Beimen Street outside Shanghai’s old county town. Standard Chartered Bank building.

The main business hall’s walls were covered with striped marble, and behind golden railings, uniformed Chinese and foreign staff worked quietly. World time clocks hung on the walls. From time to time, someone would step on a stool to erase handwritten exchange rates from blackboards and write in the latest numbers.

Entering customers were divided into two different channels: Chinese customers were received by Chinese staff, with wooden stools placed before counters and lending rates written on walls; foreign customers were received by foreign staff, with two or three sofas in small reception rooms and landscape oil paintings and Queen Victoria’s portrait hanging on walls.

Of course, besides Chinese and foreigners, Standard Chartered Bank also served a third type of customer, though they never came in person.

The Qing government.

During the late Qing period, the court faced enormous fiscal gaps. Since discovering foreign banks were professional and reliable, they had long begun borrowing heavily from banks. In Shanghai alone, to raise military funds for suppressing the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom, they had borrowed one hundred thousand taels of silver from foreign banks over time.

Whenever such good fortune occurred, Standard Chartered’s Manager McGarry would lead his confidants to personally visit relevant government offices. That day’s banking business would be suspended, and individual customers coming to do business could only be turned away.

Fortunately, today’s business proceeded normally. The Qing government wasn’t temporarily short of money.

Lin Yuchan sat on a leather sofa in the reception room, curiously meeting the gaze of the British Queen in the portrait.

Because she held a large check issued by the Maritime Customs, she was directly invited to the “foreign business” section—the Maritime Customs’ influence was evident.

After all, the Maritime Customs was also a major bank customer. Enormous customs tax silver was mortgaged through foreign banks and sent to various countries as reparations.

She could imagine when other Chinese Maritime Customs staff came on business and were respectfully invited into the “foreign channel,” looking through railings at their compatriots crowding in lines nearby, what superiority they must feel.

Lin Yuchan deliberately wore men’s robes, braided her hair, and wore a low cap, trying to keep a low profile, like someone cashing a huge lottery ticket, fearing unnecessary attention.

But she still felt all staff were watching her with peripheral vision.

Since Standard Chartered Bank’s building was completed, it had probably never had a female customer—quite novel indeed.

The process was completely different from running to banks in modern times. Without an “assistant” running back and forth with her, she’d be completely clueless about what to ask and would likely be turned away directly.

Su Minguan waved to her from nearby: “A’Mei, come confirm and sign.”

Lin Yuchan bounced up from the sofa, ran over, and stroked the Maritime Customs-issued check, finally examining it carefully before signing her name on the receipt.

The staff member receiving her was a young mixed Chinese-British man whose English carried a Guangdong accent—probably from Hong Kong origins, openly styling his hair in a slicked-back pompadour.

The pompadour gave her a commercial fake smile: “Please verify, Miss.”

Deposit for tea procurement from seven Maritime Customs offices, totaling seven hundred fifty pounds—since the Maritime Customs was British-dominated, all financial settlements used pounds as units, a standard loss-of-sovereignty operation—according to the day’s exchange rate, after deducting handling and exchange fees, approximately three thousand silver dollars or two thousand one hundred taels of silver, all represented on this thin piece of paper.

When she first received this check, Lin Yuchan had made a joke, running directly to Yixing Shipping’s storefront and grandly slapping the check on the counter, declaring: “Boss Su! How much did I owe you? Paying it all off today!”

Su Minguan laughed at her for ten minutes, telling her this check couldn’t be used like a banknote—she had to personally go to foreign banks for exchange, with complicated procedures involved. After explaining briefly and feeling uneasy, he simply came along with her.

“I happen to need to go to Standard Chartered Bank too… um, to handle some matters.”

Chinese money houses and banks were being squeezed hard by foreign financial institutions, with consecutive closures in recent years. The first Chinese-owned bank would have to wait decades more, so the great powers got the bargain.

…

Part of the withdrawn silver dollars and banknotes was given to Su Minguan on the spot. In exchange for a stack of old IOUs, which he casually tossed into the fireplace.

