But when she picked up one, examined the thickness of the paper, and scrutinized the fine printing, his expression changed immediately.
Jiang Mingxi was certain— she knew this trade well.
These high-quality, cost-effective, richly illustrated foreign special editions were solid currency in the secondhand market.
The glossy coated paper could be cut into high-end wrapping paper and luxury envelopes; the vivid pictures could be framed into calendar cards and advertising posters, decorating thousands of homes.
Even the lowest grade could be glued together and made into shoe insoles— durable and practical.
In any case, there would be no shortage of buyers.
Sure enough, after brief haggling, the batch sold quickly.
Counting the overweight fee and all her expenses going north, she netted a profit of 150 silver dollars.
With so much money, Jiang Mingxi couldn’t carry it all on her person, nor did she trust banknotes— ever since the new government issued currency, banknotes were worthless, while silver dollars retained value.
So she deposited the money in a Shanxi Chain Bank in Nanjing, planning to withdraw it by check once she reached Shanghai.
Ending her recollection, she stood by the Yangtze River, the faint salty wind brushing her face, wiping away the weariness of recent days.
With travel expenses earned back and a hopeful future ahead, this Shanghai trip had gotten off to a decent start.
……
Jiang Mingxi arrived early at Nanjing Railway Station.
She bypassed the VIP lounge, her eyes wandering over the various hawkers peddling their goods near the platform.
There were still four hours before departure.
She silently contemplated how to make the best use of the first-class cabin’s free 25-kilogram luggage allowance to earn a little more— ideally enough to cover her rent in Shanghai.
Were there any specialty goods in Nanjing worth selling…?
Lost in thought, Jiang Mingxi’s exceptionally sharp ears caught a snippet of Cantonese.
“My job application got rejected again! I copied it neatly, but that foreign devil went crazy and even had the cops warn me that if I bother them again, I’ll be thrown in jail!”
Another immediately cursed: “Damn their mothers! Acting so arrogant on Chinese soil, those damned foreign devils…”
Jiang Mingxi looked closer and saw two hawkers.
One was plump, the other skinny, both appearing no more than in their early twenties, selling thick enamel stoves.
The stoves even bore an English advertisement for a Scottish Whisky Company.
This whisky company from Scotland wanted to expand worldwide, so they had heavily advertised in China.
Unexpectedly, their whisky hadn’t sold well, but the advertising boards used to promote it sold like hotcakes.
Because these enamel signs were perfect for making small stoves, the secondhand dealers eagerly collected them and repurposed them for resale — making a fortune with virtually no investment.
Honestly, Jiang Mingxi often thought foreigners were a bit foolish — money-rich but naive, making her feel guilty if she didn’t take advantage once in a while.
Anyway, since these two were selling enamel stoves at the train station — and she had carefully observed they were the only ones selling them — it was definitely a unique business.
They must have relatives working at that Scottish Whisky Company to supply them with a steady flow of goods.
Jiang Mingxi’s judgment came from knowing that almost every trade in China was highly insular.
Today, the silk trade was monopolized by people from Suzhou, tea by Anhui natives, most foreign trading houses run by Cantonese, and money shops and banks controlled by Shanxi merchants.
If a foreign company hired a Shanghainese in its Chinese business department, soon more Shanghainese would follow— and these new Shanghai employees always seemed to have family ties with one another.
This was an extraordinary coincidence, a providential bond.
Jiang Mingxi thought that meeting such a unique business was also fate not to be missed.
So she cheerfully approached the two hawkers and said fluently in Cantonese: “What a pleasant surprise to meet fellow townsfolk! Didn’t expect to bump into people from home here in Nanjing.”
From their conversation, she had already heard their Guangzhou accents.
The two hawkers, hearing authentic Cantonese, took no suspicion and warmly chatted with her.
After a while, the two were delighted to discover this stranger was distantly related to them.
The plump hawker slapped his thigh: “By our relations, I should call you cousin.”
Jiang Mingxi smiled easily: “Ha ha ha, close enough— no need for formality, let’s be peers.”
Through subtle questioning, Jiang Mingxi learned the enamel stove business was indeed unique, only sold in Nanjing and with no dealers in Shanghai yet.
She was tempted but knew that rashly proposing to be their agent now would raise suspicions.
So she decided to take a roundabout approach: help them with a small favor first, then talk business later.
