Not only did Yixing’s counter have hidden compartments, but it had several.

Lin Yuchan sat cross-legged in the master’s chair, watching Su Minguan give the clerks half a day off, then like a demolition team leader, turn that long-suffering old counter upside down, finding the compartments, putting on gloves, and extracting various miscellaneous items.

They were miscellaneous items. There were scattered copper coins, rings and silver, old handkerchiefs so brittle they would crumble at a touch…

Ten years ago, these compartments were probably opened frequently, with people tossing in various trivial daily odds and ends.

In addition, there were several thick registers, the paper fragile and yellowed. Opening them revealed personnel lists from the Small Sword Society uprising: names, occupations, addresses, responsibilities during the uprising…

These people were also the main backbone of the Jiangzhe branch at the time. Most had already lost their heads, while the rest were probably wanted fugitives who could only hide their identities and endure being Qing subjects with bowed heads.

Lin Yuchan kicked over a brazier. Su Minguan held the register over the brazier, hesitated a moment, but didn’t throw it in—instead placing it in a locked drawer.

There was also a relatively well-preserved scroll containing scattered records, mostly Heaven and Earth Society affairs from the Daoguang and Xianfeng periods. It included a detailed map marking the addresses of merchants and residents who could provide help during the future Small Sword Society uprising.

Lin Yuchan looked carefully and exclaimed in surprise: “Good heavens, there are quite a few international friends in the concessions too!”

Later, the court traded away the Imperial Maritime Customs in exchange for foreign support. The foreign gun units turned their weapons around, killing more society members than government soldiers.” Su Minguan’s single sentence extinguished her enthusiasm. “Foreign control of the Maritime Customs began from that time.”

Lin Yuchan nodded numbly.

She couldn’t help thinking that a righteous peasant uprising ultimately resulted in sacrificing China’s Maritime Customs sovereignty, not to mention countless deaths and injuries.

So indeed, single rebellion impoverishes three generations—it shouldn’t be undertaken lightly.

Of course, the residents at the original addresses had probably long been purged or had already moved away and fled. It was impossible to knock on doors one by one to reminisce. Mr. Li wouldn’t have proposed such easy conditions.

Su Minguan roughly estimated. Currently, Yixing’s “member” network was probably one-tenth of what was shown on this map. And most of it was inherited from Chu Nanyun’s sphere of influence, simply turning “victims” into “franchise units.” The territory that truly expanded through his efforts was still a small portion.

“Complete recovery wouldn’t be difficult,” he folded up the map and put it in the locked drawer. “This kind of territory expansion just takes time and money.”

But his time limit was only three years. So in the end, it still came down to the word “money.”

Lin Yuchan smiled sweetly, asking with ulterior motives: “How about issuing additional shares at a discount?”

“Don’t even think about it,” he said without hesitation. “If I lose this gamble, you’ll lose everything.”

She suddenly remembered something and asked: “What if you win? They didn’t mention what the prize would be.”

Su Minguan looked up at her, his eyes showing a very subtle, cold-blooded smile.

“If I win, the prize won’t be up to them to decide.”

Lin Yuchan jumped down from the master’s chair, feigning anger as she demanded: “What kind of attitude is this? What about brotherly feelings among Hongmen members worldwide?”

He laughed at her making a big fuss: “If Hongmen had no internal strife, would it still be called Hongmen?”

Lin Yuchan: “…”

She had to ask with foresight: “If… if there is irreconcilable internal strife in the future and you can’t establish yourself here, you… What would you do?”

“As if I love being a helmsman,” Su Minguan fastened the compartment panel back, hammering in nails, saying very seriously: “If it comes to that, I guarantee you’ll never find me again.”

He hammered in the last nail, hearing no response from the little girl beside him. Looking up, he saw her hugging her arms with a pouting mouth, her expression complex, as if saying: “You’re heartless.”

He smiled: “What, you also want to follow me…”

This sentence suddenly stopped halfway, with no second half. He lowered his head, removed his gloves, and changed the subject: “Come on, I’ll treat you to morning tea to calm your nerves from last night.”

