In the eighth month of the fifth year of Emperor Tongzhi’s reign, Yixing Shipping reopened with great fanfare, and well-wishers blocked several streets. Fruit baskets and flower arrangements filled the porch—from fellow merchants, local officials, and even several foreign trading houses…

Two-yuan banquet tables were set up outside, each with four large plates and six large bowls. A massive spread stretched out the door. The Foshan lion dance troupe performed energetically, their gongs, drums, and laughter echoing through three streets.

Several gleaming steamships lined up proudly at the neat wharf. There was the “Water Sprite,” the fastest in all Asia, and the “Queen,” the largest cargo vessel in South China. They all retained the names given by their foreign owners, unchanged.

Their former owners had gone bankrupt and been liquidated, but these ships continued serving Chinese people—a silent display of triumph.

Only the ship “Valkyrie,” at the insistence of Yixing’s boss, was subjected to a pile of paperwork and officially renamed back to Luna—the Chanjuan. Ship technology advances rapidly each day. By comparison, the Chanjuan’s configuration already appeared somewhat old and outdated, unlike its fashionable, advanced companions.

But Su Minguan still insisted on making it the flagship. After careful renovation and maintenance, he hung the bronze coin flag on it.

Su Minguan saw off wave after wave of guests, counting the flower baskets with satisfaction.

One basket bore the inscription “Ambitious hearts create great enterprises, heroic aspirations write glorious chapters,” signed with small characters reading “Respectfully congratulating from Old Li of Jiangnan.” Below appeared to be spilled ink—brush strokes forming three long lines and one short, leaving an inconspicuous small flaw.

He calmly tore away that line of “flaws,” then instructed Shi Peng: “Send a return gift.”

Half of Yixing’s former employees had returned. As for the rest who were comfortable with their new employers, Su Minguan didn’t force them to return. As the saying goes, all within the four seas are brothers—being able to sail the same waters made them comrades.

Among the gifts were three brilliant large flower baskets from Boya Trading Co., Ltd. and its two subsidiaries—Xingrui Tea House and Meng’s Rice Shop. Chang Baoluo’s in-laws, who owned land, had heeded Lin Yuchan’s advice and timely converted their cotton fields to rice paddies, already reaping their first harvest last year. Now that cash crops were depressed and rice prices rising, the rice that rural farmers had once disdained proved more profitable than cotton or mulberry.

However… Su Minguan looked around, but that spirited, bright-eyed girl hadn’t appeared among today’s well-wishers.

“Today’s an auspicious day—Baoyuanxiang Tea House is also opening.” Old Zhao and Baoluo were both there, smiling and bowing to Su Minguan. “Miss Lin had to go handle the social obligations there. She said not to wait for her.”

Su Minguan nodded and asked with a smile: “Really an auspicious day? I never calculated it.”

No matter. He’d see her tonight anyway. And celebrate her twentieth birthday while he was at it.

Yixing wasn’t the only business opening with fanfare. On the same auspicious day, Baoyuanxiang Tea House had its grand opening. With Baoshun Trading House bankrupt, former comprador Xu Run had lost his job. Relying on connections and loans, he was starting from scratch, establishing his own business, focusing on operating his own trading house.

The global financial crisis had swept Shanghai. Within a year, more than half the established foreign trading houses and banks had collapsed. But because China’s financial internationalization was still low, traditional Chinese commercial institutions like money shops and banks were largely unaffected. In the vacuum left by the foreigners, national capitalists caught their breath and sprouted like bamboo shoots after rain.

Congratulatory flower baskets lined an entire street, and Xu Run smiled until his face went stiff.

“Ah, Mrs. Lin—sister, don’t leave! You’re a shareholder! Stay for the banquet later—shark fin feast from ‘Huiyuan House’! Then there’s mahjong available, my wife and sister-in-law can accompany you for a few rounds…”

Lin Yuchan turned back with a smile: “No thanks. I still need to rush to ‘Fair Shipping.'”

When Xu Run was a comprador, he was quite wealthy, but several financial upheavals had washed away this fortune completely. Now starting his own business, he inevitably had to raise capital everywhere. Lin Yuchan happened to have the windfall from shorting cotton, and after the 9-1 commission split with Su Minguan, she had received over ten thousand taels in silver herself.

Investing in big shots meant investing in the future. After getting word of Xu Run’s fundraising, Lin Yuchan decisively bought shares, becoming a small shareholder with several thousand taels.

