Turbulence on the Bund Chapter 16: The Moment the Building Emerged, All Were Convinced

Five days slipped by like flowing water on the river, vanishing in the blink of an eye.

In a small courtyard in Yangjing Town, the morning mist still lingered. Sunlight filtered through the sparse branches, casting mottled spots of light on the bluestone slabs.

Two girls, just risen from sleep, were practicing martial arts in the yard. Dew dampened the moss in the corners, and the air carried a faint, fresh scent of grass and wood.

Miaomiao wore a brand-new floral padded jacket, the red fabric with yellow flowers gleaming in the morning light. Her hair was tied into a pair of high pigtails, the red cords at the ends swaying gently with her movements.

Her once slender face had gained a touch of baby fat, her cheeks flush with a healthy pink, like a ripe apple.

Children adapt remarkably quickly. In just a few days, she had shed her previous shyness; her eyes now shone like morning dew.

It was as if a flower on the verge of withering had been refreshed by sweet nectar.

When Chen Lin saw Liu Lihua off, he pressed all the silver he had into her hands.

Liu Lihua initially refused, but Chen Lin insisted, saying, “It’s for your little sister to buy meat.”

During these days, Miaomiao almost always had meat with her meals, and in the mornings, she could even eat two plump eggs. Liu Lihua had made several new clothes for her as well.

The little girl had never lived such a comfortable life before, yet a trace of melancholy always lingered on her face. This morning, she practiced her forms with a distracted gait, her mind far from the motions.

“Left and right bows, punch and retract… stop!”

Liu Lihua pressed her hands to her abdomen and finished with a crisp closing pose, a fine sweat beading at her temples. Her practice sleeves were rolled up to her forearms, revealing strong wrists.

She frowned at Miaomiao, her tone serious. “Miaomiao, what’s wrong today? I’ve told you before, when training, never divide your focus.”

Miaomiao stopped moving, clutching the edge of her garment with tiny fists. Tears welled up in her big eyes.

In just a few days together, she already regarded Liu Lihua as an elder sister. Unable to hide her hurt, she lowered her head and whispered, “Sister, I miss brother…”

Her voice was soft and quivering with tears.

Liu Lihua’s heart softened. She knelt down, gently wiping away the tears at the corner of her eyes. “I’ll take you to find him soon. Honestly, it’s been so long since he came to see our Miaomiao.”

Though she complained aloud, a nagging doubt gnawed at her—what on earth was Chen Lin so busy with? His figure haunted her thoughts these past days, refusing to leave, stirring a restless irritation.

Miaomiao quickly tugged at her sleeve, looking up earnestly. “Brother must be very busy. He has to earn money to buy meat for Miaomiao.”

“Hmph, the little one always defending your brother,” Liu Lihua teased, pinching her cheek. Her stern expression couldn’t be maintained; a hint of a smile broke through.

A morning breeze stirred the white magnolia in the yard, sending the girls’ laughter far into the distance.

The wind at the Bund was fiercer than in Yangjing Town, carrying the briny scent of the river and setting the canvas sheets beside the construction site fluttering.

At the Diandie Trading Company’s site, the frame of a four-story building had already been erected, shrouded in thick wooden planks like a giant wrapped in cloth.

Crowds gathered before the frame, footsteps, voices, and the clatter of tools mingling in a lively cacophony, resembling a bustling market.

Mr. Diandie himself arrived, dressed in a sharp suit, the chain of a pocket watch gleaming on his chest.

Several gentlemen in tailcoats stood beside him, their polished shoes marking them as the trading firm’s elite.

William Jardine, the chief of Jardine Matheson, twirled his mustache, his gaze sweeping the frame with a hint of mockery. “Mr. Diandie, have your men take down the boards quickly! We’re here to witness a miracle—erecting a building frame in five days. Even in London, that would be a remarkable feat.”

“Indeed,” added Samuel Russell, a blond American from the Flagship Trading Company, his blue eyes gleaming with curiosity. “Let’s see what this ‘miracle’ really looks like.”

Diandie smiled faintly, but his hands clenched his cane involuntarily.

Who knew if the frame was truly reliable? Behind the boards were many round wooden supports—once the boards came down, all the weight would rest on the concrete pillars. Would these newfangled structures hold?

He felt a knot in his stomach but dared not show it, instead signaling James with a glance.

James hurried forward, palms sweaty. “Boss, everything’s ready!”

Diandie pulled him aside, lowering his voice. “Are you sure about this?”

“Sh-should be fine… I asked Chen Lin; he said it would definitely work.”

The uncertainty in James’s voice only made Diandie more anxious—if this kid messed up, he’d become the laughingstock of the concession.

Chen Lin stood below, looking up at the frame.

A four-story building was no small feat on the Shanghai Bund. Sunlight reflected off the wooden boards, dazzling the eyes.

Beside him stood the carpentry foreman Sun Baoshan, whose goatee curled high; the burly stone foreman Li Yunshan, hands on hips, staring at the frame; and the seemingly calm tile foreman Han Zhongxin, his fingers nervously rubbing the edge of his garment.

Hundreds had worked day and night for five days—this last step made everyone tense.

