Turbulence at the Bund Chapter 14: Traces of Chen Gen, Strategy at the Construction Site

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In the backyard of an opium den in the eastern part of the city, a musty smell mixed with the sweet aroma of opium smoke lingered in the damp air. Several men knelt on the ground, heads bowed low, their backs taut like drawn bows, eyes swollen red like ripe peaches, their breathing trembling cautiously.

Seated on a grand armchair ahead was a man in a black brocade robe, in his thirties, with an oily complexion. The pipe he held between his fingers was nearly a foot long, its golden bowl casting a cold gleam in the dim light. The sparks from the burning tobacco flickered faintly, casting shadows over the pockmarks on his face, making them appear deeper and shallower in turn.

This man had a shiny bald forehead, not a single eyebrow, a thin braid at the back of his head as slender as a rat’s tail, lips so thin they could cut the wind, swollen eyelids, and a broad, flat nose.

“Useless!” he exhaled a smoke ring, his voice rough like sandpaper. “You couldn’t even catch a female thief. What use are you?”

“Lord Feng, forgive us! We didn’t expect a kid to suddenly come out of nowhere,” the men knelt and begged repeatedly.

Feng tapped his pipe on the armrest, ashes falling onto his robe. Without lifting his eyelids, he said, “There’s a boat to Panyu tomorrow. You’ll escort the shipment.”

Escorting shipments was the toughest task—tedious and without rewards.

No one dared make a sound. They lowered their heads further, pressing their foreheads against the cold dirt, afraid their unpredictable master would change his mind.

In a corner of the backyard stood several firewood sheds, their wooden doors thick and blackened, windows as small as cat holes, barred with thick wooden slats.

By the doorway stood a few enforcers, veins bulging on their arms, short clubs hanging from their waists, their eyes fierce like starving wolves.

From a distance, the stench wafting from the sheds was unmistakable—sweat mixed with the foul smell of urine and feces, making people wrinkle their noses.

In the innermost corner of one shed, Chen Gen crouched, forehead resting on his knees. The wounds on his arms were crusted with black scabs that hurt whenever he moved. Fresh blood still seeped from several recent cuts on his head.

He was too weak to lift his head. The day he chased the little thief who stole steamed buns, just as he turned into a narrow alley, a sack was pulled over his head.

He struggled desperately, calling for help, but a stick struck the back of his head. Everything went black, and he knew nothing afterward.

When he came to, he was in this hellish place.

Around him were seven or eight other children, all about his age, faces either bruised or smeared with dirt, eyes full of terror.

They were all children from poor families, caught by beggar catchers while trying to make a living.

Chen Gen had grown up faster than most. He used to go out with his older brother, always at the forefront of fights, with a fierce streak deep in his bones.

Just last night, he had rallied several kids, planning to push down their captors and escape when the guards brought food.

But there were too many enforcers in the yard; they were caught as soon as they rushed out. After a brutal beating, his whole body felt as if it had fallen apart.

He was not afraid of death.

He remembered clearly how his father was beaten to death by the city officials while protecting them.

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But he feared that without him, his brother and sister would have no protector—the brother was gentle by nature, and the sister was still so young. Without him, the two would surely be bullied.

Tears slipped down from the corners of his eyes to the tip of his nose. He quickly buried his face deeper, unwilling to let others see him cry.

Outside the shed, the guards’ coarse laughter drifted in, rough like a broken gong. “Damn, that kid’s hidden weapon was something else. My eyes still burn! Too bad I didn’t see his face. If I meet him again, I’ll gouge out both his eyes and stuff that thing into the sockets.”

“But that little woman was really something—never seen anyone so agile. Like a water snake…”

“Right?” another voice chuckled lewdly. “That waist was so supple, I grabbed it during the fight, tsk tsk…”

“When we get to Panyu, brother will take you all to have fun! The girls there have even slimmer waists!”

“Yeah, but the boat is so boring. Who made the stupid rule forbidding women? I heard women in Zhenhai all go out fishing, their bodies are…”

Chen Gen pricked up his ears, heart tightening sharply.

Panyu? He had heard some laborers bragging by the river that Panyu was a place in Guangdong Province, far, far from Shanghai.

...

