Late at night, inside the offices of The Times, editor-in-chief Collins set aside his work and stretched wearily. There was no helping it. In order to ensure timely news, overtime was simply part of the newspaper industry. By the time all the news collected from various places was compiled, typeset, and proofread, it was already deep into the night. Once it was printed overnight, it would almost be morning. Generally speaking, the time editors finished their shifts was about the same time ordinary people started theirs. Collins had worked his way through the industry for over a decade, climbing from an entry-level proofreader to a newspaper editor-in-chief. Time showed no mercy. Years of working irregular hours had firmly earned Collins a place among the ranks of the balding community. More importantly, his body had started struggling to keep up. After just two or three hours of work, he already felt exhausted. He brewed himself a strong cup of coffee and was just about to enjoy it when a familiar voice rang out. “Mr. Collins, we’ve just received a major piece of news.” Looking at the young man’s beaming face, Collins felt as if he were seeing a reflection of his younger self, full of youthful energy. “Go ahead, Rodman. What have you got this time?” To be honest, Collins did not like receiving big news at this hour. Today’s layout work had already been completed, and they were in the final round of proofreading, about to send it off for printing. Getting major news at this moment meant that all the previous work was wasted and everything would have to be scrapped and redone. The Times was already the top newspaper in Britain. Increasing circulation was extremely difficult unless the news was truly extraordinary. Otherwise, it was hard to boost sales. Everyone’s income was tied to the newspaper’s circulation. If the new report could not increase sales, no one’s pay would rise just because they received breaking news. Rodman said excitedly, “There’s big news from Central Asia. Our diplomatic mission to Afghanistan was attacked by locals. Three staff members, including Ambassador Walters, were killed, and two others were injured.” Hearing this, Collins’s expression changed dramatically. This was not just any news. It could even spark a war. Collins hurriedly asked, “Where did this information come from? Has it been verified?” The Times was not a tabloid that could print anything. For political news like this, it had to be verified to avoid damaging the paper’s credibility. Rodman confidently replied, “Don’t worry, Mr. Collins. The information came from the telegraph office. Just now, Foreign Secretary Sir George rushed to the Prime Minister’s residence, and the news matches up perfectly.” The Times did not become the leader of the newspaper industry without reason. When it came to gathering intelligence, it was absolutely top tier in the field. Although they had not gone so far as to eavesdrop on cabinet meetings, the movements of high-ranking government officials were already well within their grasp. The telegraph office, a battleground for all major news outlets, had long been infiltrated by them. Unless it was highly classified information, most news was no secret to them at all. Without any hesitation, Collins decisively ordered, “Everyone stop what you’re doing. Tomorrow morning’s paper needs to be completely redesigned.” He paused and glanced at the clock. It was already 3:30 a.m. By now, it was too late to overhaul the entire layout. Collins quickly changed his mind and said, “Forget it, we won’t redesign the whole issue. We’ll create a special edition just for this story. Let’s divide up the tasks right now. Tom, you’re in charge of writing Walters’s biography. Feel free to polish it up a bit. Allen, you’ll write about the assassination itself. Make sure to add some emotional weight to it.
