Chapter 327: Bang Bang Bang—gunshots And A Man Falls
The funeral began in Memphis, where Martin Luther King fought his final battle.
He came to support the striking sanitation workers, those black laborers holding signs in the cold wind: “I am a man!”
Martin Luther King’s speech “I’ve Been to the Mountaintop” still echoed in people’s ears; he prophesied his own end but did not expect it to come so swiftly.
His final speech before death, “I’ve Been to the Mountaintop,” ended with him saying:
“.I have seen the promised land! I may not get there with you, but I want you to know tonight that we as a people will get to the promised land! So I’m happy tonight! I’m not worried about anything! I’m not fearing any man! Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord!”
The promised land is also considered heaven; Martin Luther King went to heaven ahead of his followers.
Martin Luther King’s body was transported to R.S. Lewis Funeral Home, a black-operated funeral home located in the center of Memphis’s black community, surrounded by dilapidated wooden houses and narrow streets.
The funeral home’s living room was temporarily arranged as a memorial hall, with his photos on the walls: standing in front of the Washington Lincoln Memorial, raising his arm high, with an ocean of 250,000 people behind him, and White House rename slogans everywhere.
Coretta Scott King, Martin Luther King’s widow, was the first to arrive.
Their four children: 12-year-old Yolanda, 10-year-old Martin III, 8-year-old Dexter, and 5-year-old Bernice clung tightly to her side.
Ralph Abernathy, as the host, spoke with a priest’s firmness: “Martin did not leave us; he just went to another battlefield to continue fighting for justice.”
The memorial service in Tennessee was private, attended only by family and closest friends.
Family members took turns coming forward; some gently touched his cheek, others kissed his lips.
Andrew Young recalled Martin Luther King’s smile during the Montgomery bus boycott and prayed softly: “Lord, give us strength to continue his path.”
The ceremony lasted less than an hour.
Abernathy led everyone in singing the hymn “We Shall Overcome,” the voices low and powerful, echoing in the small room.
Outside, hundreds gathered on Memphis streets, holding candles in silent vigil.
Police and the National Guard were on high alert to prevent riots from spreading.
President Lyndon Johnson ordered a national day of mourning from the White House, with federal buildings flying flags at half-staff.
After the memorial service, the casket was carefully carried out and placed in the hearse.
Under police escort, the procession slowly headed to Memphis Airport. The plane took off in the afternoon, carrying King’s body to Atlanta.
Atlanta received King’s body on April 6.
The city was shrouded in mourning; streets were plastered with King’s portraits, slogans reading: “King is dead, long live King!”
The body was transported to Spelman College’s sister church, Coretta’s alma mater, for public viewing.
Thousands lined up from dawn to midnight.
The viewing lasted two days, with Atlanta police maintaining order to avoid any disturbances.
Georgia Governor Lester Maddox publicly opposed it, calling Martin Luther King a “national enemy,” refusing a state funeral, and even unwilling to fly flags at half-staff.
But federal orders forced him to yield; the flags at the state parliament building eventually hung low.
April 9, the official funeral day, arrived.
The sky was overcast, with light rain falling intermittently, as if heaven itself was weeping.
Lyndon Johnson and Lin Ran arrived in Atlanta on the presidential special plane, heading straight to the church under the official motorcade’s lead.
In the original spacetime, Lyndon Johnson was overwhelmed by the Vietnam War, with plummeting popularity, and had already announced he would not run, so he simply did not go.
Vice President Robert Humphrey, who ran in his place, went to the funeral site.
Now, with Lyndon Johnson’s polls rebounding and confidence restored, it was his turn to attend the funeral, while Robert Humphrey did not go.
The funeral was at 10:30 a.m. at Ebenezer Baptist Church.
The church, built in the late 19th century, had red brick walls that witnessed three generations of the Martin Luther King family preaching there.
Mourners arrived early, about 1,300 filling the seats.
Coretta sat in the front row, with the children beside her.
