Chapter 48: When You Can't Win, Call for Reinforcements

Zheng Fei opened the cream cake sent by Editor Mo. If he remembered correctly, in the TV adaptation of "Blossoms," Grandpa Yu was particularly fond of this brand.

Since Editor Mo had come by bicycle, the decorative icing on the cake was already tilted and messy, not as pretty as before, but it did not affect the taste.

Zheng Shiyao, raised on the frontier grasslands, looked at the cake with curiosity. She had no idea what it was called, only that it was beautiful and smelled faintly of milk.

Zheng Fei cut the cake into several pieces and said to Zheng Shiyao, “Take these two portions to Grandpa Sun and the others.”

“These two go to Aunt Zhang and her family.”

“Uncle Ma gets one, and Director Wang from the neighborhood, who helped us a lot, also deserves two portions.”

By having her deliver these gifts, she could become familiar with these people. Unaware of how precious cake was in this era, Zheng Shiyao obediently went from house to house distributing the slices.

Months later, when she saw the price of the cream cake displayed in the Kaisiling shop window, Zheng Shiyao’s heart ached deeply.

Wang Haoran, crouching at the doorway, watched Zheng Shiyao carry cake in and out, his gaze filled with hope. Yet, in the end, the cake never crossed the threshold of his home.

He somewhat resented his parents, wondering why they hadn’t been kinder to Teacher Zheng. Maybe then, he too could have had some cake.

...

Inside the house, as Zheng Shiyao ate the cake, her face was filled with disbelief. “Brother, what is this soft, smooth thing? It’s so sweet and delicious—better than anything I’ve ever eaten.”

Seeing her naive wonder, Zheng Fei explained, “This is called cake, and the soft, smooth part is cream. If you like it, it’s all yours.”

“Brother, aren’t you going to eat any?”

Zheng Fei glanced at the cake and frowned slightly. “I eat this often and have long grown tired of it. Now it doesn’t appeal to me.”

He wasn’t lying.

In his previous life, he dreaded birthday parties because people would insist he eat a large cake, and he would feel embarrassed if he couldn’t finish it.

Zheng Shiyao looked half-convinced but didn’t finish all the cake, eating only one piece.

...

New Year's Eve.

The entire Tanzwan was immersed in the festive atmosphere of the Spring Festival. Zheng Fei and Zheng Shiyao, siblings, prepared the New Year’s Eve dinner.

Once so confident, Zheng Fei now stood in the corner as punishment for wasting food.

Looking at the burnt meat and vegetables, Zheng Shiyao felt heartbroken.

When Aunt Zhang from next door smelled the burnt odor, she hastily came over. Seeing the chaotic kitchen, she scolded Zheng Fei for nearly half an hour.

“If you don’t know how to cook, tell me. You can’t waste food like this… In the past, we wouldn’t even waste a single grain of rice, yet you managed to burn two pounds of meat.”

Knowing he was at fault, Zheng Fei humbly accepted the criticism. After this lesson, he finally understood some principles.

Cooking requires controlling the heat, just like in painting—there are subtle lines and distinct ones, and the intensity varies. Next time during the holidays, he thought he could try again.

“Bang! Bang! Bang!”

Accompanied by the continuous sound of firecrackers in the alley, the year was finally coming to an end. At this time, there was no Spring Festival Gala; after dinner, everyone gathered at home to chat.

Some who enjoyed mahjong closed their doors to play. Without stakes, mahjong was dull, but playing for money risked being reported.

About four kilometers in a straight line from Tanzwan, a family had already finished their New Year’s dinner early.

A well-dressed aunt adjusted her daughter’s clothes and said, “Your uncle said it’s colder in America than here, so you need to bring more clothes.”

“Use this time to study English harder. Don’t go there and not understand what the teacher says.”

“Also, once you’re there, listen to your aunt—no more throwing tantrums like at home.”

Having long grown accustomed to the middle-aged woman’s nagging, Haitang looked up at the view outside the window.

She faintly saw the edges of the buildings along the Bund lit up with light strips. Surely, many were celebrating New Year’s there.

Sighing, Haitang, who didn’t even like watching TV at home, returned to her room and picked up an English book.

She was studying journalism abroad this time and planned to become a reporter after returning home.

Thinking of this, Haitang bit her lip. When the time came, she definitely wanted to interview Comrade Zheng Fei and ask if he regretted anything.