Michael, you’ll cover the angle on international relations…” As editor-in-chief, Collins held significant authority. This was closely tied to the Times’s readership, which primarily consisted of socially influential elites who closely followed current affairs. These readers generally had deep pockets. They didn’t mind subscribing to an extra newspaper; what they cared more about was the reading experience and whether the news content captured their interest. In this regard, The Times performed exceptionally well. They were not the only ones to receive news of Walters’s assassination. If they simply offered a basic report, there would be no way to stand out from the many competitors. Having worked in the industry for years, Collins understood this perfectly. That was why he suddenly decided to produce a special edition focused solely on this event. After all, readers loved nothing more than the inside stories behind such incidents. ... Every trade has its own ways. Just as major newspapers could get information directly from the telegraph office, smaller papers had their own channels for gathering news. In a narrow alley, the British Empire Times had also received the information. However, Endri, the editor-in-chief there, did not have the luxury of verifying its authenticity. Looking at the articles his staff had submitted, Endri immediately rejected them and said, “Scrap everything from the front section. Let’s all push harder and produce as much content as we can. Remember our core principle. We have to emphasize originality, and the content must have some impact.” A young man hesitated and said, “But Chief, we only know that Walters was assassinated. We have no details about how it happened.” The speaker was Cairn, an intern. In order to lower operational costs, the British Empire Times had a strong preference for hiring newcomers. Naturally, since they were newcomers, various problems came with them. Because of the low pay, most of them typically quit after only a few months. But that was hardly the main issue. For a street tabloid like the British Empire Times, simply surviving for a few more months was already a question mark. Endri, the owner and editor-in-chief, furrowed his brow. Knowing this was not the time to lose his temper, he patiently explained, “If you don’t know the details, then make them up! Don’t forget, your job title is editor. The core of your job lies in the word ‘edit’. If everything were already clear, why would we need you? Use exaggeration. Focus on depicting the bravery of our fallen hero, how he would rather die than betray Britain’s interests. Highlight the cruelty and wickedness of the enemy…” The truth? What is that, can you eat it? For a second-rate newspaper with no reputation like the British Empire Times, grabbing the public’s attention and boosting sales was the top priority. Reputation and credibility… Those were luxuries in the news business that they could not afford to dream of. “Knock knock knock…” A knock on the door interrupted everyone’s work. Endri frowned again, and as the newest recruit, Cairn was the first to stand up and open the door. “Sir, it’s late. Who are you looking for?” The man in the gray coat spoke slowly, “Is Mr. Endri here? I have a business matter to discuss with him.” Hearing that business had come to his door, any irritation Endri felt at being interrupted instantly vanished. For a street tabloid like the British Empire Times, there wasn’t much advertising revenue. The paper survived entirely on the slim profits from newspaper sales. The biggest source of extra income came from shady deals like this. As far as Endri was concerned, as long as someone was willing to pay, there was no news he wouldn’t dare to print. This was evident from the fact that he had switched the paper’s name several times already. Today it was the British Empire Times, tomorrow it could be the English Empire Times, and the day after that it could be something else entirely… He quickly responded, “I’m here!” Before the words had even fully left his mouth, Endri was already walking up with a broad smile. “Old friend, long time no see. Please, come in.” “Cairn, make us two cups of the best coffee.” … The two had only worked together before. There was no real friendship between them. In fact, Endri didn’t even know the gray-coated man’s name. But that didn’t affect their cooperation. Endri had always prided himself on upholding the “bottom line of a newspaperman.” Hee only cared about money and never asked about his client’s identity. This was also the reason why, after years of publishing all kinds of sensitive news, he had never been silenced. The man in the gray coat took out a piece of writing along with a check and handed them over, saying slowly, “Publish the contents on this as soon as possible. These fifty pounds will be yours.” Endri didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he carefully read through the material. Every industry has its own rules, and street tabloids were no exception. Publishing different kinds of news came with different prices. Generally speaking, the more sensitive the content, the higher the price, though naturally, the higher the risk as well. On the other hand, ordinary content was much like advertising. For a street tabloid like the British Empire Times, which only had a circulation of a few thousand copies, advertising space wasn’t worth much. After a brief moment, Endri frowned and responded, “The content isn’t too sensitive, so it can be published. But the headline is a bit too much, don’t you think? ‘Prelude to a Russian Invasion of India’? Sir, this is just an assassination case, with no concrete evidence whatsoever, and you’re stretching it that far. That’s a little excessive. If we publish it like this, it’ll damage the reputation of our paper. We need to revise it and make it something like ‘Beware of a Russian Invasion of India’ or ‘The Russian Conspiracy’. The result will be the same anyway. Suspicion for Walters’s assassination will still be directed at the Russians.” Endri’s suggestion was ignored by the man in gray, who simply replied coldly, “Fifty-five pounds.” Endri felt quite annoyed at the man’s indifferent attitude, but faced with a paying customer, he really couldn’t afford to act proud. In these times, the purchasing power of the pound was extremely strong. One pound could buy 100 pounds of rye bread (about 45 kilograms) in London. Fifty-five pounds was equivalent to nearly two months’ profit for Endry’s newspaper. That was more than enough to make him lower his standards. After hesitating for a moment, Endri tried to negotiate, “Sixty pounds. I have to be responsible for the paper.” The man in gray gave a slight smile and readily pulled out an additional ten pounds, handing it over. Without waiting for Endri to say anything further, he turned and left directly.
***
https://postimg.cc/gallery/PwXsBkC (Maps of the current territories of the countries in this novel made by ScH)
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