Literary Master 1918: Starting with New Youth

Time flies, and it's already September 12th.

Young people always live with great passion, and before they knew it, Wu Zhu had been in Yanjing for more than ten days.

These days, besides working like a slave at Yenching University, helping "Qian Pa Weng" organize Chinese literature materials, I either stay in the Red Building reading room or write novels in my dormitory.

However, he took the freebie-getting-to-the-end approach to heart, coaxing Mr. Climbing Weng into agreeing to provide meals. He followed this man who never skimped on his food, enjoying all sorts of delicacies, from farting chicken to beef hooves. There were hardly any vegetables on the table, and he even gained some weight as a result.

Not only did he become a familiar face among the liberal arts professors at Yenching University, but he also got to know several fellow editors of "New Youth," such as Hu Shi, who was very popular with women.

Mr. Climbing also taught him a trick: divide meals into three categories: "elegant," "deceptive," and "rewarding." Inviting friends is called "elegant," visiting friends for a casual meal is called "deceptive," and being invited by someone is called "rewarding." During these two weeks, half of the meals were obtained by the two of them through "deception."

Mr. Climbing Weng thought, "We're kindred spirits," and lamented, "It's a pity we didn't meet sooner." However, the promise he made hasn't materialized yet, but he promised to go to Mr. Zhongfu's house in a few days to freeload a meal...

As autumn arrived, Xiangzi's illness prevented him from pulling a rickshaw anymore, and his credit had been so damaged that he could no longer rent one. He became a caretaker at a small inn. At night, two copper coins were enough for him to lie down in the inn.

During the day, he did menial work that barely provided him with a bowl of porridge. He couldn't beg on the streets; with his size, no one would take pity on him. He didn't know how to paint himself to beg at temple fairs, because he hadn't been taught how to disguise his sores as a pitiful sight. He didn't have the skills to steal either; thieves had their own groups and connections. He had to earn his own living; he had no other support or assistance.

He strived for himself, and in doing so, he completed his death. He waited to take his last breath; he was a dying man with a breath left, individualism his soul. This soul would rot in the earth along with his body.

In the open-door shared apartment, Wu Zhu, bathed in the morning sunlight, was writing with his pen so skillfully that it almost sparked on the paper.

"Camel Xiangzi" is quite long. Wu Zhu vaguely remembers that it has 200,000 words. But for some reason, his memory has improved after he transmigrated. The novels and documents he had read before are like extracted documents that he can recall and copy in his mind at any time.

But his memory wasn't bad either; he was admitted to Yenching University through a special admission program in his previous life!

However, he is not a superman. With such a long piece, he has been writing by lamplight every day until dusk, and only today has he managed to finish the last chapter.

"Brother Wu, you were writing before I went to bed last night, and you're still writing now that I'm awake. Is there a lot of pressure from Master Qian?"

Wang Kunlun walked in carrying a wooden basin containing toiletries such as towels, toothbrushes, and tooth powder. He looked quite energetic today, indicating that he had gotten enough sleep.

"Hobbies, hobbies..."

Wu Zhu gave a perfunctory reply, but continued writing diligently.

After spending these days together, he also figured out the hobbies of his roommates.

Wang Kunlun, for example, is quite easygoing. He enjoys reading all sorts of magazines and is considered a supporter of modern literature. He occasionally writes articles, but he's not particularly interested in submitting them for publication, unlike Guo Xingang, who focuses more on discussions within his small circle.

"You guys have been blinded by those professors. They publish magazines and articles for their own fame and fortune. If you follow suit, be careful you don't end up being held accountable!"

"I've heard that Chen Zhongfu is considered a thorn in the side by the Anfu Clique. He was besieged by Koo and Huang at school, and after leaving school, he was followed by secret agents from the police department. The tabloids were full of his crimes, and even his door was plastered with stories of his romantic affairs. His wife and children are crying and making a scene at home every day!"

Chen Gongbo lifted the mattress, sat on the edge of the bed, and interjected with a serious tone.

Guo Xingang, who was eating his breakfast in silence, was not happy:

"According to you, if Professor Chen and his colleagues were after fame and fortune, why would they risk being slandered, suppressed, or even imprisoned by the Anfu Clique to run the magazine 'New Youth'? I understand that you are devoted to philosophy, but please don't be so sarcastic and cynical towards these pioneers."

"Ha! You wouldn't understand even if I told you."

