trct_43

Chapter 43: The Newspaper Office

The next afternoon, after finishing lunch, Ji Qingzhou tucked the ballot into his pocket, intending to go to the "People's Journal*" office on Wangping Street to pay the rent on the sewing machine, and drop by the "Shanghai Daily" office on the way to cast his vote.

*t/n; Min Bao (民報, mín bào), was a modern political and literary magazine, and the official organ of the Tongmenghui. It was first published in Tokyo, Japan, on November 26, 1905.

Considering that Qiu Wenxin worked at the "Shanghai Daily" office, and that he happened to want to ask him about the matter of the 'unexpected calamity,' before heading out he asked Jie Yu'an whether he wanted to come along to the "Shanghai Daily" office and chat with Brother Xin.

Probably also because he was bored with nothing to do, Jie Yu'an only thought it over briefly before agreeing.

So, thanks to him, Ji Qingzhou got to freeload a ride in a private car, chauffeured there and back.

Wangping Street, located on Fuzhou Road, was the famous street of newspaper offices. Aside from a handful of publications situated elsewhere, everything from the great papers that could be said to give voice to news from China and abroad—"Shanghai News", "Times", and "News Report"—down to the small entertainment 'flower papers' such as "New World", "Great World", and "Sincere Daily", was crowded onto this street of only a few dozen zhang in length.

The "People's Journal", where Old Madam Wu's son worked, was one of them, and the "Shanghai Daily," founded by Qiu Wenxin's father, was also among them.

Though Wangping Street was short, there was no shortage of passing vehicles and pedestrians, and shops lined both sides of the road—it could truly be called bustling.

As Ji Qingzhou looked at the scenery through the car window, he noticed that most of the people who appeared on this street were dressed rather respectably and elegantly. But considering that this place was, after all, the center of the news, it was understandable that those who frequented it were likely either men of letters and talent, or merchants and scholars.

Huang Youshu drove the car slowly along the road, and when they arrived outside the "People's Journal" office, Ji Qingzhou got out alone first, went into the newspaper office, found Old Madam Wu's son, and paid two months' rent on the sewing machine. He then returned to the car, and they continued on to the "Shanghai Daily" office.

The "Shanghai Daily" office was a small three-story Western-style building constructed of brick and stone. The ground floor had only a narrow storefront, where an old tea attendant was employed specifically to receive unimportant visitors and handle the sending and receiving of letters and manuscripts.

Also, because a beauty pageant had recently been launched, the "Shanghai Daily" office, as one of the co-organizing newspapers, had placed a red-lacquered tin ballot box outside its glass doors. Beside it hung a sign specifically stating that voters must purchase a certain newspaper, cut out the ballot, and deposit it into the designated ballot box—otherwise the vote would be invalid, and so on.

Beside the glass door, separated by a wall, there was also an iron gate, behind which a narrow wooden staircase led up to the second floor.

According to the old tea attendant, going up these stairs led directly to the newspaper office's chief editor's room.

"So is Qiu Wenxin upstairs right now?" Ji Qingzhou leaned against the glass door and asked the old tea attendant.

"You've come at just the right time. Mr. Qiu went up just a little while ago," the man replied.

Hearing this, Ji Qingzhou said his thanks, turned and pulled the folded ballot from his trouser pocket, dropped it into the ballot box by the door, then took hold of Jie Yu'an's arm and led him through the passage next door, heading upstairs.

As for A' You, he said he would stay in the car and wait, keeping an eye on it.

The two of them slowly climbed the stairs, and turning right led into an open work area with simple, plain decor.

The room was blanketed in the dim, faint natural light of the afternoon. Several plain desks and chairs were arranged about, and almost every writing desk was piled high with manuscripts, newspapers, and letters. Even the floor was covered with books and periodicals—the whole scene was one of cluttered disorder, with nowhere to put one's feet.

Seeing this, Ji Qingzhou instead felt a sense of familiarity, since the office where he used to work had been just like this—magazines and books piled on and under the desks, drafts plastered all over the walls, the wastebasket perpetually full, never once clean.

There weren't many people in the newspaper office at the moment. Aside from Qiu Wenxin, who sat by the window absorbed in his work, there was only a man in a blue robe and black jacket with an old-fashioned bearing, and a young man in a shirt and Western-style trousers, wearing black-framed tortoiseshell glasses.