Lin Ran and Jenny wore black suits with white armbands, appearing formal and solemn.
“My condolences!” Lin Ran said in Chinese to Martin Luther King’s widow Coretta Scott King.
Baidu Encyclopedia claims he had a so-called lover Lucy, which is completely made up.
His confirmed extramarital affairs were two: one with Southern Christian Leadership Conference employee Dorothy Cotton, confirmed in his close friend Ralph Abernathy’s autobiography, and the other with Kentucky Senator Georgia Davis Powers, who admitted her relationship with Martin Luther King in her memoir.
The photo of Lucy on Baidu Encyclopedia is even of Martin Luther King’s wife Coretta Scott King.
After Lin Ran spoke, he explained the meaning of those four words in English.
“Professor, thank you for coming. The thinker Gold admired most in life was you; he always admired you greatly. Having you speak at his funeral is also his final wish.” Coretta’s expression was unprecedentedly sorrowful.
Indeed admirable; coming up with a slogan like renaming the White House—in this spacetime, Martin Luther King’s rallying power and influence were more than one level higher than in the original spacetime.
If Hoover weren’t Moscow’s man, Martin Luther King would have been assassinated long ago.
Only Hoover restrained himself, and under the balance, Martin Luther King was gunned down at the originally scheduled time.
Lin Ran nodded: “Though we rarely interacted, we are both minority ethnic groups, striving for legitimate rights for minority ethnic groups, and our feelings of speaking out for minority ethnic groups are the same.”
Lin Ran then circled the casket once, while Jenny stood by Coretta, comforting her softly.
Ralph Abernathy hosted the ceremony.
Standing at the podium, his voice thundered: “Dear brothers and sisters, today is one of the darkest moments in human history.
Martin Luther King was not an ordinary person; he was a prophet sent by God, fighting hate with love, challenging injustice with nonviolence.”
Abernathy’s sermon lasted 20 minutes, recounting Martin Luther King’s life: from the Montgomery bus boycott, to the Birmingham jail ordeal, to the glory of the Nobel Peace Prize.
He emphasized Martin Luther King’s legacy: “Martin taught us that darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.”
The audience nodded, many wiping tears.
Lin Ran looked serious; getting him to cry was impossible—he simply did not believe in religion, with its constant talk of God’s messengers, which could not convince a scientist shaped by China’s extreme materialism.
Jenny, however, was in tears; she still believed in it.
In Lin Ran’s view, Jenny was a typical early white liberal, full of compassion, never experienced setbacks, with life too smooth.
Next, at Coretta’s request, a recording of King himself was played.
It was from February 4, 1968, a sermon in the same church titled “The Drum Major Instinct.”
The recorder started, and Martin Luther King’s voice rang out: “If you want to say anything at my funeral, don’t mention that I received the Nobel Peace Prize—that’s not the point.
Don’t mention the schools I attended or the degrees I received… but say that Martin Luther King tried to give his life serving others.
Say that he tried to love somebody.
Say that he tried to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, visit those in prison.
Say that he tried to make the world better because he believed it was God’s will.”
The recording echoed through the church.
Coretta closed her eyes, tears sliding down.
In the original spacetime, the FBI sent Coretta tapes of Martin Luther King’s affairs to destroy their relationship.
In this spacetime, Hoover had no time to bother with Martin Luther King, so Coretta knew little of his private life, at most some guesses, which meant nothing in the face of death.
Thus, to Coretta, Martin Luther King was a saint.
The children listened to their father’s voice; Bernice whispered, “Is that Daddy?” Dexter nodded: “Yes, he’s still speaking.”
Lyndon Johnson applauded, then whispered to his secretary beside him: “We have lost a great civil rights leader; we must find the killer!”
After the recording, Abernathy led the prayer: “Lord, grant Martin eternal rest; let his spirit live on.”
Everyone said amen in unison.
The hymn “Amazing Grace” began, the soprano’s voice like heavenly music; when it reached “the blind receive sight, prisoners are released,” the whole audience choked up.
