Turbulence on the Bund Chapter 18: A Warm Farewell, Peril at the River’s Heart

After changing his clothes, Chen Lin prepared to return to the foreign trading firm.

Sunlight filtered through the wooden windows of the tailor shop, casting checkered patches of light onto the blue-brick floor, while the air hung heavy with the faint, clean scent of fabric. He handed all the silver dollars he had brought to Liu Lihua. This time, she did not decline; her fingertips paused slightly as they touched the coins, as if she were catching the weight of the days ahead.

It was a strange feeling—like a man working away from home, returning to hand his earnings to his family, a sense of stability and warmth.

Miaomiao was exceptionally well-behaved today. She did not tug at his hem or cry, but simply stood behind Liu Lihua, her small hands clutching her mother’s sleeve, her large eyes fixed steadily upon him.

It was Liu Lihua who called out to him, "Wait."

Chen Lin turned. The sunlight fell across her face, making the fine down on her skin clearly visible. "What is it?"

"You're dressed so formally; it’s too conspicuous on the street." Liu Lihua retrieved a wooden comb from her sewing basket, her tone natural. "I’ll braid your hair. No need to shave your head; just wear a hat."

Chen Lin then remembered that for the sake of convenience, he had been wearing his hair in a ponytail these past few days. Previously, he had been just a dirty, half-grown boy, and no one cared; but now, dressed in a crisp suit, if he lacked a queue, the local constables might well come looking for trouble.

Miaomiao brought over a small bamboo chair, the legs scraping softly against the floor, and he sat down obediently. Liu Lihua’s fingers moved through his hair, the wooden comb rustling as it smoothed out the tangles with a firm, steady touch. She braided his hair into a tight, thick plait at the back of his head and found a black Western-style bowler hat for him to wear. The brim was pulled down just right, shading half his face and adding a touch of sharpness to his appearance.

Chen Lin sat still, the scent of soapnut from her hair lingering at the tip of his nose. This was the first time a girl had ever braided his hair. He felt a nameless emotion, like warm water slowly washing over a stone, soft and gentle. He mused idly that braids were also popular among the European upper class, though they didn't shave their foreheads; some aristocrats who had lost their hair to syphilis even wore wig-braids. A small, secret smile played on his lips.

As a junior clerk, he could not afford to keep his boss waiting at the banquet. He hurried to bid his farewells. As he turned to leave, he caught a glimpse of Miaomiao’s small face peeking out from behind the door, her eyes bright like a small animal hiding behind leaves. A snow-white hand gently patted her head, pulling her back. The door curtain swayed, leaving behind the sound of faint, scattered laughter.

Before he reached the ferry crossing, a middle-aged man suddenly blocked his path. The man’s tall, slender shadow eclipsed the sunlight on the flagstone path. He wore a long gown of dark-patterned Hangzhou silk topped with a stone-blue mandarin jacket; the plain-colored trim at the collar and cuffs was starched stiff—one look was enough to tell he was no commoner. His face was thin, with high cheekbones and slightly sunken eye sockets. His triangular eyes squinted, revealing the distinct shrewdness of a merchant, as if he were weighing people by the pound.

"Young Master Chen," the man began. His voice was neither high nor low, yet carried an air of unavoidable familiarity.

Chen Lin frowned. The man had called him by name, clearly having come prepared. He cupped his hands in a formal greeting, his tone polite but distant: "May I ask who you are?"

"My apologies, my apologies." The man quickly returned the gesture, his triangular eyes crinkling into slits. "I am Yang Fang, a clerk at the Renji Trading Firm."

"A pleasure, Mr. Yang." Chen Lin replied, wondering to himself—a colleague? Why stop him? Surely not just to exchange pleasantries.

"Young Master Chen, could we step aside for a moment?" Yang Fang leaned forward half a step, his voice lowering.

"This..." Chen Lin looked troubled, gesturing toward the ferry. "I am on my way back to the firm for a banquet; I am truly pressed for time."

"Ah, I see." Yang Fang did not give up, his smile growing even more obsequious. "Then I shall be brief. Our Comprador, Mr. Ghibli, admires you greatly. He would like to invite you to sit for tea another day." Seeing Chen Lin about to speak, he quickly added, "There is no rush. Just let me know when you have time."

With the matter put this way and the man showing such deference, Chen Lin found it hard to refuse. "Then we shall be in touch."

Yang Fang finally breathed a sigh of relief. As he watched Chen Lin depart, he adjusted his gold-rimmed spectacles, his gaze lingering on the young man’s back for a long time, as if calculating the value of a commodity.

