Literary Master 1918: Starting with New Youth

The next day at dawn.

Nearly 3,000 miles away from Beijing, Shanghai presents a completely different, cosmopolitan scene.

Commercial signs hang on the side of the building, trams, cars, and rickshaws run side by side on the street, and you can occasionally see foreigners taking a stroll.

Compared to the more urbanized Yanjing, this place has a stronger industrial atmosphere and a more relaxed political environment.

Centered around Wangping Street, a string of addresses brought together mainstream newspapers such as Shen Bao, Xinwen Bao, and Shibao, forming an industrial chain of "writing - editing - printing - distribution," making it no exaggeration to call it the center of China's newspaper industry.

The editorial office of "Fiction Pictorial" was also located here. Editor-in-Chief Bao Tianxiao would ride his Three Guns brand bicycle downstairs to eat a bowl of plain noodles. Every day, as usual, he would open his personal mailbox, hold the incoming and outgoing letters to his chest, and step up the stairs.

While *New Youth* advocated for vernacular Chinese, its first vernacular novel was only published this year. However, *Fiction Pictorial*, since its founding in 1917, has adhered to the principle of "vernacular Chinese as the orthodox language," using vernacular Chinese throughout and accompanied by exquisite illustrations, achieving a balance between highbrow and lowbrow appeal and leading the literary world.

The momentum of vernacular Chinese is growing stronger and stronger, and it seems unstoppable. Naturally, Bao Tianxiao feels proud.

His requirements for manuscripts compiled by his colleagues or submitted by them were much stricter than before. He wanted to select the best of the best, never publish translated works, and insist on original content. Therefore, after his editors screened the manuscripts, they would send the selected manuscripts to him for review.

When he pushed open the door of the editorial office, Zhou Shoujuan, the editor and writer, had already been there for a long time and was writing furiously at his desk. It seemed that he was translating a Western novel, since he also wrote for the Shenbao newspaper on a part-time basis.

"Shoujuan, there are quite a lot of manuscripts today. I'll give you half of them so you can help me sift through them."

Bao Tianxiao separated half of the letter and gently placed it on Zhou Shoujuan's desk.

Zhou Shoujuan did not reply, but nodded in acknowledgment, revealing her sparse head as she swayed.

Bao Tianxiao, holding the remaining manuscript, went alone into the innermost private office to begin his workday.

......

"call!"

As the sun shone through the huge glass bed onto Zhou Shoujuan, he gradually felt tired and simply put down his pen.

After stretching to relieve his fatigue, he casually pulled out a letter—

The material was just ordinary kraft paper, covered with stamps, and most importantly, it was a thick stack, quite different from the submissions that "Fiction Pictorial" usually received. So much so that he noticed it at first glance and even suspected that someone was deliberately making fun of him.

Will they send a bunch of junk?

Postage isn't cheap these days, who has the time to be so lazy...?

Zhou Shoujuan tugged at her already thinning hair and looked at the envelope. The sender's address was written in the upper right corner.

[No. 59, Sanyanjing Hutong, Yanjing City, Beijing. (Yanjing Guesthouse)]

He was taken aback. He hadn't expected the manuscript to be sent from Yenching. Why were the writers in Yenching not busy with "New Youth" magazine, but instead coming to the Shanghai literary scene to join in the fun?

It's important to understand that the two literary circles have vastly different styles. The Yenching literary circle relied on universities and focused on intellectual enlightenment, while the Songhu literary circle relied on the market and focused on commercial value. They are somewhat unrelated.

With a sense of doubt, Zhou Shoujuan took a paper cutter, tore open the envelope, and took out the thick stack of manuscripts.

The dense text, arranged in small regular script from left to right, is pleasing to the eye.

Rickshaw Boy

The title puzzled him greatly, and he had no idea what the author was writing about. Was it about Xiangzi, the camel seller? Or was it the story of a camel named Xiangzi?

As a key member of the Mandarin Ducks and Butterflies School and the former editor-in-chief of the now-defunct "Saturday," he was often in charge of writing ornate and dramatic articles for entertainment purposes, catering to all social classes in the city.

It's nothing more than the joys and sorrows of talented men and beautiful women, or some bizarre social scandal, and that's exactly what he's looking for, not some nonsensical stuff, like this somewhat unconventional novel.

He looked down and, sure enough, unlike traditional popular literature, it was written from the author's third-person perspective.

We're going to introduce Xiangzi, not Camel, because "Camel" is just a nickname; so let's talk about Xiangzi first, and casually mention the connection between Camel and Xiangzi, and that's it.

Seeing that the author intended to explain the title, Zhou Shoujuan patiently read on.

[There are many types of rickshaw pullers in Yanjing... Before he became associated with the nickname "Camel," Xiangzi was a relatively free rickshaw puller. That is to say, he belonged to the type who were young and strong and owned their own rickshaw: their own rickshaw, their own life, were all in their own hands—a high-class rickshaw puller.]