At the ceremony’s end, low chants came from outside the church; tens of thousands listened via speakers, and millions nationwide mourned in front of televisions.
After the funeral, the casket was carried out of the church by six pallbearers.
The casket was placed on a simple wooden farm wagon pulled by two mules—Belle and Ada, black field mules, symbolizing Martin Luther King’s promise to laborers.
The farm wagon was wooden, without ornate carvings, only a few wildflowers as decoration.
The idea came from Coretta; she said: “Martin always spoke for the poor; let his final journey be as simple as theirs.”
The procession started from Ebenezer Church, proceeding along Auburn Avenue.
Streets were lined with Atlanta’s old buildings, oak leaves hanging low, rain dripping from them.
Leading were Abernathy and Coretta’s family, walking slowly.
Behind were guests from Washington, including Lyndon Johnson, Jacqueline Kennedy, Robert Kennedy, and others.
Fred, Nixon, and such would not invite trouble, especially Fred; if he dared come, he might face life-threatening danger even before Lin Ran.
He had often called Martin Luther King a hypocrite on camera.
The procession route was about 3.5 miles, from the church passing the Georgia state parliament building, the power center that once rejected Martin Luther King’s calls for equality.
In front of the parliament building, flags hung low, guards filling the entrance.
As the procession passed, a group of white protesters shouted but were isolated by police.
The procession moved forward, with song bursts now and then.
“We Shall Overcome” rang out: “We shall overcome, we shall overcome someday.”
In the crowd, an old black worker named George, who had been attacked by police dogs in Birmingham, whispered to a young person beside him: “I saw Martin Luther King walk on the bridge; we were afraid then, but today, we are no longer afraid!”
The young person nodded, and the procession continued.
Along the roadside, 100,000 spectators watched; some tossed flowers, others shouted Martin Luther King’s name.
The procession lasted hours, the line winding like a dragon.
In the afternoon, the procession reached Morehouse College.
It was Martin Luther King’s alma mater, cradle of black elites.
Lin Ran’s speech was scheduled there, as the grand finale of Martin Luther King’s funeral.
The public memorial was held in an open square, thousands gathered, mostly black, few whites, Lin Ran the only Chinese descent person.
Cameras below the stage aimed at the podium; the images here would be broadcast via television stations across America.
America’s three major public television stations were broadcasting this scene.
Benjamin Mays, the college president, stepped to the temporary podium.
He was Martin Luther King’s mentor: “Brothers and sisters, Martin Luther King’s life was a sacrifice.
If death must come, I believe no better cause than dying for fair wages for Memphis sanitation workers.
He was not for glory.
He did not fight for medals; he fought for human dignity.”
Mays’s eulogy lasted 25 minutes, recalling King’s student days: as a Morehouse College graduate, how Martin Luther King drew strength from philosophy and theology.
Finally, he quoted Martin Luther King: “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”
The audience applauded, many standing and waving.
Next, Coretta took the podium: “Next, let us welcome Randolph Lin for the final eulogy for King; this is also King’s will. He saw the professor as his mentor, who pointed the way for his pursuit of racial equality and racial liberation.”
Lin Ran took the podium and tapped the microphone.
Polite applause rose from below.
The blacks present all knew who Lin Ran was; they had studied his theory of systemic oppression in church, though they did not consider the professor one of their own.
You want blacks to see a mathematics master in aerospace as one of their own—that’s too difficult; proposing a theory of systemic oppression isn’t enough.
It’s like wanting Chinese people to accept a black rapper as their spiritual leader, no matter how profound his “entryism” theory resonating with Chinese Internet netizens.
What you say is interesting and reasonable, but as a black rapper, you can never be one of us.
A mathematics master’s identity is heretical among blacks 60 years later; now? It’s more than heretical.
Petrov, as a security team member, stood closest to Lin Ran, looking up at him from below, ready to sacrifice.
