“Sir, we’ve arrived at the Women’s Shelter.”
The rickshaw came to a steady stop in front of a grimy high wall.
The ragtop rickshaw driver wiped the sweat from his neck with a handkerchief, then turned his head to speak to Jiang Yixi inside the carriage.
Jiang Yixi got off the rickshaw and handed the driver an extra dime as a tip.
The driver’s eyes lit up as he took the money. Immediately lowering his voice, he leaned closer like he was about to reveal a treasure: “Sir, there’s a new batch of foreign women inside— White Russian refugees who fled from the north! The shelter can’t afford to support them all and is looking for buyers. The matron confided in me— thirty silver dollars each. It’s not cheap, but foreign women have tall figures and big hips, very fertile! If you don’t make them your primary wife, they make excellent concubines or maids…”
He smiled knowingly, then added, “There is a rule though— you have to choose them behind a curtain. Whether they’re tall, short, fat, thin, pretty, or ugly is up to luck. But if you want to pick a particularly beautiful one, just slip the matron a little extra, and she’ll make sure to arrange something convenient for you.”
Jiang Yixi naturally understood what the driver meant.
He was here precisely because of these White Russian women.
He had come to this place to find foreign female companions for his upcoming banquet.
Turning around, Jiang Yixi headed toward the rusty iron gate.
The women in the shelter were not considered proper daughters of good families.
Or rather, they had once been respectable women, but due to all kinds of reasons— abandoned by their husbands, widows without heirs, lost during famine, or aged prostitutes past their prime— they ended up at the shelter.
But the shelter wasn’t a charity. It couldn’t feed them all for free.
Looking for work to support themselves? Sorry, even with Shanghai’s thriving textile industry, many respectable women struggled to find employment. Why would anyone hire women with unclear backgrounds?
So, the younger women were often “re-employed” by the shelter— usually bought to become concubines or maids, and some fell into brothels.
Just like these White Russian refugees.
In chaotic times, no matter if a woman was foreign or Chinese, their lives were equally miserable.
As for the older women who remained at the shelter, those still physically able would paste paper boxes, sew, pick cigarette butts, or clean, never allowed a moment’s rest.
Jiang Yixi soon met the matron the rickshaw driver had mentioned.
She wasn’t actually old. Though her face was lined with wrinkles, Jiang Yixi knew it was from overwork—her real age could not be more than forty.
After Jiang Yixi explained his intent to hire, the matron eyed him suspiciously and bluntly said, “Mr. Jiang, I must clarify— our girls are all decent and proper. Though their fates are tragic, none of them would engage in flesh trade.”
Jiang Yixi knew she had misunderstood.
It wasn’t surprising— his request for workers had an ambiguous tone.
He had asked for beautiful, tall, well-shaped foreign women.
Many shelters saw the women inside as burdens and were eager to sell them off. As for what the buyers wanted the women for, shelters didn’t concern themselves.
So Jiang Yixi hadn’t thought much of it at first.
Unexpectedly, this matron had a streak of integrity that softened Jiang Yixi’s gaze.
“You misunderstand. I truly want to hire them. I’ve designed a new line of clothing and need foreign women as models,” Jiang Yixi explained.
The matron still looked half doubtful. “You really only need them to wear clothes and walk in the street?”
To dispel her doubts, Jiang Yixi showed his new Shanghai residence registration, a company advertisement published in a newspaper, and the latest article praising him as a “thoroughbred.”
Once she saw he was a genuine and upright businessman, the matron’s suspicion eased, and she broke into enthusiastic sales talk.
“Varona is educated, literate, and can even paint!”
“Anna is the most beautiful. I don’t dare let her go out lightly— last time, she almost got abducted…”
“And Maria is the youngest, only thirteen this year. She’s short now, but she’ll grow taller. She even speaks some Chinese!”
The matron treated all eighteen White Russian women in the shelter like treasured gems. In her mouth, every woman had merits, every one was perfect for Jiang Yixi to hire.
Jiang Yixi looked at the matron’s enthusiastic pitch, suddenly at a loss for words.
Seeing the faint bitter smile at the corner of his mouth, the matron’s tone softened as well. Her wrinkles deepened with a sad smile.
“We… are truly good people, decent and honest women. It’s just bad luck that brought us here.”
“Yes, I know. When my business grows, I promise to hire all of you.”
The matron smiled weakly.
Both knew the truth.
Indeed, Jiang Yixi would hire more people as his business expanded. But by then, the remaining White Russian women would have long been cleared out by the shelter.
In the end, Jiang Yixi selected three of the eighteen White Russian women as models—Varona, the painter, and Anna, the most beautiful.
As for the others, though he couldn’t offer them long-term jobs, Jiang Yixi was willing to hire them for short-term modeling gigs.
With the matron’s witness, Jiang Yixi paid ninety silver dollars to complete the formalities at the shelter, officially becoming the de facto “owner” of these three women.
Then the matron couldn’t help but ask, “Do you only want White Russian women?”
Her eyes held a hint of reproach.
Though she didn’t say it aloud, Jiang Yixi understood her thoughts.
Most of the women sheltered were Chinese, after all.
From the matron’s perspective, while those White Russian women were pitiable, were Chinese women any less so?
And Jiang Yixi, a Chinese man, only willing to hire White Russian women—could that not be seen as a kind of worship of foreigners?
The matron looked at Jiang Yixi pleadingly and continued her pitch, “Our Chinese women are the most diligent and honest. They’re attentive and also cheap. Only fifteen silver dollars each. You can buy them as rough maids or caretakers, just to feed them… Mr. Jiang, think of it as earning virtue for future generations!”
Jiang Yixi glanced at the Chinese women bent over their work inside the courtyard, their faces dull and numb, and sighed.
His company was still in its early stages. He shouldn’t waste money.
