“So, Miss Lin, if I may ask boldly, what exactly is your profession…”

Young Franklin Delano Roosevelt held a steaming cup of oolong tea, looking somewhat nervous. He sat in a (what seemed to him) peculiarly shaped Chinese grand armchair, glancing around with peripheral vision while inexpertly blowing at the foam in his teacup.

This was an office decorated with exotic flair. Chinese calligraphy and paintings he couldn’t understand hung on the walls, small red shrines were stacked by the door, and the incense scent was quite pleasant. On the rosewood desk sat fountain pens and ink bottles alongside brushes and ink stones, arranged aesthetically.

Outside the office, Oriental faces came and went. They were of various professions and social classes, and when passing the door, would cup their hands in respectful greeting toward the interior.

On the Cantonese-style green armchair across from him sat an Oriental beauty with crossed legs in a relaxed posture. She was older than him, but dressed quite avant-garde—wearing a light gray faux-masculine double-breasted coat that had only become fashionable in recent years, paired with a simple black narrow skirt, uncorseted but boldly revealing natural flowing curves.

Roosevelt knew that in New York, women who dared dress this way were generally the very few highly educated white professional women. However, this was his first time seeing an Oriental woman dressed this way.

His grandfather had done business in China, making great fortunes through tea and opium. His family collected many photographs about China, showing Oriental women with hair in buns, wearing loose jackets and skirts, standing on unnaturally small feet, with submissive and modest expressions.

Out of politeness, and because she was a potential patron, Roosevelt didn’t dare look too much at Miss Lin’s appearance. But after an hour of pleasant conversation, he couldn’t help asking.

“…Of course, I’ve seen your business card. You’re a highest honors graduate of Radcliffe College, a visiting scholar—I suppose I’m half your schoolmate. But… but my specialty is in corporate law, and I’m not skilled at handling your charitable enterprise…”

“The Chinese Hall is not strictly speaking a charitable enterprise. Nor am I its only decision-maker.” Lin Youhua interrupted. When she spoke English, she had an extremely slight Western accent. “If you had listened carefully to my introduction earlier, you would know that our New York Zhigong Hall has been dedicated since its establishment to preventing local gangs from persecuting Chinese people and organizing industrial and commercial labor unions. Although it’s a registered non-profit organization…”

“Quite profitable,” Roosevelt thought to himself. “Tens of thousands of Chinese members, branches in over ten cities—even at just one dollar membership fee per person, it’s an Oriental version of the Freemasons… Oh my God, why haven’t I left yet?”

Perhaps because a Chinese gang that was essentially a criminal organization actually advertised in newspapers to formally hire legal advisors—and had interviewed him, a Harvard elite—Roosevelt felt it necessary to come broaden his horizons.

Moreover, the salary they offered was indeed very generous. For a newlywed young man like him who needed to support a wife and two babies, it was an irrefusible deal.

But Roosevelt was still very cautious, softly confirming again: “Miss Lin, are you certain that your… non-profit organization only conducts business that complies with legal regulations…”

Lin Youhua’s lips curved slightly as she smiled without speaking.

She had a delicate oval face with dignified yet gentle features—at first glance, a typical gentle jasmine. However, those distinctly outlined, almond-shaped eyes always held three parts of severity and aloofness, making people think thrice before approaching her for conversation.

Roosevelt felt embarrassed by her smile and coughed awkwardly.

Wasn’t this asking the obvious? Salary thirty percent higher than market rate—no need to ask what this “premium” was buying.

“Ghee-Kong Tong. Zhigong Hall…” Roosevelt murmured, repeating the name. “Did you come up with it?”

Lin Youhua shook her head. She didn’t much like the name “Zhigong Hall” either. The former “Hongshun Hall” was more euphonious, but when she was very young, Su Minguan had tried to imitate the Freemasons by registering “Hongshun Hall” as a San Francisco non-profit social organization, immediately drawing attention from the Qing consulate. They had no choice but to change the facade. Lin Youhua was accustomed to speaking English and found these characters somewhat awkward.

In recent years, striking out on her own to establish a branch in New York, she had long considered renaming the organization and changing some of its old-fashioned rules.

For instance, hiring a proper legal advisor to at least maintain surface respectability, not acting like those Italian mafia organizations.

Liang Xian was running things splendidly in San Francisco, with unprecedented prestige after the great earthquake. Lin Youhua wasn’t competing with him—she decided to take the modernization route.

This was the twentieth century, after all. Everyone should follow the law, not keep talking about hometown loyalty.

“Then,” Roosevelt suddenly asked again, “what is your relationship with the Qing government? Why are you located so far from the New York consulate? As far as I know, Chinese people like to stick together…”

“If you’re worried about political risk, Mr. Roosevelt, my answer is that the risk is included in the salary. And I can guarantee that here with me, besides risk, there are also opportunities.” Lin Youhua nodded toward the documents on the desk and looked up at the clock. “Sorry, I have another appointment in half an hour.”

Roosevelt laughed softly: “So this is also one of the reasons you plan to hire a proper law firm? So you can confidently deal with the Qing consulate, bail people out, and go to court? As well as… engage in some subversive activities that might cost lives under Qing law…”

Lin Youhua smiled and picked up an overturned Chinese book from the desk, continuing to read.

Roosevelt talked a bit much, but… his professional competence was quite good.

During the dozens of minutes of the interview, he hit the mark on everything.