Qiu Wenxin had long since heard the footsteps of someone coming upstairs, but he was immersed in proofreading a manuscript, and only looked up after a while. Upon seeing that it was the two of them, he seemed somewhat unable to believe it, and rubbed his eyes especially to check.

Once he had confirmed he hadn't seen wrong, he hastily got up to greet them, saying, "What brings the two of you here so suddenly today? You've given me no warning at all to prepare."

"I happened to have business over this way, so I brought Jie Yuan along to chat with you."

Ji Qingzhou smiled as he replied, then asked, "Are we interrupting your work?"

"Not at all. This happens to be the most idle time of the day."

Having said this, Qiu Wenxin gave a brief introduction to his two colleagues, who were now looking over curiously: "These two are good friends of mine, Jie Yu'an and Ji Qingzhou. Yu'an was injured some time ago and can't see, he's still recovering."

Hearing this, the bespectacled young man rose and came over, his expression quite warm, extending his hand toward Ji Qingzhou and introducing himself in Mandarin with a heavy accent: "Yuan Shaohuai, from Yuhang."

The other man of old-fashioned bearing also nodded toward them: "My humble surname is Ju, Ju Jinqin."

Ji Qingzhou had just shaken hands with the young man named Yuan Shaohuai when, hearing this, he turned at once to look at the man of old-fashioned bearing: "Ju Jinqin? Are you the one who wrote that short commentary in the paper criticizing the new-style qipao?"

Ju Jinqin evidently hadn't expected him to bring this matter up, and his expression stiffened slightly.

As a newspaper editor, he had witnessed no small number of disputes arising from news articles.

If such matters weren't handled well, at best one might end up sued and fined; at worst, it wasn't impossible to be knocked unconscious from behind with a club on the way home late at night.

Thus, having caught a hint of displeasure in Ji Qingzhou's tone, he immediately explained with a strong will to survive: "I myself hold no particular stance on the matter. I wrote that short commentary simply to stir up public attention and discussion, so as to draw more contributors to submit pieces."

"Ah, I see... I was only asking in passing. No need to be nervous," Ji Qingzhou said with a faint smile, letting the matter drop.

"Since friends have come, why don't we all go sit upstairs together? I'm feeling drowsy anyway and can't write anything right now."

Yuan Shaohuai, noticing the tension between them, hurriedly changed the subject with a cheerful smile, then waved a hand toward Ju Jinqin: "Brother Jinqin, shall we go upstairs for a cup of tea and a rest?"

"Let me finish translating this piece first. You all go ahead."

"Well then, let's go. The stairs are old and narrow, mind Mr. Jie, hold onto him..."

The common area upstairs was considerably smaller than the one below—it was said that two rooms had been set aside for staff to live in.

However, the furnishings of this little sitting room were clearly far more comfortable than downstairs—there was a sofa and tea table, desks, chairs, and bookshelves, and a tea attendant assigned specifically to make tea and tidy up. The bookshelves held some leisure reading and newspapers from other presses, and there were even playing cards and mahjong—it was practically a small leisure club.

Qiu Wenxin invited Ji Qingzhou and the others to sit and rest, then took out two silver dollars and handed them to the tea attendant, instructing him: "A' Xu, go to Cailian Zhai and buy some tea snacks and pastries, and also some braised pig's feet and lotus seed soup from the Cantonese restaurant downstairs, six portions."

Since this street was right on Fuzhou Road, the surrounding pastry shops and cooked-food stalls were quite plentiful.

Ji Qingzhou walked over to the dark-wood lattice window and glanced down at the bustling street below, remarking with interest, "This place is quite lively."

"Yes, though the liveliest time of day is still the first light of dawn."

Yuan Shaohuai lifted the teapot and poured a cup of tea for each of them, his tone friendly: "If you came by at that hour, you probably wouldn't even be able to push your way into this street. I live at the office, and right around dawn, looking down from the window, the whole street is thick with figures—men, women, old and young, all newspaper hawkers, several thousand of them probably, all making their living off this trade."

"Now that, I'd really like to see for myself." Ji Qingzhou replied with the corner of his mouth curling up, then walked over to the leather sofa and sat down beside Jie Yu'an.

He then picked up two cups of tea, pressing one of them into Jie Yu'an's hands.

While drinking his tea, he asked, "You have so many chairs here. You must get quite a few visitors, don't you?"