It turns out that "Camel" was the nickname of the rickshaw puller Xiangzi. In the context of Shanghai, it should be "Huangbao rickshaw puller Xiangzi"... That's quite interesting.

The overall writing style is extremely clean, with no superfluous descriptions; it simply tells a story.

It is completely different from the style favored by the literary circles of Shanghai and even from Lu Xun's style. It has a kind of gentle and down-to-earth style of Beijing, which explains why the author's pen name is Yanjing Ke (Beijing Guest).

Yet these words possess a strange power.

Zhou Shoujuan felt as if he had leaped from his lavishly decorated office to the entrance of a hutong in Yanjing, where a sturdy young rickshaw driver stood before him.

He looked at it carefully, not missing a single word or punctuation mark, completely immersing himself in the story.

It's like following behind Xiangzi, watching him get dressed, start with his first sports car, save money for three years by renting a car, and then buy a new one.

Upon reading the description of Xiangzi's birthday, he couldn't help but smile, and even more so, he felt a longing for Xiangzi's dream of running a car factory.

However, hopes are mostly dashed, and Xiangzi was no exception.

What is this author trying to do?!

After reading the ending of the first volume, Zhou Shoujuan had a very bad feeling.

In his view, Xiangzi had already suffered enough. The next step should be to develop his career, get married, and have children. That would be a good life.

He couldn't wait to turn to the second volume.

His own bicycle, the saddles wobbling precariously, even the handlebars twitching slightly; the cargo box so gleaming, the mats so white, the horn so loud; how could he not drive fast, how could he do justice to himself, how could he do justice to that bicycle?

The car was his life; he knew how to be careful. Combining caution with boldness, he grew increasingly confident, convinced that both he and the car were made of iron.

He didn't pay much attention to the rumors circulating outside, such as Zhang Xun leading his army of men with queues to block the city.

Upon seeing this background setting, Zhou Shoujuan, being a novelist himself, knew exactly what was going to happen next!

He then saw that Xiangzi had risked leaving the city, only to be captured by the Manchu army along with his rickshaw, which was also stolen, shattering all his hopes for the future!

"Inhuman."

Zhou Shoujuan silently complained about the author, saying he was far too heartless.

However, Xiangzi later led three camels, accumulating enough capital to make a comeback. It is likely that the plot of the first two volumes was set up to first suppress and then elevate the character.

The thick stack of papers that follows will likely tell the story of how Xiangzi, after staring blankly at the oil lamp, instantly saw through the rules of the world and thus became rich.

He then turned to the third volume, and sure enough, Xiangzi began to struggle again.

"Excellent, excellent..."

Then, looking further down, we see Professor Chen, the monthly rental employer, being hunted by police agents for promoting radical ideas among students. Meanwhile, Xiangzi suffers an undeserved misfortune, being blackmailed out of his savings by a detective surnamed Zhang, returning him to a state of utter destitution!

Xiangzi wanted to find a place to sit down and think through everything that had happened, even if all he could do afterward was cry, at least he would know why he was crying; things had changed too quickly, and his mind couldn't keep up. There was nowhere for him to sit; snow was everywhere. The small teahouses were all closed; it was past ten o'clock. Even if they were open, he wouldn't go in. He wanted to find a quiet place; he knew the tears welling up in his eyes could fall at any moment.

"Grass!"

Zhou Shoujuan was a sentimental person; otherwise, he wouldn't be known for writing novels on the theme of "sorrow." At this moment, his emotions were stirred, and seeing Xiangzi about to cry, he also shed tears.

A visitor from Yanjing in a ditch!

He was now unsure what the author was trying to do, because he had never seen this kind of plot before. It was as if the protagonist was being tortured to death, and not only was being tortured once, but the author was being repeatedly thrown into the oil pan to fry.

Novels about intense and tragic love are a genre that the Mandarin Duck and Butterfly School excels at, but this is the first time he has seen one so realistic, about ordinary people, and even devoid of any emotion. He hurriedly looked down.

When we see Xiangzi return to the Renhe Car Factory and, faced with Hu Niu's persistent pleading, finally compromise and accept the abnormal marriage, we can't help but let out a long sigh.

This portrayal of women overturned his understanding of the novel's female protagonist. She was neither a beautiful woman nor a harlot, but a crude, calculating, and hateful woman from the streets and alleys, yet she evoked a sense of pity in the reader.

The writing style and the characters are so wild.

That's for the best. At least Tiger Girl bought Xiangzi another rickshaw, so her wish was finally fulfilled. So what if she's a kept woman? Tiger Girl has already broken ties with her family; she can live a good life from now on...

Please, Yanjing Guest!

