Before I went abroad, I spent all my money after finishing school. I had no money left, so what could I do? Just before I went abroad, I had a friend who worked at a famous restaurant in Beijing. People from our generation, from the 50s and 60s, probably know it; it's called Xiang Shu Restaurant, located next to the Dongfeng Market in Wangfujing. It serves Sichuan and Hunan cuisine. Before going abroad, I worked at this restaurant for two weeks, so I learned some cooking. As a result, I found a restaurant in Chinatown, London, where the owner was from Hong Kong. I truly experienced what capitalism was like, just like the stories we heard when we were young. The capitalist really squeezed our blood and sweat. He spoke Cantonese, which I couldn't understand, and when I spoke Beijing dialect, he couldn't understand me either. Later, I told him I was looking for a job, and he asked if I could wash dishes. I said I could wash dishes and laundry. He said I could come and try. I agreed, so I worked there for 12 hours washing dishes. I felt it was so dark, with no light at all, working like this for eleven or twelve hours every day. I felt particularly depressed and lonely, missing Beijing and home. At that time, as a man, I should have been quite happy to be in a new society, but being on the other side of the earth, life felt so different. It was too different from China. I stood for eleven or twelve hours every day, sweeping the floor and washing dishes, anyway, I couldn't be idle. When there was no business, the boss would glare at me fiercely. I was particularly casual and laid-back. One day, a few Arab customers came in, Middle Eastern people, and they ordered a scallion lamb dish, but there was no lamb. I told the boss, and he said to use pork, saying they wouldn't notice if I added more pepper and dark soy sauce. So the boss made a scallion pork dish instead. Surprisingly, the Middle Eastern customers didn't notice. They even said it was very very good. This restaurant was indeed something. I worked there for about two weeks, but I felt I really couldn't continue. I thought I needed to change jobs; any job might improve my mood a bit.

So after I came to London, I did everything I could. I did all the jobs I could do, and even those I couldn't do, like working in restaurants, setting up stalls, teaching Chinese, and being a tour guide. In the end, I got into music. I can say I've done everything. After leaving the restaurant, I thought about what job to look for. I remembered a friend from before I went abroad. Back in the 70s and 80s, during the Spring Festival, friends would exchange snacks. These boxes contained things like walnut pastries, sachima, ginger rice strips, and red bean paste pies. During the Spring Festival, everyone would make these for each other. If you had a slightly official or precious friend, in our time, there was something called cloisonné, which is neither iron nor porcelain, made into vases or bowls. These things were particularly beautiful. At that time, my friend gave me ten cloisonné vases. This friend later became famous, and now he doesn't talk to me anymore. He was a news anchor at Beijing Television, named Cong Wei.

Later, I thought for a long time, and I wandered around central London. After wandering for a while, I saw a free trade market called Camden Market. This free market is the birthplace of hippies from all over the world. They would style their hair, dye it yellow, red, or purple, and pierce their noses and ears. This is the origin of this Western culture. This market is the third largest tourist spot in London, attracting 300,000 visitors every day, all young people who want to learn about those things. You can buy anything there, and it's particularly beautiful. I thought I could set up a stall here. I started selling cloisonné vases there. As a result, within 20 minutes of setting up my stall, all the cloisonné vases were sold out. When someone asked if I had more, I said no, they were all sold out.

What else could I do? I remembered I could use a brush to write large characters. Although I only practiced a bit in elementary school, I had that elementary school level. I came up with an idea: I used some rice paper, set up a small table, and wrote people's names. For example, if your name was Peter, I would write 皮特 for you; if your name was Elisabeth, I would write 伊丽莎白. Whatever your name was, I would write it in Chinese. Wow, this became popular, and people lined up. If someone said their name was David, I would write 大卫. If they said Lisa, I would write 丽莎. They just liked whatever I wrote. Our brush calligraphy is particularly beautiful. Although I thought my brush calligraphy looked like pickled vegetable lumps from Liu Bi Ju in Beijing, after I finished writing, some people even came back to tell me they hung it on their walls. If they wanted Van Gogh or Qi Baishi, they hung my pickled vegetable lumps on their walls too, right? Then suddenly a group of Indians came, and when I asked if they wanted me to write, they said yes. Business was booming, and I was very happy. I asked one guy what his name was. He said, guess what, it was Muhammad Abdur Rahman. His name sounded like a long novel, so long. I finished writing it in a while. There you go. The next one came up, Muhammad Muhammad Muhammad. I said, why is everyone named Muhammad? Don't you have other names? Why is it all one name? It was so interesting. Later, I was particularly happy to finish writing for them.

At that time, this was how I made a living and earned money.