Chapter 4

In the early morning, Yang Rui woke up to the sound of roosters, and as soon as he opened his eyes, he saw the dark ceiling and the white spider webs. He was dazed for a while, and the absurd events of yesterday slowly flooded back into his mind. Annoyed, he cursed, moved his sore back, and began to think about what he should do today. After thinking for a moment, his stomach growled, and a wave of hunger hit him. "Eating is the most important thing in the world," he thought, and struggled to get up, wash his face, and pack his important things in his bag before leaving, locking the rest in a trunk.

As he went downstairs and into the living room, the innkeeper was already up. He stood by the dark counter, reading a ledger, wearing a purple-red short jacket that strained over his large belly, his round face expressionless. Seeing Yang Rui, he called out, "Good morning, sir. You're up so early?"

Yang Rui understood the Shanghai dialect, having studied there for many years, but he wasn't very good at speaking it, so he replied in Mandarin, "Good morning, boss. I was just thinking of going out for breakfast. Oh, by the way, I arrived late yesterday and don't know where I am yet."

The innkeeper was a warm-hearted person and immediately perked up at the question. He began to explain in his half-baked Beijing accent, "We are on Baoshan Street, in the British Concession. This street used to be very famous, the most prosperous place in the concession. Now it's much quieter... Oh, where are you going this morning, sir?"

Yang Rui actually didn't know where to go. He had been thinking about how to fabricate a false identity in the morning, and was unsure how to answer. He said, "I don't know where to go, just wander around. By the way, boss, my trunk is still in the room. I'll be staying here today and will be back around noon."

"Sure, sure, go ahead, sir. No problem. We are Zhang's Inn on Baoshan Street, and all the rickshaw drivers know it," the innkeeper said, worried that this "foreigner" might get lost, and kindly reminded him.

Yang Rui ate a bowl of meat noodle soup at the noodle shop as usual. After finishing, he found that it was already quite bright outside, and there were many more people on the road, all in a hurry. Single-wheeled carts were full of people, and rickshaws passed by from time to time. There were even a few sedan chairs, carried by four people, swaying up and down. The ride must have been comfortable, but the bearers were drenched in sweat. "What a wicked old society," Yang Rui sighed to himself, then thought, "I'm just a passerby here. I just need to take care of myself and not die an unnatural death. There's no 110 to call, and growing lotus roots in the Huangpu River is famous."

After walking for a short distance, he reached Fourth Avenue, where there were many bookstores. Yang Rui found a large one and went in. Actually, he wasn't looking for books but had seen newspapers outside. The shop had just opened, and there was only a sleepy young clerk inside. There were several newspapers, both Chinese and English. The English newspapers were the North China Daily News and The Shanghai Mercury. There were more Chinese newspapers, including Shen Bao, Xinwen Bao, Wanguo Gongbao, Waijiao Bao, and Nongxue Bao. However, these newspapers were in vertical traditional characters without punctuation, making them hard to read. Yang Rui didn't mind and took one of each, planning to study them later. The newspapers weren't expensive, about ten cents for seven or eight, but the books were very expensive, some costing a dollar, mostly romances and detective stories. The most surprising thing was seeing a book published by the Commercial Press. "This name is so familiar. Many management books in college were published by this press. It's nice to see it here," he thought.

After leaving the bookstore, he had nowhere to go. It was only 8:30, and he wasn't familiar with the area. As he hesitated, a rickshaw came by, and he waved it over. The driver, around forty years old, wearing a patched jacket, hunched back, and a braid around his neck, had a dark face. He stopped the rickshaw, lowered the handle, and politely invited Yang Rui to get in. However, Yang Rui was hesitant because the rickshaw didn't seem very sturdy. The black wheels were wrapped in rubber, and the wooden spokes looked thin. Considering his weight, he was afraid the wheels might fall off, which would be very uncomfortable.

The driver sensed Yang Rui's concern. In his mind, anyone without a braid was associated with foreigners. He quickly reassured him, "Sir, don't worry. The rickshaw is very sturdy. Yesterday, I carried a foreigner who was shorter but heavier than you. I took him to the French Concession, and everything was fine." The driver spoke with a northern accent.

Yang Rui felt a bit more at ease and asked, "As long as it doesn't collapse, that's good. I want to wander around. Are you familiar with the area?"

"I, Wang Lao San, know the concession well. I just don't know which part you want to visit, or if you want to go outside the concession, or to the French Concession," the driver asked. Yang Rui was not used to being called "sir" but didn't know how to correct him.

"Just in the concession, not outside... I'm just bored at home and want to look around. How much to tour the British Concession?" Yang Rui didn't dare say he was new to Shanghai, fearing he might be robbed in a quiet place, and he didn't want to haggle over the price.

"Touring the British Concession..." The driver thought for a moment. "You can give me ten cents, okay?" he asked cautiously.

