Chapter 31: What Is Your Take on This Work?

Before submitting his manuscript, Zheng Fei first paid a visit to Teacher Meng’s studio. He wanted to let Meng preview the original work; being part of the same publishing circles, Meng’s reaction would likely mirror that of the editors.

When Teacher Meng untied the kraft paper envelope and saw the comic inside, he was stunned for a long time. He didn't even finish looking through the pages before shoving them back in.

"As for art, I understand a thing or two, but as for storytelling, I am completely clueless." He looked at Zheng Fei with confusion. "Where did you learn all this?"

"If I said I was self-taught, would you believe me, Teacher Meng?"

"Although it looks messy, there is a method to the madness. In a single frame, you’ve used several different types of brushes. Your 'self-taught' talent is a bit too genius, don't you think?"

Zheng Fei made up an excuse on the spot: "I got lucky. I met a cartoonist from Hong Kong and studied under him for a while."

Meng Guang frowned slightly, feeling that the boy wasn't telling the truth. He had interacted with him several times, but the more they spoke, the more he felt an indescribable sense of awkwardness. Skills that others spent seven or eight years painstakingly mastering seemed to come as easily to this kid as buying groceries from a shop; even Meng felt a twinge of jealousy.

"Teacher Meng, do you think this comic has a chance of being accepted?"

"If it were up to me, as long as the content is sound, I would accept it in a heartbeat. However, the first print run would certainly be capped at under 5,000 copies."

"In that case, my chances of being accepted are quite high." Having grown familiar with the teacher, Zheng Fei grew cheeky. "Do you have any acquaintances over there?"

Teacher Meng shook his head. "Knowing people doesn't help. These decisions are made by committee, and for someone like you, they’ll probably have to hold a full meeting."

Just as Zheng Fei was about to leave, Meng Guang suddenly said, "Don't bother mailing it to the publishing house. Just take it there in person. Remember to buy a pack of Red Peony cigarettes for Old Chen at the guard booth. As long as he’s willing to take your cigarettes, your manuscript won't go missing. It’s more reliable than the post office."

"Thank you, Teacher Meng."

Afterward, Zheng Fei used his cigarette coupons to buy a pack of Red Peony. These were expensive—forty-nine cents a pack, much pricier than the standard Da Qian Men brand. In this era, Chung Hwa cigarettes were the best for gifting, but they were nearly impossible to acquire even with coupons. They were "special supply" items, reserved for embassies and visiting foreign guests; rumor had it they wouldn't hit the open market until 1988, at which point the price per carton would skyrocket to sixty-five yuan. Red Peony, meanwhile, had its own legend; for as long as he could remember, it had served as the budget alternative to Chung Hwa. Some even claimed that the "Peony 333" and Chung Hwa were produced in the same factory using the exact same tobacco. Zheng Fei didn't know if it were true, but he knew that because of such rumors, the cigarettes were very expensive.

A few blocks later, Zheng Fei arrived at Changle Road. In a district like Jing'an, where every inch of land was worth gold, the offices weren't particularly large. The People's Fine Arts Publishing House was a powerhouse back then, and countless artists relied on it for their livelihood.

After all, in this day and age, an artist's paintings weren't worth much, and they didn't dare set high prices for fear of being labeled elitist. To make any real money, one had to go down the path of serialized picture books (lianhuanhua). At the time, these books sold for a pittance—around twenty or thirty cents, cheaper than a pack of cigarettes. Yet, a bestseller could sell one or two million copies. If one could produce a hit, the royalties could instantly turn several people into "ten-thousand-yuan households." However, in this era, the highest royalties still went to the works of the Great Leader.

He arrived at the entrance and knocked on the door of the guard booth. An old man poked his head out and asked, "Who are you looking for?"

Zheng Fei smiled. "I’m here to submit a manuscript. Since I don't live too far away, Teacher Meng suggested I bring it over myself."

"What kind of manuscript?"

"A picture book." Zheng Fei didn't say "comic," fearing the concept might be too avant-garde and scare them off. He handed the old man the pack of Red Peony he had just bought, along with the kraft paper envelope.

