Literary Master 1918: Starting with New Youth

Before the summer downpours arrive in Yanjing, the air is always stiflingly stuffy, and the entire old city is like a brick kiln that has been opened, hot and dry everywhere.

The willow trees on the street looked sick, their dusty leaves drooping listlessly. The rickshaw pullers, who were gathered in the shade of the trees, leaned against their rickshaws, looking utterly bored, like worker ants that had returned to their nests with nothing to do.

Drivers with spare cash would drink "big bowl tea" at tea stalls, while those without money would sip the sweet soup they brought from home, taking advantage of the short break to recharge. As soon as it rained, there would be more customers hailing taxis!

However, a poor student stood out incongruously among the cars. Although his clothes looked a bit shabby, he had a handsome appearance. In the Eight Great Hutongs, he would definitely be a top-tier courtesan.

The student smelled strongly of Donglaishun sesame paste, clearly indicating he had just finished a feast and was digesting his food.

Strangely, he neither rode in the carriage nor spoke. He would sometimes look around the carriage from left to right, and sometimes squat down to look around. His phoenix eyes gleamed with a sharp light, as if he wanted to dissect people alive, making the drivers feel uneasy.

"Sir, what are you doing?"

"Exactly, they look like students. It's embarrassing for them to hang out with us. Let's go!"

"Get out of the way! Don't interrupt our business!"

The drivers finally couldn't hold back any longer and started talking at once.

Spit sprayed towards Wu Zhu, who quickly pulled up his sleeve to shield himself, thus avoiding getting his face covered in spittle.

"Wait a minute! I have a question for you all!"

"Go ahead and say it!"

A middle-aged driver spoke up, and his fellow drivers immediately fell silent. He seemed to be the leader of the group.

Wu Zhu rubbed his hands together: "Do you gentlemen read books and newspapers in your spare time?"

The rickshaw pullers looked at each other, completely bewildered, before bursting into laughter.

"Read books and newspapers? You need to be literate first!"

"Half of us are Manchus who have lost their 'iron rice bowl,' and the other half are farmers who have come to the city to make a living. We don't have time to read books and newspapers. You've asked the wrong person, sir!"

"Exactly! We didn't get a single thing today, and we still have to pay the transportation fee tonight. Forget about reading or newspapers, we don't even feel like eating!"

Presumably this was the first time anyone had asked this question, the rickshaw pullers, who seemed unwelcoming to Wu Zhu, were actually quite interested.

Wu Zhu was naturally aware of these circumstances and struck while the iron was hot:

"If someone wrote a novel about us, would you all be willing to read it?"

"I won't look at it! Those snobbish intellectuals who look down on others write nothing good either; it's disgusting to read."

"Who would write a book about us street urchins who could collapse at any moment? If someone did, I'd definitely buy it!"

"Is the person you're talking about yourself?"

The rickshaw pullers chattered amongst themselves.

Wu Zhu understood perfectly; it wasn't that he didn't want to read it, but rather that he wanted to write it truthfully.

He was very confident about the novel he was going to copy next. You should know that at this time in Yanjing, there were more than 20,000 registered rickshaws, and there were even more rickshaw pullers.

According to statistics compiled by later scholars, at its peak, one in nine people made a living by pulling a cart.

In my past life, writing novels involved "market research," which meant scanning the bestseller lists to see what readers were currently interested in. Then, I would copy the framework of a popular book from the list and write based on my own inspiration.

In 1918, there was no internet as a tool for reference, but readers actually had little choice. All types of novels were delicacies for them. As long as they were not badly written, there would always be readers. The key was to select the right target audience.

If it were to be said that writing novels about talented men and beautiful women having sweet romances would be a piece of cake for Wu Zhu, who loves online literature, then this genre is quite competitive right now. He can't be sure if readers will like reading melodramatic plots from later generations, so he still has to write novels that resonate with the general public.

As Wu Zhu was thinking this, the rain finally poured down, washing the willow leaves clean and making the entire ancient city instantly bright.

The withered flowers and fallen willows could not stop the torrential rain that fell like silver threads. The rickshaw drivers quickly lowered the awnings of their rickshaws to avoid getting the seats wet, and took out raincoats from the carriages to put on. They then scattered to pick up passengers in places with high traffic.

Wu Zhu didn't expect it to rain when he went out, and could only stand alone under the braised food shed, but he still couldn't avoid getting his clothes wet.

Looking at the few rickshaws that hadn't yet left, he had the idea to try one out. After all, his payment for the manuscript would be in his account soon, so he shouted loudly:

"How much would it cost to go to Doufuchi Hutong?"

"It's about ten miles from Wangfujing to Doufuchi Hutong. The price will be higher on rainy days, but since you've chatted with us for so long, I'll give you a fixed price of five cents."

"So expensive!"

Wu Zhu was taken aback.

Five cents is half a silver dollar, enough for an ordinary person's expenses for several days, which is no different from swallowing gold.

