Chapter 15: Zheng Fei, You Scoundrel (Second Update)

Time passed quickly.

In the blink of an eye, it was Sunday—the day Haitang and Zheng Fei had agreed to meet. In the 1980s, people worked six days a week, and students had classes six days as well; only Sundays were days off.

The Bund was already teeming with people early in the morning, filled with those out for their morning exercise.

Zheng Fei arrived at the Bund early to wait, though he felt quite uncertain inside. What if Haitang didn’t show up? That would be awkward. And Qiusheng would have suffered his father’s scolding for nothing.

An elderly lady practicing Tai Chi smiled and said, “Young man, no portraits today?”

“Taking a break today.”

“That’s right. I heard that in the West, capitalism never lets people rest, treating them like beasts of burden.”

Zheng Fei forced a smile, unsure how to respond, and simply nodded, “Yes, yes, that’s right.”

Without a watch, he glanced at the large clock atop the Customs House nearby. It was already 8 a.m., yet Haitang’s figure was nowhere in sight.

Growing irritated, he bought a copy of the Xinmin Evening News for ten cents at a newsstand and sat down on a bench to read.

Though Zheng Fei appeared calm and collected, inside he was panicking, cursing under his breath.

“Wicked woman, wicked woman...”

Just then, a clear voice sounded beside him.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.”

Zheng Fei looked up and smiled politely, adopting a gentlemanly demeanor. “No, I just arrived myself.”

“This is the camera I promised to lend you. Oh, and let me properly introduce myself again—I’m Haitang, like the begonia flower.”

“I’m Zheng Fei.”

“Quite the unique name, Zheng Fei. Very pleased to meet you.”

Taking the camera, Zheng Fei was slightly surprised by the girl before him. It was clear Haitang had dressed carefully today—wearing a hat and a white long dress made of a fabric he couldn’t quite place, but it certainly wasn’t cheap.

Her hair was tied with a white polka-dot bow, and she wore a pair of pink leather shoes.

In an era when most people wore work clothes dominated by black, white, and blue, her outfit drew many curious glances from passersby.

To dress like this at this time meant not only wealth but likely power. The thought made Zheng Fei smile quietly.

It seemed the golden phoenixes of this age often descended to the mortal world; Zhulín from the north, for example, married a construction worker, and Dong Ge, a boy from a poor background, married a leader’s daughter.

After receiving the camera, Zheng Fei boarded a trolleybus without delay, heading to Jing’an Temple. This girl was only free on Sundays, so he had to capture enough temple mural material before nightfall.

But upon arriving at Jing’an Temple, Zheng Fei froze. The entire temple was cordoned off, the gates closed, and from outside it looked as if it had been burned.

“Burned down?” Zheng Fei asked, unable to hide his shock.

Haitang looked at him puzzled. “You don’t know?”

Zheng Fei shook his head. “I rarely come this way.”

She explained, “It’s been gone for over ten years. Later, the Shanghai Radio Factory Number 21 used it as a warehouse. I remember a big fire in my childhood completely destroyed it.”

She pointed to the middle of the road.

“There used to be a spring here, but that’s gone too.”

Zheng Fei slapped his forehead in frustration—how did he not realize? Where the nest is overturned, no egg remains intact.

Seeing his disappointment, Haitang grinned, “If you really want to get inside, I know a small door we can sneak through.”

“That sounds troublesome.”

Following Haitang, Zheng Fei came to the temple’s other side, finding indeed a small door to slip through.

The door was filthy, covered with dust and spider webs. When Zheng Fei crawled inside, Haitang hesitated but then followed him in.

Inside, Zheng Fei found the temple in ruins. The Buddha statues were all smashed. Though he did not follow any faith, seeing the statues so desecrated made him involuntarily clasp his hands in prayer.

“Such sin, such sin.”

Now the temple floor was overgrown with weeds, truly resembling a warehouse, without a single altar left.

Most murals were blackened by smoke, but a portion of the Guanyin Hall’s murals remained. After careful observation, Zheng Fei selected two useful ones and photographed them.

After Jing’an Temple, Zheng Fei asked, “Is the City God Temple the same?”

“The same,” Haitang nodded. She really couldn’t understand how he, presumably a local, could be unaware of such a major event.

She thought for a moment. “If I’m not mistaken, some murals from the City God Temple were preserved.”

“Then let’s go.”

Haitang hesitated, still not rested, but they headed to the next site.

At the City God Temple, Zheng Fei quickly photographed some murals, though their reference value was limited.

Each City God Temple venerates different deities. Shanghai’s had three City Gods: the Western Han general Huo Guang, local gentry Qin Yubo, and national hero Chen Huacheng.

Besides temples and City God Temples, Shanghai also had a Guan Di Temple, and in Pudong and Chongming, people worshipped Mazu.

After photographing the City God Temple, Zheng Fei rushed to Pudong to photograph the Mazu Temple. Luckily, the fishermen must have been united, as a relatively complete Mazu Temple still stood.

Zheng Fei promptly recorded images of the Mazu statue and murals.

He visited five or six temples that day. Haitang, following behind, had managed to keep smiling at first, but by the afternoon, she regretted wearing a white dress and new pink shoes.

Every few steps, she would rub her legs. Meanwhile, the man with the camera would stand in front of each mural, scrutinizing it for a long time.

Seeing his seriousness, she felt reluctant to disturb him. Fortunately, Wenwen had the foresight to warn her the next day’s schedule might be quite dull, so she brought a short story collection to pass the time.

But Haitang was not Wenwen—she couldn't settle down. Sometimes, just as she finished one story, the man would rush off to the next temple.

In the countryside, there were no trolleybuses; much of the travel was on foot. The man had told her she could leave first, promising to return the camera.

But Haitang’s pride would not let her be looked down upon. Even with blisters on her heels, she gritted her teeth and endured.

Though annoyed, his earnest demeanor reminded her of her grandfather, which she admired.

By about five o’clock in the afternoon, Zheng Fei had finished all the film rolls. After a full day visiting several temples, he had gathered ample material.

He removed the film and returned the Seagull camera to Haitang. There were many excellent murals left unphotographed, but lacking money, he couldn’t afford more film.

He planned to come back once he had earned enough, perhaps around dusk.

The two returned to the Bund.

Zheng Fei sincerely said, “Haitang, thank you so much for today.”

Haitang, having lent him the camera and accompanied him all day, said playfully, “It’s nothing. If you want to borrow the camera again, come to Number 14. It’s a bit late now, I’m going ahead.”

“Okay, goodbye.”

She deliberately walked slowly, expecting that Zheng Fei might feel guilty and call her back to have coffee or something.

If he was short on money, she could treat him.

But she had walked almost thirty meters without hearing his voice. She dared not look back, fearing that if she did, she might catch him staring at her—an awkward moment she wished to avoid.

At the traffic light, she casually brushed her hair and glanced back.

There was no sign of him anywhere. She scanned around, but Zheng Fei had vanished.

Haitang stood stunned for a long time, then kicked a nearby utility pole in frustration, her face contorted in pain.

“It hurts.”

“Zheng Fei, you rogue, you scoundrel.”