Su Minguan sent someone to inquire, and the crime scene at Boya Hongkou last night wasn’t completely cleaned up yet. Lin Yuchan’s shop couldn’t open anyway, so there was no point returning early.

This girl was energetic—if she could make money, she definitely wouldn’t rest. It was rare to force her to take a day off.

Tired all night, she was especially hungry. Hearing “morning tea,” her mouth watered.

Since Lin Yuchan frequently came to Yixing, she had temporarily stored a small trunk here with some personal belongings. She immediately happily changed into men’s clothing and boots.

Su Minguan saw that when she came out of the guest room after changing clothes, she was brazenly carrying that white little nightgown on her arm, the lace trim on the chest very conspicuous.

His facial muscles couldn’t help twitching again.

He wanted to say something, then felt foolish thinking: Why should I care what a little girl wears to sleep?

It’s not like she’s wearing it for others to see.

Probably no one else has seen it up close.

Probably.

Lin Yuchan said quite openly: “This garment is Western-cut, very comfortable for sleeping. It’s become popular in Shanghai recently. Some tailors sell ready-made clothes—saves fabric and the price is reasonable.”

Su Minguan: “…I didn’t ask about these things.”

Saves fabric indeed. Wearing nothing at all would save the most fabric. Foreigners all have problems.

Lin Yuchan teased him: “I saw you kept looking, thought you were interested.”

Su Minguan’s eyebrows flushed red, nearly dying of anger on the spot. Make him wear this to sleep? He might as well go to the yamen and surrender right now.

Lin Yuchan quickly finished the second half of her sentence: “There are also men’s nightrobes, different from this… I could help you buy a set next time…”

“I don’t want it!”

His expression flickered, and he stormed out, slamming the door with a bang under the pretense of checking the wharf.

How had he picked up such a little freak from a graveyard!

He’d long noticed her eccentric personality, but unfortunately hadn’t been able to distance himself from her early on. Recently, she’d become even more unbridled—at this rate, she’d eventually anger him bald, and he wouldn’t even need a fake queue anymore, could just become a monk directly.

But then again, it was this same little freak who, when her blood was up, dared single-handedly release hundreds of coolies; who with skillful maneuvering earned several hundred taels of silver in a year; who when murderers broke down her door in the middle of the night, trembled while still managing to pull a pistol from under her pillow, load it, and aim at that ugly head.

Any of these was more shocking than “wearing a spaghetti-strap nightgown.”

After weighing it repeatedly, he felt that if her dress had even less fabric, it would actually be acceptable.

So he calmed down and returned to the shop as if nothing had happened, taking sufficient silver and bringing her to the Renhe Hotel in the old city.

Last year’s New Year’s Eve dinner, a table of Guangdong people had gathered here and gave quite good reviews, so Su Minguan had patronized it several more times since. The owner already recognized him, personally welcoming them, smiling as he ushered them into a private room, making small talk: “Those Guangdong guests who had New Year’s dinner last year, quite a few have become repeat customers. Doesn’t Boss Su plan to gather again this year?”

Su Minguan was looking at the menu when he heard this, his heart stirring. He glanced at Lin Yuchan beside him, saw her blink and mouth the words:

“Territory expansion.”

So he chatted casually with the manager, saying: “Then please notify familiar customers that our Guangdong-Guangxi Fellowship will still gather here, on the twenty-first of the twelfth month, before everyone returns home—they’re welcome to honor us with their presence. Mm… the Fellowship will host.”

The manager was delighted to hear this—it was a win-win situation. He quickly agreed, called the accountant, and solemnly wrote a notice for “Guangdong-Guangxi Fellowship Year-End Banquet,” posting it on the wall.

Su Minguan helped wipe off excess glue from the fresh notice, smiled, and sat down to eat.

The money-burning operation had officially begun.

However, problems that could be solved with money weren’t problems.

Despite the boss instructing the cook to serve them with special care, Su Minguan ate this meal with a heavy heart, his mind full of calculations about this three-year wager.