Although Xu Run’s entering the tea business would inevitably compete with her tea house, the tea market was large enough, and cooperation was better than competition. If Xu Run crushed Shanghai’s tea merchants, she couldn’t stop the big shot anyway. Better to directly hold shares in Baoyuanxiang Tea House to hedge the risk somewhat.

Another former Baoshun trainee comprador and side-business king, Zheng Guanying, was immediately headhunted by a local trading house after losing his job, becoming an interpreter. But Zheng Guanying reverted to old habits, actively pursuing side businesses. He sold his cotton trading house and bought a small steamer from Baoshun Trading House’s auction at a bargain price. Acquiring a trading house license, he partnered with others to operate “Fair Shipping,” running short routes to places like Suzhou and Ningbo to earn pocket money.

Lin Yuchan naturally seized the opportunity to buy shares. She even enthusiastically tried to connect Zheng Guanying: “Yixing Shipping has experience in this. Want to visit and observe? I could…”

“No need,” Boss Zheng shut her down with one sentence. “Different styles.”

Meaning “just provide money, don’t meddle in anything else.”

…Fine. She was investing for dividends, not to direct the business strategy.

Unfortunately, Jardine Matheson hadn’t collapsed. Thanks to Chief Comprador Tang Tingshu’s heroic efforts, they weathered this global financial tsunami. If Tang Tingshu had also come out to start from scratch, Lin Yuchan wouldn’t mind investing some money in him, too.

With about five thousand taels in silver remaining, Lin Yuchan didn’t know what to invest in.

This money was a windfall anyway. Su Minguan had borrowed Boya’s shell to take enormous risks, calculating against a group of foreign trading houses, giving her a ten percent cut as risk compensation.

Looking back now, her and Su Minguan’s operations were essentially like later futures trading. It’s just that there were no standard futures trading rules or platforms yet. If these transactions had occurred at a proper futures exchange in later times, she would have needed to pay huge margin deposits to engage in such speculation. And when cotton prices abnormally doubled to sixteen pence per pound, she would have been margin-called long ago.

So she had completely benefited from the chaotic, unregulated market and accurate predictions of current events to help Su Minguan earn these hundred thousand plus taels.

This success couldn’t be replicated. She resolved never again to engage in such heart-attack-inducing risky business.

After much consideration, Lin Yuchan placed these five thousand taels with the business association, depositing them in a reliable money shop under the association’s name to earn interest, creating a “Mutual Aid Entrepreneurship Fund” to provide low-interest loans to local cotton merchants affected last year. Most Chinese businesspeople operated small-scale ventures—just a hundred or so taels could help a family on the brink of bankruptcy weather the storm.

When this news spread, the cotton cloth market erupted in cheers. The dying local cotton industry finally had some breathing room.

Bankrupt merchants easily became sources of social instability. Shanghai County immediately sent a plaque reading “Public-Spirited and Righteous” to hang at the Yixing Business Association. From then on, the association had dual protection from customs and the yamen, earning a considerable reputation among local merchants.

After handling these matters, Lin Yuchan called for a carriage back to Saigon Road.

At the intersection stood a new-style gas lamp—the newly established gas company had begun supplying gas to the public concession. The brilliant light was much brighter than the old kerosene lamps that blew out in the wind, earning the nickname “rival to the moon.”

But most people remained suspicious of gas, considering it “earth fire” and not daring to pass near gas pipes. When they couldn’t avoid it, they carefully wrapped their shoes or wore special high wooden clogs to avoid burns.

So the Saigon Road intersection was particularly deserted.

Lin Yuchan walked boldly under the bright streetlight. The gaslight illuminated a graceful, nimble shadow.

As soon as she opened the door, the room erupted in applause.

“Congratulations to Miss Lin on her birthday!”

Although Lin Yuchan was prepared, seeing so many people packed into the room still startled her.

“Oh my, everyone’s here… so many people…”

Rong Hong, Old Zhao’s family, the Chang Baoluo couple, all company employees, Mau with her white flower, Gao Dewen, Aunt Hong, Aunt Zhou, Xu Jianyin, Su Minguan with several old and new Yixing executives—Shi Peng, Jiang Gaosheng, Hong Chunkui, and some Lin Yuchan didn’t recognize. There were also several self-combing sisters from the spinning mill she hadn’t seen in ages…

Men and women sat at separate tables, with steaming hot dishes—a mix of Chinese and Western cuisine. Roasted spring chicken, fried pork cutlets, roasted young goose, wine-lees sweet rice balls from City God Temple, smoked fish, ham, stinky dried tofu, pan-fried buns, crab shell pastries, Western butter candy… Accommodating everyone’s tastes, with each person contributing something.

