Chapter 19
What can over 1,300 yuan accomplish?
It was enough for Lu Mingzhu to buy a gift for Wang Xingcai, entrusted to Steward Li to take back to Shanghai, and also to prepare a separate parting gift for Steward Li himself, leaving her with 346 yuan and 50 cents remaining.
When Steward Li arrived with his attendants, he traveled with Lu Mingzhu and her nephew on a luxury cruise ship; yet when departing, he took only an ordinary vessel.
They boarded the ship at a pier on the Kowloon Peninsula.
Wang Bohui was overwhelmed today, having to procure supplies discreetly while also accompanying Xie Junyao to bid for a plot of land. Neither Mrs. Wang nor Liao Wanru, matriarchs of two generations, would lower themselves to see him off personally; thus, Lu Mingzhu and Lu Ping’an went in their stead to express gratitude for his care toward the aunt and nephew throughout their journey from Shanghai to Hong Kong.
Watching the cruise ship sail into the distance, Lu Mingzhu and Lu Ping’an departed from the pier.
Although they had dressed very inconspicuously, they still dared not linger there.
The pier was bustling with people coming and going; everywhere one looked, there were individuals from all walks of life. Many porters, who shuttled cargo between ships and warehouse sheds, squatted down during their breaks to eat rice noodles.
Lu Mingzhu also felt somewhat hungry.
Having grown tired of the lavish delicacies at the Wang residence, she found herself dreaming of street food stalls.
She missed jianbing guozi, skewered hot pot, spicy crayfish, egg-filled pancakes, fried chicken cutlets, grilled sausages…
Walking a bit farther, she spotted someone setting up a roadside stall selling snacks. The aroma was irresistible, and quite a few people were already eating there. Lu Mingzhu hurried over and asked, “How much for a bowl of wonton noodles?”
“Three mao for a small bowl, four mao for a large one,” replied the stall owners, a husband and wife pair. Both were thin and weathered, speaking in fluent Cantonese.
Lu Mingzhu knew a little Cantonese and could understand them.
She had a fortune of 346 yuan and 5 mao—more than enough to eat until she burst without making a dent in her savings.
So, she asked Lu Ping’an if he wanted to eat.
“Yes!” A growing boy could eat his father into poverty; Lu Ping’an was at the age where his body was developing rapidly, and his appetite was enormous. Even if his aunt hadn’t brought him to this roadside stall, he would have looked for a place to treat her to a meal.
Lu Mingzhu took out a one-yuan note and handed it over. “Two portions—one small bowl and one large bowl.”
The vendor’s wife beamed with delight. “That comes to seventy cents in total.”
While she was making change, Lu Mingzhu said to Lu Ping’an, “Have something to tide you over for now; we’ll go eat something else later.”
Lu Ping’an murmured in agreement and turned to find a small square table recently vacated by diners.
The stall owner’s daughter, barely in her teens, came over to clear the bowls and chopsticks, then deftly wiped the tabletop with a rag. A bright smile spread across her sun-kissed face as she said, “Sir, Miss, please be seated.”
Before long, two steaming, fragrant bowls of wonton noodles were served.
The delicate wontons, with wrappers as thin as paper revealing the minced meat within, were served over silver-thread noodles and accompanied by a bowl of broth, looking utterly irresistible.
Lu Mingzhu glanced at her nephew. “Eat.”
“Please, go ahead.” Lu Ping’an handed her a pair of clean bamboo chopsticks.
Eating noodles in summer is incredibly refreshing.
Lu Mingzhu wiped away sweat as she ate, her demeanor still impeccably graceful. “So fresh—both savory and aromatic! The noodles are springy and delightfully chewy.”
The Wang family’s chef specialized in local Shanghai cuisine and was not particularly skilled at Cantonese dishes; wonton noodles, so common throughout Hong Kong and Guangdong, were rarely seen in their home. Moreover, whenever Lu Mingzhu dined out, it was always at grand hotels or prestigious restaurants, where one would never find such a simple yet exquisite bowl of noodles.
Lu Ping’an couldn’t help but crinkle his eyes with laughter when he saw her makeup smeared beyond recognition.
His eyes bore a striking resemblance to Lu Mingzhu’s, both being classic peach-blossom eyes.
Set upon the face of a handsome youth, they sparkled with a hint of romantic charm whenever they moved.
“What are you laughing at?” Lu Mingzhu asked, still not catching on.
Lu Ping’an pointed at her face. “Auntie, when I grow up and make a fortune in business, I’ll hire a hundred bodyguards for you so you never have to wear makeup when going out again.”
He made this bold proclamation with great ambition.
Lu Mingzhu burst into laughter, utterly unconcerned about her appearance. “I’m taking you at your word.”
