Chapter 14: A Fortunate Encounter with a Physics Giant
In 1943, Chinatown in New York had only Cantonese restaurants.
After all, most of the residents there were Cantonese immigrants.
Pierre was craving spicy Sichuan dishes, but he knew Sichuan cuisine wouldn't beco popular until much later — not until the new century.
For now, it was Cantonese food or nothing.
Thankfully, the dishes were still authentic, untouched by the heavy Aricanization that would co in later decades.
The roasted goose, the glazed barbecued pork — their aroma alone made his mouth water.
As he tucked into the feast, Pierre reflected with satisfaction: managing to close such important business deals on his very first day in Arica was no small thing — and much of the credit belonged to Zhu Yihai.
Naturally, over dinner, he made sure to express his gratitude.
"Monsieur. Pierre," Zhu said hurriedly,
"it's I who should be thanking you!
You trusted — you gave business.
I can't ask for more."
For Zhu Yihai, who had barely made ends et recently, today's earnings were nothing short of miraculous.
At Corville's, he'd earned a fifty-dollar commission. At Anastasia's, another fifty.
One hundred dollars — more than the average Arican factory worker made in a month.
Even U.S. soldiers only earned about fifty dollars a month — and that was enough to lure thousands of "rednecks" from rural towns to fight overseas.
One hundred dollars in a day — Zhu could hardly believe his luck.
Of course, he couldn't help dreaming: if only every day could be like this.
"Mr. Zhu,"
Pierre said, setting down his chopsticks,
"If you don't mind asking... What's your typical monthly inco?"
He had bigger plans now.
He needed soone trustworthy to manage operations in Arica — not just lurking around Chinatown but running a real company.
Originally, Pierre had no suitable candidate in mind.
But Zhu's reliability and attitude today had impressed him.
Maybe he wasn't the sharpest, but he was steady, and steady was gold.
Zhu thought for a mont, then answered honestly:
"To tell you the truth, sir... you know how it is for us.
It's hard to find work here. During the Great Depression, white employers always hired whites first. I graduated from high school, but there were no real opportunities — just odd jobs here and there.
When the war started, I thought about trying for factory work — but sean kept coming to Chinatown to sell goods, so I stayed. Business was patchy. Enough to survive, but not much more."
There was no need for embellishnt. The truth spoke clearly enough.
"I'm planning to open an import-export company here in New York,"
Pierre said calmly.
"Would you like to work for ?"
Zhu blinked in surprise.
"Sir — you want to open a company?"
"Why not?
I'm not just planning to deal in cigarettes. Other goods too, eventually having a company would make everything smoother."
A proper company...
Zhu's mind raced.
An office job?
Wearing a suit and tie?
That was exactly the kind of life he'd always dread of — respectable, stable, legitimate.
Still, practical questions had to be asked.
"If I worked for you, what would my responsibilities be?
And... the salary?"
Hope shone in his eyes, but he remained cautious.
"Simple,"
Pierre said.
"You'll handle daily operations.
Procure goods as I instruct.
Manage inventory at the warehouse.
Later, as we grow, we'll hire more people.
As for salary..."
He thought back to the help-wanted ads he'd seen earlier that morning.
"Eighty dollars a month, plus bonuses if the business does well."
Zhu lowered his head, considering it carefully. After a mont, he looked up and nodded firmly.
"Mr. Pierre, thank you for this opportunity. I won't let you down."
Pierre smiled.
He hadn't doubted it.
The pay he offered was fair — better than most — and more importantly, Zhu had the right kind of loyalty he needed.
Of course, in Arica, starting a company wasn't just about renting an office. You needed to file legal paperwork.
The simplest way was to find a lawyer to handle it.
That afternoon, Zhu Yihai ran around town, visiting lawyer after lawyer. But every door slamd shut.
Because he's Chinese.
"Honestly," Zhu said when he returned, "it's better now than it was a decade ago.
Back when I was in high school, even black students wouldn't sit next to .
If it cos to it, we can try finding a black lawyer — or just register the company ourselves."
Just as he finished speaking, a young man approached their table.
"Excuse , gentlen," he said politely.
"My friend and I were dining nearby. We couldn't help overhearing — are you in need of a lawyer?"
He smiled warmly.
"If you don't mind, I can help.I'm licensed to practice in both New York and across the United States. If you trust , I'd be honored."
Fate was funny like that.
Just when Pierre was struggling to find help,
soone appeared out of nowhere — and not just anyone:
a Chinese.
There was a faint hope in the young lawyer's eyes.
It was well known that Chinese people rarely sued or needed legal services.
Clients were rare.
This was an opportunity.
"You're hired,"
Pierre said without hesitation.
"And your fee — you'll be paid full New York rates.
No discounts just because we're compatriots."
He glanced toward the other man at the neighboring table and smiled.
"Mr. Zhang, why not invite your friend over to join us for dinner?"
Zhang hesitated, then looked back.
His friend gave a slight nod.
They walked over.
The other man wore thick black-rimd glasses and had a scholarly air about him.
Zhang introduced them:
"This is my friend, Yuan Jialiu.
He works at RCA Laboratories."
Yuan Jialiu!
For a mont, Pierre froze.
This man — was a titan in physics!
He and his wife, Wu Jianxiong, were both destined to beco legends.
In fact, Wu ca agonizingly close to winning the Nobel Prize — only losing it because her stubborn honesty had offended certain powerful figures in the field.
Thanks to Zhang's help, the company registration went smoothly.
Within a single day, they completed all the necessary paperwork.
While Zhu busied himself renting an office and warehouse, Pierre spent the next few days crisscrossing New York, getting a feel for the market landscape.
By the end of his whirlwind tour, he was left with a splitting headache.
"Things aren't as simple as I imagined..."
Comparing the rationed goods lists between Britain and Arica,
Pierre faced an uncomfortable reality:
Compared to Arica, Britain's situation was far more dire.
There wasn't much worth exporting back to London.
C'est compliqué...
While lost in thought, his gaze happened to fall on a newspaper ad lying on the table.
At first he didn't register it. But as he glanced across the whole page, sothing made him freeze.
Quickly, he snatched up the paper, flipped to another, then another — checking and cross-referencing.
Suddenly, a jolt of excitent ran through him.
He slapped the table and exclaid:
"I've got it!"
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