Lin Yuchan felt the refreshing sensation of “paying off credit card debt,” almost wanting to immediately borrow another five hundred taels from him.

Su Minguan also brought some silver, directly rounding up and depositing it into Yixing’s account.

Lin Yuchan felt an itch: “Teach me to open an account, too.”

He turned his head: “Small deposits have annual management fees.”

For a giant like Standard Chartered Bank, several thousand taels of silver wasn’t exactly pocket change.

Lin Yuchan thought it over and still nodded. Silver in the shop was increasing, half belonging to Rong Hong, who regularly sent people to collect it; the other half was her profit. With her modern thinking, keeping it directly under the bed wouldn’t let her sleep. Even without thieves and robbers, there were still rats and cockroaches.

She wasn’t as confident about other banks. Standard Chartered Bank was famous, persisting even into the twenty-first century, so it wouldn’t collapse midway.

Hearing her intention, the pompadour staff member beamed and brought out a stack of forms for her to fill, taking her identity documents to the back office.

While that staff member was busy, Su Minguan went to another counter, spoke a few words softly, and immediately called out a foreign assistant who shook hands warmly with him, finally handing him a stack of documents.

Lin Yuchan was extremely curious. When he returned, she asked: “What business were you handling?”

He lowered his eyes, checking that stack of colorful printed sheets. After a while, seeming embarrassed, he said: “Business isn’t easy. Playing traitor once—don’t have opinions.”

Lin Yuchan grabbed those printed sheets for a look—

“Tax exemption certificates?”

She stared in amazement, asking delightedly: “How did you get tax exemption certificates?”

Su Minguan’s eyes flashed cunningly: “The Maritime Customs charges us Chinese merchant ships enormous customs taxes—we can’t just let ourselves be slaughtered. That day, you told me foreign trading house ships could apply for tax exemption. Jardine Matheson & Co. has a Shanghai branch, so I found acquaintances there and had most of Yixing’s ships affiliated under their name, renting wharf berths. From now on, flying British flags, traveling rivers and seas only requires paying ‘likin tax’ once, avoiding inland checkpoint exploitation, saving thirty percent costs.”

Lin Yuchan was shocked by this brilliant operation. After a long moment, she patted her chest, saying, “I thought I was the only one fleecing the Maritime Customs.”

She didn’t know how he’d made peace with his old employer. Perhaps one staff member’s inexplicable disappearance from the Guangzhou branch hadn’t aroused Shanghai branch vigilance. Perhaps Jardine Matheson Shanghai knew of his “deeds,” but he had ways to smooth things over.

She didn’t know, and didn’t ask much. This was Su Minguan’s livelihood skill.

By Qing standards, colluding with foreigners, betraying the motherland, evading taxes naturally made him a great traitor and unruly citizen. But discriminatory tax policies came first—Su Minguan was merely forced to retaliate, what was wrong with that?

The Qing Dynasty didn’t lack its bit of silver. The taxes Su Minguan avoided paying would at most mean a few fewer glazed tiles in the Summer Palace, two fewer delicacy dishes on Cixi’s breakfast table.

Lin Yuchan said excitedly: “This method could be promoted among Chinese merchants. In future, rivers will be full of international flags—let’s see who they collect taxes from.”

Su Minguan smiled: “Not everyone has my connections.”

She clicked her tongue: “You’re not leaving others a way to live. By this time next year, half of Shanghai’s Chinese shipping will be dead.”

Su Minguan smiled again: “A’Mei, having this thought shows you’re not quite qualified to be a crooked merchant yet.”

Lin Yuchan felt indignant, grabbing back the tax exemption certificates from his hands, flipping through them, suddenly noticing something: “How many ships does Yixing have? You don’t need over a hundred certificates, right?—Wait, why are the back ones all blank?”

Su Minguan leaned close to her ear, whispering: “Blank tax exemption certificates, selling to friendly merchants for one hundred taels each, a twenty percent discount for Heaven and Earth Society members. Already over half pre-ordered. If you want to get into shipping, I’ll save you two.”