“Extra! Extra! Ruyi Film Company offers generous rewards for submissions—3,000 yuan per article!” A newsboy passed by them, then shouted again: “Extra! Extra! Read all about the shipping magnate spending a fortune for his beloved! Extra! Extra! Houses for sale in Deep Water Bay—move into this feng shui treasure land for just 300,000 yuan!”
Hearing that Ruyi Film Company was soliciting submissions, Lu Mingzhu’s heart stirred; she called out to him, “Come here for a moment.”
Before her transmigration, she had grown accustomed to computers and mobile phones, with online information ubiquitous everywhere; she never developed the habit of reading newspapers. Now, however, if she wished to obtain the information she needed, reading newspapers was her only option.
Every day, someone delivered newspapers to the Wang household. Mrs. Wang and Liao Wanru often read them, but Lu Mingzhu never had.
She simply disliked touching other people’s belongings.
The newsboy ran over at the sound. “Miss, how many copies would you like?”
It was clear that the young lady with the painted face before him and the handsome young gentleman beside her were no ordinary people. Their attire was of the finest quality, utterly unlike the drab, patched clothing of the crowd around them; they could certainly afford to buy newspapers.
Thus, the newsboy was exceedingly eager.
“How many different kinds of newspapers do you have?” Lu Mingzhu asked, looking at the young newsboy, who appeared to be around ten years old—two years younger than Lu Ping’an—yet whose demeanor and actions seemed remarkably mature.
The newsboy grinned, showing his teeth. “There are twelve kinds of newspapers, all bestsellers.”
Lu Mingzhu then asked him how much each newspaper cost.
“One mao, one mao per copy,” the newsboy replied briskly.
Lu Mingzhu handed him two dollars. “One copy of each newspaper, please.”
“Alright! Alright!” The newsboy cheerfully accepted the money, pulled out a newspaper, folded it neatly, and then handed it to Lu Mingzhu with both hands. “Thank you, Miss! Thank you, Miss!”
Then he ran off to another spot to continue hawking his papers.
A woman riding in a rickshaw, dressed in a qipao, passed by, called out to him, bought a newspaper, and tossed him a one-mao coin.
Seeing Lu Mingzhu buy over a dozen newspapers in one breath, the stall owner’s daughter showed clear disapproval.
She spends money so recklessly!
They would have to sell more than a dozen bowls of wonton noodles just to earn one dollar and twenty cents.
Lu Mingzhu paid no heed; she drank the last drop of broth, briefly flipped through the newspapers, and discovered that this particular one was a gossip tabloid, its headline reading: “Shipping Tycoon Spends a Fortune for Beauty.”
“Red-faced beauties” naturally referred not to wives or concubines, but to other female friends.
The article featured Rong Yan, a movie star, showing off a four-carat diamond ring during an interview, claiming it was a birthday gift from Ming Hui, the shipping magnate, costing a whopping 20,000 Hong Kong dollars!
Lu Ping’an craned his neck to take a few glances and remarked, “Truly bold.”
Lu Mingzhu smiled. “Are you referring to the female star or the shipping magnate?”
“Both.” He Yun is currently in Hong Kong; Minghui’s indiscretion, showing no respect for either side, is a slight to his father-in-law, while Rong Yan’s decision to publicize this matter now is hardly wise.
After a pause, Lu Ping’an added, “The ring in the photograph looks somewhat familiar.”
Lu Mingzhu exclaimed in surprise, “From such a blurry black-and-white photo, you can actually recognize it?”
Lu Ping’an suddenly realized, “Isn’t this the ring we inquired about but didn’t sell at that jewelry store on Wenxian East Street the other day?”
“Exactly, it’s that very ring. I found it in the old man’s room; there are no signs it was ever worn. Strange, did Fuyunlai Jewelry Store sell it directly without any refurbishment?” Lu Mingzhu later sold it to Fuyunlai Jewelry Store for 12,000 Hong Kong dollars, never expecting the store to resell it and make an additional 8,000 dollars—a profit that was truly enviable.
Such enormous profits!
Calculating thus, Fuyunlai Jewelry Store must have earned at least tens of thousands from that batch of diamond jewelry alone.
Lu Ping’an replied, “This ring was set by Moussaiev. The craftsmanship is excellent; it’s likely the jewelry store was reluctant to remodel or refurbish it. It may not even have been sold through their store—they wouldn’t damage their own reputation that way. It’s far more probable it was sold through a jewelry broker.”
Lu Mingzhu paused, startled. “How do you know?”
