question, and he still had no clue about it.

Now that he has a clue, he can recall the detectives who were away.

That investigative report about the rickshaw pullers, those words that slapped the Public Works Department in the face, were definitely written by this young man in front of us.

But he didn't call out to Lin Wangzheng, nor did he order his arrest; he simply silently memorized the face.

The opposition party does not represent hostility; what if there is an opportunity for cooperation in the future?

......

On the other side, Lin Wangzheng found Xue Dake.

The general manager of the Asia Daily was standing at the entrance of the newspaper office, holding a cigarette in his hand, but not lighting it. His suit was dusty, his tie was askew, and his hair was no longer as neat as before, with a few strands hanging down in front of his forehead and swaying in the wind.

The fact that these two, who can be considered "arch-rivals," are meeting formally for the first time under these circumstances is surely a kind of fate.

Lin Wangzheng smelled a strong odor of urine, and silently sighed to himself. He then pulled out his press pass and spoke in a very serious tone:

"Mr. Xue, I'm a reporter from the Shen Bao newspaper. Could I possibly take a few minutes of your time?"

He treated Xue Dake with a completely businesslike demeanor. There was no goodwill between the two, and if this man hadn't remained unrepentant, those innocent people wouldn't have lost their lives in vain.

Ultimately, this government-employed journalist is the real culprit!

From the first moment Xue Dake saw Lin Wangzheng, his gaze was never kind; it was as if he wanted to kill him, and it still is now.

So he took a step back, showing his stance through action, and didn't want to waste any words.

You, a staunch opponent, still want to interview the government's pro-government journalists.

What do you think?

Lin Wangzheng showed no sign of backing down, relentlessly pursuing the matter:

"Mr. Xue, I simply want to understand what happened. I'm sure you don't want your refusal to result in biased reporting in tomorrow's newspapers, do you?"

He cornered Xue Dake against the wall, a slight smirk playing on his lips:

"Otherwise, if certain people in Beiping see this, how will you face their anger?"

Xue Dake then realized that this kid's oppressive presence wasn't limited to his writing. He took a deep breath and gripped his cigar tightly.

"No comment."

He was certainly not afraid of being blamed by Yuan Xiangcheng, after all, he was the one who would be bombed in the end, and at most he would be reprimanded for his poor performance.

They might even be able to take the opportunity to gain a reputation for being "fearless" and rake in some "repair fees"!

Lin Wangzheng did not give up:

"Mr. Xue, your newspaper office was bombed, killing four people and injuring more than a dozen. As the general manager, you bear the most direct responsibility for this. Shouldn't you say something to the public?"

"As a journalist, I think you should understand that the public has the right to know the truth."

Xue Dake sneered:

"The public? The public only has the right to be ignorant. There is no government where there is truth, that is the reality."

"Lin Wangzheng, don't think I don't know who you are. From your perspective, do you think you'll just write whatever I say? I want those bombers to die! Would you publish that?"

Let's tear off the mask of civility!

Lin Wangzheng shook his head and put down his notebook:

"Just as I imagined your articles to be, logically sound but utterly absurd."

Xue Dake also got angry:

"You're criticizing the warlord, criticizing me, criticizing the imperial system, criticizing the Preparatory Committee for the Establishment of Peace, and yet you come here to interview me, hoping I'll cooperate with you? What are you dreaming of?"

After saying that, he turned around and went upstairs.

Lin Wangzheng did not pursue, and said calmly:

"Mr. Xue, I'm criticizing the imperial system, not you. You're a journalist, and so am I. You're loyal to a certain person, while I'm loyal to the people. We just have different stances. I simply want to hear your perspective and corroborate the information from multiple angles; I have no other intentions."

Xue Dake paused, frozen in place, but did not turn around.

After a few seconds, he finally said:

"I already said I have no comment; please look elsewhere."

He strode away.

Lin Wangzheng watched his retreating figure disappear, then wrote a line in his notebook:

[Xue Dake, General Manager of the Asia Daily, declined to be interviewed, saying "no comment." He appeared agitated and pale, seemingly still in shock.]

......

The surroundings gradually quieted down, but it was still noisy.

Lin Wangzheng rubbed his ears and turned towards the newspaper office entrance.

The surviving printing workers sat shivering on the steps.

His clothes were covered in lead dust, and his face was mottled with black and white, as if he had rolled around in the ground.

Some were crying, some were being questioned, and some were covering their wounds, thankfully the injuries were not serious.

Apart from the routine patrols, nobody cared about them; they were like a discarded rag.

Lin Wangzheng lowered his eyes, walked over, and squatted down to be at eye level with a worker in his early thirties:

"Brother, I'm a reporter from the Shen Bao newspaper. May I ask you a few questions?"

The worker looked up, his eyes red, his lips trembling, and he couldn't speak for a long time.

Lin Wangzheng waited patiently.

But in the end, the worker didn't say anything; he was completely terrified.

When you're out begging for a living and encounter something like this, and then see your coworker die right before your eyes, dying so tragically, no one could possibly recover immediately.

"You, you're really a reporter for the Shen Bao newspaper?"

The worker next to me suddenly asked.

Lin Wangzheng turned his head and looked at him.

The man was in his forties, tall and thin. He had a cut on his face, and the blood was still wet, flowing down his cheek, past his neck, and into his collar.

Lin Wangzheng nodded and pointed at Mai Gaoyun:

"Definitely, otherwise this chief inspector wouldn't have bothered with me, wouldn't you say?"

The worker thought for a moment, then, rubbing his head still dazed from the explosion, suddenly realized:

"I can tell you that the *Shenbao* newspaper published an article about rickshaw drivers!"