The next day.
Summer had arrived early this year. The weather had been gradually warming since May, and by now it was sweltering hot. Even in the early morning hours, there was hardly any relief from the heat.
Quite a few people were already out on the streets, heading to work.
On both sides of the road, a few shops selling breakfast had taken down their wooden shutters and opened for business.
Perhaps because it was still so early,
it was very quiet.
Suddenly, the arrogant blare of a car horn sliced through the air. Pedestrians hurriedly stepped aside—and sure enough, a car shot past without slowing down in the slightest. Those who were slow to move barely dodged by the skin of their teeth, their clothes brushing against the vehicle.
The people nearby breathed a sigh of relief on their behalf—
Those who could afford to ride in automobiles were either wealthy or powerful. If they hit you, there was no place to seek justice.
You'd be crippled, and that would be that.
Dead? Well, you'd just be dead!
"Pockmarked Zhou, you got lucky today. Don't forget to tell your wife to burn some incense for your ancestors—this is the first time they've actually shown themselves useful!"
"Exactly, he really should burn some incense. Everyone else ran off early, but you were moving like a turtle. What's the matter? Stayed up too late last night with your woman and your legs gave out, huh?"
This drew a burst of laughter.
"Bullshit."
Pockmarked Zhou snapped back into himself and traded a few more quips before speaking with lingering fear:
"Who would've thought these big shots would skip their beauty sleep and come out this early in the morning? I heard the horn, but I just couldn't react in time."
That question was soon answered.
The vendor wrapping rice balls by the roadside, without even lifting his head, said:
"Then from this moment on, you'd better stick close to the edges of the street, or else you won't have time to react to a lot of things. If it's not a car, it's a rickshaw, a foreigner on a motorbike—none of them are people you can afford to mess with."
The moment he finished speaking,
another car drove past, this one not even bothering to honk!
"Th-this... what the hell is going on?"
Pockmarked Zhou swallowed hard. Seeing that he really seemed to be clueless, the others started chattering all at once.
"You don't know what day it is today?"
"Penicillin!"
"Miss Su is about to announce the winning numbers. Pretty grand affair, you know. Those big shots are all here to show their support. They've all bought so many tickets—of course they're after that penicillin."
"Hmph, buying a lot doesn't guarantee you'll win."
"Right! Last time, that Patriotic Lottery, the winner was some night-soil collector. He got insanely lucky and suddenly had a house, a car, and got rich overnight. This sort of thing is all about luck."
"Isn't there a rumor going around that Miss Su will soon be putting penicillin on the market in large quantities? Even if it costs as much as gold, those big shots can afford it, so why are they fighting us for this chance?"
"Who knows..."
Everyone chatted away, some indignant, some hopeful.
Pockmarked Zhou was stunned for a moment.
He gritted his teeth and, though it pained him, bought some buns, fried dough sticks, rice balls, and the like, then scurried off home. Burning incense alone wouldn't cut it—he needed to add some offerings too.
Hopefully, his ancestors would eat their fill and put in a little extra effort—
He had a lottery ticket he'd gotten with his coal oil purchase, too!
…………
There was indeed no shortage of people coming to show their support.
When they arrived at the venue,
the driver said nervously that they couldn't get any further. The gentleman in the car wore a clean long gown, with his buttons fastened neatly even in the middle of summer, giving the impression of someone refined and tidy.
At that, he glanced outside.
What met his eyes, apart from cars, was nothing but people—
Big shots, regardless of their background or personality, all cared about showing off their status. They never went anywhere without their underlings. He was the same way.
And they couldn't get in the venue either.
All packed together like this, of course things clogged up. It looked hot just looking at it.
Someone spotted him and called out a greeting.
So he got out of the car.
"So, she still hasn't arrived?"
A few acquaintances gathered together, all polite and smiling, but keeping a deliberate distance from one another, while their underlings behind them stood on high alert.
"Forget her arriving—they haven't even opened the doors yet. She's just leaving everyone hanging. Since when is there a rule where the guests show up and the host keeps them waiting like this?"
"Miss Su's temper is certainly as infamous as they say."
Infamously... bad.
The few of them exchanged knowing smiles.