After accepting the cigarettes and opening the envelope to verify the contents were indeed drawings, the old man said, "I see. I'll have someone from the picture book editorial office come and collect the manuscript."

"Thank you very much."

Zheng Fei didn't know if his submission would cause a stir or simply vanish without a trace. He felt uncertain. All he could do was take it one step at a time. Before getting a response, he decided to take a break and headed toward the Bund.

...

Just then, Haitang’s eyes brightened as she spotted Zheng Fei strolling along the Bund. Since their last meeting at the Donghai Coffee House, she had regretted asking where he lived. He was elusive, with no fixed address, and once he disappeared, he stayed gone for a long time. Seeing him look in her direction, she instinctively turned her head. Was he here to find her?

She thought about skipping work to go out and meet him, but if she did that, wouldn't it be obvious that she had been watching him from the window? Wouldn't that mean she was interested in him? If he were here for her, he would surely wait until she got off work.

Zheng Fei wasn't thinking that deeply. He just glanced at No. 14 The Bund and then stood nearby, lost in thought. Since arriving in this era, he found that beyond the scenery, there was no entertainment that interested him. He had no interest in the radio, he had already seen all the television shows, and having experienced the finer things in his past life, these shows felt quite cringeworthy. The music at the dance halls was too loud, and such places were magnets for trouble. As for women, he had negotiated so many "deals" in his past life that he felt a sense of weariness toward them in this one.

In his spare time, he wandered around, hoping to experience the culture and humanity of the era, but after a while, he only felt the weight of the word "poor." This era was truly impoverished, yet it was precisely this poverty that gave Zheng Fei a great sense of drive.

Watching the dense crowd of steamships and fishing boats on the Huangpu River, Zheng Fei walked along the embankment for a distance. He ended up at No. 33 The Bund, the former site of the British Consulate, now the Friendship Store. Even if the local citizens had money, they couldn't get in, but one could still see the sign from afar: "Our friends are all over the world."

Zheng Fei frowned slightly, then crossed the tourist-filled Waibaidu Bridge and followed Suzhou Creek back toward Tanziwan. Regardless of the outcome of his submission, he would continue his life as a shut-in, starting work on the second volume of *Wind and Cloud*, titled "A Father More Fierce Than a Tiger." Since he had chosen this path, he wouldn't stop his pen; he desperately wanted to share the story in his heart with the people of this era. He wanted the youth to see his work and feel that same surge of blood, to walk this path with courage. He wanted to defeat those who would eventually stir up trouble and hinder cultural development before they even had the chance to start.

...

In an office at No. 14 The Bund, Haitang looked away for just a moment, and the man vanished into the sea of people. Before her shift even ended, she snuck out to the breakwater, but there was no sign of him. She sat on the iron bench where Zheng Fei had sketched Wenwen, her face a mask of unhappiness. She had been troubled lately, as her family kept pressuring her to go abroad, especially her mother, who was like a monk chanting sutras. Every day, her mother would tell her countless times how wonderful life was abroad and how she could study photography there.

Although Haitang yearned for the West, she wasn't sure she wanted to leave. She had discussed it with Wenwen, who only rolled her eyes: "So many people dream of studying abroad, and you're turning your nose up at it?"

In the past, Haitang might have gone, but now she hesitated. She had just seen Zheng Fei and wanted to ask his opinion, but in the blink of an eye, he was gone.

"Couldn't you have waited for me?"

Furious, she kicked the leg of the iron bench, but this time, Zheng Fei did not reappear.

...

Five days later, the picture book editorial office of the publishing house on Changle Road held an emergency review meeting. Several renowned artists were even in attendance. Meng Guang had been right; the publishing house had indeed called a major meeting for Zheng Fei’s *Wind and Cloud*.

The participants took turns reviewing the manuscript, which looked like a picture book but felt distinctly different. Each of them wore a different expression. Once everyone had finished, the person in charge of the meeting asked, "What do you all think of this work?"