Chapter 21: Hello Teacher, My Name Is Zheng Fei
After settling the price, Zheng Fei discussed some detailed matters with the team leader, deciding that certain materials and tools would be provided by the team.
For instance, items like shovels, sieves, hammers, ladders, as well as hard clay blocks and wooden strips used for crafting the deity statues.
“As per usual practice, we’ll probably need to stay here for over a month. During that time, accommodation and meals will be your responsibility,” Zheng Fei said.
He Guangliang nodded. “No problem at all. Just add a couple more pairs of chopsticks. Seafood will be plentiful—this happens to be the season for green crabs. We’ll make sure to get you a few extra.”
Zhu Xiaotao was visibly excited. Although Shanghai is by the sea, fresh seafood was always a rare treat, something to drool over from afar.
Indeed, traveling with Brother Fei meant not just earning money but also enjoying good food. He planned to tell Qiusheng about it later; the poor guy would be envious.
Though the young man had proposed numerous conditions, He Guangliang didn’t feel annoyed. On the contrary, he admired Zheng Fei for his methodical approach, calm demeanor, and clear division of responsibilities.
With all the details finalized and Zheng Fei confirming that work would begin the day after tomorrow, Zhu Xiaotao scratched his head and asked, “Brother Fei, what can I do?”
Zheng Fei thought for a moment. “You just play with the clay.”
“Ah?”
Zhu Xiaotao twisted his face. “Can’t you assign me something a bit more technical? If I can’t help much, this money will feel like a hot potato.”
Zheng Fei rolled his eyes. “You think working with clay is easy? I practiced for half a year before I got the hang of it.”
“No way, it’s that hard?”
“You’ll see soon enough.”
Now reflecting carefully, Zheng Fei recalled that Master Zhao indeed taught him something—not everything, but at least how to work with clay.
Mastering the clay was actually a crucial step in restoring temples.
After working with clay, he realized it was very particular, starting from selecting the right type—coarse clay, fine clay, adding sand, cotton, rice straw, and so on.
Having received the deposit, Zheng Fei temporarily left Daxi Village and returned to the city to purchase various painting tools and pigments.
Upon hearing this, Taotao turned pale, worried about the boat and bus rides and the early morning return planned for the day after tomorrow.
Zheng Fei simply let him stay in Daxi Village, assigning him the task of removing the old plaster from the walls of the Mazu Temple.
...
That very night, Zheng Fei returned to Tanzowan.
Grandpa Sun, sitting by the door listening to the radio, saw him and asked, “Back so soon? How did the negotiations go?”
Zheng Fei smiled. “I’ve already made the move. It’s practically a done deal.”
Grandpa Sun frowned slightly. “Words are useless; you have to do it right.”
“Of course. When it’s done, I’ll buy you a couple of big pig’s feet as a token of respect.”
“That’s more like it—make sure they’re well cooked. My teeth aren’t what they used to be.”
Just then, a woman came out to dump bathwater and, overhearing their conversation, sneered sarcastically, “An unemployed young man who doesn’t steal or rob—where does he get money to buy pig’s feet, and two of them at that...”
Before Zheng Fei could respond, Grandpa Sun sharply reprimanded her, “One should have a broad mind and not be so narrow-minded.”
Facing her former superior, Zhang Guifen dared not retort, especially since her eldest son had taken over her shift.
Though retired, most of the factory’s core staff were once under Grandpa Sun’s command.
Zheng Fei returned to his room and noticed the neighboring household was empty. Normally, upon hearing footsteps upstairs, Xiao Yun would be curious and come out to peek.
But at the door, Zheng Fei found a note pasted:
“Xiao Fei, there’s something urgent back home, so I’ve gone back for a while. I left your new rice in your room.”
Opening the door, Zheng Fei found a bag of new rice behind it. He weighed it and realized it had barely been used since purchase.
A flood of mixed emotions washed over him. Then, under the faint light of the kerosene lamp, he began painting a portrait of Mazu.
Perhaps from exhaustion, he fell asleep halfway through, resting his head on the desk.
When he opened his eyes again, he heard Qiusheng calling out.
“Come out to empty the toilet! Hurry up; if you miss the time, you’ll have to do it yourself.”
Pinching his nose, Zheng Fei opened the window and shouted downstairs, “Taotao and I have settled everything.”
Qiusheng, pulling the manure cart, looked surprised. “Really?”
“Do you think I’d lie to you?”
“Awesome! We’re really taking off now.”
At that moment, Qiusheng’s slightly stooped father seemed to realize something. He suddenly looked up at Zheng Fei and warned, “Zheng Fei, I’m warning you—don’t let me catch you secretly involving Qiusheng in anything dirty.”
Zheng Fei felt a bit embarrassed. He guessed his father had figured out where his secret money was going.
Seeing his father’s angry gaze, Qiusheng dragged the manure cart away.
After brushing his teeth and washing his face, Zheng Fei went straight to the city to buy a variety of painting tools and pigments.
For murals and coloring deity statues, mineral pigments like cinnabar, lapis lazuli, and azurite were preferable.
After all, ancient painting wasn’t as convenient as today; they didn’t have lacquer or acrylics.
Zheng Fei bought a large stock of pigments, various brushes, and tools for clay sculpting.
At that moment, he spotted a small sign across the street with the words “Master Meng Guang” written on it.
As he surveyed the scene, a spirited middle-aged man caught his gaze.
“Young fellow, come this way.”
Zheng Fei wanted to say he was just passing by, not specifically visiting, but the man’s enthusiasm was unmistakable.
Smiling, Zheng Fei greeted him, “Hello, Master Meng.”
Master Meng was surprised to see the large bundle of painting supplies in Zheng Fei’s hands. “Buying so many pigments? Are you planning to learn oil painting?”
“No, I’m going to paint murals in a temple,” Zheng Fei replied honestly, knowing there was no need to lie before this master.
Master Meng was quite astonished.
“You can paint murals?”
“A little. I learned from a folk artist before.”
“You have quite a wild path—your skills are broad. Not only academic sketching but also traditional folk art.”
“Well, being unemployed, I have plenty of time to learn things.”
“You make unemployed youth sound like a very impressive group,” Master Meng laughed.
“By the way, the students are all here today, and we have a big model. Why not come in and take a look?”
Unable to refuse such warm hospitality, Zheng Fei went inside. It was always good to meet new people.
Master Meng’s studio was a small Western-style house with a courtyard. Those who managed to keep such places after that era were quite formidable.
On the first floor, Zheng Fei saw many artists—some sketching, others painting in oils.
On the sofa at the front sat a young woman about his age, holding an English magazine.
She was presumably the model. Zheng Fei took a quick look; her facial features were sharp and imposing.
By his previous life’s standards, which favored delicate faces, she wouldn’t be considered particularly beautiful.
He looked at her a few more times, feeling she was vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t recall whom she resembled.
Master Meng introduced her: “Let me introduce the young fellow I mentioned to you all last time—the one who did excellent sketches at the Bund.”
All eyes in the room turned to Zheng Fei. At that moment, a broad-faced young man with a neatly parted hairstyle stood up.
Smiling, he approached Zheng Fei. “Hello, I’m Chen Yifei, currently at the Shanghai Oil Painting Institute.”