The Turmoil of the Bund Chapter 15: New Construction Techniques and High-Rise Buildings

“How is this possible?” The old man with a goat beard straightened up, tapping the wooden ruler in his palm with a sharp sound, his eyes full of disbelief.

“Young lad, don’t speak nonsense!” The stout foreman in charge of the carpenters interrupted, spitting as he spoke. “A clever housewife can’t cook without rice. Without massive timber for piles, what will you use to build the framework?”

“Exactly!” The head stonemason nodded vigorously, veins bulging on his forehead. “Don’t even talk about bundling a few logs together—that won’t hold! Construction is a profound craft! I’ve been a craftsman for fifty years; I’ve seen every method there is.”

The wind on the construction site whipped up dust, making the hemp ropes on the scaffolding whistle.

Voices filled with doubt rose one after another. Some turned their backs to the piles of stone and sighed—this half-grown boy must have read too much, spouting nonsense.

Chen Lin didn’t rush to argue. Instead, he pulled out several bamboo tubes from his waist and placed a large ceramic bowl with a chipped rim on the ground. The bowl, stained with mud, was used for water on the site; he had wiped it with a stone, making it barely presentable.

“Gentlemen, you’ve seen foreign cement before, haven’t you?” He crouched down, his voice calm like a windless lake.

They all paused, then nodded. This stuff was commonly used on foreign construction sites—gray powder that, when mixed with water, can bond stones stronger than lime.

Chen Lin took a bamboo tube and poured the gray powder into the bowl. The soft rustling sound stood out amid the noise.

Next, he added sand. As he tilted the tube, fine grains slid down the bowl’s side, forming a small mound.

Finally, he poured in crushed stones. The pebbles clattered against the rim with a clear “ding-dang.”

“Splash!” He added a tube of water.

The murky mixture swirled around the powder, sand, and stones in the bowl.

Chen Lin stirred it with his hand, fingers dipping into the mix, causing the slurry to splash over the bowl’s edge and spread damp stains on the ground.

“What’s the meaning of this?” The foreman in charge of the masons, Han Zhongxin, couldn’t help but speak. His face was lined with white marks from years of working with mortar. “We know cement sticks well to stone, and when mixed with sand, it seals gaps firmly. But why add stones?”

This method was taught by foreign engineers. Taylor had spent much effort on it, and Chinese craftsmen had accepted this novel material. But mixing stones into cement? They had never heard of that.

“This is another way to use cement,” Chen Lin stirred more evenly, the slurry thickening into a paste. “You’re right about adhesion. But anyone who’s used cement knows that once it hardens, it’s as tough as stone.”

“Tough, yes, but brittle!” Han Zhongxin interrupted before he finished, frowning fiercely. He waved his hand decisively. “You want to use it directly for beams and columns? That won’t work! It’s hard but can’t withstand vibrations. Young man, you look educated; you should understand that rigidity leads to breakage!”

Chen Lin stopped stirring and looked up at Han Zhongxin. The easygoing look vanished, replaced by seriousness. “May I ask your name, sir?”

“I’m Han Zhongxin.”

“Mr. Han, you’re right. Cement is too hard and lacks flexibility once set,” Chen Lin nodded in agreement, then shifted tone. “But what it lacks is a ‘skeleton.’ We just need to add ‘bones’ to it.”

He stood and dusted the powder from his hands, pointing toward the warehouse. “I just checked—there are plenty of iron rods and wires there. We’ll tie the iron rods into a frame, surround it with wooden boards to form a mold, then pour this concrete inside. Once it sets, it’ll become beams and columns, sturdy even without mortise and tenon joints. Moreover—” He paused, scanning their doubtful faces. “I have a way to speed up the curing and make it even stronger.”

“Bones and flesh united?” They exchanged glances, hearts pounding. It sounded plausible but could it really work? Han Zhongxin stroked his goat beard, eyes fixed on the muddy slurry, fingers tapping his knee unconsciously—he’d been a mason all his life but had never thought this way.

Once the plan was settled, Chen Lin immediately set everyone to work. The stonemasons continued carving stones, not neglecting their usual tasks; the carpenters swung saws, crafting the wooden boards for the concrete molds. Sawdust flew as the wooden troughs took shape.

Wearing a straw hat, Chen Lin moved about the site. The frayed edges of the straw hat offered little protection from the scorching midday sun, which warmed him pleasantly.

The foundation had long been laid; the bluish-gray stone base gleamed coldly under the sun, saving much labor.

Yet observing the craftsmen’s division of labor, he couldn’t help but frown—the efficiency was too low.

Having been influenced by modern assembly lines, Chen Lin found the current work division extremely unsatisfactory.

Take the stonemasons, for example: one person handled a stone from quarrying to finishing. The young had strength but no skill; the old had skill but no strength, resulting in slow, dragging work.

“This won’t do.” Chen Lin stopped a young stonemason carrying a stone and pointed to the quarry. “You focus solely on fetching stones; no finishing.” Then he turned to an older stonemason. “Master Zhang, you have skill—focus on carving patterns and trimming edges.”

He split the masons into three groups: those fetching stones, rough shaping, and fine finishing. The young handled heavy labor; the old focused on delicate work.

The craftsmen found this new arrangement refreshing; after trying it, the pace quickened considerably.