In his early years, he had been a clerk at a silk shop in Zhenhai, later learning English at a mission school. After drifting to Shanghai due to gambling debts, he had relied on his quick wits to secure a position as a clerk at Renji. He was considered by many a "future great comprador." However, this kid Chen Lin had appeared out of nowhere, promoted to clerk in five days and even inventing a concrete quick-setting agent, instantly overshadowing him. Mr. Ghibli had sent him to poach the boy. He felt resentful, but he had a clever plan—if he could bring this half-grown kid under his wing, surely he could control him? His own daughter was about the same age as Chen Lin; when it came to playing mind games, he feared no one.

At the town pier, Chen Lin boarded a small boat. The covered boat was not large, and with four passengers, it was already full, the cabin thick with the smell of sweat and water. The man rowing the boat was hunched over, his silhouette long under the setting sun, bearing a nine-tenths resemblance to the father he had known in this life.

Chen Lin’s heart sank. He thought of Chen Shuisheng, the father he had only met once since his transmigration. That day, when Liu Wei came with his men for a forced demolition, he had naively stepped forward to reason with them. The bailiffs ignored him, taking his words as defiance. Liu Wei had struck him down with a fire-and-water baton, and his father, usually so cowardly, had suddenly turned red-eyed and lunged at Liu Wei to fight for his life...

Chen Lin clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms.

Reason and law were only useful in civilized times; in the darkness, one could only rely on fists and guns.

He chatted briefly with the boatman and learned that the man was not an old elder, but a man in his thirties. Years of rowing in the wind and sun had made him look twenty years older than he was. Labor was not only grueling, but it also aged a person.

The other three in the cabin were laborers looking for work at the Bund. Upon hearing that Chen Lin worked at a foreign firm, their faces immediately broke into fawning smiles, clamoring for his help to find work: "Mr. Chen, please have mercy. We have strength, we can endure any hardship."

"Yes, yes, just give us a bite to eat."

As they talked, a "chugging" sound came from the distance. A small steamship charged toward them aggressively, black smoke billowing from its chimney like a writhing snake.

The steamship was small, but it was much larger than their covered boat. Several sailors on deck were drunk, holding half-empty bottles of rum, laughing wildly at them, their yellowed teeth flashing in the sunset.

"Oh no!" The boatman’s face turned pale. Veins bulged on his thin arms as he rowed desperately to avoid them.

Chen Lin instinctively grabbed the side of the boat. The vessel rocked violently, and the passengers in the cabin screamed in terror. The steamship did not turn at all, steering straight for them! Chen Lin saw clearly the mockery in those foreigners' eyes—they were doing it on purpose, treating it as a game.

Fortunately, the steamship had just started up, so its speed was not high, and it was small. The fishing boat was tilted until it was almost capsized, water splashing into the cabin. The boatman roared a rhythmic chant, managing to steady the boat. Seeing them in a panic, the sailors on the steamship laughed even more crazily, shouting insults in broken Chinese.

"Son of a bitch!" Chen Lin steadied himself, flashed a middle finger at the receding steamship, the coldness in his eyes enough to freeze the river.

In the future, he would lead a fleet of the Chinese nation to sail around the Thames and blow up their broken bridges!

A gentleman’s revenge is never too late.

Never bully a youth for being poor.

After a surge of inspiring thoughts, his mood finally calmed slightly.

"Young man, don't provoke the foreigners." The boatman wiped the water from his face, his tone as flat as if he were discussing the weather. "I row on this river every day; haven't I seen enough small boats overturned? The authorities don't care, and we don't dare look for trouble with the foreigners—they carry firearms, whether they are soldiers or civilians."

He was not even angry, as if it were not his own boat that had been struck.

Chen Lin looked at the laborers in the cabin. They were merely patting their chests and gasping, muttering "scared to death," not one of them daring to curse the foreigners.

Chen Lin suddenly felt a bone-chilling cold. This numbness was more terrifying than any external threat.

But what could he do now? He was just a half-grown boy who had just been promoted to clerk, unable to protect even himself, let alone change all of this.

The boat slowly approached the Bund pier. The setting sun dyed the river a golden red. Chen Lin jumped onto the shore and looked back at the wobbling covered boat and the boatman, still hunched over as he continued to row.

He clenched his fists, his nails digging deep into his flesh.

One day, these days would end.

He took a deep breath, straightened his crisp suit, and strode toward the Jardine Matheson building. The banquet was about to begin, and his path had only just begun.