Elsewhere at the construction site, the sun had just climbed over the scaffolding, stretching long shadows.

Chen Lin stepped through the dew and went to inspect the pile of materials by the warehouse.

The stones transported upriver on the Huangpu were stacked like a small mountain; the timber was neatly arranged—already dried and ready for use.

It seemed that Master Di had spent a lot preparing these materials.

He circled to a corner of the warehouse where dozens of wooden barrels lay covered with coarse burlap. Curious, he lifted one lid to find fine gray powder inside, as fine as flour.

“Cement?” Chen Lin’s eyes brightened.

Even the British were using this stuff?

Little did he know that in 1824, British stonemason Joseph Aspdin had patented Portland cement, and this cement came from a factory in Calcutta.

However, at this time, people had not yet discovered how to apply reinforced concrete structures. It was not until 1854 that British architect William Wilkinson first used metal rods and cables to build a reinforced concrete roof.

Currently, the building was stuck at the framework stage. Chinese craftsmen were accustomed to wooden mortise and tenon joints, but Master Di insisted on stone walls. Traditional wooden frames couldn’t support them, causing the construction delay.

Chen Lin quickly called over the foremen of the masons, tilers, and carpenters.

Most were grizzled old men with gray beards, sleeves stained with mortar, clutching their tools. Seeing a boy their age summoning them, they all wore looks of disdain.

“Gentlemen, uncles,” Chen Lin bowed politely, “I’m Chen Lin, here on Master Di’s orders to oversee the site.”

No one responded.

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One chubby foreman spat on the ground and was about to turn away. Another squinted at him, lips curled in mockery.

Only an old man with a goatee nodded hoarsely, “Kid, not bad. I heard you saved Hu San from Songze this morning.”

“Really?” a middle-aged stonemason leader asked bluntly, eyes full of doubt, not taking Chen Lin seriously at all.

Chen Lin smiled lightly, softening his tone. “We all make a living in Shanghai; helping each other is only right. I only know a few foreign words, that’s how I got this job. No other skills. Please, sirs, give me your guidance.”

Before he finished, Hu San pushed aside the curtain and entered, his head wrapped in white cloth stained with blood. “Young master!” he called loudly, “Thank you for paying my medical bill. I’m here to serve you!”

His words silenced the crowd.

Chen Lin waved his hand. “Hu San, rest today. Come to the concession to see me tomorrow morning.”

“Did Chen the overseer really save you, Hu San?” someone in the crowd asked—a fellow townsman of Hu San.

“Of course!” Hu San puffed up his chest, voice even louder. “Several big gangsters tried to beat me to death. No one else dared move, only the young master stepped forward, arguing in foreign words. He almost got locked up for it! Thanks to him knowing foreigners, we escaped danger!”

With Hu San’s testimony, the foremen’s disdain faded somewhat. They stood waiting for Chen Lin to speak.

“Gentlemen, Master Di hopes this building will be finished in two months,” Chen Lin said.

Immediately, the yard erupted in uproar.

“No way!” the goateed old man stamped his foot, “The previous overseer said three months, and we already said it’s impossible! We can’t even get the four-story framework up, how can we build the stone walls?” He was a veteran craftsman, having led the team that built the three-story pagoda in Yuyuan Garden and understood the difficulties best.

“Adding more men won’t help!” the middle-aged stonemason leader chimed in, his face flushed red. “Without a solid frame, stone will collapse if piled up! We’re still waiting for huge timber from Jiangxi to support it. Without those few pieces of wood, nothing can be done!”

Chen Lin said nothing. When the complaints died down, he raised his eyes to scan the crowd calmly.

“So, if the frame is strong enough, can the rest be completed within two months?”

“Well…” The goateed old man hesitated, nodding. “But the frame…”

Chen Lin pressed his lips, eyes sweeping over their faces. His voice was quiet but clear.

“If I can build the frame in five days, can you finish the rest within two months?”

Suddenly, the yard fell silent. Even the wind whistling through the scaffolding could be heard.

The foremen glanced at each other, eyes wide with surprise—this half-grown boy’s tone was so arrogant.

Yet somehow, recalling how he saved Hu San, no one dared say outright “impossible.”

But deep down, none of them truly believed it.

Still, they were willing to hear his plan.