Old Shadows of the Republic (3)

Jiang Feng struggled to his feet and looked closely. This was...

A ship's cabin?

Jiang Feng had never been on a ship before. In the violently rocking cabin, he could barely keep his footing. He staggered about until he finally managed to grab a pillar. At least he could hold onto the pillar; otherwise, unless the ship stopped, he would have had to stay sprawled on the floor.

The cabin was cramped, dim, and terribly crowded. There was only one tiny slanted window, and barely any light entered the cabin. More than a hundred people were crammed into the small space—men and women, old and young. Their only common trait was that they were all sallow-faced and emaciated. Most sat on the floor with vacant eyes and numb expressions.

Under these circumstances, Jiang Feng had no way of telling which one was Jiang Weiguo.

Jiang Feng clung to the pillar and did not dare move. The entire cabin was filled with a suffocating stench, even worse than the smell of the garbage heap in the shack Li Mingyi had once lived in.

The smells of sweat, spoiled food, unwashed bodies, urine, and feces fermented together in the sealed cabin. If Jiang Feng had not previously experienced the garbage heap up close, he probably would have fled outside long ago.

The people in the cabin also looked as though they had not bathed or changed clothes in a very long time. Just from the appalling conditions and their ragged, filthy clothing, Jiang Feng could guess that they had no means to bathe, much less any clothes to change into.

If everyone in the cabin had not been Asian, Jiang Feng would have suspected this was a black ship transporting slaves.

After a long while, the cabin door opened.

A lean middle-aged man in relatively neat but equally old clothes came down the stairs with a look of disgust. He stopped halfway down, clearly unwilling to come into too much contact with the people in the hold.

"The cook who prepares meals for the first-class gentlemen is sick. Are there any cooks among you?" the lean man shouted. "Two steamed buns per meal!"

At those final words, the previously dead-silent hold erupted. No one cared whether the sick cook had been thrown into the river. All they cared about were those two steamed buns.

Men and women, young and old, even children of seven or eight, all shouted desperately, "I'm a cook!"

"I can cook!"

"I don't need two buns! Just give me one!"

If they had not still feared the lean man, the people craving white-flour buns would have swarmed forward and tugged at his clothes.

"Quiet!" the lean man roared, his voice drowning out the crowd. "No women! Cause trouble, and I'll throw every last one of you into the river!"

"I want a cook—a cook to prepare food for the gentlemen—not useless trash that can only light fires and boil gruel!" The lean man swept his gaze around. Seeing the eagerness vanish from the crowd and be replaced by fear, he could not help feeling disappointed.

This was a merchant vessel. It usually traveled back and forth through Southeast Asia transporting goods, and there were many merchant ships like it at sea. When there was cargo, the hold carried goods; when there was none, it carried people. The more ruthless operators would trick destitute poor people into emptying their entire fortunes for a ticket, then divide them into different classes. Pretty women, or women with a little beauty, were sold by the pound to San Francisco. Strong laborers and women were sold to human traffickers. Children were worthless—if there was a buyer, they were sold; if no one wanted them, they were casually abandoned somewhere or simply thrown into the river.

Their owner was considered decent. Though the ticket prices were steep, at least he made sure to deliver people where they wanted to go, and he gave those in the hold three bowls of rice water so thin one could see the bottom every day.

As for whether they could survive on three bowls of rice water a day after spending their entire savings on tickets, that was none of their concern. Compared to others in the trade, their owner was already a compassionate saint.

"Anyone?" the lean man called again. "If you satisfy the first-class gentlemen, you can get three steamed buns a meal!"

No one dared answer.

They were afraid that if their cooking was poor and angered the first-class gentlemen, not only would they receive no buns, but their entire family might be implicated.

This year, the north had suffered war, drought, and plague in succession. Both wealthy families and paupers were fleeing south to escape famine. Tickets for an entire family to stay in the hold could drain an ordinary household's entire savings. Quite a few families had even sold their daughters, or even their daughters-in-law, to scrape together enough money. The status of those who could stay in first class was beyond anything common people like them dared imagine.

"Could I do it? I'm an assistant cook from Tai Feng Lou." Jiang Weiguo squeezed out from the crowd.

Jiang Weiguo was around eleven or twelve at the time. Since he had been Jiang Chengde's assistant cook from a young age, he had eaten well, making him look sturdy compared to the people in the hold, who had suffered long-term hunger and malnutrition. Though his clothes were old and filthy, one could tell at a glance that his family had once been well-off.

Children from poor families could not possibly grow up so strong.

"Tai Feng Lou?" The lean man clearly knew of Tai Feng Lou. He also could not believe that an assistant cook from Tai Feng Lou would end up in the hold. "How old are you? Thirteen? Fourteen?"

"Eleven," Jiang Weiguo answered.

The lean man examined him, apparently thinking something over. After a long while, he reluctantly agreed. "Come up."

Under the envious gazes of the crowd, Jiang Weiguo followed the lean man out of the hold.

Jiang Feng hurriedly staggered after them.

Once they left the hold, even the air seemed much fresher. He could even feel the breeze. It was practically pleasant.

The lean man spoke. "My surname is Wang. You'll call me Steward Wang from now on. The gentlemen in first class are not people you or I can afford to neglect. If you're using a false name, go back now and I'll let it slide."

"My name is Jiang Weiguo," Jiang Weiguo said, extending his hand.

They were a cook's hands.

They were not rough, nor did they have excessive calluses, but old knife cuts from chopping vegetables were clearly visible.

Steward Wang believed that he was a cook.

Steward Wang led him into a narrow room and tossed him a set of clean old clothes. "There's no hot water. Wash yourself with cold water, especially your hair. Don't bring fleas and lice into the kitchen. Then change into the clean clothes. I'll wait outside."

With that, he shut the wooden door.

Jiang Feng had no interest in peeking at his grandfather bathing and changing clothes in his youth, so he waited by the door with Steward Wang.

Before long, Jiang Weiguo came out.

He had changed into clean clothes. His hands and face were clean, even the dirt beneath his fingernails had been washed away. Steward Wang looked him over, nodded in satisfaction, and led him to the kitchen.

The ship's kitchen was small, but it was fairly well stocked. There were several kinds of vegetables, though all were wilted. There was fresh fish but no fresh meat, and several strings of dried meat hung there. Jiang Feng could not tell what kind of meat it was just by looking.

"The first-class gentleman's surname is Huang. Lord Huang doesn't like fish or ginger. Have the food ready before eleven this morning—at least three dishes and a soup. If you steal or sneak food, I'll throw you overboard! If you do well, Lord Huang will naturally reward you. If you don't, you'd better think carefully about the consequences!" After delivering both threat and promise, Steward Wang prepared to leave.

"Oh, right. The kitchen for second and third class is next door. If you're hungry, you can go over there and scrounge up a couple bowls of rice paste."

Jiang Feng guessed that counted as an employee benefit.

"May I ask where Lord Huang is from, Steward Wang?" Jiang Weiguo asked.

Seeing that Jiang Weiguo had actually asked a question, Steward Wang gave him another look. "Huguang."

"Thank you for telling me, Steward Wang," Jiang Weiguo said.

"If you need help, go find someone next door." Whether Steward Wang had taken a liking to Jiang Weiguo or had some other reason, he added one more sentence.