One life for one life, exchanging for a figure like the professor—too worthwhile!
Swap for anyone else, and Petrov would hesitate half a day.
Lin Ran waited for the applause to subside, glancing at Petrov.
He had already sensed danger; he knew every face in the security team.
Petrov had disguised his appearance with makeup and a helmet to match previous security personnel.
Such changes could fool others but not Lin Ran.
Following the identity swap, Lin Ran noticed Petrov constantly observing—himself, surroundings, hand always on his pistol.
Security personnel with hands on pistols is normal, but always on the pistol is not.
At this moment, Lin Ran was highly alert, not just to Petrov but to any possible attack.
As for who? Need it be asked—the most anxious about the Star Wars Program is the Soviet Union?
The Soviet Union so anxious that, through diplomatic channels, Kosygin wanted to meet him in Geneva again.
“Ladies and gentlemen, family, friends, and fellow citizens watching the live broadcast on television.
We gather today in this sacred place, Ebenezer Baptist Church, to bid farewell to a giant, Dr. Martin Luther King.
His life was a beacon of hope, an unrelenting pursuit of justice, a testament to the power of nonviolence.
As NASA Director, I stand here not only representing our nation’s space program but also as a fellow traveler on the road to a better world.
Earlier, Dr. King’s widow, Mrs. King, said Dr. King saw me as a mentor. I dare not claim that title; we met rarely. He had his pursuits, I my ideals.
But we resonated deeply in spirit; we helped this country improve in our own ways. I am yellow-skinned, he black; we were both minority ethnic groups long discriminated against in this country.
History had Jim Crow laws and voting restrictions targeting blacks, and similarly the Chinese Exclusion Act targeting Chinese descent people, but neither I nor Dr. King fell to such discrimination; we opposed it.
We opposed discrimination with action, striving for rightful interests for our races; our contributions to the nation are consistent!”
Lin Ran, who just completed the reusable rocket, saying on site that Martin Luther King and he made consistent contributions to America, truly moved the blacks below; this applause was much more sincere.
Conservative whites in front of televisions were displeased; big T watched the live broadcast in Fred’s luxury villa with his dad, complaining: “When did King’s and the professor’s contributions become equal?
Doesn’t he just talk, saying we are black so give us welfare, raise our salaries?
Why? Because ancestors suffered unfair treatment, so current blacks did too—what kind of logic is that?
Forget reusable rockets; can blacks even build a car engine together?”
Fred was much calmer; he still wanted black votes: “Hey, how can you say that? Blacks are people too! Why can’t they build engines?
Under white leadership, blacks can build engines too.”
Lyndon Johnson sat below, inwardly envious; Lin Ran’s life was perfect except he couldn’t be president.
And not being able to now didn’t mean not in the future.
Lyndon Johnson was also dissatisfied with Martin Luther King; I pushed the Civil Rights Act through—why not thank me, let me speak at your funeral?
If he could speak a few words at Martin Luther King’s funeral, it would have a very strong effect on his campaign and winning black and minority ethnic group voters.
Lyndon Johnson felt blacks were ungrateful; the professor just gave suggestions, but I truly fought for your interests.
Lin Ran continued: “Dr. King’s dream was not limited to blacks; he pursued liberation for all humanity—blacks, Chinese descent, Latinos, etc. We are one; we walk the path to equality in our own ways!”
Must bundle; little yellow people striving for status in America—how without bundling with old blacks?
Later Chinese descent people rode old blacks’ coattails, enjoying rights old blacks fought for without resistance.
“In this turbulent era, when our cities are devoured by flames of unrest, our hearts aching with loss, we must remember Dr. King’s words at the Lincoln Memorial steps: ‘I have a dream.’
That dream is a nation where character, not skin color, defines us—a land of equality where every child can realize full potential.
At NASA, we too chase dreams.
The Apollo Program stemmed from President Kennedy’s bold vision, humanity’s greatest leap into the unknown.