"Ah, all sorts of friends. They come by often whether there's business or not, to chat about things or play a round of mahjong," Yuan Shaohuai replied. "Of Brother Xin's friends, the one who comes by most often is Xiao Luo. That fellow's not bad—witty, humorous, very talkative—but his manners at the table aren't great. He's always sneaking cards and cheating."

Ji Qingzhou couldn't help laughing at this, as if he could already picture Luo Mingxuan's mischievous, furtive expression.

He then glanced at the mahjong set on the cabinet, secretly nudging Jie Yu'an's arm with his elbow, and said regretfully, "Too bad someone here can't see, or the four of us could've made up a table."

Yuan Shaohuai glanced at the silent man beside him, sensing he might not be the easiest person to get along with, and said to Ji Qingzhou with a smile, "Not being able to see is no trouble, he can surely feel out the tiles by touch!"

"If it comes down to feeling tiles, then it depends on having a good memory. Luo Mingxuan would surely be delighted to play with him. He could cheat right out in the open and never get caught."

No sooner had Ji Qingzhou made this joke than he felt the person beside him give his fingers a light pinch.

Hearing this, Qiu Wenxin shook his head and said, mild in tone, "Don't get any ideas about him, he doesn't even know how to play mahjong. He's been especially upright since he was young, and won't touch anything related to gambling."

"So proper, huh? Then I'd better not dare play cards in front of him from now on, for fear he'll report me to the police and have me arrested!" Ji Qingzhou teased, then turned his hand over to grasp the other's palm, scratching lightly at his palm with his thumb.

Jie Yu'an immediately pulled his hand away, saying casually as if nothing had happened, "Didn't you have something to ask Qiu Wenxin?"

Only then did Ji Qingzhou remember his purpose in coming. As Qiu Wenxin's gaze turned toward him, he spoke unhurriedly:

"It's nothing too important. I recently read a memoir written by a well-known figure in his later years, and in it, the author wrote that a good friend of his had died in an 'unexpected calamity.' I assumed it would be something like a car accident, but it turned out he'd drowned while swimming. I felt the wording wasn't quite accurate. Brother Xin, you work with words, do you think this term 'unexpected calamity' was used correctly?"

This was the first time Qiu Wenxin had heard such a nonsensical question, but since it was all idle chat anyway, he didn't think much of it and replied, "Well, natural disasters and man-made misfortunes that happen unexpectedly can both be called unexpected calamities. The author's usage isn't wrong."

"Then if it were you, writing a memoir many years from now to remember the departed, what kind of death for a good friend do you think would truly qualify as an 'unexpected calamity'?"

This question was even stranger. In Jie Yu'an's view, this was nothing like something Ji Qingzhou would normally be curious about, he even sensed that perhaps he was obliquely hinting at something.

He couldn't help turning his head slightly and cutting in: "Why are you asking this?"

"Never mind that." Ji Qingzhou brushed him off, his gaze fixed on the round-faced man of letters before him: "Brother Xin?"

Fortunately, Qiu Wenxin didn't know him well enough to suspect anything, and simply assumed this was just his usual pedantic, overly-precise nature.

Since Ji Qingzhou had asked, he put himself in the situation and thought it over, saying, "If it were me, I wouldn't use such vague terms in a memoir. If it was a car accident, I'd write car accident; if it was some other cause of death, I'd write it out directly—unless it was the sort of case with complicated antecedents and consequences, or something not fit to be examined closely or mentioned."

"Such as?"

"Such as, this friend got caught up in some secret conflict, and being upright and unyielding by nature, refused to back down, and so was murdered by others."

Qiu Wenxin gave this example casually, but when he looked up, he found Ji Qingzhou staring at him with unusually intense focus, without a trace of humor.

He couldn't help being taken aback, wondering if some word of his had touched on a forbidden subject, and laughed lightly to ease the mood: "Of course, there are plenty of other possibilities too. For instance, if this friend had no restraint and went out night after night chasing women, and ended up dying from overexcitement in the act—well, then it wouldn't do to state the cause plainly."

At this, something seemed to occur to Yuan Shaohuai, and he laughed heartily: "Now that's a nasty thing to say, Brother Xin, it's hard not to think of Old Master Zhang!"

Ji Qingzhou suddenly came back to himself, his expression relaxing as he asked, "Who are you two talking about?"

"A senior figure in our newspaper trade," Yuan Shaohuai said, clicking his tongue lightly. "A provincial graduate from the former dynasty, no less, and quite the womanizer. Even at his age, he took a pretty concubine thirty years his junior.

