Tap, tap, tap.
Zhu Zhengwei walked all the way onward.
Foreign-style mansions, old buildings, nightclubs, newspaper boys, and all kinds of gaunt, sickly people—the enormous gap between rich and poor seemed to fit the social structure of an "apocalypse shelter" perfectly.
The entire urban district had a population of several hundred thousand, but the slums occupied most of it.
He slipped a silver dollar from the pocket of a wealthy merchant by the roadside and hailed a rickshaw.
"Master, where to?"
The man looked somewhat simple and honest. He had a thin, emaciated build and was bare-chested, rows of ribs visible beneath his lean flesh.
"Take me around. I want to have a look and hear about what's happened recently," Zhu Zhengwei said, tossing him a silver dollar.
The thin rickshaw puller caught the silver dollar, and his eyes immediately went wide. He stammered, "Sir, that's too much. I can't make change."
"It's fine. Keep it all," Zhu Zhengwei said.
The rickshaw puller was dumbfounded and couldn't quite understand what was going on, but he quickly said, "Then sit tight. I'll take you around and chat with you about local affairs. I usually pull rickshaws for all sorts of people, so I'm fairly well-informed."
Zhu Zhengwei looked at the buildings along the way.
Shanghai Beach was still a foreign concession at this time. There were all kinds of residences and narrow alleys, as well as photography studios and news agencies. It was clearly divided into rich and poor districts.
The rickshaw puller beside him chatted on. "As for the major events I know about, the Strong Crossing Rickshaw Company has raised its rates again. They're charging us thirty copper coins a day now. That's going to kill us rickshaw pullers!"
"And I heard that the two major gangs at the