If it was April 1939, and you were wandering in the middle street of the British Concession, and you saw the sturdy and ugly building of Macquarie Bank inadvertently, you might as well turn west onto the narrow Jardine Road, there is no need to risk crossing The torrent of freight trucks just needs to stop, and they are standing on the edge of the old British concession demarcated in 1860. At this moment, if you turn your head and look to the right, you will definitely see a dark, dirty alley, clogged with garbage Like the anorectum with constipation, a wooden board was nailed to the wall of the alley.

Since the Republic of China, the British Concession has been able to build a lot of construction in the newly opened expansion and promotion circles. This place has become a shadow under the sun. There is only one small three-story building in an alley, which is sandwiched between large warehouses and large warehouses. People are neglected and forgotten, like a pair of old shoes worn many years ago. Ding Shaomei rested her arms on the dining table in the inn. In front of her was a pot of rat-gray thin soup and a large slice of coarse bread cut into an inch thick. Resentment.The owner of the shop sat across from him, with his Jewish-style big nose and sparse, gray mustache buried in the soup bowl, eating like a tsunami, but from time to time he glanced at the young man opposite with his flushed eyes, as if surprised by this Chinese The young man's food is gentle.

The long oak dining table can seat 16 people for dinner. The old dust on the table is mixed with fat and fat, which is as thick as a penny, but there are only two of them, the owner and him, sitting on the table. It's a clean end.The other end of the dining table is against the wall, and the place where the window used to be is covered with bricks, and a small oil painting on a wooden board is hung. A few days ago, when Ding Shaomei came into the store with her father's ashes in her arms, she was startled by the violence on the painting at first sight, and was at a loss for a while.This painting must be a three-masted ship, he was muttering words.Through the withered, broken paint and dust, it can be seen that the vein-shaped lightning strikes down obliquely and hits the slender mainmast. There is no sail on the mast, and only a few drifting white strands are left as the footnotes of the strong wind .Under the mast, the suspicious color blocks and shadows must be violent waves surging, which should have submerged the ship's side.Behind the mast is a miserable chaos and blur, against which the struggling crew members can hardly be distinguished, so they are relegated to imagination.This was undoubtedly one of those schooners that were active in the South China Sea sixty or seventy years ago, built in the famous shipyards in the north of England, out of fine fir timber, laden with Indian opium, and sinking in the summer hurricanes of Borneo.

For this, he was a little sad, his frantic state of mind was so accurately portrayed by this wrecked ship, it shouldn't be.Nor could he tell whether he should not be in this state of mind, or should not be stimulated by the painting.In short, "Shouldn't be!" His voice is beautiful, smooth as silk, and the pronunciation of Peking is just too short at the end of the word, and the tip of the tongue is too far back, showing the locals' feet. "Icons of Tsarist Russia, good things in the monastery, a saint hung in his private room for decades until he ascended to heaven." The owner of the shop is as attentive as the curator of a small museum. "This painting should be about the Crucifixion of Jesus. He was crucified with two thieves and endured the ridicule of the ignorant. Such a humiliation makes the world feel ashamed, O Lord of the Israelites!" The owner of the shop is sometimes very talkative. , he told Ding Shaomei that he bought a piece of bread from the poor old Russia, and that the rotten bricks used to block the window were suitable for use.If the distinguished guest is interested, he can give up.

No matter how attractive this thing is, he has no money to buy it. For five days he had not paid the Jewish shopkeeper a single cent. Dang, dang, dang..., a hard drum sound came from outside the alley, not very loud but clear, touching his shy wallet.After the Japanese army sealed off the British and French concessions last time, the management in the concessions was very loose, and small businessmen who had always been active in the Chinese sector also took the opportunity to slip into the concessions to do business.This was one of Ding Shaomei's strangest feelings after returning to China, which was unimaginable before the Japanese invaded North China.The British Empire, which has always been strong and decent, is now too busy to take care of itself, and it seems that this small overseas colony has been left alone.

The sound of the drum tells the face-conscious Chinese who are short on money at dusk: The small drummers have come, and they have taken refuge in the foreign concession. Everything is expensive, and it costs a lot. Quickly exchange things for money. Points, live a cheap day.