Our astronauts, brave souls like Buzz Aldrin and Neil Armstrong, walked the lunar surface, proving the once impossible becomes reality through unity and determination.
But let us connect these dreams.
Dr. King fought for a world without barriers, where black and white, rich and poor stand shoulder to shoulder.
Similarly, in space, no boundaries, no race—only humanity, looking back at our fragile blue planet, with no distinctions.
We are all Earthlings.
From the Moon, Earth is clearly an indivisible whole, a marble ball floating in the void, reminding us we are all passengers on the same spaceship.
The Apollo missions symbolize this unity: engineers from various backgrounds, scientists of diverse origins working side by side for extraordinary achievement—we too have black engineers, black scientists.
Just as Dr. King marched from Selma to Montgomery, bridging divides with peaceful steps, our rockets bridge the gap between Earth and Moon.
Dr. King challenged us to solve domestic poverty, war, and inequality.
While mourning him, let his passing propel us forward—not just moon landing, but justice landing on this land.
We must ensure every American can fairly pursue the American Dream.
Dr. King said: ‘The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.’
Today, as we lay him to rest, let us bend that arc further.
Let us honor him by continuing the fight: for civil rights, for peace, for justice.
May future Apollo crews, gazing at Earth from the Moon, see a nation healing, uniting, soaring together to the stars.
Rest in peace, Dr. King.
Your dream lives on.
Thank you.”
Lin Ran raised his fist to the sky, waving it forcefully three times; the speech ended.
Thunderous applause erupted below; as the final segment, the on-site audience clapped extra hard.
Starting with Lyndon Johnson, he stood first to applaud, then White House senior officials beside him stood and clapped, Coretta Scott King stood, his close friends stood, the crowd like a reverse domino from front to back, all rising in applause.
This applause was both for Lin Ran’s brilliant speech and for Martin Luther King’s passing.
But simultaneously, an untimely gunshot shattered the silence.
A security personnel less than ten meters from Lin Ran suddenly turned, drew his gun, and fired in one fluid motion.
Bang bang bang, shots rang out continuously; Lin Ran fell, the shooter was subdued, chaos unprecedented on site.
Lyndon Johnson lost his thinking ability—no, Martin Luther King died, the professor looks bad too; should I run for president or not?
Jenny rushed to the front but tripped due to her shoes; even so, she reached Lin Ran first, shouting as she ran:
“Call an ambulance!”
In front of the television, Fred and big T were stunned, looking at each other.
Big T murmured: “The professor won’t be in trouble, will he?”
Fred said: “We need to find out which hospital the professor is being treated at; we must go immediately.”
At the instant of Lin Ran’s assassination attempt, ratings soared; nearly all America watched the live television broadcast.
As Fred and big T spoke, they saw on television Lin Ran stand up again.
Lin Ran rose, first saying to Jenny: “Jenny, I’m fine, I’m fine!”
Then security personnel all rushed up, surrounding him tightly.
At this point, White House officials also rushed up, eyes fixed on the security personnel, fearing another assassin.
Lin Ran insisted on standing at the microphone, saying loudly:
“Fight! Fight! Fight!”
After three “fight”s, Lin Ran, escorted by security personnel with White House senior officials behind, boarded Air Force One to Washington first.
The on-site black crowd parted, raising hands above heads to show no guns, no assassination intent.
The live broadcast camera faithfully recorded this scene.
“.When the professor, surrounded by the crowd, walked through the black throng, blacks spontaneously parted, raising hands high, seeing the professor off—this reminded me of Moses parting the sea. Back then, Moses led the enslaved Israelites from ancient Egypt to the fertile land of Canaan, just like this, and the professor, like Moses, leads us to the universe.”
An on-site reporter jotted down this moment in pen, writing thus in his notebook.
While Lin Ran was still on the Air Force One special plane, repeatedly confirmed uninjured by the accompanying doctor, all American television stations replayed the video clip of his final assassination attempt.