"On his wedding night, no sooner had the banquet ended than he was carried off to the hospital. It made the papers the next day and gave people quite a laugh for a good while. He himself didn't seem to mind at all, and kept right on visiting those disreputable brothels every few days, with not a shred of shame left..."

Hearing this, Ji Qingzhou couldn't help shaking his head too: "Truly, there's no end to the strange things in this world."

Just as they were chatting, the tea attendant who had gone out to buy snacks returned, carrying bags large and small of food.

Coming in together with him was also a sturdily built young man dressed in a Western-style suit.

The moment he stepped through the door, the man made straight for the sofa, and upon seeing the two of them seated there, laughed heartily: "Ran into A' Xu at the door, who said two good-looking guests had come by. I hurried up to take a look, and sure enough, quite the fine specimens!"

Ji Qingzhou looked the man over—he carried a somewhat blunt, straightforward air—and raised an eyebrow slightly: "And you are?"

"I'm Song Youling. Currently a reporter for the 'Shanghai Daily,' and I also run a photo studio on the side," the man introduced himself. "The Yu'er* Photo Studio, right next door. If you two come by to have your picture taken, I won't charge you a thing, just let me keep the negatives for my own collection."

*t/n; Yu'er (魚兒, yú er), fish.

Yu'er Photo Studio—now that was quite the odd name for a photo studio.

Ji Qingzhou mused this to himself, then replied with a smile, "Ji Qingzhou. I currently run a tailor shop on Love Lane. This is my cousin, Jie Yu'an."

Song Youling had just opened his mouth to say something in response when Yuan Shaohuai cut in eagerly: "How'd it go? What did Mr. Ye have to say?"

"How could it possibly go well? He's asking thirty yuan a piece, or he won't take the job."

Song Youling picked a pastry from the snack-laden tea table, munching on it as he sat down in a nearby chair and crossed his legs. "If you ask me, he's not the only one who can draw fashion beauties. I'll go home and discuss it with my sister, she's always poking around at clothes and jewelry when she's got nothing better to do."

Yuan Shaohuai clearly didn't believe this, frowning in doubt: "Your sister can paint?"

"She'll learn well enough with some practice. Anyway, tell Brother Xin to have a word with his father, put the supplement matter on hold for now. Though I'd guess it'll most likely just fizzle out and come to nothing."

Ji Qingzhou, catching the tempting smell of the braised chicken feet on the table and debating whether to grab one and take a bite, pricked up his ears at the mention of fashion illustrations.

After listening for a bit, he cut in to ask, "What's this fashion illustration business you're all talking about?"

"Oh, that. Remember how Old Ju wrote that short commentary criticizing the new-style qipao last time? Turns out it stirred up far more discussion and attention than expected, so Mr. Qiu figured there might be money to be made in this, and thought about launching a supplement off the back of it—something like the Dianshizhai Pictorial*, specifically featuring the latest fashionable clothing illustrations. Tentatively planned to come out once every half-month. He had us go find Mr. Ye Shibai to commission the work."

*t/n; Dianshizhai Pictorial (點石齋畫報, 1884–1898) was a Chinese language magazine published in Shanghai in the late 19th century.

Song Youling had a habit of wanting to befriend anyone good-looking he came across, and figuring that since Ji Qingzhou and his companion weren't in the same trade anyway, there'd be no harm in explaining the gist of things, so he laid it all out quite frankly.

"But who does this Mr. Ye think he is? The big companies pay him eighty yuan a piece for those calendar posters of his. Our little operation might fold at any moment for all we know, and he thinks it's too much trouble, doesn't want to take it on at all."

The more Ji Qingzhou listened, the more his mind began to turn...

The latest, most fashionable clothing illustrations? Published every half-month?

Wasn't this basically an early fashion magazine?

Truly unexpected—that a trip to the newspaper office could turn up such a pleasant surprise. Just when he'd been worrying about having no way to advertise himself, he decided to be shameless about it: "If you don't mind the artist being an unknown newcomer, I happen to have a good recommendation."

"Fame doesn't matter much either way—what matters is that the technique is skillful and lifelike, and that they know their way around current fashionable clothing," Song Youling said expansively. "May I ask who this artist you speak of might be?"

Ji Qingzhou smiled faintly, and raised a hand to point at himself.

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