"Ten cents, that's not a small amount." He actually had no concept of ten cents. "Okay, meeting you and riding your rickshaw is fate. Ten cents it is." Yang Rui got into the rickshaw.

Wang Lao San was actually a honest man. He took Yang Rui through every major street, narrating like a 21st-century tour guide, though his words were plain, like reading a manual.

"Sir, this is Houma Road. Further ahead is the Suzhou River, where there are the most money shops..."

"Sir, this is Dama Road, where there are the most shops and people..."

"Sir, this is Yangjingbang, where there are the most brothels and prostitutes..."

Yang Rui was drinking water from a cup and choked when he heard this. Wang Lao San, pulling the rickshaw, couldn't see behind him and continued talking. In this dry narration, Yang Rui toured the British Concession, except for the gas factory area, which Wang Lao San said was too hot to walk on, as the ground was heated by underground gas pipes. After asking for a while, Yang Rui learned it was a gas factory, and the gas was used for lighting, not cooking. The drivers said the ground could catch fire, so they didn't dare go there.

By noon, Yang Rui returned to Baoshan Street but didn't get off at the inn. He got off a bit earlier, paid the driver, found a restaurant for lunch, and returned to the inn to pay for the room. He then retreated to his room to read the newspapers.

The newspapers weren't many, unlike in the future where a stack of newspapers could be bought for fifty cents and used as a pillow. These newspapers had only four or five pages, with small print. The two English newspapers had both domestic and international news, quite comprehensive. The Chinese newspapers, however, were in classical Chinese, with many characters he didn't recognize, making them hard to understand. Overall, they were similar to the news broadcast: the leaders—Empress Dowager and Emperor Guangxu—were all well, the country was in chaos, and foreign countries were doing well.

In short, these newspapers didn't provide much valuable information. For someone whose historical knowledge came from穿越 novels, he could only recall some key historical events. If it wasn't a key event—like the First Sino-Japanese War or the Eight-Nation Alliance invasion—he knew nothing. Among the information, he only saw a comment in Waijiao Bao about Russia's occupation of Manchuria. In three years, Japan and Russia would fight in Northeast China. What opportunities were there, or what could he do? Yang Rui didn't know. If he were a Russian army commander, he could help them defeat Japan, but he wasn't, and even if he were, he couldn't do it. He hoped both the Russians and the Japanese would die.

Lying lazily on the bed, he subconsciously picked up another newspaper, the Nongxue Bao, which introduced foreign agriculture and planting techniques. He saw an article about citrus, discussing planting and grafting, translated from an American article. The translator also introduced the Huangyan tangerine, calling it the king of oranges, praised by foreigners. As he read, Yang Rui's mind suddenly "buzzed" with an idea. He knew more than people in this era. This article was too unprofessional. He could write a better one and submit it to earn some money.

He suddenly sat up, found a piece of paper, and started writing. After a few words, he stopped, not because he couldn't write, but because he was writing in simplified characters and vernacular Chinese. After careful consideration, he began to recall the classical Chinese he learned in middle school and tried to write in that style. An hour later, the article was finished. It wasn't about grafting but about fruit storage, written in classical Chinese, but in simplified characters—since he didn't know traditional characters. He found the address to send it, but then hesitated. He had no address, and the Nongxue Bao was published every ten days. By the time the money arrived, he wouldn't be staying here. The inn cost thirty-five cents a day, which was not cost-effective. He decided to rent a house, which would be cheaper and safer. Living in a hotel with a door that could be easily broken into was unreliable. He decided to visit Ruyili in the afternoon to find a place to rent.

At two in the afternoon, Yang Rui went out again, this time directly taking a rickshaw to Ruyili. When he arrived, he didn't know how to start. The area was full of shikumen houses, all doors closed, and the alley was empty. He wandered for a while and saw a woman come out of a courtyard. He hesitated to ask her. After waiting for half an hour, a middle-aged man came out of another courtyard. Yang Rui quickly approached him, "Hello, do you know if there are any houses for rent around here?"

The man was surprised but stopped when he saw a "foreigner." He didn't hear what Yang Rui said but thought the "foreigner" looked harmless and asked, "What do you want, who are you looking for?"

Seeing the man willing to talk, Yang Rui felt relieved and slowly said, "I'm looking for a place to rent. Do you know where I can find one?"

"Oh, looking for a place to rent... Oh... wait a moment." The middle-aged man went back inside and shouted, "Mrs. Huang, someone wants to rent a house." He came out again, "You can go in and see the house. Mrs. Huang is very nice." Yang Rui stepped into the courtyard, and the man left.

Yang Rui entered the courtyard and found Mrs. Huang, who showed him the house. It was a typical shikumen house, clean and tidy. After some negotiation, he decided to rent it. He paid the rent and moved in the next day, feeling much more secure and comfortable.