Until the little freak beside him gently poked him: “The pan-fried buns won’t taste good when they’re cold.”

He smiled slightly, watching her eat one bite of food, one bite of bun, looking insatiable, as if afraid he wouldn’t pay the bill later.

Starving.

“I’m thinking the Jiangzhe branch still dug a pit for me,” knowing this girl’s temperament well, he didn’t need much courtesy and went straight to the point, explaining in a low voice: “‘Friendly to Hongmen’—this standard is too vague and unverifiable. I can’t just ask everyone if they oppose the Qing…”

This time Lin Yuchan didn’t pick up his thread, concentrating on picking peanuts from the wheat gluten, turning her head to smile at him: “Bai Yushan is a military strategist—according to rules, must I answer every question?”

Su Minguan was startled, feeling there was reproach in her words for giving her an official title without warning.

If following the old complex secret ceremonies, this position would keep her busy all day with various incense burning and shrine worshipping, plus she’d have to acknowledge him as big brother, solemnly swearing to live and die together, following only big brother’s lead…

Just thinking about it was ridiculous. Besides, he’d never liked these formalities since childhood.

“The current rule of the Guangdong-Guangxi branch is that there are no rules,” he said mildly. “I don’t know who Bai Yushan is. I only know the girl sitting with me is someone trustworthy. When I have difficult problems I can’t discuss with others, I can chat with her about them.”

The other pair of chopsticks on the plate trembled slightly, suspended in mid-air. A peanut escaped disaster, falling back into the plate and bouncing a few times.

Lin Yuchan’s ears grew warm, feeling slightly guilty for her pettiness.

Su Minguan was still quite sharp when confronting people—gentle and soft-spoken, he could poke holes in hearts.

But he still showed mercy to her. A light poke, and before she felt pain, he withdrew.

Then his chopsticks reached out, helping her pick peanuts and placing them in the small bowl in front of her.

Lin Yuchan accepted this small comfort, quickly putting the peanuts he’d picked into her mouth one by one. From the side, her cheeks bulged slightly like a little squirrel.

Su Minguan couldn’t help teasing her. The last peanut suddenly changed direction, lifted into the air, breaking their back-and-forth rhythm. He wanted to see her miss.

Who knew the little girl only had eyes for peanuts—her neck stretched up and she bit down with an “ah-wu.” He quickly pulled back his hand, actually feeling resistance for a moment as she incidentally bit the chopstick tip.

Lin Yuchan said sweetly: “Thank you.”

While eating peanuts, her brain wasn’t idle, step by step sketching out the essence of this three-year wager in her mind.

Consider it advising a friend. Besides, she still had Yixing shares.

“This standard of ‘friendly to Hongmen,'” she said, “is not only impossible to implement, but they also have no way to verify it later. After all, everyone values their heads—no one dares casually expose their political stance. Moreover, you never promised them to ‘immediately rally these people to take up arms in rebellion after expanding influence,’ so… if we follow the current Yixing bronze coin standard, those ‘member’ shops should count too, right?”

After waiting a while without hearing Su Minguan respond, she continued pondering: “But the Yixing logo isn’t easy to promote. The current few ‘franchise members’ are all territories Chu Nanyun conquered before, or those who’ve had direct or indirect business dealings with you. But relying solely on business relationship networks is far from enough. The transportation industry is only so big a pool—everyone has fixed customers, it’s not good to steal others’ livelihood…”

She murmured to herself, finally saying: “So the key problem is that Yixing’s specialization is too strong, not easy to break out of its circle. And you’ve deliberately kept a low profile before…”

Su Minguan suddenly asked: “Break out of its circle?”

“Oh, I mean it’s not easy to gain fame outside shipping. Otherwise, if all Shanghai people, regardless of social class, found the words ‘Yixing’ familiar and would give you face, then when you promote your ‘membership,’ it would go very smoothly.”

This was like bubble tea. Originally a highly substitutable product, but once mixed with marketing rhetoric and brand image, it could become a viral national chain attracting a bunch of fanatic followers.

