Chapter Eleven: Undercurrents

Wang’s Rickshaw Company.

Wang Chengyun sat at the tea table in the parlor, savoring a fine brew while a disciple stood quietly at his side.

Dressed in a traditional long gown, he bore the air of an old-school gentleman.

With over two hundred rickshaw pullers under the Wang Company, Wang Chengyun also maintained a personal retinue of a dozen or so bodyguard-like disciples. These disciples did not pull rickshaws themselves; their sole duty was to assist him in managing the company.

Wang’s business had recently branched into the food and beverage sector, though it was not particularly prosperous. The rickshaw company remained his main source of wealth.

“Find out whether Yang Qingshan and Chen Guangliang actually purchased rickshaws. Also, check on what the resigned men—He Xiangdong, Pan Cheng, and the others—are up to,” he commanded.

Eight men resigning at once was certainly unusual.

A subordinate offered, “Boss, could it be that they bought new rickshaws and are operating as unlicensed pullers?”

A proper license plate cost two hundred silver dollars, a sum unlikely to be affordable for those “wild operators.”

A rare grimace darkened Wang Chengyun’s face. “If that’s the case, arrange to steal their rickshaws.”

Ruthless!

The subordinate nodded. “Since they don’t have licenses, their rickshaws are effectively ownerless. We can take them and transfer the old plates onto the new vehicles.”

Wang Chengyun justified his harshness: “Those unlicensed rickshaws operate illegally, seriously undermining legitimate businesses like ours. We have the right to punish them. Eight men running off at once isn’t a huge problem, but we can’t allow them to break the law.”

In truth, Wang’s company also ran about twenty unlicensed rickshaws—typical hypocrisy of “allowing the officials to burn fires, but forbidding commoners to light lamps.”

After his disciples departed, Wang Chengyun continued pondering Chen Guangliang’s situation.

This young man was special—strong, literate, and sharp-minded, as he had heard.

Initially, Wang had intended to take Chen Guangliang as a disciple and nurture him.

But after the mass resignation, he realized Chen was a restless soul.

If he couldn’t be brought into the fold, then suppression was the only option.

Once Yang Qingshan and Chen Guangliang found themselves with no way out, they would naturally return to his service.

Years ago, Li Sizhong had thought that buying a rickshaw would free him from Wang’s control, but failing to obtain a license and Wang’s collusion with the patrol officers forced him to kneel outside Wang’s door all night.

Eventually, Wang intervened, demanding Li register the rickshaw under Wang’s company, saving him from further trouble. The license issue remained unresolved, but the patrol officers no longer harassed him.

...

Running after customers along the road by the Bund—then called Huangpu Beach Road, today’s Zhongshan First Road.

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Chen Guangliang soaked in the bustling cosmopolitan atmosphere of Shanghai, feeling a unique sense of satisfaction.

The Bund was still the domain of foreign firms’ docks, with warships and cargo vessels drifting conspicuously in the Huangpu River.

This year, foreign warships would be especially numerous, as the great powers “claimed” to protect their overseas assets and personnel.

Chen Guangliang felt no great resentment; after all, he still relied on the concessions for security and livelihood—and, more than anyone, he despised the Japanese.

“Thank you,” he said.

Stopping his rickshaw at the entrance of the Huamao Hotel, Chen accepted twice the usual fare from a foreigner.

“Very good.”

The foreigner paid double because Chen made him feel a sense of exclusive service.

Chen’s appearance was cleaner and neater than other pullers, and his rickshaw gleamed under his careful polishing.

Unabashedly, many customers chose him simply because Chen and his cart looked more presentable.

Customer experience was key: Chen actively engaged passengers in conversation, but if they preferred silence, he immediately respected their wishes.

In essence, Chen was not just a laborer but a service provider.

He favored pulling foreigners—not out of weakness, but because it allowed him to practice English and earn higher fares.

“Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

Nearby patrol officers exchanged glances, marveling that rickshaw pullers now spoke English.

One officer asked, “Should we stop him for a check?”

Another replied, “No way. This puller clearly has a license and connections with foreigners!”

Chen had already noticed the officers but calmly pulled his rickshaw in the opposite direction.

Before leaving, he glanced at the Huamao Hotel, established in 1926 and majorly owned by the Sassoon Company. The Huamao Hotel was part of what would later be known as the Peace Hotel; at this time, its north and south wings were separate hotels.

In fact, the Peace Hotel name came after liberation. In this era, only the Huizhong Hotel and the Huamao Hotel existed, the former run by the British Huizhong Trading Company.

Thus, the so-called “Peace Hotel” in later Republic-era dramas was a symbolic name; the real establishment was the Huizhong Hotel, where Jewish tycoon Sassoon had once stayed in a suite.

Having successfully evaded the patrol officers, Chen continued soliciting passengers.

In truth, even if the patrol officers inspected his license plate, they wouldn’t detect anything amiss—those were Li Chao’s exact words.

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Obviously, having someone from the traffic department as a partner was incredibly convenient.

...

At six in the evening, during shift change.

The “Yangtze River Rickshaw Company” had been operating for a week, so all nine pullers gathered in an open space at Fangua Lane, with three rickshaws lined up before them.

Chen Guangliang addressed them:

“Let’s have a brief meeting. I believe you all understand that as shareholders of the Yangtze River Rickshaw Company, this isn’t the same as pulling rickshaws before. You need to be more responsible and diligent.”

“First, we must protect our rickshaws—keep them clean and well-maintained. They are our shared assets. Also, try not to let your rickshaws leave your sight. Others might envy our earnings and try to cause trouble.”

“Second, we must keep ourselves clean and presentable—wipe away sweat with damp towels and always wear a smile. Take me as an example: whenever I stand here, no matter how many rickshaws are nearby, customers instinctively come to me because both I and my rickshaw look cleaner.”

“Third, to increase the company’s income, I plan to have pullers sell small items like sodas and cigarettes. Be prepared; I will arrange training soon. Don’t worry—there will be commissions for sales.”

The group listened attentively, taking notes and feeling encouraged.

Because Chen always emphasized “we are all shareholders,” the members felt a strong sense of belonging.

The first two points were lessons Chen had been stressing since the company’s inception—improving service and safety awareness.

For other companies, how much pullers earned was none of their concern, so they had no interest in fostering competition. But Chen was different—he genuinely wanted his pullers to make more money and improve their lives.

The last point was a recent idea.

By selling small goods, they could boost income.

Passengers might be thirsty, want a smoke, or crave a snack—selling these items made perfect sense.

Pullers could increase their earnings, and the company would also take a share of the profits—a win-win-win situation.

He Xiangdong was the first to stand again, saying, “Manager Chen’s points are very reasonable. Recently, people from Wang’s Rickshaw Company have been asking us questions. Boss Wang isn’t a good man; don’t be fooled by his cheerful demeanor. Everyone must pay attention to the safety of our rickshaws.”

Everyone nodded in agreement.

“All right, let’s get moving!”