Premium Shaoxing rice wine, costing one jiao and two fen per jin simmered on the stove.

Chinese traditionally counted by lunar age, but with Shanghai’s mix of Chinese and foreigners and both Western and lunar calendars coexisting, people had learned to skillfully convert to solar age for registration and communication convenience. Lin Yuchan was exactly twenty years old, meaning she’d been struggling in the Qing Dynasty for five years. With markets recently stable and business as usual, she felt she deserved a birthday celebration, so she’d casually mentioned it to people around her.

She’d only talked about having a good meal. After all, young people in this era didn’t usually make a big fuss over birthdays. But somehow it had turned into a cross-company team-building celebration!

And in the center of one table sat a currently fashionable sugar-frosted chocolate cake, complete with a thick candle following the very trendy Western custom. Su Minguan borrowed a light from someone nearby and lit the candle.

“Miss Lin, blow it out.”

Lin Yuchan’s eyes suddenly welled up.

In her previous life, she’d only lived to eighteen. Though an orphan, the state had cared for her, keeping her fed and clothed, blissfully happy without knowing worldly hardships.

Her deepest memories were probably birthdays. Many orphans didn’t know their birthdays, so every year they held one collective birthday, gathering around cake and candles to sing and dance—the holiday they could look forward to all year.

The cakes had lots of cream, and when the children got wild, they’d smear fingerfuls on each other’s faces. Teachers usually magnanimously pretended not to see, not counting it as wasting food.

And today, being able to have a birthday with cake, cream, and candles in the late Qing Dynasty, 150 years ago, Lin Yuchan felt her throat catch, not knowing whom to thank.

She forgot to blow out the candle, saying softly: “Thank… thank you all…”

Chang Baoluo stood up solemnly, holding a paper covered in writing, and recited dramatically: “Three birthday verses, please honor us with your critique, Miss Lin…”

Su Minguan, Rong Hong, and Old Zhao snickered, undoubtedly remembering Baoluo’s earlier embarrassing moments. Chang Baoluo’s face reddened.

But most people didn’t know the backstory. Xu Jianyin looked on expectantly, cupping his chin in his hands, waiting to hear poetry.

“I remember the previous time… This year’s events again… People as if drunk…”

To be fair, it was quite well written. At least no worse than four years ago.

Chang Baoluo had focused on making money and supporting his family in recent years, rarely slacking off, with no behavior of composing verses and submitting to newspapers during work hours. Being so out of practice yet maintaining his original standard earned everyone’s applause.

Halfway through the meal, a messenger knocked at the door.

Miss Audacey rarely went out and didn’t join Chinese celebrations. But she sent Lin Yuchan a blessed silver cross as a birthday gift.

Lin Yuchan smiled her thanks, held it up to her chest briefly, then didn’t wear it, carefully placing it in her jewelry box.

“Wait, there’s more,” the messenger smiled.

It was a small oil painting. The orphanage at Tushanwan had run oil painting classes for two years, cultivating a group of artistically gifted children. Besides painting high-end tea canisters and illustrations for the Jiangnan Arsenal’s translation bureau, they occasionally took private commissions—portraits for foreigners in Shanghai, religious icons for church members, and so on. They were already self-sufficient. Recently, the orphanage held a gratitude campaign, commissioning the children to paint small portraits for major donors above a certain amount, regardless of nationality, as appreciation.

Everyone put down their chopsticks and crowded around to see—

“Oh my, like those Western Virgin Mary paintings, just missing a child in her arms.”

“They made Miss Lin look older.”

“But it does look like her. See those double eyelids…”

“And Miss Lin never wore such fancy Western dresses. Haha, I guess they only know how to paint Western dresses.”

“What’s this background? How does it look like… pfft, I thought it looked familiar—it’s Notre Dame Cathedral…”

Lin Yuchan beamed, moving a stool to display the painting atop a cabinet.

What ill intentions could children have? Even if painted from a Virgin Mary template, this was quite good. She’d donate more money tomorrow.

The third letter came from Miss Compton—a birthday card with a few conventional congratulatory words.

But it included a long letter. After reading two sentences, Lin Yuchan was dumbfounded.

