Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-One: The Night Watchman

"Oh, yes, Uncle, please brew a pot of tea!" Hong Tao knew this man was likely the night watchman Old Master Na had found for him.

"Coming right up! A pot of high-grade scraps..." the waiter called out in a long, drawn-out tone as he walked away. "High-grade scraps" was a local term for the tea dust sifted out from tea shops; common people couldn't afford premium leaves, but still loved their tea, so they gave this leftover dust a fancy name. Although it didn't look like much, the flavor was still good, and it was the standard choice for ordinary folks.

"Uncle, take a rest for a moment. Old Master Na is currently getting a scrub, I’ll go give him a shout! Old Master Na, you've got a guest...!!!" Hong Tao knew Old Master Na hadn't discussed the job with this man yet, so he decided not to overstep, but he didn't want to make the man wait too long either. He simply let out a holler toward the bathhouse with his raspy voice.

"Hey! Whose kid is that? Can someone control him? I just fell asleep, and that shout—what are you, an opera singer?" A few people resting nearby were woken up by Hong Tao’s yell, but upon seeing it was just a child, they could only grumble a few complaints.

"Little Six, why didn't you come in when you arrived? Go on, get out of here, you've ruined my reputation!" Within two minutes, Old Master Na emerged wrapped in a bath towel.

"Second Brother, I have some business to attend to outside, so I won't go in." The man was quite thin, his face covered in stubble. His blue clothes were frayed at the edges, and the soles of his cloth shoes were nearly worn through; it was clear his living conditions were poor.

"What kind of business could you possibly have? Don't pull that nonsense with me. If you aren't going to wash, let's just chat. We’ll eat here at noon, and he's treating! I'm broke!" Old Master Na gestured toward Hong Tao.

"Heh heh... you said you had something to discuss with me. I really do have a job at noon in the Twelfth Alley." The man smiled humbly, though he seemed tense, as if unaccustomed to such an environment.

"Forget the Twelfth Alley. The reason I brought you here today is precisely for this. You doing odd jobs and rolling coal balls all day isn't a long-term solution. What will you do when you're too old to work? If you get sick or run into trouble, who will look after you? I’ve found you a job. Guarding a commercial space—room and board provided, and the pay is better. It’s perfect for you. You have no strings attached, and there are people around to look out for you. What do you say?" Old Master Na handed him a cup of tea and leaned against the cabinet by the bed to state his case clearly.

"A commercial space would hire me? Stop joking. Even the street-run factories won't take me." The man’s face had brightened at first, but within two seconds, it returned to its original gloomy state.

"This isn't a state-run shop; it's his. Who cares if it's state-run or private? As long as you get paid for your work, it’s better than running around doing odd jobs! At least you'll have a hot meal!" Old Master Na, never one with a patient temper, started to get agitated.

"His? He owns a shop?" The man looked at Hong Tao, then back at Old Master Na.

"Yes, it's mine. It’s not a large commercial space, but it has a small courtyard and a few rooms right next to the Lama Temple. If you don't have any objections, I'll take you to see it in a bit. You can decide after you've had a look. How about that?" Hong Tao didn't wait for Old Master Na to continue, fearing he might start shouting again, so he quickly took over the conversation.

"No need to look; I’ve walked past that area. Since the Second Master says it's fine, then it must be. But I don't know if the Second Master mentioned it to you: I’m a released convict. During the factional violence, I killed someone and was sentenced to 15 years; I only got out last year. I appreciate you and the Second Master helping me, but I can't drag you into this. My reputation isn't exactly clean." The man was straightforward, neither hiding nor covering up, and laid out his history first.

"That doesn't matter; who doesn't make mistakes? Besides, you weren't the only one involved in the violence back then. Most of the tenants in my space are 'educated youth,' and they aren't much better off than you. In this day and age, no one should be laughing at anyone else. Let's wipe the slate clean and just see who lives better in the future, what do you think?" It was only then that Hong Tao realized why this man—who didn't seem slow-witted and was physically robust—was living in such a destitute and repressed state. The root of it was the label of "ex-convict."

In later times, whether or not you had served time in prison didn't matter much to anyone, but in this era, having a criminal record was like being branded in ancient China. Once a convict, always a convict. If a family had someone who had been to prison, not only would the individual suffer social discrimination, but it would also implicate their entire family. Wherever you went, there would always be people pointing fingers at you and your loved ones behind your backs.