Given their respective positions, their pride mattered a great deal. Under normal circumstances, being kept waiting like this would have them fuming with rage. Now, though, there was a strange tolerance in the air.
It wasn't just them, either.
Everyone present was someone of note from all over the country. Even foreigners had shown up in numbers, plus reporters carrying cameras.
Under such circumstances,
even those with complaints couldn't easily lose their temper. At least in Zhao Chang's eyes, everyone was smiling and chatting with one another. If you couldn't see the sky above, you'd think this was some lavish banquet.
Indeed, those who became big shots all had their own remarkable qualities.
He sighed inwardly and shook his head.
He hadn't forgotten his purpose here—he raised his camera and clicked away.
Up ahead, the French Consul and a few other foreigners he couldn't identify... strange, really, how even though Westerners had different-colored eyes and hair, they were still so hard to tell apart one from another.
No matter. When this got published, someone would recognize them.
Click.
In the car parked not too far to the left.
The person hadn't gotten out, but the window was open—it was some confidant of a warlord whose influence still held strong to this day.
Click.
People from the government.
Click, click, click, click... Zhao Chang's finger was getting sore, but he only reluctantly stopped when he had his fill. When would he ever get the chance to see so many big shots gathered in one place again? If it weren't for how expensive film was, he would have kept shooting all day long.
"Damn it, I'm out of film!"
One of the reporters wailed.
"Already? The real main event hasn't even started yet. Did you bring spare film?"
"No," he said, full of regret. "Film is so pricey, I figured one roll would be enough. I didn't expect..." He hadn't expected so many big names to show up. He'd been too excited and hadn't been paying attention.
He looked at the other reporters.
Without much hope, he tried to borrow some, and sure enough, they all turned him down, even the man from his own newspaper making up an excuse to refuse.
Fellow tradesmen are rivals.
To be honest, if it were him, he wouldn't have lent it out either. He would definitely get chewed out when he got back. Crestfallen, he asked the last person—
"I happen to have some extra here."
Zhao Chang said.
"R-really?" The reporter couldn't believe it, stuttering so badly he almost tripped over his words. It wasn't until the roll of film was pressed into his hands that he hurriedly took it, thanking Zhao Chang profusely and promising to repay him two rolls in return.
Zhao Chang didn't refuse.
"With this heat, you'd think these big shots coming to support the event is enough on its own. It's obvious Miss Su is playing them all for fools, and yet not one of them has left. Are they all really that good-natured?"
After this exchange, the careless reporter felt much closer to Zhao Chang and spoke in a low, gossipy tone.
"It's not that they're good-natured."
Zhao Chang shook his head, thinking to himself, The victor is always magnanimous.
Besides, the one they'd lose to was Su Ning.
Ruthless in her methods, vindictive as all hell, and possessed of the ability to back all of it up. And anyway, after this little wait they'd been handed, their minds were actually a little more at ease.
Don't talk about how safety comes in numbers.
It's not "better safe than sorry."
It's "never tempt fate."
Everyone had come. And once they were here, they couldn't very well just up and leave.
Think about it—if nobody else has left and you leave, well, aren't you just the shiny little target? If Su Ning didn't take out her anger on you, then she must be in a very good mood today.
Now, if everyone had left, that'd be a different story.
But the thing is,
everyone was thinking exactly that, so nobody budged. And thus the vicious cycle: if no one moves, then no one can move.
This was Su Ning's way of doing things.
Zhao Chang seemed to see that cold face break into a faint, contemptuous smile.
Of course, none of this could be said out loud. After a moment's thought, he found another excuse: "Penicillin is far too important, and draws are all too easy to rig. I need to see it with my own eyes to be at ease."
The man across from him nodded in sudden understanding.
There was nothing new under the sun.
Even now, those patriotic lottery tickets and charity bonds were always stirring up whispers of backroom deals and pre-picked winners.
A commotion erupted from up ahead—first a large crowd spilled into view, then a car, its occupants brusquely waving everyone else aside.
It took a moment to come to a smooth stop.
Surrounded by a swarm of attendants, one person stepped out.
It was Su Ning.
Click.
Zhao Chang instinctively raised his camera and fired off shot after shot until the roll ran out. He wasn’t alone—the other reporters did the same, even the one who had just been telling everyone to conserve film couldn’t stop himself.