The young men no longer had to worry about carving; they just hauled stones. The masters no longer strained their backs but sat in the shade to meticulously polish, their irritation replaced with focus.

After reorganizing the masons, Chen Lin summoned several foreign engineers.

The high-nosed foreigners were bent over blueprints, drawing crooked lines with pencils. “Once the frame is built, we must precisely calculate how much stone is needed and the size of each piece,” Chen Lin said rapidly in English. “The carpenters’ furniture must also be pre-measured to fit perfectly.”

He then called in an artist, a young man with a long braid who usually painted signs for foreign firms.

“Draw the building as the engineers described, showing windows and columns clearly,” Chen Lin said, glancing at the artist’s board. “The closer it looks to the real thing, the better. The craftsmen need to know the final appearance. It’d be best to paint each room’s furnishings too.”

The artist dipped his brush into ink and sketched on stretched parchment. Soon, the outline of a four-story building emerged. Though simple, it made the craftsmen’s eyes light up—so this is what the building will look like!

Of course, this rendering was not only for the workers; Chen Lin had other purposes.

Busy on the site from dawn till dusk, the eccentric Mr. Diao hadn’t appeared, but James had made three trips to the site.

In the foreign firm’s office, Mr. Diao frowned over the ledgers. Seeing James enter, he didn’t look up. “How’s that boy doing?”

James plopped into a chair, face flushed with excitement as if the idea was his own. “Boss! The whole site is moving! That boy has ideas—he says he can build the frame in five days!”

“Does he even know how to build a house?” Mr. Diao finally looked up, blue eyes flickering with surprise, fingers drumming on the ledger.

“Looks like he does!” James nodded vigorously, gesturing animatedly. “The craftsmen obey him, even our engineers say his method is new, never seen before!”

“Oh?” Mr. Diao raised an eyebrow, intrigued but keeping a stern face. “Whether it works, we’ll only know after five days.”

James saw through his thoughts and pressed on. “Jack made a small request.”

“A request?” Mr. Diao frowned, impatience creeping in. “If he needs materials, arrange it. I’ve told you: don’t worry about money. Just finish on time.”

“Not materials,” James hurriedly waved his hand. “He wants to give the workers a bonus if they finish on time, to motivate them.”

Mr. Diao’s brows knitted tighter. His fingers tapped the desk for a long time without anger, then asked, “What do you think is appropriate?”

James thought a moment. “Originally, it would take thirty days. If they finish ten days early, how about a bonus equal to five days’ wages?” A compromise—enough to motivate without being too costly.

Mr. Diao grunted, tacitly agreeing.

On the site, Chen Lin watched as the craftsmen laid the first batch of wooden molds.

The wooden troughs sat on the foundation like long rectangular frames, with iron rods tied inside as a skeleton, bound tightly with wire. “Place another wooden board here to prevent cement from leaking.”

He crouched down, pushed the mold to check its stability, then stood upright.

Since no one had done this before, he had to supervise closely, teaching the craftsmen how to tie wire and adjust the mold angles by hand, unable to leave.

He wondered about the tasks assigned to James that morning—he needed more iron rods, wire, and cement. These materials were easy to find in the concession’s building supply stores; merchants had already stocked up, waiting for the foreign firm to start buying.

Besides building materials, Chen Lin had James purchase locally woven rattan hats.

That morning, he saw several workers with blood-soaked bandages wrapped around their heads. Building tall buildings was more dangerous than single-story houses—dropping stones could easily crack a skull.

Shanghai had many skilled artisans; rattan hats were cheap but could protect their heads.

He also instructed Taylor to improve the meals: hot tea during the day to avoid drinking raw water; more oil and meat in lunch dishes. Though the workers didn’t voice it, they felt warmed by these gestures.

As for the bonus, though not finalized, the word was already spreading.

Even Han Zhongxin hummed a tune while carving stones.

By afternoon, with the sun slanting over the scaffolding, the first batch of concrete was ready to be poured.

The craftsmen carefully carried wooden buckets and poured the thick slurry into the molds. The “gurgling” sound filled the air as the mixture filled the gaps between iron rods, encapsulating the skeleton tightly.

Chen Lin stood nearby, palms sweating.

He had never done such an experiment, relying only on memory and theory to gamble.

If it failed, wasting so much cement and iron rods, Mr. Diao would never forgive him.

But he had no choice, only to watch the concrete in the mold and pray silently.

At night, work did not stop.

Lanterns hung from scaffolds, casting dim light. Half the workers dozed wrapped in straw mats; the rest sifted sand and tied wire, preparing materials for the next day.

The clang of metal and thud of wooden mallets echoed far into the night.

Chen Lin counted supplies in a small hut beside the site.

James’s purchases filled half the room, the most noticeable being several sacks of bauxite, a dusty yellow powder in coarse bags, smelling faintly of earth.

At that time, without aluminum smelting technology, bauxite was mostly used for firebricks or ceramic raw materials, sold in porcelain kilns around Shanghai.

Chen Lin had no intention of using it for ceramics.

He opened a sack, took a handful of bauxite, rubbing it between his fingers. The powder sifted through.

This stuff was the key to accelerating cement curing and increasing strength.

He looked at the sack and finally smiled faintly—five days from now, he would show these doubters what true “bones and flesh united” really meant.