Thus, she eagerly volunteered in Cantonese: “I heard you say your job application letters to foreigners were rejected—what happened? I know some English; maybe I can help.”
The plump hawker’s eyes lit up as if she were a savior. He hurriedly pulled out his application letter, asking the distant cousin fluent in English to help.
It was clear the plump hawker had put effort into this letter— it was written on very high-quality stationery, even scented.
Jiang Mingxi opened it and scanned the neatly written text that looked almost printed, falling silent.
The plump hawker anxiously asked, “Well? What’s wrong with it?”
Jiang Mingxi looked up, expression strange. “You don’t understand English at all? And you want to work at a foreign company?”
The plump hawker let out a “hey” and, hands on hips, suddenly energized. Now it was his turn to give advice to this distant cousin.
“English can be learned slowly after getting hired. First, get the job and secure the position. I have a distant cousin who bought some English job application letters from secondhand shops, copied them, and sent them to all the addresses in the phone book. He got hired by a foreign advertising company!”
From the plump hawker’s words, Jiang Mingxi realized that such applicants who didn’t understand English were actually common.
Learning English was a long process, and most job seekers lacked the time. They usually learned only practical vocabulary, could write but not speak.
So they either copied letters or bought application templates and sent them out widely.
“But what about interviews?” Jiang Mingxi asked curiously. “If you don’t know English, how do you get through interviews?”
“No problem. I’ve already found a middleman to vouch for me,” the plump hawker said seriously.
“He’ll tell the interviewer I can speak English but not well in conversation. But I can handle basic paperwork without problems. And I don’t ask for a salary—just to stay on at the foreign company. I’ll work hard and learn English diligently.”
Jiang Mingxi immediately recognized how China’s apprentice system was a killer advantage for foreign firms.
She quickly grasped the trick.
Many foreign bosses, upon hearing about free labor backed by a guarantor, thought they’d gotten a great deal and hired immediately.
These unpaid Chinese workers were indeed diligent and capable. They volunteered for overtime, anticipated their bosses’ wishes, and perfectly handled assigned tasks.
Their diligence paid off.
They learned foreign trade procedures, understood supply sources, and collected all client information.
They also controlled personnel flow within the business departments, so all new Chinese hires were their relatives or townsfolk.
At this point, the only way for the foreign bosses was to promote and raise wages for the Chinese workers—or watch them resign, start their own firms, and steal the original company’s market share.
Thinking of this, Jiang Mingxi felt some regret.
In her previous life, her low social class meant she never learned of these secret channels and missed many chances to get rich.
But knowing now, it was not too late.
She shook the letter in her hand and, gazing warmly at the plump hawker who had selflessly shared his “not-so-secret” knowledge, told him the real reason his job applications were repeatedly rejected.
“You…” she paused, unable to hold back a twitch at the corner of her mouth. “You copied the wrong template.”
The plump hawker’s confident smile froze instantly.
Jiang Mingxi looked at him pityingly. “This is a love letter.”
The plump hawker’s eyes widened in disbelief.
The skinny hawker standing nearby suddenly choked, his face turning bright red. He instinctively stepped back, as if wanting to distance himself from the letter.
Jiang Mingxi delivered the final blow slowly: “And an old Victorian-era erotic poem at that. You’re pleading in it for the other party to enjoy the pleasures of fish and water together.”
“What… pleasures?!” The plump hawker yowled like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, his voice sharp and cracking.
His entire round face drained of color, then flushed purple.
He snatched back the letter, hands trembling like autumn leaves falling, eyes blank, lips quivering but unable to utter a single word.
Imagine—a respectable foreign company manager, a gentleman, opening a letter filled with rapturous descriptions of “exquisite bodies” and longing for their “fish and water pleasures” together…
The skinny hawker finally couldn’t hold back. He shrugged, a low whisper in Cantonese: “Damn you… told you not to buy secondhand letters just ‘cause they were cheap!”
The plump hawker spun to glare at him, then whipped back to glare at Jiang Mingxi, finger pointed at his nose, eyes nearly popping out: “I… I’m not that kind of foreigner…”
He gasped and panted for a long time but never found the courage to say the words. At last, he stomped his foot hard, crouched with hands on his head, and let out a mournful wail as if wanting to dig a hole in the ground and hide.
Jiang Mingxi couldn’t help but sigh: “You’re lucky the cops didn’t lock you up.”