Chen Gongbo had no intention of arguing. He stood up, put on a suit, pinned the Yenching University badge to his chest, and dressed impeccably, looking every bit the academic elite. If he were even more stylish, he could have succeeded Hu Shi.

Boom, boom, boom!

"Wu Zhu! Are you there?"

A question suddenly came from outside.

Upon hearing the panting sound, Wu Zhu immediately realized it was Mr. Pa Weng. He put the pen cap back on, closed the notebook, and Qian Xuantong squeezed into the room.

"Greetings, Mr. Qian!"

Good morning, Mr. Qian!

The three people, except for Wu Zhu, all stood up and bowed.

Since Cai Yuanpei proposed the school motto of "Respect and Love Teachers and Friends," Yenching University students have put it into practice very well. No matter how big the differences of opinion are, they never fail to show respect to each other face to face.

Take Chen Gongbo, for example, who just moments ago expressed his opinions on modern literature, but now he's standing the most upright...

"Hello, classmates. You're all busy. I'm here to find Wu Zhu."

Qian Xuantong bowed slightly in return.

That's what they said, but none of the three left. They just pretended to be busy, wanting to see what would happen next.

"What advice do you have, Mr. Climbing Elder?"

"Keep being cheeky! The new issue of 'New Youth' is about to be published, and I'm sending you your payment for your contribution!"

Wu Zhu immediately beamed with joy, casually tossed the pen onto the table, and made a begging gesture.

Apart from Guo Xingang, the other two were taken aback.

It's really been accepted by "New Youth"! Could the rumors that it's comparable to "Diary of a Madman" be true?

"Hmph! Do you have even the slightest respect for your teacher? I think I should keep this payment and pay you later depending on your performance!"

"I'll treat Master Qian to dinner."

"That's more like it... Your novel has a total of 4,732 words. If I calculate it based on 4,700 words, that's 23.5 silver dollars. Count it yourself and see if it's correct."

Qian Xuantong took out a handful of silver dollars from his pocket, scattered and clinking, and placed them on the table for Wu Zhu to count himself.

One thing at a time, even brothers need to keep clear accounts. Besides, Mr. Climbing Weng was appearing as an editor at this time, not his mentor!

"I believe in my teacher."

Wu Zhu, of course, couldn't possibly count them accurately and quickly accepted the silver dollars.

There's a saying that one shouldn't flaunt their wealth when traveling, and sure enough, the three roommates were extremely envious.

They were surprised to find that Wu Zhu's royalties were so high; a short story of only 4,700 words could be paid at five yuan per thousand words!

I thought we were all poor students, and since we were all equally poor, no one would be envious of anyone else. But when my roommate, who was the same person as me, suddenly did this, who wouldn't be envious?

However, I'm not jealous anymore; I feel more depressed, which has nothing to do with money.

Even though we're all the same age, you went straight to research institute right after coming from the countryside, and you're a great novelist. That's the biggest blow.

"No one should leave for a while. I'll treat everyone to dinner to thank you for taking care of us during this time."

With royalties, Wu Zhu naturally wouldn't be too stingy.

The group's gloom vanished instantly, and they cheered repeatedly.

Qian Xuantong waved his hand:

"Alright, I was just kidding. If I really went, you guys wouldn't like the food. Here's the sample of the new issue. Take a look and raise any questions you have as soon as possible."

After saying that, he stuffed the still-smelling copy of "New Youth" into Wu Zhu's hands, turned around and strode away.

Wu Zhu didn't go out to see him off. He casually flipped through a few pages of "New Youth." Sure enough, the article "Medicine" was used as the opening. The rest were editorials and translations of Western classic literature. However, he was pleasantly surprised to see that Yang Huaizhong had also submitted a manuscript.

After quickly reading through it and confirming that everything was correct, I tossed "New Youth" onto the table and picked up my pen to work.

Guo Xingang finally couldn't resist the temptation and, like a woman dawdling, approached her:

"Brother Wu, may I borrow this copy of *New Youth* for a moment?"

"Okay, whatever you like, it'll save you the trouble of buying it in a couple of days."

"Alright! Kunlun, Gong Bo, aren't you going to take a look at Brother Wu's masterpiece?"

"No interest... I'm going to class, I'll be back later. You promised to treat me to dinner, I want stir-fried pork kidneys."

Chen Gongbo strode away, scoffing as he left.

Despite being late, Wang Kunlun approached Guo Xingang and read aloud with shining eyes.

......

