Chapter 10: Small Ambitions

After Zheng Fei recounted the events of the day, Zhu Xiaotao and Wang Qiusheng could not help but exchange bewildered glances.

Zhu Xiaotao twisted Qiusheng’s ear and grinned, asking, "Does that hurt?"

"Damn it, you let me twist yours and see."

Zhu Xiaotao still couldn't resist asking, "Brother Fei, since when did you become so talented?"

Zheng Fei didn't bother explaining; it was something that simply couldn't be clarified. "I’ve always been this good, okay? My grandfather painted New Year pictures, and my father drew comic strips. I’ve been learning from them for over half a year, so what’s there to be surprised about?"

Hearing this, the two felt it actually made some sense, but Zhu Xiaotao frowned and said, "But I remember you were complaining just last month that the old codger hadn't taught you anything and that you’d wasted half a year for nothing."

Zheng Fei laughed. "That? Well, I suddenly had a breakthrough this month. I’m just naturally gifted, what can I say? I learn fast."

"..." Zhu Xiaotao was left speechless.

"But if you’re this good now, doesn’t that make the two of us look like idiots?"

Wang Qiusheng looked at him with disdain. "Only you’re the idiot; don't drag me into this. My brain works better than yours."

"Rubbish, you’re just a stinking night-soil collector, how dare you compare yourself to me... Whoa, don't touch my face with your filthy hands!"

Through his memories, Zheng Fei knew the three of them were very close, having grown up together, but as an outsider, he didn't share that history. Still, they were truly lucky to have encountered him—a transmigrator. As long as they didn't do anything reckless in this life, it would be hard for them not to succeed.

With both childhood friends present, Zheng Fei decided it was the perfect time to discuss his plans. Sketching portraits at the Bund was clearly not a long-term solution. The fastest way to make money he could think of was painting murals for temples. However, murals were massive projects, and there was no way he could finish one alone. He needed at least one or two people to help him, and since these two were essentially unemployed youth, they were a perfect fit.

"Tao, Qiusheng, there’s something I want to discuss with you."

Seeing Zheng Fei’s serious expression, Zhu Xiaotao immediately quieted down. Wang Qiusheng spoke up on the spot, "If you need to borrow money, just say the word. I know exactly where my old man hides his stash."

Zheng Fei smiled. "It's not about borrowing money. I’m planning to..."

After hearing his plan, their eyes widened. Zhu Xiaotao asked, "Brother Fei, can you really handle those temple murals all by yourself?"

Zheng Fei nodded. "More or less, but I need to study more murals before I start."

The current problem facing Zheng Fei was that he possessed the "slaying skills" but didn't know what the dragon looked like. If he went solo, he needed some substance; he couldn't very well have a client hire him for a mural and then turn around and ask them what kind of painting they wanted or if they had any photos for reference. Furthermore, Zheng Fei was quite young, and as the saying goes, "no hair on the chin means no weight in one’s words." Without some real skill, he wouldn't be able to land the contracts. He planned to spend his time outside of sketching portraits at the Bund visiting temples for further study.

Just then, Wang Qiusheng chimed in, "Brother Fei, I don't think you need to study them specifically. We could just use a camera to take pictures of the murals and then paint based on the photos. That would solve the problem, wouldn't it?"

Zheng Fei felt enlightened by these words. *Right, how did I, a transmigrator, not think of that?* He could use a camera!

Zheng Fei gave him a thumbs-up. "Qiusheng, you’re brilliant."

Wang Qiusheng said smugly, "My grandpa always said that if our family hadn't been so poor, I would have been prime minister material."

"Don't get too ahead of yourself," Zhu Xiaotao countered immediately. "Let’s be realistic. How much does a camera cost? Even a roll of film is dozens of yuan. Where are we going to get that kind of money?"

The cold water poured over them brought Zheng Fei and Wang Qiusheng back to reality. In this era, a camera was a luxury among luxuries. An ordinary family wouldn't even dare to dream of one, and the film was all imported. The three of them couldn't even scrape together a dime between them right now. It seemed this shortcut wasn't viable.

"Brother Fei, if you’re really going to do this, I’ll stop going to the docks to move cargo with my dad. From now on, I’m with you," Zhu Xiaotao said earnestly.

Wang Qiusheng grinned. "I’m in too. I’ve long been sick of collecting night-soil. I’ve done it for so long that the women in Tanziwan all walk the other way when they see me coming."

Seeing his close friends wanting to join, Zheng Fei emphasized, "I’ll say this upfront: I won’t be doing this line of work for very long. Once I’ve made enough money, I might stop painting murals. Don't force me to keep doing it when that time comes."

Zheng Fei felt some things needed to be made clear early on, as his goals were not limited to just making money in this era.

Once he had money and his life was stable, he would certainly make up for the regrets of his life. In his previous life, Zheng Fei majored in comics and had always harbored a deep grievance: even though China had such a great foundation and so many talented artists, the medium remained stuck at a juvenile stage. In his memory, a publication called *The King of Comic Books* had once cracked the door open, but it only lasted for a year before disappearing into the dust of history.

Zheng Fei had a dream: to create a fertile ground for the growth of Chinese comics. He knew it wouldn't be easy, but fortunately, in this era, everything was just beginning to revive. If he could get a good start, there might be a turning point in the future. If there really was no opportunity here, he could always head to Hong Kong—trample Wong Yuk-long, punch Ma Wing-shing, and becoming the godfather of the Hong Kong comic industry wasn't out of the question.

...

Early morning in Shanghai.

It was always noisy. The soundproofing in the shanty town was non-existent; sleeping in was impossible. The constant ringing of bicycle bells and the ship whistles from the Suzhou Creek a hundred meters away sounded like they were coming to claim one’s life. Next door, Old Man Sun was always full of vitality every morning, reading *Reference News* and *Xinmin Evening News* at the top of his lungs, as if he wanted everyone to hear. The retired matrons began their daily gossip, and this morning, they were discussing nothing but Zheng Fei.

"I really didn't expect it, little Fei draws so well. Director Wang was beaming when she got that portrait."

"Must be family inheritance."

Zheng Fei, unable to stay in bed, crouched by the roadside, brushing his teeth and washing his face with dark circles under his eyes, feeling like life was meaningless.

Just then, the elementary school student named Wang Haoran walked by with his schoolbag, skipping along. When he saw Zheng Fei crouching there brushing his teeth, he was so startled that he flattened himself against the wall and scurried away like a crab.

"Am I that terrifying?"

Zheng Fei had originally intended to borrow another pencil from him, as the one in his hand was almost finished.