Lin Yuchan covered her face and wailed: “Mr. Hede will jump off buildings.”

She vaguely thought that with Hede’s hands-on management style, he’d discover this loophole sooner or later. These tax exemption certificates were also temporary measures—when Chinese ship owners could compete fairly with foreign trading houses, who knew when that would be.

Turning around, she found the pompadour had been waiting beside them. Perhaps unable to interrupt customers’ conversation, he stood with an eight-tooth smile for quite some time.

Lin Yuchan quickly stood up, asking: “My account…”

The pompadour still smiled broadly but handed back that stack of materials with both hands.

“Very sorry, Miss, we cannot open an account for you.”

Lin Yuchan was surprised, politely asking: “Is there a problem?”

“Ladies wanting to open accounts at Standard Chartered must have their husbands’ signatures,” the pompadour recited mechanically. “This is regulation.”

Lin Yuchan laughed despite herself. Again, the beloved dead husband segment.

“I have no father or brothers, I’m a widow. It’s written on the identity documents.”

Su Minguan watched her argue coldly.

The pompadour hadn’t seriously checked her household registration documents. Hearing this, he looked down, frowning.

“Gam naa… wait a minute… I’m just working here laa…”

Standard Chartered Bank followed British system—ladies opening accounts required guardian consent. But since Standard Chartered opened, ladies handling account procedures were countable on fingers, all Westerners, all distinguished wives of someone, so account opening was naturally obstacle-free throughout.

But today’s unnamed common Chinese woman, without relatives or background, bringing huge sums to open accounts, the pompadour was seeing this for the first time, becoming annoyed, implying Lin Yuchan was causing him trouble.

“I’ll ask the manager. Please wait.”

Lin Yuchan and Su Minguan exchanged glances.

Su Minguan hadn’t anticipated this move either. Since he’d encouraged her to open the account, he felt somewhat awkward, saying: “British bastards have too many broken rules. Try an American bank.”

“American trading houses don’t accept ladies opening accounts independently. In this aspect, our Standard Chartered Bank’s openness leads the world.” A golden-haired Manager McGarry walked over confidently, wearing the same commercial fake smile as the pompadour, speaking melodious Chinese. “This lady, whether you’re unmarried, married, divorced, or widowed, without male guardian permission, you cannot conduct business at our bank. We must follow British Empire law, treating Chinese and foreign customers equally. Hope you’ll cooperate with our work.”

After speaking, he turned around, his expression immediately darkening as he switched to English, quietly questioning the pompadour: “How did you let her in? How can women enter banks? How is she still in the foreign-only channel? I think you want your severance pay tomorrow!”

The pompadour paled, looking down at his feet, stammering in Cantonese-accented English: “She, she had a Maritime Customs check… and came in with this Chinese man, I, I thought she was accompanying…”

“I’m an independent merchant with licenses and identity documents in your hands,” the woman they were discussing suddenly interrupted in English. “If you two would trouble yourselves to read my materials once, you’d know my financial situation is stable and completely suitable for opening an ordinary Chinese account at Standard Chartered Bank.”

The manager and pompadour immediately fell silent, wishing they could swallow their previous conversation, faces alternating between green and white, embarrassedly scraping floors with their shoes.

“Very sorry, madam. I apologize for my subordinate’s rudeness—I’ll ensure he receives appropriate punishment afterward.” Manager McGarry bowed very sincerely to her, wearing a smooth smile, switching to English. “Please come again tomorrow with consent forms signed by male guardians. We guarantee the fastest speed in helping you open accounts.”

Lin Yuchan sneered: “What if all men related to me are dead?”

Manager McGarry made an exaggerated sad expression: “I’m sorry for your misfortune, madam. But if that’s truly the case, you’re unqualified to open accounts at Standard Chartered Bank. You must know, ladies are beautiful, fragile, noble creatures dominated by emotion—they cannot independently take responsibility for their financial affairs without male supervision. This is full protection for ladies. Hope you can understand our good intentions.”

The manager’s voice was deeply magnetic, his expression gentle and respectful, carrying just-right enthusiasm and appreciation. Being looked at by him made her feel like Xi Shi.

