Chapter 9: A Man

This über-idealist elder had always lived a puritanical existence. Beyond his duties at the General Construction Company, he spent his days in his dormitory, tirelessly honing his artistic skills. Oil paints were not yet produced locally and were difficult to procure even in Macao, so he practiced endlessly with charcoal sticks, mastering sketching and quick drawing. He had drawn every building of historical note in and around Lingao. Elder Qi could often be seen, sketchbook in hand, standing amidst overgrown weeds or ruins, his pen flying across the page as he captured some dilapidated structure. He was also known to clamber over crumbling old buildings, earning him the nickname “the Liang Sicheng of Lingao.” His one regret was the absence of a Lin Huiyin to accompany him.

Though his subjects were ancient Chinese architecture, his heart longed for Florence and Venice. Vienna, Paris, Edinburgh, Nuremberg, and Kyoto also held a certain allure. But the future cities of the Empire, he dreamed, would be more perfect, more individual. He was never seen at the various political salons of the elders.

Like Ji Runzhi, he often sketched designs for the Empire’s future cities, from the intricate details of a portico’s flying eaves to the sweeping silhouette of an entire metropolis. But the General Construction Company had yet to give him a chance to realize his grand visions. When Ji Runzhi left for Sanya, Qi had a brief stint as a planner, but his work consisted of little more than drawing grids for roads—a task even less inspiring than his previous role as a structural engineer.

The arrival of Trini, however, had brought about the most significant shift in his focus. As he was fluent in Italian and had a background in fine arts, he was assigned to be Trini’s interpreter and to train the next generation of artists.

A fervent believer in the “religion of Western art,” Italy was his Jerusalem. He had chosen Italian as his second foreign language in the hopes of one day making a pilgrimage. Now, with a genuine Italian painter in their midst, Qi Feng had become Trini’s fast friend. They spent nearly every day discussing art, and Qi even learned from the Italian how to make the oil painting tools of the era and many other traditional techniques.

Qi Feng discovered that Trini’s skill with oil painting far surpassed that of the pompous university professors from his own time. It was no wonder the art world so revered traditional European oil painting; if an unknown like Trini possessed such breathtaking technique, the skill of the great masters must be beyond imagination.

Of course, Qi Feng also had new ideas to share with the Italian. Their friendship deepened, and Qi gradually reformed many of the Italian’s “bad habits,” such as his aversion to bathing and his preference for long hair.

Mei Wan was delighted to send this uncompromising planner, who refused to yield on any matter of aesthetics, to the coast. There, he could debate art with his good friend and oversee the design and construction of the new commercial district. Qi Feng, for his part, was even more pleased. In his view, the Lingao school of Bauhaus had taken its artistic principles to a fanatical, almost demonic, extreme.

Qi Feng was tall, with handsome features. Years of working on construction sites had tanned his skin and hardened his muscles, giving him a rugged, well-defined look. When serious, he had an air of authority, but his smile was like a gentle spring breeze. It sent a strange, unexpected flutter through Li Huamei’s heart.

After exchanging greetings, they took their seats. Trini rarely had female visitors, so he dismissed his students, clearing away their easels and supplies. He personally went to brew some black tea to serve his guests. The Italian had grown to despise his filthy, bath-averse Dutch servant. If he hadn’t known the man was a company spy, he would have fired him and kicked him out the door long ago. In Lingao, one could hire cleaner, more capable servants through the Colonial and Trade Department.

Trini had been in low spirits. Ever since Mendoza had played on his chivalry, convincing him to take out a loan at 66% annual interest to ransom a “noble Spanish lady,” his life had been a misery. To make matters worse, the honor of the rescue had been snatched away by some upstart, a “Sir Lando”—another Italian, he’d heard.

But the elders who had lent him the money refused his offer to repay the principal immediately without interest. A loan was a loan, they insisted; even if he paid it back at once, he still owed a full year’s interest. The result was that Trini’s entire savings were wiped out.

He had spent all his money and gained nothing. The affair had left him deeply dejected. Fortunately, the Senate still valued his skills—orders for his work continued to pour in. He had no choice but to throw himself into his work, serving the Senate with a desperate fervor.

Qi Feng sympathized with Trini’s plight. To help ease his burden and allow him to earn more, he had brought Trini into the new commercial district development project, where he was responsible for creating renderings and designing building exteriors. He also oversaw many of the interior and exterior decorations.

The poor Mr. Trini worked day and night, putting in at least fourteen hours a day, a workload comparable to many of the elders. Luckily, he had a host of apprentices to command and exploit. And to better exploit them, he naturally had to teach them every trick of his trade.