“Luna, I’ve fallen in love with a Chinese man! He’s a newspaper helper, gentle and kind, polite, intelligent, and handsome—the most ideal gentleman I’ve ever met…”

Lin Yuchan quickly scanned through the following eight hundred words of pink bubbles, then continued reading: “…If Father doesn’t agree, we’ll elope to Hong Kong…”

Lin Yuchan wearily folded the letter.

This young lady truly never settled down—escaping marriage today, eloping tomorrow, changing life goals monthly. She was born for anything but peaceful times.

Predictably, another battle was about to begin in the Compton household.

For the sake of their years of friendship, she decided to invite several reliable foreign girlfriends for a weekend afternoon tea to have a proper talk with Miss Compton.

…

As cups clinked and wine flowed, the candle on the cake burned down. Everyone noisily divided up the cake, finished the rice wine, then opened foreign liquor, each drinking until their faces were red and ears warm.

Lin Yuchan bowed to everyone, laughing: “Work as usual tomorrow—no one’s allowed to be late!”

Everyone made token complaints before departing happily.

Lin Yuchan was also half-drunk, supporting herself on the railing as she climbed to the third floor, planning to wash her face.

Upon entering, she froze.

Several large and small suitcases were neatly stacked against the wall. Half the shoe rack by the door was empty.

Su Minguan caught up from behind, took her hand, and gently kissed it. The unsteady lamplight illuminated half his handsome profile.

“Yixing’s opening, lots of business.” He smiled, saying affectionately: “I’ve imposed on you for over a year.”

Lin Yuchan stood stunned. Perhaps the alcohol was affecting her, because she suddenly felt inexplicably sad, leaning against the wall with reddening eyes.

Men really couldn’t be kept when they grew up. She’d single-handedly helped him rebuild his empire, and now he was leaving with a wave of his sleeve!

Thinking of when he’d sold Yixing and traveled back to Shanghai with her from Tianjin, his emotions had been volatile then. Every day he’d hold her and make her promise in various ways that she’d always stay by his side… clinging like a lost child.

She knew that wasn’t his normal state, but thinking of it now… it was damn nostalgia-inducing.

Of course, she knew this was a reasonable decision. Long-distance shipping didn’t care about day or night—whenever ships entered or left port, business had to open. Why waste time commuting daily? Moreover, Yixing had many internal secret spaces that needed constant supervision…

She understood the logic, but just couldn’t bear the separation.

Su Minguan embraced her apologetically, tightening his arms.

Boya’s chief accountant position is currently vacant. I have an acquaintance, a British bank clerk surnamed Liu. I met him when arranging loans for Luna, a skilled and reliable person. Now that his bank has collapsed, if you’re willing, I…”

Lin Yuchan nodded gloomily.

“Once the shipping business gets on track, I… I’ll come for dinner every day, alright? Aunt Zhou knows my tastes best—I can’t bear to give that up.”

Lin Yuchan: “…”

“When business isn’t busy, I’ll move back, okay?”

“…”

He joked: “How about you move to Yixing?”

“No.”

Not worth considering. Yixing had no garden downstairs, and everywhere you looked were big men. Lin Yuchan had no intention of relocating.

Su Minguan sighed helplessly, cupping her face and kissing her repeatedly. As he kissed, he captured her lips, enduring her punishing little bites. His breath carried a strong wine scent, intoxicating others, though not himself.

Two entwined shadows appeared on the wall. The gas lamp at the intersection shone through the evening mist, lighting itself, arbitrarily adding vitality to the night. The entire street was bathed in lamplight. With open curtains, the residents’ activities were completely visible.

She blushed.

“Don’t… people will see…”

Su Minguan looked at her intently, observing those eyes mixed with nervousness and eagerness.

He said softly, “Gas lighting is a good thing.”

Actually, there was no one outside. But respecting her wishes, he lifted her and moved her out of the gas lamp’s illumination range. Then, with one hand, he removed his outer garment, spread it over the stacked suitcases, and gently placed her on top.

“Sorry, A’Mei.”

The room’s silence amplified their heartbeats. He expertly opened her bedside drawer.

Lin Yuchan’s face flushed red as she thought hazily that hanging curtains would have worked just fine…

Seven parts drunk became ten under his ministrations. She wrapped her arms around his neck, slurring: “Reconsider… I’ll let you eat in bed from now on… Yixing’s new location… is just a twenty-minute walk, think of it as exercise…”

“I’m coming from Yixing to see you is also an exercise.” He bit her ear. “Might even practice more often.”

“Stubborn,” she murmured, cursing.

