Chapter 16: The Swindler, a Great Swindler

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Out of human kindness, Zheng Fei originally wanted to properly thank Haitang, but after taking the photos, he still had to develop the film. The tenant farmer’s family simply didn’t have extra grain to invite the landlord’s daughter for a meal.

He thought, once he truly earned some money, he would treat Haitang to a proper meal.

Although Zheng Fei spent most of his time observing the murals, he noticed everything. She was a fine girl; her heels were worn raw, yet she gritted her teeth and persevered. If this happened in later times, such behavior would undoubtedly be harshly criticized.

He had walked all day, and due to uncomfortable shoe soles, he had developed a blister on his foot. Returning home, Zheng Fei took out his little notebook and began to record his daily income and expenses.

...

July 8th.

Went out with Haitang for photos; city bus fare totaled 34 cents. Haitang had a monthly pass, so no cost to him. Two ferry tickets across Pudong cost 20 cents. At noon, they shared a bowl of vegetable soup noodles, 15 cents each, totaling 30 cents. It was so hot that they bought two cups of iced water, costing 4 cents.

Total: 68 cents.

...

Zheng Fei had always kept accounts, but after tallying the money, he felt he was ridiculously stingy. Taking a beautiful girl out for a day, their total expenses didn’t even add up to one yuan. Yet the girl didn’t seem displeased by his frugality—perhaps because his poverty was evident not only in his face but also in his clothes and feet.

No wonder so many poor boys liked rich girls; those girls didn’t fuss over such things.

This time, the film money was covered by Qiusheng. After deducting these expenses, Zheng Fei still had about 14.3 yuan in hand. He was just a bit short of the amount needed to develop the film but really wanted to start temple restoration work.

Zheng Fei still had many things to buy—various brushes, pigments, shovels, ladders, and tools for wall plastering—all of which would be a considerable expense.

In the short term, Zheng Fei couldn’t escape the Bund; he would have to continue sketching portraits.

...

However, July in Shanghai was unbearably hot. After spending the day in the sun, returning home was like entering a giant steam chamber.

In his room, Zheng Fei sat shirtless, fanning himself with a palm fan, yet sweat continuously poured from his body. At this moment, he longed for an air conditioner to appear out of nowhere in his home and a chilled watermelon in the refrigerator.

But these were unrealistic dreams.

In such a slum, it was simply wishful thinking.

In those days, even households with assets worth ten thousand yuan couldn’t afford air conditioning. Officials certainly wouldn’t dare to use such ostentatious luxuries; if they did, they would be immediately investigated.

The only places that could afford them were hotels designated for receiving foreign dignitaries or smugglers along the coast.

Even if Zheng Fei earned enough to buy an air conditioner, once it was turned on, half the alley would probably lose power.

Like the neighboring alley, someone had bought a dual-tub washing machine, and whenever it was running, the lights in the entire building flickered on and off.

Make money, make money!

Once he had money, his quality of life would improve. Zheng Fei had already noticed this while taking photos.

Residents of Shanghai seemed to revere Taoism more; their most admired deities were not foreign gods but the local City God.

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Following closely were the male god Guan Yu and the female goddess Mazu.

After spending a day wandering Shanghai with Haitang, Zheng Fei finally gained a basic understanding of the temple distribution in the area.

In fact, the girl was quite knowledgeable; she led him to many temples—City God Temple and Guan Yu Temple were relatively central, while Mazu Temples were generally located in coastal areas like Pudong, Jinshan, Fengxian, and Chongming.

No one dared to restore temples in the city due to many watchful eyes; it was easier to operate in towns and rural areas.

After careful thought, Zheng Fei decided to start with the Mazu Temple. One reason was his relatively good understanding of Mazu’s background.

In his previous life, his family loved watching the series "Mazu" starring Liu Tao, and he had watched it many times out of obligation—though the part about saving foreigners was particularly awkward.

Another reason was that the Mazu Temples seemed less severely damaged, leaving many murals for reference.

Lastly, Buddhist images were rather formulaic, even accompanied by the "Three Sutras and One Commentary": the "Buddha’s Image Measurement Sutra," "Image Measurement Sutra," "Painting Measurement Sutra," and "Buddha’s Image Measurement Sutra Commentary."