Beyond the mental stigma, there were no prospects in work or daily life. State-run units wouldn't hire you, and collective factories under the neighborhood committee wouldn't either. The neighborhood committee staff would watch you like a thief, and everywhere you went, there were countless pairs of suspicious eyes tracking you.

"You're still young and don't understand these things. Better discuss it with your elders first," the man said with a friendly smile, not taking Hong Tao's words seriously.

"I make the decisions here; no need to consult anyone. If you don't believe me, ask the Second Master." Hong Tao nudged Old Master Na.

"Liuzi, rest assured. Since I came to find you, I wouldn't mess with you. That's not the kind of person I am," Old Master Na nodded.

With Old Master Na's guarantee, the man, whose name was Lu Yunpeng, stopped hesitating. He couldn't trust a kid like Hong Tao, but he had great faith in Old Master Na. Hong Tao had the waiter buy a few plates of food and noodles from a nearby restaurant, and after Lu Yunpeng finished his bath, the three of them had lunch in the bathhouse. It was then that Hong Tao discovered Lu Yunpeng didn't smoke or drink.

According to Lu Yunpeng, he was only 44 years old. He used to work at a bus company repair shop until 1968, when he was sentenced to 15 years for the killing, but was released early for good behavior. However, after he was arrested, his wife divorced him and took their child somewhere unknown. His only remaining relative, an elderly mother, had passed away from illness a few years prior. Now he was entirely alone, with no job and no family, surviving on odd jobs and helping people roll coal balls. He lived hand-to-mouth, and had he not kept his old house in the Twelfth Alley, he wouldn't even have had a place to sleep.

Since he had no family, his luggage consisted only of a quilt and a battered wooden chest. It was simple enough; he moved into the enamel factory courtyard that very day. Hong Tao finally felt at ease; he didn't have to worry about the girls having trouble at night or thieves breaking into his small warehouse, and he could finally sleep soundly at night.

After the move, business at the tailor shop and salon became more stable. The salon had plenty of staff and a refined atmosphere. Besides the regulars, many customers came based on newspaper ads or recommendations. The salon didn't turn anyone away; as long as you could afford the price, everything was fine. If you thought it was too expensive, well, that was that.

With Lu Yunpeng acting as a night watchman, the girls at the salon grew bolder. They couldn't sleep early anyway, and the salon didn't require them to wake up at dawn, so they discussed it with Hong Tao and extended their operating hours until 11:00 PM. Every night after 9:00 PM, the streets were basically empty, and the streetlights of the time were dim, low-wattage bulbs. The salon became the only brightly lit spot on the entire Beixinqiao North Street, turning into a local spectacle.

True enough, the girls' suggestion was highly effective. State-run barbershops back then closed very early, with 7:00 PM being considered a late night. Many busy professionals who couldn't find time during the day—especially female customers who were better off financially—preferred to come in for hair treatments after dinner. The evening hours ended up being busier than the day, and naturally, the income was higher too.

The tailor shop was different; with only an old woman and two young girls, they couldn't produce much work regardless of how hard they tried. By now, apart from samples, there were almost no ready-to-wear garments left; as soon as one was finished, it was sold. Some pieces were still being ironed when they were already pre-ordered by customers, who would pay and wait in the lounge area.

The shop also frequently attracted foreign tourists. Many foreigners sightseeing at the Lama Temple and the Imperial Academy were curious to see a quaint, old-fashioned two-story building nestled among low, single-story houses, and would often pop in for a look. Given their limited time and the fact that they were accompanied by tour guides who kept them on a strict schedule, they didn't have time for haircuts, but they were very interested in the qipaos and embroidered skirts made by Liu Baishi. They would often buy them on the spot without even trying them on.

At first, Hong Tao was puzzled by this way of shopping. He hadn't expected that not only were the Chinese people of that era innocent, but the foreigners were too. He seized an opportunity to secretly ask a foreign woman who had bought a qipao why she bought it without trying it on, especially since her figure clearly wouldn't fit into it.

The foreign woman's answer made Hong Tao almost burst out laughing: she had no intention of wearing it as clothing. She thought the qipao was a Chinese souvenir and planned to hang it up as a decoration!

Her answer instantly sparked several ideas in Hong Tao's mind. He had been worrying about the stall owners selling small goods and had been pondering what to sell in the remaining three rooms. Now he had an idea—he was sitting right next to a major tourist attraction and hadn't been selling souvenirs; he felt like a complete idiot!

Furthermore, he immediately called over Han Yan, who had the best figure, and had her change into the qipao to show the foreign tourists that this wasn't just a wall hanging—it was clothing that could actually be worn!