But if he found someone while she was abroad...

The thought drove Haitang nearly mad. She let out a shrill cry and then flopped heavily onto her bed.

“Sleep, sleep!”

Outside, the middle-aged woman listened and couldn’t help but ask her husband, “Who is it exactly? Do you know?”

Usually unemotional, the middle-aged man was so angry at their daughter’s shriek that smoke seemed to rise from his nostrils.

“How would I know? If I did, I’d have gone and beaten him up already, not be standing here.”

The woman sighed, “What kind of thing is this? She used to be carefree and refused all matchmaking. Now, just at this critical moment, her love life hits a snag. After the New Year, we need to send her away quickly, so there are no more complications.”

The man sighed helplessly.

...

After spring began.

Zheng Fei finally had a few days off, but on the morning of the fourth day of the lunar new year—

*Knock, knock, knock.*

Early in the morning, Grandpa Sun came knocking at his door, solemnly handing him a local newspaper. The headline in bold black letters caught Zheng Fei’s eye instantly:

“What exactly is in the schoolbag?”

Seeing the headline, Zheng Fei didn’t even read the article, immediately guessing it was aimed at him.

A quick glance confirmed it was an attack on the comic "Wind and Cloud," the same old tactic from his previous life—picking on students to stir trouble.

Zheng Fei had anticipated this from the moment he decided to create the comic.

Seeing the article’s author, Zheng Fei sneered. It was that old pest. It seemed he had become the “boss” of this beginner’s village.

In these times, publishing a critical article about "Wind and Cloud" in a major newspaper was no different from naming and shaming on Weibo in his past life.

If he didn’t strike back, that would be cowardly. He might consider others’ words, but Zheng Fei would not.

If this place truly could not accommodate his development, he would naturally find a new path.

Shanghai had three major newspapers: one, an official organ founded in 1949; another, a comprehensive daily established in 1938; and the third, launched in 1929, aimed at ordinary citizens.

Such “feuds” rarely appeared in papers targeting the public; they were meant for the eyes of leadership.

The paper in Zheng Fei’s hand was the official organ. For someone named Jiang to publish there meant he probably had powerful backing.

If Zheng Fei wanted to “retaliate,” the best move was to approach the Wenhui Daily, founded in 1938.

It was said that during the anti-rightist and cultural revolution years, this paper was a fighter and would most likely support him.

Even if not, he could try the relatively radical Youth Daily, though its headquarters was in Beijing. The key to handling such “wars of words” was timely response.

In his past life, Zheng Fei had argued online with people, which led to his fatal heart attack. Now, seeing criticism in print reignited his fighting spirit.

Yet, when he sat down to write, he found himself embarrassingly at a loss, not knowing how to begin.

When in doubt, call for help. Zheng Fei didn’t fight battles he wasn’t sure of. After a brief acquaintance, he knew just the person.

On the afternoon of the fourth day,

Zheng Fei casually carried a large ham and went to a Shikumen alley in the JA district, knocking on a door.

“Excuse me, is Li Wenwen at home?”

A middle-aged woman frowned upon seeing Zheng Fei carrying the ham. “Young man, do you have business with Wenwen?”

Zheng Fei scratched his head. “Sister, my name is Zheng Fei. I’m Wenwen’s friend. I have something I’d like her help with.”

The woman frowned. She had never heard Wenwen mention such a friend.

But since he called her “sister,” Mei Ya was delighted. This young man had a sweet tongue, but he was carrying ham.

The woman was puzzled—either genuinely or feigning ignorance. Nowadays, only unrefined sons-in-law brought ham when visiting.

At that moment, two women upstairs overheard Zheng Fei’s voice and peeked out, seeing him holding the ham.

Haitang was stunned, nearly speechless. “Wenwen, I’m going home first. You can talk with Zheng Fei.”

Li Wenwen was equally flustered, clenching her teeth and glaring at Zheng Fei, utterly baffled about his true intentions.

How dare he call her mother “sister”?

If Haitang left now, Wenwen would never clear her name, even if she jumped into the Huangpu River. She immediately restrained Haitang.

Then she called out, “Mother, this Zheng Fei is the author of the comic 'Wind and Cloud' and a friend of mine. Please let him come in and sit a while. I’ll be down shortly.”