But Lin Yuchan only felt disgusted and ridiculous.

Perhaps this was most British gentlemen’s attitude toward women—that guy who’d slam documents in her face and sternly point out eighteen grammatical errors was just an uncouth Irish yokel who didn’t understand manners.

Su Minguan had been silently listening to these people’s variously accented English, suddenly interjecting in low tones: “Can non-relatives serve as guardians?”

Though he was asking, his tone was stern and commanding, more like giving orders.

Manager McGarry was startled, looking at Su Minguan, then at the stack of obviously British trading house tax exemption certificates in his hands, his face showing an understanding smile.

“Of course… we all know that in certain special circumstances, such as truly having no male relatives… mm, as long as the lady fully trusts him, any gentleman meeting financial requirements can serve as guardian. For instance, this Chinese gentleman—his deposit amount at Standard Chartered happens to exceed compliance thresholds… just requires signing an authorization document. This is the maximum adjustment I can make. You two may discuss.”

After speaking, Manager McGarry bowed slightly, leading the pompadour back two steps and ordering tea for two.

He could see these two were experienced, and though Chinese, couldn’t be fooled, requiring careful treatment to avoid being caught in mistakes that would damage their reputation.

Su Minguan sipped tea once and put it down in disgust.

“A’Mei,” he persuaded helplessly, “when under others’ roofs.”

Lin Yuchan thought this was ridiculous. If they said she was “underage,” requiring parental signatures, she’d nod without question. But this manager’s words were too toxic, still righteously claiming to “protect ladies”—his paternalistic tone was off the charts!

Wake up, the Qing has fallen…

…Oh no, the Qing was doing fine. This indeed seemed like something that should happen in the Qing Dynasty.

Under others’ roofs was correct, but she couldn’t let people force her to bow her head.

She acted relaxed, whispering to Su Minguan: “Forget the guardian thing. If you’re wanted and flee someday, won’t my account go down the drain?”

Su Minguan shook his head dismissively: “Then you’ll just hold so much cash?”

Lin Yuchan held up a teacup, looking at his profile on the sofa beside her. Even having just obtained fantastical tax exemption certificates, just confronted the foreign manager, just tasted inferior tea, his face remained unruffled, gaze like water resting in the distance, occasionally glancing at her, eyes flashing with handsome brilliance.

Lin Yuchan appreciated this for several seconds, knowing her next words would probably tear this elegant gentleman’s facade to shreds.

“Of course I can’t keep so much cash at home.” She smiled. “I’ll increase my shareholding in Yixing a bit, okay?”

Su Minguan nearly dropped his teacup, his gentle elegance becoming a face full of grievance as he supported the table edge, whispering enticingly: “Let me be your guardian, okay? I guarantee no random fees, even willing to subsidize a bit, with free life experience guidance included, holiday bonuses…”

Lin Yuchan: “I don’t want a guardian. I want shares. Two thousand one hundred taels deposit, I’ll take half, paying back principal and interest for the five hundred I borrowed from you, leaving five hundred fifty cash. I’ll keep fifty, investing five hundred in Yixing.”

Blame the Qing for not ending—the road to equality was long. If she could open accounts smoothly, there wouldn’t be so much trouble.

Su Minguan glanced at the distant manager and pompadour, leaned back on the sofa, adjusted his emotions, and his eyes again showed an unfathomable smile.

“Fine. I bought tax exemption certificates, and my position is tight.” He said, “But now most of Yixing’s ship assets are affiliated with Jardine Matheson & Co.—specific operations can’t be disclosed, but those ships’ book values have all increased at least fivefold. You want to invest five hundred taels? Sorry, this time you can only get one percent shares.”

Lin Yuchan gritted her teeth.

His daring to quote such numbers meant it wasn’t false accounting—everything was verifiable.

It wasn’t that Yixing had expanded that many times. Modern stock markets also had fluctuations—some stocks soaring one day didn’t mean the company suddenly became wealthy, just a temporary divergence between price and value, simple logic.