Stop causing any more trouble!

He then witnessed how Tiger Girl, due to her superstition and laziness, ultimately died in childbirth.

Xiangzi's rickshaw has been sold!

Those few short, powerful words made Zhou Shoujuan rip out a few more strands of hair:

"Alas! So loyal and righteous, yet so hateful and pathetic..."

This is the third time they've fallen into the abyss, losing everything, including their family and car. It will likely be the last straw that breaks the camel's back.

He touched his chest and asked himself, if he were Xiangzi, how many times would he have collapsed?

I'm afraid I'll be caught up in the current wave of suicidal ideology right from the start...

After losing his rickshaw, Xiangzi left Xiaofuzi, who had been forced into prostitution. He became degenerate and numb, addicted to smoking, had an affair with his master's concubine, and even had malicious thoughts. He became even more self-destructive and didn't care about anything anymore, until he met Master Liu again.

Where is my daughter?

"Dead!" Xiangzi stood there blankly, unsure whether it was himself or someone else who uttered those two words.

Xiangzi has won! The evening air conditioning stung his face, but he didn't feel cold; instead, he felt a sense of exhilaration.

[With a sigh of relief, Xiangzi breathed in fresh air forever. Looking at his hands and feet, wasn't Xiangzi still young? Xiangzi would remain forever young. Tiger Girl died, Liu Si died, but Xiangzi lived on, happily, fiercely—the wicked will all be punished…they will all die, only the loyal Xiangzi lives, lives forever!]

Zhou Shoujuan found it difficult to evaluate this "victory," but seeing Xiangzi regain his initial inclinations, he couldn't help but look forward to it.

Professor Chen is a good man; he promised to give Xiangzi and Xiaofuzi a way out.

Go find Xiao Fuzi, bring her to Professor Chen's house to work as a helper, and the two of them can live like this from now on. It's good enough, don't cause any more trouble.

Xiangzi's heart wanted to leap out of his chest and soar into the sky, circling with the white doves! Everything was settled: the job, the wages, Xiao Fuzi—everything was resolved perfectly in just a few words. He never expected this!

Of all the women in the world, none are as good or as suitable as Xiao Fuzi! He has been married and had affairs; he has been with beautiful and ugly, old and young; but none of them can hold his heart. They are merely women, not companions.

He started thinking practically: first, he'd ask Professor Chen for a month's wages to buy her a cotton robe, straighten her shoes, and then take her to meet Mrs. Chen. Wearing a new, clean, long cotton robe, with her head and feet neatly arranged, she'd surely be presentable, given her appearance, age, and bearing, and would definitely please Mrs. Chen.

Seeing this, Zhou Shoujuan smiled and breathed a sigh of relief.

When he turned to the next page of the manuscript, his heart jumped into his throat again.

Xiangzi didn't want to speak. The sweat on his body suddenly dried, and he gripped the dilapidated door, yet dared not give up all hope: "I'm looking for Xiao Fuzi!"

"Which room is she in?" Xiangzi's eyes suddenly widened, filled with murderous intent.

"Her? She's long gone!" "White Flour Sack" pointed outside. "Hanged in the woods!"

"Oh no!"

Looking at the few remaining pages of manuscript, Zhou Shoujuan said in a panic.

Xiao Fuzi, who was even lower than Xiangzi, died, and Xiangzi lost his last bit of emotional support, so the ending was almost predictable.

There can be no more reversals, or rather, there have been enough reversals already, and it's finally time to put an end to the suspense.

Professor Chen couldn't save Xiangzi's life... He realized he was just like that dog, spending his days scavenging sweet potato peels and tendrils. Just getting by was everything; there was no need to think about anything else.

Humans have elevated themselves from beasts, yet they still drive their fellow humans back into the realm of beasts. Xiangzi remains in that culturally rich city, but he has become a beast. It is not entirely his fault.

When we see Xiangzi's spirit completely destroyed, degenerating into a lazy, good-for-nothing "ghost" who makes a living by attending weddings and funerals.

The sun outside the window had already reached its highest point, making the skin feel hot and burning, but Zhou Shoujuan felt as if she had been thrown into an ice cave.

He thought Xiangzi would eventually commit suicide, but the ending was far more terrifying than death; he became a soulless, walking corpse...

This "struggle story" titled "Camel Xiangzi" is too dark, darker than any exposé novel, giving readers absolutely no hope.

The author did not include any personal perspective or subjective criticism of this dark society; he simply told a thick stack of stories, yet the depth of his work is in no way inferior to editorials that directly address contemporary society.

Zhou Shoujuan tossed the last page of the manuscript onto the table, walked to the window, looked at the bustling crowd below, and fell into a deep dilemma.

After pondering for a long time, he still couldn't figure out whether to accept the manuscript, so he turned and walked towards the editor-in-chief's office...