“Not just my mouth that’s hard,” he replied, holding her tighter.

Lin Yuchan frowned as the stacked suitcases shook violently. She instinctively curled up, her feet finding no purchase, only able to hold him tight, burying herself in his embrace before softly whimpering.

Realizing he’d been somewhat rough, he stopped, appeasingly stroking her neck, smoothly unbuttoning her slightly sweat-dampened gauze shirt.

Lin Yuchan struggled to maintain her hazy consciousness, complaining: “I haven’t bathed yet…”

This was said rather too late. He laughed, deliberately sniffing at her neck.

“Fragrant,” he carefully removed her earrings. “A’Mei’s scent.”

Her heart melted, and the uncomfortable abruptness gradually disappeared. Hot wind from the rainy season slipped through window cracks, quietly brushing sensitive skin, making her tremble involuntarily. She could only spare one hand to laboriously grasp the suitcase handle, struggling to control her posture, not daring to move. His kisses left her somewhat breathless. When she tried to protest, blocked above and below, her floating consciousness was repeatedly pulled back to this small space. She only felt the suitcases being knocked more and more askew, her entire weight suspended on that tiny support, ready to lose balance at any moment—

A muffled crash—the stacked suitcases completely collapsed. She cried out, her body suddenly dropping, everything going black as she was swept into an earth-shaking tsunami, crushed into a mass of wet honey.

After a long while, she came to her senses, finding herself safely held in midair by the man, desperately clinging to him, her forehead buried in his burning chest, unable to control her ragged breathing.

Su Minguan was slightly surprised, slowly placing her on the bed, chuckling softly as he tidied up the pile of suitcases.

He couldn’t leave tonight now. They’d need to air out overnight.

In the moonlit breeze, faint songs from the foreign settlement could be heard. He couldn’t help remembering that first Lantern Festival night when they’d gone out to play wild together.

The girl on the bed had already awakened, still wine-flushed.

By the gas lamp’s light from outside, she glanced at the clock, then gave him a reproachful look before forcing herself to get dressed and get up.

He was slightly puzzled: “Where are you going?”

She smiled back: “To hang a sign outside the gate. That way, the coachman can wait directly at the door tomorrow morning instead of me having to run out to call for a carriage.”

He said: “I’ll go.”

She willfully pushed away his hand.

After hanging the business sign, she suddenly heard women’s voices at the alley entrance. Under the gas lamp’s bright light, several swaying shadows moved.

Lin Yuchan immediately forgot about “boyfriend moving out,” running over in a flash, surprised to discover—

“Still haven’t left?”

Aunt Hong and several other self-combing sisters had been lingering at the alley entrance for half an hour. It turned out that Sister Jing had mobility issues and was afraid to walk under the gas lamp, fearing “earth fire.” She was too reluctant to call a carriage and insisted on placing wooden blocks under her feet, carefully edging along the roadside. The others wouldn’t abandon her and could only watch anxiously.

Lin Yuchan didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, asking in surprise: “Sister Jing, what happened to your leg?”

Yao Jingniang was one of the self-combing women who’d come to Shanghai with Aunt Hong to make a living. Because she didn’t want to deal with strangers, she’d declined Lin Yuchan’s invitation and didn’t stay at Boya, instead going to work at a foreign spinning mill. The mill had long hours and monotonous work, but the pay was relatively generous for women. Sister Jing had worked for several years and saved some money, though she’d grown wan and constantly seemed tired.

“Nothing serious. Got drowsy a few days ago and bumped into machinery, took a fall.” Sister Jing smiled nonchalantly. “A few days’ rest and I’ll be fine. Won’t delay work. The foreign boss even got me a doctor for bandaging!”

Lin Yuchan hadn’t noticed during the drinking and eating earlier, but now saw that Sister Jing was limping—no wonder she walked slowly.

Lin Yuchan immediately flared up: “This is a work injury! No compensation? No sick leave?”

The self-combing women looked confused instead: “What compensation? If we take leave, where do the wages come from?”

“Is your foreign boss at the factory tomorrow?” Lin Yuchan declared boldly, emboldened by wine: “I’m going to talk with him.”

Her sisters—how could she let others exploit them at will?

Su Minguan stood at the stair landing, watching that half-drunk, swaying girl’s retreating figure, smiling and shaking his head.

Where was the business sense in this? She meddled in more and more affairs. At only twenty, she was busier than he, a Hongmen leader.

Tomorrow would be another day of battle.