Chapter 6: This Requires an Extra Fee

In this era, the Bund area was the most bustling city center of Shanghai.

Next door, Nanjing Road was crowded to the brim, yet the Bund and the Waibaidu Bridge remained the favorite spots for tourists.

Many officials on business trips to Shanghai would come to this area to take a stroll and, at the same time, bring back some “specialties” of Shanghai for their friends and family.

Watching the dense crowd, Zheng Fei felt there was still a chance to make a living by sketching portraits for tourists. Near the breakwater, he casually found an empty spot to set up his easel.

Doing side jobs was risky in those days, so Zheng Fei wanted to test the waters first, to see if the officials wearing armbands might come trouble him.

Fortunately, there were already quite a few photographers with cameras here making extra money, loudly calling out: “Photos, photos!”

After setting up his easel, Zheng Fei began to sketch on the spot. To attract customers, he decided to draw a beautiful woman.

But no matter how hard he thought, his mind was filled with the image of a short drama actress who often approached him for business.

She was quite pretty, with single eyelids and a somewhat aloof aura—three parts cool, yet a striking contrast: cold by day, and at night...

Her name was something like Wang something, though Zheng Fei couldn’t quite remember. However, her skill was deeply impressive.

It could only be said that she came from a poor background and hadn’t managed to find a powerful patron; otherwise, she would have already become a little star.

As Zheng Fei sketched, many passersby stopped to watch. People were used to seeing comic strips, but sketches were still quite rare.

Seeing how lifelike Zheng Fei’s drawing of a female comrade was, when he started, he absentmindedly sketched her in a lazy pose wearing a camisole nightgown.

Several elderly men watched intently, and an elderly woman scolded on the spot: “In broad daylight, you’re playing the lecher!”

Hearing this, Zheng Fei quickly added clothes to her figure. In those days, camisole nightgowns were still too avant-garde for most people.

Midway through the sketch, a young woman with a butterfly knot in her hair looked at the drawing and was instantly captivated.

“Comrade, may I ask how much for a portrait?”

Finally, some business.

Zheng Fei cleared his throat and tapped his drawing board, hesitating as he said, “Comrade, I don’t usually charge, but if you really want one, how about just a small fee for materials and labor? Would that be okay?”

“How much?”

Zheng Fei thought for a moment: “About thirty cents. Is that acceptable?”

The bystanders burst into laughter upon hearing this.

“After all that talking, you’re charging us! This is capitalist restoration, a private business!”

Zheng Fei twitched the corner of his mouth, not expecting to be labeled so quickly. But he had already prepared a response and calmly replied:

“Comrade, you can eat anything you want, but words must be chosen carefully. Random accusations like that—what’s the difference between you and those people back then?

I am a genuine artist. I’ve even earned royalties publishing comic strips. I’m here to work among the people and serve everyone.

Under normal circumstances, even if you gave me five yuan, I wouldn’t draw for you.”

Seeing this young man was so eloquent, everyone laughed again.

“Oh, now he’s boasting.”

One passerby pointed at Zheng Fei’s old cloth shoes with holes.

“You call yourself an artist, but your shoes have holes in them.”

Zheng Fei embarrassedly withdrew his toes but said nonchalantly, “What do you know? This is called being down-to-earth. If I wore designer brands, would you dare ask me to draw?”

An elderly man chuckled, “I don’t believe it—someone so young already a great artist and still drawing comic strips.”

Seeing the tide turning in his favor, Zheng Fei finally breathed a sigh of relief. “Comrade, that’s age discrimination. If you don’t believe me, I’ll draw another one for you.

And if it’s good, I expect applause.”

Although the country was opening up, private businesses and individual entrepreneurs were still the chief enemies of state-run and collective units. Those holding secure government jobs viewed them with hostility, wishing they would be wiped out.

At this stage, factory work was the main theme; individual businesses were decidedly the weaker group. Most were unemployed youths unable to join the working class, choosing this path out of necessity.

To put it bluntly, if an elder in the family found out you were doing private work, they would break your legs when you came home.

The young woman who wanted the portrait thought it over for a long time and finally bit the bullet: “Alright, thirty cents it is. Comrade, please draw me a portrait.”

“Certainly.”

As she was about to pay, Zheng Fei said, “No need to rush the payment. After I finish, if you like it, then you can pay.”

“You’re quite honest.”

Zheng Fei smiled and asked, “Since it takes a while, do you want to stand or sit?”

“I’ll sit.”

She found a bench and sat down. Zheng Fei immediately began sketching. But soon, the crowd was startled because the first thing Zheng Fei drew was a skull.

“You’re terrifying! She’s so beautiful, why are you drawing a skull?”

The woman’s face turned pale. Zheng Fei explained, “You don’t understand—when drawing a person, you start with the bones.

That’s what my teacher taught me. Once you master the skeleton, it’s easier to get the facial features right later.”

“But your drawing is so creepy.”

“That’s because you’re an outsider. That’s how art works.”

Zheng Fei suspected that ten years ago, if he dared draw like this, he would have been arrested for interrogation.

Fortunately, he sketched quickly. In less than forty minutes, a vivid portrait was presented to the crowd.

The woman was surprised, looking at the sketch excitedly. “It really looks like me, just like a photograph.”

Zheng Fei proudly faced the onlookers. “Who looked down on me just now? Now give me some applause.”

“*Clap, clap, clap.*”

Amidst the applause, some praise came from behind Zheng Fei.

“Young man, you do have some talent.”

“Young people can do it. Which publishing house do you work for?”

Zheng Fei smiled but didn’t answer. If they knew he was just an unemployed youth, it might lead to trouble.

The woman glanced at the sketch several times and then said, “Just me alone looks a bit plain. Can you add a background?”

Zheng Fei immediately thought of the Oriental Pearl Tower, but when he looked up, Pudong was still empty—no skyscraper trio in sight.

The only landmarks worth mentioning were the Shanghai International Hotel, the Broadway Mansions, and the Waibaidu Bridge.

“I’ll add the Shanghai International Hotel for you. But let’s agree beforehand—there’s an extra service fee for that.”

“Ah, extra money?”

“Of course.”

“How much?”

“Not much, just ten cents.”

The woman said, “But I don’t have any money left. Can I pay with ration coupons?”

Zheng Fei thought for a moment. City dwellers received a fixed monthly ration coupon allowance. Even unemployed youths with city household registration had them.

These coupons were only for urban residents. Farmers who wanted coupons had to trade their rice at grain stations and needed permits from their village and commune (now called township) to exchange them.

Some rural areas didn’t grow rice, so ration coupons were hard currency at the time, even more valuable than meat coupons. You could survive without meat, but not without rice.

“Alright then, coupons it is.”

Zheng Fei spent another twenty minutes adding the background. He casually asked, “Do you want me to write the date, time, and place on it?”

The woman looked a bit distressed. “I really don’t have coupons left.”

Zheng Fei was speechless. “What do you take me for? Adding words won’t cost extra.”

She immediately smiled and said, “My name is Miao Fangfang—the Miao ethnicity’s Miao, with the grass radical on top.”

Zheng Fei wrote her name, the date, and location on the portrait.

“All done, Comrade Miao Fangfang. This sketch now belongs to you.”

Miao Fangfang was very pleased with the portrait; the person in the drawing seemed even more beautiful than she was in reality.

She shyly said, “I work in the Third Workshop of the Textile Factory. Where can I find you in the future?”

Zheng Fei paused for a long time, then replied, “In the future, I’ll definitely be working at the Shanghai Fine Arts Publishing House.”

Miao Fangfang was stunned—that was a place far beyond her reach.