Chapter 3: The Pavilion Room

After passing through Sima Road on his way back to the inn, Yang Rui wandered around the surrounding bookstore, spending two dimes to buy a considerable number of magazines and newspapers. Upon returning, he began to focus on reading the papers and writing articles. By the time dinner came around, he had written two more pieces. Rubbing his dry eyes, he looked at the three articles and couldn't help but feel resentful. He thought to himself, why is it that others can become wealthy the moment they travel through time, while I can only sell a precious gold chain for just eight dollars? Others might encounter some famous person and live a life of ease, while I can only toil away in this shabby inn. It's truly unfair, damn it.

The Shikumen houses are a classic in Shanghai, and Yang Rui has also seen them in later years. In Xintiandi, there are many old Shikumen houses that have been converted into bars and cafes, but he has never seen a Shikumen house used for residential purposes. This particular Shikumen house has only two stories and appears quite modern. The white lime in the cracks of the brick walls is still very bright, and it pairs exceptionally well with the green bricks, creating a visually pleasing effect. Everything looks quite new, giving the impression that this house was built less than two years ago. Upon entering the main door, one is greeted by a large courtyard, which faces the living room. In front of the living room stand six long wooden lattice doors. A woman dressed in a light blue robe comes out from inside, and upon seeing Yang Rui, she examines him and asks, "Are you here to rent the house?"

Five days passed just like that, and Yang Rui had met everyone in the house. The entire house has six rooms, with the area separated from the living room on the first floor belonging to the landlord. Mr. Huang had also been seen during these days; he wears round glasses and has a mustache that resembles a Chinese character "八" (ba), suggesting he might be a teacher or something similar, but there was no in-depth conversation, and everyone just nodded in greeting. The small compartment by the stairs is occupied by the middle-aged man who was at the gate that day, whose surname is Deng. I only heard Mrs. Huang say that he works at the post office, and his family is in the suburbs of Shanghai. Everyone calls him Old Deng, and he is a nice person, though he doesn't talk much. The last room on the first floor is directly below Yang Rui's pavilion, occupied by a couple. The man’s surname is Xu, and he is said to be from either Jiangsu or Anhui, while the woman is from Songjiang. They have a daughter outside the room, and judging by the sounds of crying, there are at least two infants in the room, though they are rarely seen. It is said that Mr. Xu is eager to have a son, but unfortunately, the woman has given birth to two girls in succession. Initially, he did not want to go out to seek a living, but a relative works at some trading company in Shanghai, and since they felt embarrassed in front of their neighbors for not having a son, the couple decided to come along.

Oh, yes, you said you would come over today. After you left, I came over and tidied up a bit. I must say, it is quite refreshing to live alone in this pavilion. It is evident that the landlord is quite talkative.

The next day, Yang Rui set out early with his luggage from the inn. After having breakfast, he went to the post office he visited yesterday and sent out the three manuscripts he had written consecutively in the afternoon and evening. He did not care whether they would be accepted or not; he considered it a way to cast a wide net, hoping for some gains. If he did not find a solution soon, he would have no choice but to sell himself.

On the second floor, there are also three rooms, but only the pavilion room and the compartment next to the stairs are occupied, while the bedroom has always been empty. The compartment is known to be occupied by an old man who comes and goes early and late, maintaining a very quiet atmosphere. It wasn't until one day when he got drunk and started humming a tune that Yang Rui became aware of his existence. The old man hummed above, and a little girl below found it amusing, joining in with the old man's melody. It seems that this little girl has a musical talent. Later, it was discovered that the old man was a street vendor.

By the time he arrived at the Ruyi, it was already past 9 o'clock. Just as he was about to call out, he discovered that the door was not locked, merely ajar. Mrs. Huang was nowhere to be found. Yang Rui called out a few times but received no response, so he had no choice but to go upstairs directly. The woman who washed the pots yesterday was also absent, leaving only the little girl. When she saw Yang Rui approaching, she timidly glanced over. Yang Rui smiled and made a funny face, causing the little girl to immediately retreat into the room, though she did not cry or shout. Perhaps she understood that there was no malice intended.

