The Bund Chronicles: Chapter 21, Wit in the Banquet Hall, Confessions in the Labor Shed

Jenny frowned when she saw Chen Lin remain unmoved, assuming he was merely timid and cowed by Sean’s aggressive demeanor.

However, she refused to be intimidated by these arrogant, bullying foreigners. She lifted her chin, her eyes cold as ice, and stared straight at Sean. "Others are capable of creating a coagulation agent, while some people are so ignorant and unlearned that their intelligence probably doesn't even rival that of an ape."

"What did you say?" Sean’s face flushed a deep, liver-like purple, his tone brimming with malice. "Is it that half of the Chinese blood in you that has tarnished your upbringing?"

The words were like a poisoned blade, an overt insult calling Jenny a "half-breed." Jenny trembled with rage, her eyes rimmed with red.

Only then did it dawn on Chen Lin—she was of mixed heritage; her raven hair and dark eyes were inherited from her Chinese mother.

"Mr. Sean," Chen Lin suddenly spoke. His pure London accent cut through the impasse, his tone calm yet piercing. "I have never been to England, but I have often heard it called a land of gentlemen."

He paused, a mocking smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Is this what a gentleman is? Engaging in petty verbal squabbles with a young girl?"

This struck a nerve with the foreigners, who prided themselves above all on "gentlemanly decorum." For Sean to argue with a girl in public had already lowered his standing.

Sean’s face turned even redder, like a boiled shrimp. He pointed at Chen Lin and roared, "You savage yellow monkey, you aren't fit to stand here!"

He was young and still possessed the impulsive nature of a spoiled child; in his agitation, his true colors were laid bare.

"By the way," Chen Lin continued, as if he hadn't heard the insult. "Mr. Sean says Miss Jenny has Chinese blood flowing through her. May I ask whose blood flows through yours? Celts? Vikings? Romans? Germans? Or Normans?"

At these words, the surrounding foreigners fell silent. All these peoples had once ruled England; strictly speaking, none of them were "pure" Englishmen. It was a precise strike at their collective sore spot.

Jenny’s previously taut face gradually relaxed, and a faint smile even crept onto her lips. She wondered how she hadn't thought to slap them down in such a manner. Chen Lin was right; what right did they have to mock her?

Sean was left speechless. Blinded by fury, he grabbed a bottle of red wine from the table, intending to smash it against Chen Lin’s head. He had run out of words and was resorting to violence.

"Stop!" A sharp, thunderous shout came from the doorway, ringing in everyone’s ears.

A middle-aged man with a hooked nose strode in. He was impeccably dressed in a suit, his eyes sharp as knives—it was William Jardine of Jardine Matheson, Sean’s father.

"Sean, get back at once!" His voice carried unquestionable authority. "You are not to take a single step out of your room without my permission!"

"Mr. Jardine!" James was the quickest to react, rushing forward to bow so low his waist nearly touched the ground.

Jardine merely glanced at Chen Lin, his gaze sweeping over him as if he were an insignificant piece of furniture. He offered no greeting, made no mention of the conflict, and walked straight to James, patting his shoulder with a smile. "James, where is Dent? Does he intend to be the last one to appear at his own banquet?"

"This way, sir, the boss will be here momentarily," James said, fawning as he led Jardine toward the depths of the banquet hall.

Upon seeing his father, Sean looked like a mouse before a cat. He glared fiercely at Chen Lin, then turned and stomped away, fists clenched. The group of foreign youths who had been egging him on scattered like birds and beasts, terrified of being caught in Jardine’s crossfire.

In the corner of the hall, only Chen Lin and Jenny remained.

"Chen Lin." Jenny spoke suddenly, using fluent Chinese, her pronunciation softened by a hint of Cantonese lilt.

"Miss Jenny speaks Chinese?" Chen Lin was surprised, the detachment in his eyes softening slightly.

"Didn't you hear?" Jenny smiled, her eyes curving into crescents. "I have half Chinese blood, after all." The haughtiness on her face had faded significantly; her chin tucked slightly, losing the spoiled air of a foreign miss and gaining the gentle warmth of a girl next door.

Watching her, Chen Lin suddenly found her exceptionally beautiful from this angle—the light caught her eyelashes, casting soft shadows, and her dark eyes reflected the candlelight like a sky full of stars.

"Then, do you consider yourself Chinese, or a foreigner?" he couldn't help but ask.

Jenny’s expression dimmed, and she spoke in a very soft voice. "I grew up with my mother. My father only provided living expenses and never paid us any mind. It wasn't until I was ten, when he was certain he couldn't have other children, that he brought me to his side." She paused, her tone laced with grievance. "But he forbade me from seeing my mother again and hired strict tutors to teach me English and English etiquette..."

She couldn't explain why she was telling these secrets to Chen Lin. Perhaps she had felt a sense of kinship from the first moment, or perhaps it was because Chen Lin’s intervention had restored a long-lost sense of security—the feeling of being protected, something she hadn't experienced in many years.

"Is Mr. Dent not good to you?" Chen Lin asked.

"He only treats me as a tool." Jenny cast a quick look around, and seeing that no one was paying attention, she leaned in closer, dropping her voice even lower. "Chen Lin, I know you have talent. We are both Chinese; can’t we help each other?"