But with Lewis helping him network and an Embassy Banquet coming up, it was also not dignified to live in such a shabby, dilapidated place.
He could rent a better place, while the cramped room he previously rented could be converted into storage, so no waste.
Besides, he had just earned a sum from selling banquet tickets…
Jiang Yixi sighed again.
He smiled bitterly and shook his head. “Matron, you should really become an advertising agent.”
The matron laughed joyfully. Her wrinkles crumpled into a mass, revealing a gap between her front teeth.
So Jiang Yixi selected another woman from the shelter as a housekeeper—known as Flower Sister-in-law. She was widowed years ago, without children, had her family’s property taken by uncles, and was forced into the shelter.
Jiang Yixi smiled wryly.
He had come alone to Shanghai, barely started his career, and now he had a whole family of women to support.
He had a premonition that the burden on his shoulders would only grow heavier.
……
Jiang Yixi quietly moved into his new home.
Being alone in Shanghai without relatives spared him the trouble of hosting a housewarming banquet.
Only the rickshaw driver, Old Zhao, who brought him to the new place, was familiar and helped carry his luggage inside. Wiping his face with a handkerchief, he grinned cheerfully, “Mr. Jiang, I told you long ago you’d get rich! Look, it’s happening!”
Jiang Yixi looked at the small place that didn’t truly belong to him and smiled bitterly. “Master Zhao, this can’t be called getting rich. I don’t even own a house— I just rent places to live.”
Old Zhao said, “You’ll have a big house someday. I’m good at reading people. When you buy your new house, I won’t even charge you for a ride!”
Jiang Yixi chuckled. “Then I’ll give you a big red envelope.”
The new home was in the French Concession.
The rent here naturally wasn’t cheap.
Jiang Yixi rented the first floor of a row of Shikumen houses with a total of more than ten rooms.
Including him, there were only four households in the entire building, sharing the kitchen and bathroom.
The building was equipped with electricity and running water, so the rent was expensive.
He rented four rooms facing south, paying thirty silver dollars per month—three hundred and sixty per year.
Thinking about this expense made him wince, but it was necessary.
Though the rent was high, he was no longer alone. Several young women depended on him now, and their safety was the top priority.
With police regularly patrolling the French Concession, it was safer.
…..
The alley residents looked curiously at the new tenants.
The head of the household was a young man barely growing a mustache, looking refined and polite in a slightly worn long gown.
With such a neighbor, life should be peaceful.
But—
“Did you know? He brought three foreign women back! Blonde hair, blue eyes, each one stunning!”
In the afternoon, Aunt Sun, who usually picked vegetables and chatted by the alley entrance, gossiped excitedly, lowering her voice to share the news with her old friends. “He looks so proper. Who’d have thought… tsk tsk, what a rogue!”
Someone asked out of curiosity, “What business does he do? How can he afford three foreign women?”
Aunt Sun perked up, her voice dropping several octaves, but the excitement couldn’t be hidden: “His name’s Jiang Yichuan. He sells enamel stoves! Little Mr. Jiang is very generous— he told me himself, neighbors in our alley get a discount of one dime below the market price! Just three dollars and forty cents!”
Her words were like water hitting hot oil, instantly causing a commotion.
People stopped gossiping about his private life and started calculating in their minds— a dime could buy several pounds of vegetables!
Soon, most of the crowd dispersed, eager to rush home to get money and snap up the bargain early.
Meanwhile, Jiang Yixi, the subject of the gossip, stood somewhat awkwardly inside his newly arranged study.
He watched Flower Sister-in-law working hard to mop and clean the windows.
He wanted to lend a hand but ended up scaring her.
Her face instantly paled, her hands trembling slightly as she clutched the rag, repeatedly saying, “Sir! You can’t do such rough work! Please, sit! I’ll do it!”
Still, she worked even harder, polishing the glass until it shone like a mirror.
Jiang Yixi had been a maid himself and understood her thoughts.
She was trying to show her diligence, afraid the master might think she was lazy, and so pushed him back toward the dark days of the shelter.
But Jiang Yixi stayed in the study while Flower Sister-in-law scrubbed the windows and tables— the glass and wood were already spotless, yet she kept finding faults and cleaning more.
He knew she wasn’t shirking but was simply trying to prove her worth with visible work so the master would know his money was well spent.
Jiang Yixi sighed quietly and stopped insisting.
He slipped out of the study and walked down the corridor to Anna’s room.
He gently knocked on the door.
Inside, there was a slight stir and urgent whispers in Russian.
After a while, the door opened a crack.
The youngest, Maria, peeked out shyly, her blue eyes wide with fear.
In hesitant Chinese, she whispered, “Mr. Jiang, hello.”
Jiang Yixi didn’t enter. Instead, he handed her three copies of contracts.
“These are your employment contracts, detailing your wages and conditions. I had them translated into Russian. You can study them and reply to me later.”
After he spoke, Maria nodded slightly and closed the door.
She leaned against the cold door, looking down at the densely written papers in her hands.
Turning back, two older sisters anxiously gathered around her.
“Maria, what did he give you? What’s that in your hand?” Anna, the most beautiful, asked in urgent Russian.
Varona, the painter, also looked worried, her voice trembling, “Is it true… he’s not asking us to do that kind of work?”
Maria didn’t answer immediately.
She read the clear Russian terms on the contract— her position listed as “salesperson” and “fashion model,” with wages enough for a stable life.
As she read, tears began to well in her blue eyes, rolling down her cheeks, wetting the paper.
Leaning against the door, her body slowly slid down until she sat on the floor, as if all her strength had drained away.
Then, the fear, helplessness, and sudden joy she had held back for so long burst forth in a flood.
She covered her face and cried aloud.
Mother of God above.
They… had finally met a good person.