Chen Lin appeared composed, but his palms were white from gripping tightly.

He glanced back at Diandie, meeting the man’s hawk-like gaze full of expectation.

Chen Lin nodded lightly, took a deep breath, and told the foremen, “Take down the boards.”

The craftsmen waiting by the frame sprang into action.

Gripping pry bars, they called out in rhythm, starting from the topmost boards.

“Heave-ho!” With a sharp crack, a pry bar wedged between the boards, the first plank popped loose, revealing the gray concrete pillar beneath, its surface rough and textured.

“Remove the supporting round logs first!” Sun Baoshan shouted.

The workers swiftly dismantled the logs; the boards, now unsupported, were carefully lowered and stacked aside. The top floor’s slab gradually emerged—a flat concrete surface faintly marked with steel rebar impressions.

A craftsman standing on the top floor cautiously stamped his foot; the slab emitted a dull thud but did not budge.

“Good! No problem!” someone shouted excitedly, the sound rippling across the site.

Han Zhongxin slapped his thigh, laughing. “It’s done! The top floor is solid!”

The watching crowd erupted in chatter:

“This building doesn’t use a single wooden beam.”

“I heard this is called reinforced concrete, built entirely of cement.”

“Impressive, truly impressive. A building like this must resist fire and water!”

“The foreigners are incredible.”

“Look at those craftsmen—they’re all from our Qing Empire. How can you say the foreigners are better?”

“Exactly, it’s our Qing craftsmen who are remarkable.”

“Did you see that young man? A Shanghai local, I hear he’s the supervisor’s assistant. Not only does he speak foreign languages, but he also knows how to build. Now that’s impressive.”

“A prodigy! So young and so skilled!”

Whether they understood or not, everyone craned their necks, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Diandie’s furrowed brow gradually relaxed, a genuine smile breaking at the corners of his mouth. He waved to the craftsmen: “Keep removing!”

But the smiles on Jardine’s and Russell’s faces faded.

They had come expecting a failure but were surprised that the top floor held firm.

Now they couldn’t leave, forced to stand awkwardly, hoping the lower floors would falter.

Chen Lin’s heart, however, was not at ease.

The top floor bore the least pressure; the real test lay below.

He watched the workers dismantle the second-floor boards. Each plank hitting the ground felt like a blow to his heart.

The crack of pry bars, the thud of boards, the crowd’s gasps blended into a cacophony in his ears, making his breath quicken.

The second floor was cleared—pillars stood straight, without the slightest sway.

The third floor was done—the slab remained steady and firm.

Finally, the lowest level.

As the last board was pried loose, everyone held their breath. The silence on the site was so profound that the wind’s whisper could be heard.

Sunlight bathed the exposed frame, gray concrete pillars supporting the slabs. Steel rebar peeked faintly within the pillars. Though not beautiful, the structure radiated a solid strength.

This was Shanghai’s first reinforced concrete frame—a small step in architectural history but one that left all spectators dumbfounded.

“Load test!” Chen Lin’s voice shattered the silence.

Dozens of craftsmen climbed to the fourth floor, lining up neatly.

At Chen Lin’s command, they stomped their feet together. The “thump-thump-thump” echoed from the rooftop like distant thunder.

All eyes fixed on the frame, hearts in throats—the frame stood firm, not a hint of sway.

“It’s done! It’s really done!” the craftsmen cheered, patting each other’s shoulders, their eyes shining with excitement.

Diandie’s cane struck the ground with a “thud,” his smile now uncontainable, his face smoothing from worry.

“Now, let us invite Mr. Diandie to unveil the building’s rendering!” Chen Lin stepped forward to a giant easel draped in red silk, his voice clear.

This was a moment Chen Lin had arranged especially—bosses loved such grand occasions.

Diandie hesitated a moment, then composed himself and strode forward, raising his right hand high.

The red silk was pulled away, fluttering in the air, revealing the design—a seven-story building!

The lower four floors were in English Gothic style, with grand stained-glass windows that would shimmer in sunlight; above that rose three floors of traditional Chinese architecture, with sweeping eaves, intricate wooden window carvings—a harmonious blend of East and West, stunning and arresting.

This was the revised plan Chen Lin and the designers had developed: a reinforced concrete frame with stone load-bearing walls beneath, topped by three stories of wooden structure—solid yet economical in materials.

“Seven stories… seven stories!” Jardine couldn’t help but exclaim, nearly dropping his cane. Their Jardine Matheson’s three-story building suddenly seemed unimpressive in comparison.

Russell’s blue eyes widened, speechless. No one expected such a building to rise from this unassuming site.

The crowd burst into even louder cheers. Craftsmen clapped hands, trading company staff embraced with smiles, even the watching Chinese workers grinned broadly, pride shining on their faces—this building was constructed brick by brick by their own hands!

Chen Lin stood among them, gazing at the jubilant crowd. His tensed shoulders finally relaxed.

A breeze brushed his face, carrying the scent of cement and wood, a fragrance that held the triumph of his first victory since crossing through time.

The five days and nights of toil had not been in vain. Now, it was time for this building to truly stand tall.