Time passed second by second, and the room fell into a long silence. Even the sound of breathing gradually subsided, with only the "scratching" sound of the pen tip scratching across the paper remaining.

Finally, a summer breeze blew in, and the candles crackled and popped, waking the two who had been stunned by the thunder.

"Damn! Brother Wu, you're too modest! The pen name 'Bamboo Gentleman' really suits you."

"Look at this sentence: 'A man dressed entirely in black stood before Lao Shuan, his eyes like two knives, piercing Lao Shuan and making him shrink by half. The man had one large hand outstretched towards him; the other hand held a bright red steamed bun, the red juice still dripping down little by little.' It's written so vividly, just like the day the Whip Army entered the city and beheaded people at the execution ground."

"Yes, that's truly exceptional! I initially thought the rumors were exaggerated, but it turns out they're completely untrue!"

"With Brother Wu around, we're really lucky. We'll be able to read 'New Youth' as ​​soon as it's released, and the best part is we won't have to pay for it."

"I still need to spend the money; I want to collect all of Brother Wu's works!"

Guo Xingang and Wang Kunlun were exchanging words, extremely agitated. Although they weren't arguing, they were both flushed with embarrassment.

Wu Zhu had no comment on this, and even seemed to want to shrink his head away.

Forget about being on par with each other; it's just one person's work existing in the same time and space...

I don't know how those plagiarists in my past life's online novels could be so shameless, not even a little bit ashamed after copying...

I should finish writing the rest of "Rickshaw Boy" as soon as possible.

Xiangzi's life largely depended on these remaining rituals and customs. At weddings, he carried flags and umbrellas; at funerals, he held wreaths and mourning banners. He felt neither joy nor sorrow; he simply accompanied people through the streets for a mere dozen or so copper coins.

But even this simple task wasn't easy for him. His golden age was over; he hadn't made a living off the rickshaws, and everything he hoped for had turned out to be "just that way." Despite his large size, he insisted on carrying a flying tiger flag or a pair of short, narrow mourning banners; he refused to touch the heavier red umbrellas or silence signs.

[Decent, strong-willed, ambitious, selfish, individualistic, robust, and great—Xiangzi, who knows how many funerals he has attended; who knows when and where he himself will be buried, buried this degenerate, selfish, unfortunate child of a sick society, the ghost of individualism's dead end!]

The pen falls!

Wu Zhu breathed a long sigh of relief.

While copying is acceptable, appropriate adaptations are still necessary to fit the historical context. For example, the original backdrop of the warlord era in the 1920s should be changed to the farce of Zhang Xun's restoration last year; this makes the reading more immersive!

After finishing this piece, he definitely needs to rest for a few days; he's too tired and too depressed...

Xiangzi's three rises and falls can perhaps only be truly understood by people of this era.

Which magazines are good for submitting short stories about everyday life?

"It must be a magazine from the Mandarin Ducks and Butterflies School! It seems there's no editorial office in Yenching; you'll have to submit it to the Shanghai-Chongqing region."

"Which specific investment targets should we choose?"

"either a fiction magazine or a pictorial fiction magazine is fine! It's up to you to choose."

The two, engrossed in the novel "Medicine," gave perfunctory replies.

Wu Zhu pondered for a moment.

He had recently read Yang Zizhen's copy of "Fiction Journal," and the articles there were more inclined towards leisure and entertainment, and mainly in the style of ancient romance and sorrow. He figured that this vernacular, realistic novel about everyday life would probably not be accepted if he submitted it.

While *Fiction Pictorial* does accept vernacular social fiction, he knew the Mandarin Duck and Butterfly School's style—the kind that prioritizes commercial value—and might not find *Rickshaw Boy* to his liking. Furthermore, its satire of society under warlord control would also hinder its chances of acceptance.

I can't possibly vote for "New Youth" again, can I?

This is over 200,000 words. Even at 3 yuan per thousand words, the whole article would cost over 600 yuan. It would probably take several editors pooling their money to pay the manuscript fee, so it's still better to submit it to a business magazine.

Wu Zhu decided to give it a try and see if her submission to "Fiction Pictorial" would be accepted; she figured a lower fee wouldn't matter...

He picked up his pen again, wrote "Yanjing Ke" as his pen name at the end, found a kraft paper envelope he had prepared in advance, and put the thick manuscript paper inside.

"What's going on! We haven't even watched it yet!"

"Uh... I've already sealed it up. Maybe next time, definitely next time."