In the following days, Yang Rui basically stayed in his room without going anywhere. When he found it difficult to write the manuscript and the illustrations, he casually recorded various knowledge, historical events, historical figures, and technical information for future generations. Of course, this was not comprehensive; it was merely a collection of fragmented sentences or clues. After all, reading time-travel novels was not the same as studying textbooks. The book he read the most was one about the late Ming Dynasty traveling to Hainan, which he had read several times. It contained many technical details, but that was about traveling to the Ming Dynasty, and it was of no use in the late Qing Dynasty. There were also novels about the late Qing and early Ming, but he had only read them once. When he recalled the prototype of the Soviet T34 tank—a tank sample produced by a certain American company—he could not remember the name of that company. Yang Rui sighed deeply, realizing that no matter what one does, one must be serious. If he had put in a little more effort, how could he have forgotten it?

Upon hearing the price, Yang Rui calculated his remaining funds and realized that he could only afford to stay in the pavilion room. In fact, that small room was quite nice and relatively quiet. He thought to himself: "I will stay in the pavilion room after all. Can it be a bit cheaper than four yuan? I just arrived in Shanghai, and my finances are rather tight"

On the eleventh day since Yang Rui arrived and the ninth day since he moved into Ruyi, when he had only two jiao left, hope arrived. That day, as he leaned on the window watching the life below, Old Deng knocked on the door and came in, handing over two letters: "Mr. Yang, I have brought two letters for you!"

My husband's family name is Huang. How many of you are there? What is your honorable surname? Perhaps Yang Rui met her requirements for a tenant, and she also began to speak in Beijing dialect

The letter, oh, it must be the newspaper accepting submissions, this should be the manuscript fee. Upon thinking of this, he couldn't help but feel nervous, rushing over to take the letter, saying thank you while opening it. Indeed, inside was a note, which read: Mr. Yang, our newspaper has accepted your manuscript and it will be published in the next issue. The manuscript fee is 6 yuan, please come to the Agricultural Journal office at No. 3 Beihai Road to collect it. The other envelope contained a money order, which only had 3 yuan, but the remitter was the Women's Journal. It wasn't important who it was, the key was that there was money now, and the cash had turned into 9.2 yuan, which was the most delightful part. These few and the books truly made Yang Rui understand what it means to be a hero brought down by a mere penny.

That night, Yang Rui went out to have a meal. He had been feeling that the steamed buns and dumplings he had been eating lately were too greasy, so on a whim, he bought a pack of cigarettes called Lao Dao brand. According to the packaging, it was produced by the British American Tobacco Company, which later became quite famous. It is said that this company once monopolized the cigarette market in China. Later, as national consciousness rose, private companies like the Nanyang Tobacco Company began to emerge, leading to intense competition between the two sides throughout the late Qing and Republican periods. Yang Rui then asked the shopkeeper for cigarettes from the Nanyang Tobacco Company, but was told that this company did not exist. It seems that this company would not be established for a few more years; it does not exist yet.

The houses are all fine; in fact, as long as they are livable, that's sufficient. As for which one to rent, it depends on the price. Yang Rui was calculating how much money he had left in his pocket. When she asked, he replied: "The rooms are all very good, but I don't know how much they cost per month?"

Every day at four thirty, Yang Rui would pack his bag and go out, wandering around the alley to see if he could return home again, but each time it proved futile. Yang Rui would come back dejected and lie on his bed, silently counting the dwindling coins, calculating how many days he had left before running out of food. At this time every day, the office workers downstairs would start to return one after another, and the courtyard would come alive with noise. Yang Rui would always open the window, leaning against it, watching below as Mrs. Huang in the corridor cooked on a kerosene stove, the spatula flying about, a little girl played under the eaves, and the girl's parents argued in their hometown dialect in the room. Old Deng would squat at the stairway smoking, occasionally chatting with the little girl—this noisy yet warm home life always brought a sense of comfort. Although Yang Rui was merely a spectator, he could still feel the warmth brought by this lively atmosphere.

The door of the pavilion was open, and it seemed that the room had been swept again. Some straw was spread on the bed, but there were no bedding or covers. While sitting on the edge of the bed and surveying the room, Mrs. Huang came over, still wearing the light blue robe from yesterday, walking gently and softly. "You came over, Mr. Yang. I was just up there airing the quilts and didn't hear you and - the picture - book calling me."

"Thank you again," Yang Rui expressed his gratitude once more, handing over a prepared hexagon. He then inquired, "Mrs. Huang, is there anywhere nearby that sells blankets and bedding?"

Yang Rui nodded and said, "It is I. May I ask how to address you?" He was also sizing up the woman.