His studio had been expanded by knocking down the largely useless drawing-room. The modular wooden houses designed by Zhang Xingpei were easy to reconfigure. The enlarged studio was now filled with more workbenches, easels, sculpture stands, and other equipment. The number of naturalized apprentices studying under him had grown to over forty.

They sat and chatted in a corner of the studio, a space Qi Feng had designed specifically for receiving guests and discussing art. It featured a raised floor, a bamboo railing, and a set of rattan sofas. A large picture window looked out onto a lush little courtyard. Potted plants of various heights were scattered around, and two watercolor paintings adorned the walls, creating an atmosphere thick with artistic flair.

Qi Feng and Trini often held forth on art here. Trini was perpetually mystified by Qi Feng’s encyclopedic knowledge of Italian art history. Even he, an Italian, was not so well-versed. Qi Feng could recount the schools, lineages, works, and even the stylistic quirks of Italian artists since the Renaissance, many of whom Trini had never even seen a work by. The Australian’s knowledge was simply staggering.

“The commercial district… Elder Qi builds now. Today, you show me your outstanding work, yes?” Trini’s Mandarin was still thick with an accent and his grammar was peculiar, but he had reached a point where he could be understood.

“I’ll need your guidance, of course,” Qi Feng replied. Most elders were modest in their daily interactions, even those like Si Kaide, who regarded human life with chilling indifference.

“And Miss Li’s guidance as well.”

“Me… a simple girl like me wouldn’t know… It’s… it’s beautiful! All those… all those houses outside, did… did you draw them all yourself, Chief? You’re… you’re incredible.” The last part was a frantic thought in her head. “Oh, why am I wearing these rags? I could just die. I can’t let him see me like this. Holy Mother, Mazu, please just strike me with lightning now.”

“Don’t call me Chief. It’s too formal,” Qi Feng said with a smile. “Just use my name.”

“Qi… Feng…” Li Huamei found the name awkward and intimate on her tongue.

The young maiden’s heart was finally stirring. Ever since her sister had run off with a fool who supposedly resembled an anglerfish, she had held a low opinion of men. At seventeen, while attending a function with her mistress and a member of the Macau Municipal Council, a servant of the councilman had gotten drunk and fresh with her. He ended up with two broken teeth. If Li Siya hadn’t intervened, the man’s “little brother” would likely have parted ways with his body. The incident cost Li Siya a considerable sum, and Li Huamei, consumed by guilt, grew to resent men even more.

Li Huamei was no muscle-bound brute; she appeared rather slender. But she had been trained from a young age as her mistress’s personal bodyguard, rigorously schooled in both Eastern and Western martial arts. The woman moved like lightning. Whether with a scimitar, a straight sword, or a staff, few of the Li family pirates could get near her. As a result, the men who knew of her prowess kept a respectful distance. Li Siya, for her own selfish reasons, had never been willing to marry off her sworn sister, and so she had become an “old maid.”

Through years of braving storms and surviving near-death experiences, her view of romance had grown increasingly detached. But now, her fully matured body was sending the most primal, instinctual signals to her brain.

“This is the finest black tea, from the Assam tea gardens of the South Sea Collective Farm. It’s a special supply for the elders, you can’t buy it anywhere else. Try it.”

A slight smile played on Qi Feng’s lips. It was like a ray of early summer sun, piercing through to the maiden’s heart, filling her with a warm, feverish heat.

Li Huamei felt her throat go dry. She unconsciously tugged at the hem of her skirt and picked up her teacup.

The cup was exquisite bone china, adorned with delicate, colorful flowers. It was translucent and glittered in the light. Li Huamei had seen such porcelain in Macao; she knew it was the finest produced by the Australians, on par with the best from the Great Ming.

She took a small sip of the bitter, fragrant tea. The aroma was peculiar, something she wasn’t used to, but she heard herself say, “Good tea.” As she spoke, she stole another glance at him from behind her fringe of hair.

Qi Feng, for his part, was as clueless and innocent as any shoujo manga protagonist. He simply found this legendary female pirate—the one who had the young navy officers so utterly captivated—rather interesting. Seeing her sitting there so self-consciously in her ill-fitting, faded, and short naturalized worker’s uniform, he couldn’t help but be secretly amused.

After a bit of small talk, it occurred to Qi Feng that he should ask the pirate captain to help him with a voyage. The destination was close, just a day’s sail to the dedicated pier for the Jiazhi Coal Mine. He needed to make a trip there.