“A few years ago, Grandfather purchased a batch of diamonds from a Jewish merchant and had them set. Once finished, he brought them back for Grandmother to choose from first. I was present then; this diamond ring was one of them.” Lu Ping’an truly possessed an exceptional memory—he never forgot anything he saw.
Lu Mingzhu was even more surprised. “A diamond ring from several years ago still hasn’t been given away?”
Hard to believe!
Lu Ping’an paused, then smiled. “As far as I know, after Grandma made her selections, Grandpa didn’t give away the remaining pieces all at once. It seems he gifted them one by one, every now and then.”
Lu Mingzhu was speechless.
“By my calculations, the old man, dragging his whole family along, should have arrived in Hong Kong by now?” she suddenly remarked.
Lu Ping’an pondered for a moment. “They’ve arrived.”
Lu Mingzhu was extremely surprised. “What makes you say that?”
Lu Ping’an smiled and said, “Yesterday in Uncle Wang’s study, I heard Butler Li tell him that within the past week, the only cruise ship traveling between Hong Kong and Shanghai was the one Butler Li himself took. It arrived in Hong Kong the day before yesterday; after undergoing maintenance, it departed for Shanghai today. Therefore, I believe Grandfather and the others must have already reached Hong Kong.”
Lu Mingzhu clapped her hands and said, “Excellent! Tomorrow we’ll go ask him for the money!”
Forty gold bars and thirty thousand silver dollars were not enough to satisfy her; she wanted to reclaim the inheritance left by Mrs. Lu.
This inheritance was substantial and could not have simply vanished. Since it was neither in Lu Mingzhu’s possession nor in Lu Ping’an’s, it must have been taken by Father Lu himself—after all, he was the head of the household.
So generously squandering the first wife’s legacy—Father Lu truly was despicable.
Lu Ping’an had known since childhood that his aunt suffered cold neglect, and he did not believe their father would spare any more money for her. Yet, unwilling to dampen her spirits, he set down his empty bowl after finishing the wonton noodles and asked considerately, “Auntie, shall we ask Uncle Wang to help inquire?”
Lu Mingzhu shook her head. “Let’s not disturb Big Brother; his work is rather important. We can discuss this after the Ming family banquet.”
Flights and ocean liners departing abroad are limited and do not operate daily. Even if the old man brought so many people to Hong Kong intending to leave, it wouldn’t happen immediately; they would certainly need some time to rest and regroup first.
She now places greater emphasis on the script submissions for Ruyi Film Company.
Her old profession, after all!
She immediately left the roadside stall, took the Star Ferry across the harbor, and then rode a rickshaw back to the Wang residence.
With neither Mrs. Wang nor her daughter-in-law Liao Wanru at home, Lu Mingzhu went straight to her room, took a bath, and then carefully read the newspaper.
It is unclear whether the Ruyi Film Company has any connection to her predecessor’s godmother, also named Ruyi; however, the call for submissions is quite intriguing. The basic requirement is to write a screenplay centered on the legendary love story of Liang Shanbo and Zhu Yingtai, to be presented in the form of Cantonese opera. Once selected, the author will immediately receive a remuneration of a full 3,000 Hong Kong dollars.
As for Cantonese opera films, Lu Mingzhu has indeed studied them extensively!
Grandma Zhang was an old theater enthusiast with broad interests. Not only was she well-versed in Cantonese opera, but she also had deep knowledge of Peking opera, Yue opera, and Huangmei opera. Sometimes, when the old lady grew tired of watching traditional plays, she would ask Mingzhu to write new scripts for the disciples of her old friends to perform.
They believed that traditional opera embodied cultural heritage and possessed profound depth.
Under their influence, Lu Mingzhu felt she had become cultured herself, her command of language surpassing that of countless others.
During her time as a screenwriter, she had learned in depth that Cantonese opera films were particularly popular in Hong Kong during the 1950s, before Mandarin-language films later gained prominence.
Lu Mingzhu was determined to earn those 3,000 dollars!
Three thousand dollars—enough to buy thirty thousand bowls of wonton noodles served in small portions.
Lu Mingzhu felt insecure without money in hand, especially since the shrewd old man Li, who had sold the building, had not refunded the remaining rent for September; thus, she would have to wait until the first of next month to collect September’s rent and utility fees.
Now, she needed to earn money.
The submission period lasted one month, ending at the end of September, leaving ample time.
Lu Mingzhu quickly dried her hair, pondered briefly for half an hour, then took out the Parker pen given to her by He Xuan, spread out the manuscript paper, and wrote down the opera lyrics word by word.
Written vertically in traditional characters, the pace was as slow as a crawling turtle; by bedtime, I had managed only a little over a thousand characters.
Two days later, with the draft still unfinished, the Ming family’s evening banquet was already imminent.