Her gaze was sincere, as if she were offering up her heart.

Chen Lin, however, did not agree immediately. The lessons of his past life made him wary of trusting others easily, especially those with complicated backgrounds.

He smiled, his tone impeccable. "Miss Jenny, I have only been on the job for a few days. I am just a minor clerk at the firm; how could I possibly help you? You are Mr. Dent’s daughter, and both you and he are people I am here to serve. If you have any orders, please feel free to give them."

He neither refused nor took sides, maintaining the perfect posture of a subordinate.

At that moment, James’s voice suddenly rang out across the hall, filled with excitement: "Ladies and Gentlemen, your attention, please!"

All eyes converged on the center. Dent emerged from the inner hall, holding a wine glass, his long, slightly wavy hair draped over his shoulders, his demeanor composed.

Chen Lin looked at him, then at Jenny beside him—the father and daughter did indeed share similar features, especially those sharp, piercing eyes.

"Thank you all for coming to Dent’s banquet!" Dent’s voice was resonant, carrying across the entire hall. "Today is the day the framework of our new building is completed, and it is a day worth celebrating—we have verified the efficacy of the cement coagulation agent! Moving forward, Dent’s firm will build a factory for mass production and share this wonderful product with everyone!"

His words were laced with business acumen—using the banquet as an opportunity to advertise the agent while simultaneously wooing potential clients.

Jardine sat off to the side, wearing a smile, while inwardly sneering: Dent had won this round, but the profits from the silk trade were the true currency, and he had already been laying his plans in the shadows.

The feast finally began. The long table was laden with roasted chicken, steak, and fruit; silver platters gleamed, and the red wine in crystal glasses rippled.

Chen Lin retreated to a corner, eating quietly—he was thin and had been trying to improve his nutrition lately. After the earlier confrontation, the foreign youths dared not bother him.

But Jenny kept her eyes on him, following him wherever he went. In the Shanghai concessions of this time, white women were rare, and those of her age were even scarcer. She drew Chen Lin into conversation, talking about everything from the weather in London to local snacks in Shanghai, her words flowing endlessly.

She had expected that after pouring her heart out, Chen Lin would be like other men, hanging on her every word. But Chen Lin maintained a polite distance—neither too far nor too close, neither cold nor warm—leaving her both disappointed and unable to vent her frustration.

After more than two hours, the banquet concluded. Chen Lin was full, his stomach rounded. As he left, he surreptitiously pocketed a bottle of red wine when no one was looking.

Stepping out of the temporary office building, the river breeze hit him, carrying the scent of the water and the smell of grass, blowing away the lingering aroma of wine, meat, and cigars. Chen Lin took a deep breath, feeling refreshed.

He looked left and right, and seeing no one, he headed toward the sheds behind the construction site. The sheds were crude but radiated warmth. Most of the laborers had returned, as work was to resume the next day.

Chen Lin entered a small shed where a light was burning. Inside, a small mud stove was burning wood scraps, the flames crackling. A teapot on the stove emitted steam, and the rich fragrance of yellow wine filled the space.

Seven or eight men sat in the shed—foremen he had dealt with before: the mason Han Zhongxin, the carpenter Sun Baoshan, the stonemason Li Yunshan, and several veteran craftsmen.

"Oh, Clerk Chen!" Han Zhongxin was the first to stand up, quickly shifting to make room and patting the straw mat beside him. "Why are you here? Come, sit down! Our place is dirty, don't mind it."

Chen Lin sat down with a smile and pulled the bottle of red wine from his coat, handing it over. "Uncles, I’m still young and can't handle much alcohol, but you should try this foreign wine and see if you like it."

"How could we!" Han Zhongxin said politely, though his hand quickly reached out to take it. The glass bottle was crystal clear in the firelight; the bottle alone was worth quite a bit.

The men passed the bottle around, taking sips, their faces beaming with joy. Chen Lin then pulled a paper parcel of roasted meat from his coat—leftovers from the banquet, still warm in the oil paper.

"Wine and meat—this is the life!" Li Yunshan slapped his thigh, his voice booming. He pulled a bag of spiced peas from his pocket and handed it to Chen Lin. "Clerk Chen, try these. My old woman made them; they go perfectly with the wine."

The other craftsmen followed suit, bringing out their own snacks—fried peanuts, pickled radishes—spreading them out in a feast.

"Clerk Chen, we owe this all to you!" Li Yunshan took a sip of the foreign wine, his face turning bright red. "Otherwise, we wouldn't have gotten such a big bonus, or been able to draw our wages in advance."

"That’s right, all thanks to Clerk Chen!" the others echoed, their voices filled with gratitude.

Chen Lin felt a bit embarrassed and waved his hand. "You’re too kind, uncles. I only know a little bit of foreign book-learning; you are the ones doing the real work. If everyone hadn't been so diligent, the building wouldn't have been completed."

"Clerk Chen is too modest!" Han Zhongxin laughed. "Who doesn't know that the cement framework was your idea? Before this, who had ever seen a building without wood?"

After a few cups, the men became more talkative, chatting about their families and anecdotes from the construction site. Chen Lin listened, occasionally adding a word or two, and the atmosphere grew warmer and warmer.

The timing was right. He cleared his throat and began to slowly lay out his plans.