These texts imposed strict rules on the scale, features, hand gestures, and symbols of deities and demons.

You couldn’t just paint whatever you wanted; you had to have sufficient knowledge.

...

About a week later.

Zheng Fei finally saved enough to develop his photos. After paying for development, he even had a small surplus—4.3 yuan left.

During this period, he had been studying the murals from the photos he took at the Mazu Temple, neatly posting them on his wall.

He organized the text from the murals and then began sketching on draft paper.

In only three days, Zheng Fei reproduced a scaled-down, simplified version of the mural—ten pages in total—depicting Mazu’s life and ascension.

Once finished, Zheng Fei immediately gathered his three-person group for a "Capital Corruption Meeting" in his room.

For Zheng Fei, when dealing with friends and brothers, money matters must be clearly stated.

Brothers are brothers.

Money is money.

The two must never be confused, or in the end, the brotherhood might be lost amid disputes.

In his previous life, at the start of his entrepreneurial journey, he had encountered many distressing situations.

When losing money, he bore all the responsibility alone; but once making money, everyone jumped out, claiming credit.

They’d argue about who was the earliest partner and who deserved shares.

One could only say that human nature often fails the test—especially in front of money.

Zheng Fei said, "Taotao, if you’re sure about working with me, I’ll pay you forty yuan a month."

"Forty?" Zhu Xiaotao’s eyes widened. For him, forty yuan was astronomical. His father had worked as a dock laborer near Suzhou Creek for many years, bringing home about that much monthly.

"Brother Fei, you really don’t have to pay me so much. If you provide food and a unity certificate each month, I’d be over the moon."

He was currently unemployed, helping his father without extra income. If he could earn a unity certificate monthly, his stature would immediately rise, and his brothers at home wouldn’t call him a freeloader.

Once he made money, Zhu Xiaotao planned to buy his favorite pork belly and enjoy it alone, just to make them jealous.

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Zheng Fei looked at Zhu Xiaotao speechlessly.

"One certificate definitely isn’t enough. If I gave you ten yuan, what’s the difference between me and the evil capitalism? One must have conscience."

Zhu Xiaotao bowed deeply, "From today on, Brother Fei, you’re my second father."

"Dad!" Zheng Fei almost kicked him.

"Your dad’s still a novice, not as big as you."

"Hahaha."

Zheng Fei then looked at another person and said, "Qiusheng, if you can’t come regularly, once we make money, we’ll first repay your 25 yuan investment. After deducting Taotao’s wages, we’ll give you a 10% profit share. How does that sound?"

Wang Qiusheng scratched his head.

"Too complicated. I really can’t calculate it. Don’t worry about giving me money in advance. If you need more later, just let me know."

Zhu Xiaotao said incredulously, "You dare take money? Aren’t you afraid your dad will break your legs?"

"Next time, I’ll take it from my mom."

Zheng Fei and Zhu Xiaotao exchanged looks, genuinely puzzled by Qiusheng’s family—how both parents hid private money.

Meanwhile, at the Bund No. 14, there was a young girl who often dawdled at work, staring blankly at the breakwater.

Because of her father, Haitang was assigned to a dead-end department, where her daily job was to boil water and run errands.

But her boss’s boss was her family, so her supervisor didn’t dare make her run errands.

Every day at work, besides reading comics, she spent most of the time gazing out the window.

Yet she hadn’t seen that person’s figure since their day at the temple and photo outing two weeks ago.

That person seemed to have vanished without a trace.

In fact, she had noticed Zheng Fei early on, which was why she didn’t strongly resist when he approached her and why she dared to go out alone with him—because he was genuinely serious and hardworking.

...

After work, on the way home, Haitang grew angrier and muttered curses.

"Liar, big liar."

Behind her, a woman with a literary air snorted, "What did he lie to you about?"

Haitang was speechless.

Wenwen was right; he hadn’t lied to her, nor had he shown even the slightest affection.

What Haitang regretted was that after their temple visit and photo session, neither exchanged contact information.

"Wenwen, do you think we’ll ever see that painter again?"

The literary young woman replied, "Probably. Shanghai isn’t that big, but not small either. Maybe next time we meet, that Zheng Fei will already be married with two kids."

Haitang was speechless.

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