She hadn’t intended to hire such a young lawyer—her original list consisted of established lawyers in their thirties and forties, each with rich records. Roosevelt hadn’t even graduated from law school yet, having only passed the New York bar exam early, which showed his talent was decent.

And his asking price was cheap.

However, for such an important matter, Lin Youhua didn’t dare decide alone. She habitually sent a telegram listing a row of names, seeking Lin Yuchan’s opinion. She had wide connections on the East Coast and was familiar with these law firms’ styles.

Lin Yuchan replied the same day, firmly backing Franklin Roosevelt. No reasons given.

Lin Youhua held the telegram and smiled ruefully. Another instance of her strange “intuition.”

After several rounds of interviews, Lin Youhua secretly regretted why she hadn’t inherited this “intuition.”

Roosevelt was quite good.

The question was whether he dared take this job.

The wall clock ticked. Five minutes later, Roosevelt stood up from the grand armchair, put on his hat, and bowed apologetically to her.

“Miss Lin, I regret that I… I feel my qualifications are insufficient to serve as legal advisor for the Freema… oh no, Zhigong Hall. I hope you’ll seek someone more capable…”

Lin Youhua took no offense, nodding with a friendly smile as she put on her silk hat.

“Thank you for your time. Let me see you out.”

Business failed, but friendship remained. She watched Roosevelt put her business card in his pocket, then walked out alongside him.

Outside the door were the busy streets of Manhattan, New York. Roosevelt looked around and laughed, touching his nose: “My driver is never punctual. I’ll wait here—ah, there he is.”

The Roosevelt family was one of New York’s wealthiest and oldest families. This young Master Franklin was already equipped with a fashionable and luxurious Ford Model K. He had probably never dirtied his shoes in the dust of lower Manhattan.

Through the dim alley between two main streets, he saw his driver buying coffee at a mobile cart. Not wanting to keep the lady waiting with him, he waved at her and strode toward the alley.

Lin Youhua: “Wait…”

In that instant, a small door in the alley suddenly opened a crack, knocking Roosevelt off balance. Immediately, two figures leaped from the shadows—

Roosevelt only saw a flash of blade light before his arm was yanked forcefully backward. A sinister laugh with an Italian accent.

“Buondì Knickerbocker…”

Thud! The closest thug was kicked flying. The double-breasted suit spun beautifully. Lin Youhua pressed Roosevelt to the ground with one hand while expertly drawing a gun with her right hand.

Bang! Bang!

The two thugs fled in panic. One’s hair was badly singed. A meat cleaver lay on the ground.

Roosevelt lifted his head from a mouthful of dirt, still shaken.

“Those… those people were…”

“The Italians here seem to think all Chinese in New York should take orders from them.” Lin Youhua pulled him up by the hand, saying coldly, “If an upper-class gentleman visits our hall, what I should do is detain him, rob all the dollars on him, then tribute three-quarters to them, not invite him into the office for pleasant conversation… But don’t worry, that was just testing the waters. The godfather won’t send them again.”

Roosevelt looked at her like she was a monster. He had indeed never set foot in this area, nor heard of these gang rules…

He said tremblingly, “This is illegal.”

Lin Youhua escorted him toward his car, sighing and smiling.

“The Chinese Exclusion Act,” she said, looking ahead slowly, “legally stipulates the inferiority of a race, preventing them from working, living, associating, and reproducing normally on this land… Naturally, they’re also unqualified to compete in any affairs. Mr. Roosevelt, I’m guessing that before me, you rarely had contact with Chinese people?”

Roosevelt was slightly stunned, saying politely, “That’s a very old act. Though as a Democrat, I think it has considerable room for improvement…”

He was somewhat puzzled. The Chinese Exclusion Act was increasingly strict, but it always “excluded” laborers, miners, and other “low-end population.” Chinese people like Miss Lin, whose parents were both respectable merchants, who had received higher education and naturally enjoyed American citizenship by birth in America, even the strictest immigration officer wouldn’t trouble her for a second. America welcomed such talent.

What was she indignant about?

At the intersection spread a row of lively shops spread. From the third to the second floor windows, enormous posters for the Metropolitan Opera were pasted: Italian music master Puccini’s opera “Madame Butterfly” was landing in America for the first time, book tickets quickly…

On the poster, a beautiful Oriental woman gazed shyly into the distance, surrounded by countless Orientalist elements: paper fans, cherry blossoms, porcelain, cats…

Lin Youhua looked up at the poster.

“Gentle and young phoenix-eyed beauties,” she mused, “evil slanted eyes, yellow peril, bound feet, opium, kowtowing, pigtails… These labels distinguish you and me, making us outsiders on this land. Yet many people perhaps haven’t realized that we have no conspiracy to occupy this land—it’s just that our homeland, how to put it, currently isn’t very suitable for peaceful living. The enterprise we’re engaged in aims to change this. But before then, we also need food and clothing, need safety, need the most basic dignity of being human.”

Roosevelt listened quietly. After a long while, he sighed with a bitter smile.

“Indeed, if I were President of the United States, I might consider abolishing this foolish act. But now…”

“For instance, now,” Lin Youhua said calmly, her eyes indicating the two detectives hurrying over, “the gunshots earlier were a bit too loud. Although I acted in self-defense, as a Chinese person, I might face some unnecessary questioning… Mr. Roosevelt, are you certain I didn’t injure anyone just now?”

Roosevelt nodded, then suddenly walked to face her, straightening the hat on his head.

“I’m not certain, Miss Lin,” he grinned, “I believe you need a professional legal advisor.”