Su Minguan very clearly told her that currently, Yixing’s price and value diverged, belonging to serious overvaluation, not an ideal investment period. If she insisted on buying, he didn’t mind slaughtering her financially.

She felt somewhat thirsty, drained that cup of inferior tea, and stood up.

“Will you accompany me back?”

Su Minguan’s eyes sparkled, poised for action, still waiting for her to counter-offer. Unexpectedly, the little girl didn’t fight or grab this time—half-lowered eyelashes held a pool of exhaustion. Her head and body were small, the men’s cap worn somewhat loosely, brim pressing low on her brow, creating a lonely shadow.

Lin Yuchan had already picked up the bundle from the floor and walked toward the door.

This was the largest payment she’d received since starting the business. To avoid exchange losses, she’d taken four hundred pounds cash—after all, the British Empire was at its zenith, pounds shouldn’t depreciate significantly; for the rest, silver ingots, eagle dollars, US dollars, she’d exchanged various types, both banknotes and coins, totaling nearly ten pounds weight. She carried it laboriously on her shoulder.

Manager McGarry’s broad smile froze as he politely asked: “Guardian…”

“Go to hell with guardians.” Lin Yuchan gave an elegant smile. “Goodbye.”

The manager’s expression darkened slightly as he smiled: “Your hysteria perfectly proves my earlier words—women’s nature is unsuited for managing finances. As a responsible bank manager, I’m obligated to advise…”

The lady being advised had already descended the steps, leaving a graceful silhouette.

“…Well, regrettably, I hope to see your beautiful face in the future.”

Behind her, Standard Chartered’s building had doors and windows wide open, like a grinning human face. Lin Yuchan looked up. The sky was clear, cloudless for thousands of miles. Two streets away was the wharf-lined Huangpu River, and beyond the intersection was the bustling old county town. Several fat rats scurried into roadside shops, a gentleman set up a fortune-telling stall, several young wives shyly gathered around listening.

She tried hard to divert her attention, capturing some fresh and pleasant sights. But scene after scene, like movie transitions, flowed past her eyes like flowing clouds and water, yet none entered her heart.

For a moment, she felt this strange city seemed unrelated to her, only knowing to bury her head and walk fast, viciously sulking.

Perhaps Su Minguan was right—who told China to have no banks of its own? Of course, they had to look at foreigners’ faces.

This wasn’t her first time being discriminated against, and she’d learned to adjust her mentality, hugging her thighs when necessary. For instance, when Shopkeeper Mau initially wouldn’t negotiate business properly with her, she’d also considered asking a man to show his face, making up for her insufficient presence.

But today she didn’t want to compromise. Perhaps she was angered by Manager McGarry’s attitude. This was a British gentleman who’d perfected rhetoric—every sentence politely impeccable, every word implying “you’re unworthy.”

If not for the bank’s high-grade decorative items she couldn’t afford to compensate for, she wanted to flip tables on the spot and scare those human-faced, dog-hearted capitalists to death.

Her shoulder suddenly lightened. The heavy bundle was highway-robbed, Su Minguan tucking it under his arm.

“Mouth could hang oil bottles.” He looked down at her, smiling, teasing, “Do you know how rich you are now? Stop watching the road or you’ll get robbed.”

Lin Yuchan cooperatively smiled bitterly, lacking the spirit to argue with him.

“Chinese-owned money houses might work,” he walked two steps silently, suddenly adding, “Just higher risk—they often make unsecured loans and occasionally collapse.”

“Then I might as well put it under my bed.”

“A’Mei,” his voice suddenly carried some bitterness, eyelashes blocking the light in his eyes, “if you don’t trust me, you could ask Mr. Rong to sign for you.”

Lin Yuchan’s spine tightened. She suddenly stopped, looking down at her nose tip, not daring to check his expression.

“I’m not…”

Su Minguan’s lips curved up, but his eyes didn’t smile along.

“It’s fine. I… indeed don’t count as a good person. You being cautious is right.”

He spoke lightly, eyelashes covering his eyes, pointing ahead to indicate crossing the street.