Chapter 5: Diary

Life at Xinshi School was like rain leaking through the eaves, drop by drop, slowly grinding the once-impulsive Jiang Ruiyuan into something more steady. He no longer thought every day about sneaking out to slack off; though foreign language class still gave him a headache, he gritted his teeth and followed along with a few phrases. In science class, he even earnestly observed the veins on an insect's wing with a magnifying glass. Li Yuxuan watched this and wondered to himself: Was this the magic of Xinshi School? Or had the kid really grown up?

The change began the day Gu Qinglian spoke about revolution.

That afternoon in self-cultivation class, Gu Qinglian didn't use the textbook. Instead, he stood before the blackboard and wrote three large characters with chalk: Sun Zhongshan.

"This Sun Xiansheng Wen," the old man's voice was more impassioned than usual, his eyes behind his glasses gleaming, "is currently traveling overseas, calling on all those with ambition under Heaven to overthrow the imperial system and establish a republic!" He said, "All under Heaven is the people's domain, not one man's domain!"

The classroom was dead silent; even the most mischievous students held their breath. The four words "overthrow the imperial system" were no less than a thunderclap at that time, making ears ring.

Gu Qinglian then spoke of several uprisings by the Sun Zhongshan Organization, of Yangcheng, of Huizhou, of the young people who had shed blood and laid down their lives for the two words "republic." The more he spoke, the more excited he became. He picked up chalk and heavily wrote on the blackboard the sixteen characters: "Expel the Barbarians, Restore China, Establish the Republic, Equalize Land Rights." Chalk dust fell in a shower, like scattering a solemn offering.

Jiang Ruiyuan sat in the back row, his fingers unconsciously picking at the desktop, but his gaze was unusually focused. Li Yuxuan stole a glance at him and saw his lips pressed tight, the unruly light in his eyes seemingly ignited by something, burning even fiercer.

When the bell rang for the end of class, Gu Qinglian closed his book and said something everyone remembered for the rest of their lives: "All of you were born into this chaotic age—it is both misfortune and fortune. Misfortune lies in displacement; fortune lies in being able to personally rewrite this world. I hope that no matter which path you take in the future, you will never forget the word 'republic' you heard today."

That evening, back at their lodgings (Wang Caiyu had specially rented a small courtyard in the county town so the two could live closer), Jiang Ruiyuan didn't go straight to sleep as usual. Instead, he found a brand-new blue cloth notebook and sat by the oil lamp, writing and drawing.

Li Yuxuan came in carrying a basin of foot-washing water and was startled to see him like this: "Hey, Young Master, you're writing a diary now?"

Jiang Ruiyuan didn't even lift his head; the pen tip rustled across the paper: "Yuxuan, you just don't get it. I'm writing this for self-reflection and emotional release. You see, during the day when Gu Xiansheng talked about Sun Xiansheng Wen's affairs, I felt all choked up inside. Writing it down makes me feel much better." He paused, looked up at Li Yuxuan, "You should write more too, record what's on your mind. It might help you figure out a lot of things."

"Alright, Young Master." Li Yuxuan replied verbally, but inwardly he rolled his eyes hard.

Damn, no wonder this guy was later mockingly called the Diary Demon, Chang Kaishen—this hobby started early enough. He couldn't help but grumble inwardly: "What decent person keeps a diary? Who actually writes their true thoughts in a diary? Can what's written down even be called true thoughts? Probably just writes the nice-sounding stuff."

He leaned in to see what was written, but Jiang Ruiyuan quickly closed the notebook, looking at him warily: "Reading someone else's diary is the act of a petty person."

"Who'd want to see that?" Li Yuxuan curled his lip, set down the washbasin, "I'm just curious—why were you so absorbed listening to Gu Xiansheng talk about revolution today?"

Jiang Ruiyuan reopened the notebook, the pen tip hovering over the paper, his gaze drifting toward the night sky outside the window: "Gu Xiansheng said that Sun Xiansheng Wen is recruiting troops overseas, planning to fight back and overthrow the Imperial Court. Tell me, how bold must a man be to do that?"

"No kidding—if he gets caught, it's death by a thousand cuts." Li Yuxuan clicked his tongue.

"But he dares to do it." Jiang Ruiyuan's voice dropped a little. "When my father was alive, he always said our Jiang Family were merchants, that we should just mind our business and not get involved in officialdom. But Gu Xiansheng says if this world goes bad, no matter how big your family business is, how long can you hold on to it?"

He picked up his pen and slowly wrote on the paper, muttering to himself: "The name of Sun Xiansheng Wen was also heard through matters discussed between Gu Xiansheng and Yuxuan... thus my heart yearns for it, urgently desiring to meet him at once..."

Li Yuxuan's heart stirred upon hearing this. So the diary mentioned him too? He didn't press further and silently withdrew. Standing in the courtyard, looking at the moon in the sky, he suddenly felt that this Young Master beside him really had changed from before.

From that day on, Jiang Ruiyuan's diary never stopped. Sometimes he wrote about classroom matters, sometimes he cursed the foreign language teacher for being too strict, and sometimes he copied down revolutionary principles Gu Qinglian had spoken of. He even started urging Li Yuxuan to keep a diary, and when Li Yuxuan ignored him, he shoved his own diary at him to read.

Unable to refuse, Li Yuxuan flipped through a few pages and found the guy's writing was actually quite honest—for example: "Didn't understand arithmetic class again today; Yuxuan secretly passed me the answers, the teacher didn't notice, very good," and another: "Mr. Qinglian spoke of the French Revolution, the guillotine chopping off the king's head—sounds terrifying, but feels satisfying."

Reading on, he couldn't help but feel a bit moved. Maybe keeping a diary wasn't a bad thing; at least it helped a person sort out their tangled thoughts. The young people of this era had too much on their minds—confusion about the future, dissatisfaction with the present, and that spark of revolution Gu Qinglian had ignited.

After class one day, Gu Qinglian called Jiang Ruiyuan and Li Yuxuan over and handed them a mimeographed pamphlet with the words "Minbao Newspaper Newspaper Newspaper" printed on the cover. "This is a newspaper Sun Xiansheng runs in Tokyo. Take it and read it, but don't let anyone else know."

The two tucked the pamphlet into their clothes and returned to their lodgings, closing the door to read it in secret. The articles were even more radical than what Gu Qinglian had said, every line filled with revolution, uprising, and civil rights—it made one's blood boil.

Jiang Ruiyuan read while writing in his diary: "Reading the Minbao Newspaper Newspaper Newspaper is like hearing war drums. Sun Xiansheng speaks of the Three Principles of the People; these words must be kept in my heart."

Li Yuxuan looked at his earnest profile and suddenly felt that no matter whether this was a parallel world, no matter what the person before him would become in the future, at this moment, the fire in his heart was real. And he himself, this observer from the future, seemed to be singed by that fire too, his heart itching, wanting to do something.

"Young Master," he suddenly spoke, "do you think we'll ever get to meet Sun Xiansheng in person?"

Jiang Ruiyuan put down his pen, his eyes blazing brightly: "We will." He pointed at the words in his diary, "One day, I'll tell him myself—I, Jiang Ruiyuan, want to join his revolution too."

The oil lamp's light danced on his face, casting his shadow on the wall, flickering bright and dim, just like the vague yet burning ideals sprouting in countless young people's hearts during this turbulent era.

Li Yuxuan said nothing more. He silently picked up the blank notebook Jiang Ruiyuan had shoved at him and thought about trying to write something too. Maybe some thoughts really should be recorded. For instance, he was beginning to understand why history would choose a man so fond of keeping a diary—because the fire in his heart had never gone out.