Mrs. Huang seems to be in a good mood since the house has been rented out and is very willing to help. "You can go to that Yimin bedding shop outside and mention that you are a tenant of Mr. Huang in the inner room; it should be a bit cheaper."

Yang Rui worked overnight to write articles for the Agricultural Science Journal and the Women's Journal. For the Agricultural Science Journal, he documented several types of organic pesticide formulas that he could remember, explaining their usage and effects. Meanwhile, the Women's Journal continued to discuss how the status of women has gradually declined from the ancient matriarchal society to the present day. Naturally, it could not be covered in one go; at least another article would be needed for the next issue. To maintain some cover and to disguise his gender, he adopted a pen name, calling himself "Tingzi Jian". The decline of women's status from ancient times to the present could not be fully addressed in one article; at least another piece would be necessary for the next publication. To maintain some cover and to disguise his gender, he adopted a pen name, calling himself "Tingzi Jian".

Mrs. Huang remained silent after listening, and after a while, as if she had made a decision, she said: "There are at least three and a half pieces in the pavilion; any less would not be good for borrowing. I see you are a serious person who is just short on funds. If you sincerely wish to borrow, let us settle it today."

The house consists of two floors, with two rooms: one is a bedroom and the other is a pavilion room, the woman replied, adding, "Let me take you to have a look." As she spoke, she entered inside. Passing through the living room, there was a small corridor, where a woman was squatting by the eaves' gutter washing pots, while a six or seven-year-old girl stood beside her.

Ascending the wooden staircase to the second floor, I first examined the bedroom, which faces south, measuring over 20 square meters. It is furnished with various items, including an old wooden bed. The windows are plentiful and made of glass, making the room very bright. The pavilion room, however, is located at the back of the house. It is small, less than 10 square meters, and quite low, making Yang Rui feel as if he might hit his head on the ceiling. Since it faces north, the window is not on the north side but rather on the side, featuring wooden shutters. The walls are coated with gray plaster, giving it a somewhat dim appearance. The furnishings in the room are very simple, consisting of a bed, a table, and a stool. After inspecting the house, Mrs. Huang asked: "Having seen everything, what do you think? Are these two rooms still vacant?"

After dinner, the landlady had already lit the lamps in the room. In the pitch-black room, the kerosene lamp shone defiantly, yet even so, darkness still enveloped the vast majority of the space, with only a small area on the table maintaining its light. Yang Rui sat down, reviewed the results of the afternoon, organized the grammar of classical Chinese, and then continued the great endeavor of filling in the grids.

Yang Rui has made a decision and paid a deposit of 2 yuan, indicating that he will move in tomorrow. Before leaving, he asked for the address: No. 12, Ruyi Lane, Houmalu. On the way back, he calculated his money; after deducting the 1.6 yuan he needs to pay tomorrow, he has 2.64 yuan left. After today, he will still have 2.53 yuan remaining. Assuming he spends 0.2 yuan on meals each day, he can last for another 13 days. However, after moving in tomorrow and buying bedding and other necessities, he is unsure how much money he will have left. Money, oh money, thinking of this, Yang Rui couldn't help but quicken his pace. At the intersection of Jishi Road and Dama Road, he found a post office and sent out the article filled with his hopes. To ensure that the editor would accept his classical Chinese and simplified characters, he added an explanation at the end of the letter, stating that according to the custom of time travelers, he is an overseas Chinese who was educated in Western languages and simplified characters during his youth, and thus has many shortcomings in grammar and writing. He kindly asked for understanding.

By the time it was noon and time for lunch, Yang Rui had already tidied up the house. He went out and came back, spending another one yuan to buy a single quilt. Money was tight, and the weather wasn't too cold, so he had to make do. In addition to the quilt, he also bought a lock, though he was unsure if it would be effective. The lock seller claimed that this type of broad lock is generally difficult to pry open. Although Yang Rui was skeptical, he had no choice but to make do with it. In the end, he counted his money and found that he only had one yuan and twenty cents left. If he economized, he could manage for another ten days or so, depending on whether his submissions would be successful.

Yang Rui smiled and said: "It's nothing, Mrs. Huang. It seems the room has been tidied up a bit, thank you."

The large bedroom is eight dollars a month, with a room donation of two cents; the pavilion room is indeed cheaper, at four dollars a month, with a room donation of one cent. Which one do you want? she asked

My surname is Yang, and I live alone. I am a student who has just returned to the country. May I ask how this house is rented? Yang Rui inquired