When one of the drivers realized they couldn't agree on a price, he quickly stepped forward and gestured the number "four":

"I only want four cents!"

"How shameless of you!"

......

Competition is inevitable in a free market. Wu Zhu ultimately chose the car that cost only four cents. Blame Hayek's big hand for that.

Because it was raining, the driver thoughtfully provided a shower curtain to cover him after he sat down. However, the experience was far from pleasant; the uneven road surface caused his buttocks to ache from the constant jolting, and on muddy ground, he felt as if he might fall over at any moment.

Fortunately, we arrived at Doufuchi Hutong without any major incidents. We thought we would have to wait at the Yang family's gate for a while, but the gate was wide open, and it seemed that the Yang father and son had already returned home.

After reluctantly handing the driver a silver coin as change, Wu Zhu covered his head and hurried into the courtyard.

Surprisingly, the person standing under the eaves of the main house was not Yang Huaizhong, but Qian Xuantong and Yang Zizhen. There were also two dripping bamboo umbrellas placed side by side in the corner, indicating that they had just arrived.

Wu Zhu jumped over in a few steps and asked first:

"Sir, how did you end up with Zizhen?"

"Didn't you want to study at Yenching University? After reading your novel, Cai Gong repeatedly instructed me to keep you at Yenching University. Brother Huaizhong still has classes to finish, and since this young student happens to be wandering around the campus, I might as well have him bring him over!"

Qian Xuantong's words were filled with good news; the fact that he personally made the trip in this weather showed how much importance he placed on it.

Wu Zhu was overjoyed. He straightened his clothes and bowed deeply to Qian Xuantong.

"The student thanks you for your help, sir!"

"No need for that! But to be honest, being a researcher is a tough job. Most people don't even get paid. Once you go, you can't back out."

Qian Xuantong gently pinched Wu Zhu's shoulder and found that he was frighteningly thin, with no flesh on his body. No wonder he could write such novels.

Suffering is the breeding ground for literature!

Wu Zhu remained noncommittal about Qian Xuantong's words. The treatment of graduate students in later generations wasn't much better; they were all basically just lowly laborers. What he cared about most was which professor he would be assigned to, as that would determine whether he would have time to write novels and earn money.

"Sir, may I ask which professor I am studying under?"

"Researchers can choose one to four subjects for specialized research based on their own interests. Who your mentor is depends on your own choice... It's unrealistic to choose several subjects at once. I hope you will come to my research on phonology and phonetics. You can write novels when you want, as long as you don't neglect your research. The main focus will be on independent research, supplemented by lectures and discussions. Once you have some outstanding results, it won't be difficult to become a lecturer or professor in the future. Mr. Cai is very willing to give young people opportunities."

Qian Xuantong was trying to poach people behind his colleagues' backs.

The conditions offered are exactly what Wu Zhu needs right now, as he needs ample time to write his novel.

As for those empty promises... just take them with a grain of salt.

However, in negotiations, one cannot reveal one's bottom line too early. Wu Zhu pretended to be conflicted, wanting to see if Qian Xuantong had any other bargaining chips.

Seeing that Wu Zhu remained silent, Qian Xuantong decided to raise the stakes and whispered in his ear:

"If you come to work under me, I will arrange for you to become a fifth-level teaching assistant in a while. You will assist me in teaching classes and receive a salary of sixty silver dollars per month. This can be considered as taking advantage of the Beiyang government."

What does a monthly salary of sixty silver dollars mean?

Although it can't compare to the income of professors, there are very few professions in China today that can offer this kind of income!

The landlord Zhang from the north end of my hometown village earns less in a year than half a year's salary for a level 5 teaching assistant. It's true that there are more opportunities in big cities!

This offer sounded incredibly tempting, and Wu Zhu became more and more excited as he listened, almost wanting to agree on the spot. However, reason prevailed and stopped him.

Because he felt that Qian Xuantong still had leverage...

Yang Zizhen, who was watching, pricked up her ears and vaguely heard that it was sixty silver dollars a month. She was so envious that her mouth watered.

Why should I?!

In just one night, the gap between the two widened so much!

Seeing that Wu Zhu still hadn't made a move, Qian Xuantong took out a brand new Parker gold pen and forcibly stuffed it into Wu Zhu's hand.

Wu Zhu was not used to writing calligraphy, and he happened to be preparing to start a new novel, so sending him a brush at this time was like sending charcoal in snowy weather.

The fact that Yang Huaizhong had casually mentioned the lack of pens that morning is remarkable. Yet, in such a short time, Yang Huaizhong went to the foreign goods store and spent a lot of money to prepare one, demonstrating his sincerity.

This was practically begging to take him on as a disciple; if Wu Zhu didn't reciprocate, he'd be ungrateful.

"Professor Qian, thank you for your guidance!"

"Okay! Pack your bags. I've already found you a place to share, the one you mentioned this morning!"

"Huh? So fast?"

"You're in high demand right now, if I don't hurry, Zhongfu and his gang will snatch you away!"