A large sum of money was needed to expand the bookstore and add a gallery, far more than the forty thousand yuan from Niu Yueqing. The revenue from earlier book sales helped, but not enough. Hong Jiang’s idea was to form a board of directors for the gallery, offering each member space at the door to display ads for their business, with the added incentive of an annual gift of two paintings by famous artists. When member businesses organized an activity, the gallery would invite renowned painters and calligraphers to liven things up with demonstrations. In fact, what Hong Jiang had in mind was simply business sponsorship, or, to put it bluntly, asking the businessmen for donations. After a discussion with Zhao Jingwu, Hong Jiang went to see Mr. Huang, the owner of the 101 Pesticide Plant.
Since this was their first meeting, Hong introduced himself and praised the efficacy and quality of 101 Pesticide. He went on to say that he could sense that Huang was a prototypical modern entrepreneur the moment he met him. Huang’s nose was dripping; he had a cold. “Is this for corporate sponsorship?” he asked. “How much?”
“Do you get a lot of that?”
“Like locusts,” Huang said. “I have no idea how they know I have money, but they’ll say anything to get some of it out of me.”
“That’s because, one, your products have a great reputation,” Hong said with a laugh, “and two, the article by Zhuang Zhidie has had a tremendous effect. But you must be on guard so as not to be swindled. I’m here to see you because, one, I’d heard of you but had never met you, and I’m always on the lookout for new friends; and two, on behalf of Zhuang Zhidie, I want to use our newly opened gallery to promote your plant.” He produced a copy of the rules regarding the nature and responsibilities of the board and the qualifications of a board member. Huang took it with a smile and, like a schoolchild reciting a text, read the rules word for word: “Minimum membership fee is five thousand, parenthesis, at least five thousand, parenthesis. Ten thousand will make the member eligible for vice chairman of the board. There is no limit to the number of vice chairmen. The chairman of the board will be Zhuang Zhidie, the celebrated writer.”
When he finished, Huang looked up open-mouthed. His son, who was doing homework in the yard, came in with a book.
“Dad, what’s this character?”
“Don’t you know that one? It’s ocean, as in ocean liner,” Huang said after looking at the book. “Let’s say it three times together so you’ll remember.”
“All right.”
“Ocean, ocean, as in ocean liner,” Huang said, followed by his son’s “Liner, liner, as in ocean liner.”
“No, it’s ocean as in ocean liner, not liner,” Hong chimed in.
“Go on, get out of here. You don’t pay attention in class and then come home to confuse me.” After shooing his son away, Huang turned to Hong, “That’s all there is to it?”
“It’s a privilege to share a bench with cultural celebrities. Do you plan to be a plant owner forever? Why not become a real entrepreneur?”
Huang chuckled. “Let’s go inside.” After inviting Hong into the house, he offered his visitor cigarettes and tea. He asked if Zhuang Zhidie had moved recently, if his father-in-law had recovered from his illness, and if, as planned, he had lasered off the mole on his chin.
“No need to test me, Mr. Huang,” Hong laughed. “But that was quite clever of you. If I were a scam artist, I’d say what I thought you wanted to hear and be exposed, like the wolf pretending to be Little Red Riding Hood’s grandmother. Check this out. Doesn’t this seal look exactly like the one on the scroll hanging on your wall?” Hong handed him the bloodstone seal and let him press it on a piece of paper. They were identical.
“Zhuang Zhidie left this seal at the bookstore, originally for a book signing, but he had to attend the People’s Congress and then he injured his foot. So we stamp it on the title page of his books, which are selling faster than ever. He’d have come in person today if not for his bad foot, which is why I came with this seal. It represents Zhuang himself; you can trust me on that.”
“Of course I trust you. And I don’t need to examine the seal carefully; would I trust a seal if I didn’t trust you? Don’t police often break cases of people making fake government seals?” Then he asked, “How did Mr. Zhuang injure his foot? Is it serious?”
“It happened a while ago and still hasn’t healed completely. The mayor himself personally called a professor at the hospital affiliated with the medical school to prescribe something, but it hasn’t helped.”
“Folk remedies can sometimes put famous doctors to shame,” Huang said. “He might have already recovered if I’d known earlier. I know someone whose family has many secret remedies for contusions and sprains. One plaster will take care of the injury.”
“That’s exactly what he needs. Let’s ask him to check Zhuang out, and then you’ll know if I’m the real the thing or not.”
They left to call on the man at his house, from where the three of them took a taxi to Shuangren fu Avenue.
. . .
After removing the gauze on Zhuang’s foot, the folk practitioner pressed down on a spot near the ankle, leaving an indentation that took a while to disappear.
“What so-called professor did that?” Huang said angrily. “More like a beast feasting on socialism. Just wait. Dr. Song here will put a plaster on your foot, and tomorrow you’ll be able to run and jump on the city wall.”
“Please don’t call me that,” the man said. “I’m not a doctor.”
“You’re one of those people who’d rather die than ask for help, like carrying a gold bowl to go begging. Why don’t you quit that lousy middle-school job with its terrible pay and open a private clinic? That way you could enjoy life. Take good care of Mr. Zhuang, and when his foot is healed, a celebrity like him could easily get you a license to practice.”
Zhuang asked why he was unable to practice. Huang said the man did not have a license and had to settle for a middle-school kitchen-supervision job, while writing prescriptions privately.
“You should be able to put your special skills to use,” Zhuang said emotionally. “Of course, you’d need a license from the Board of Health, and I don’t know anyone in that office. But I do know Mr. Wang, the neighborhood office director, whose cousin is a bureau chief at the Board of Health.”
“Did you hear that, Dr. Song?” Huang said. “What is a celebrity? A celebrity is not an ordinary person. We must strike while the iron is hot, as they say, and ask Mr. Zhuang to take us to see Director Wang, so he can contact the bureau chief. Your Buddhist master can lead you through the door, but the personal cultivation is up to you. After today, you can go see the man yourself; no need to bother Mr. Zhuang again.”