As long as it could “break out of its circle.”

Lin Yuchan deeply felt that her transmigration benefits weren’t sufficient. Having spent only eighteen short years in the twenty-first century, memorizing a bunch of dragon-slaying techniques by rote, most of her business knowledge was supplemented after returning to the Qing period.

If only she had been a female entrepreneur who died of natural causes—how wonderful that would have been.

She looked at Su Minguan anxiously, worried he might pick out some elementary flaw from her analysis, which would be embarrassing.

But he remained sparing with words, not expressing opinions, instead staring at the plate of pan-fried buns in front of him, reluctant to use his chopsticks.

She gathered her thoughts and kindly reminded again: “Pan-fried buns don’t taste good when cold.”

Su Minguan glanced at her resentfully. He did want to eat, but reaching out with his chopsticks and seeing those chopstick tips she’d bitten, he couldn’t bring himself to use them with peace of mind.

He felt the charcoal fire in this private room was perhaps too much—it was getting a bit hot. He asked her: “Should I have the waiter take the brazier out for a while?”

She was surprised: “How much have you been drinking? I’m still cold.”

He had to admit he’d drunk too much, unbuttoning his outermost cotton jacket and feeling more comfortable. Then, seeing that she seemed to have completely forgotten about the chopsticks incident, he guiltily picked up a pan-fried bun and put it in his mouth.

…There was a kind of pleasant feeling like sneaking into the kitchen to eat malt candy when skipping school as a child.

Only then did he say quietly: “Making Yixing bigger and higher-profile, I believe I have that ability. But if we really do that, inevitably we’ll have to deal with government officials.”

Lin Yuchan immediately said, “Is there still a problem with your identity?”

“Clean household registration, just shares a name with Guangdong rebels. Unless someone investigates meticulously.” Su Minguan shook his head, smiling: “I just don’t like networking and maneuvering. My old man was very good at that, but unfortunately couldn’t make me like it too.”

Lin Yuchan discovered that the young master often spoke nostalgically of his mother, but when mentioning his wealthy father, his words carried disdain. Many of his subsequent life choices, except for business, which was in his blood and couldn’t be washed away, seemed deliberately contrary to his old man.

But then again, from his previous fragments of speech, Lin Yuchan had already clearly sensed the image of a feudal patriarch with multiple wives and concubines, networking with powerful people, speculating and maneuvering. Very unlikeable.

And the father-son relationship with Su Minguan should have been quite tense.

When Old Master Su fell from grace and died on the exile road, there should have been many people in Guangzhou who applauded. Just like celebrating Defeng Trading House being fined for lawsuits due to unscrupulous wealth.

Fortunately, Su Minguan was an “unfilial” son; otherwise, Lin Yuchan would have to denounce heaven for being blind and wastefully destroying precious talent.

Everyone has their aspirations. Lin Yuchan didn’t continue on this topic; instead, he discussed other approaches with him.

One meal couldn’t yield much discussion—just brainstorming and expanding thinking.

But at least a belly full of warm food relieved a night of upheaval.

After the meal, Su Minguan kept his word, paid the bill as host, then the two strolled slowly through the county town, the map hidden in their sleeves, comparing bit by bit, reconstructing the almost universal rebellion scene from the Small Sword Society period.

Actually, without great power intervention, this uprising force from ten years ago, if not for successfully establishing a separate regime in Shanghai, could at least have gone much further.

No wonder the Jiangzhe society members brooded over this, like Su Minguan’s predecessors who narrowly lost in the Guangdong uprisings, urgently wanting to regroup and once again push that boulder toward the mountain peak.

Without realizing it, they walked out of the county town and came to the Bund. The riverside streets suddenly encountered traffic jams—horse carts, ox carts, and sedan chairs packed together, quite resembling the spectacular urban traffic jams of two centuries later.

The two were surprised, looking at each other.

“Take the Wells Bridge?” Su Minguan suggested.

Foreigners are free, Chinese pay.

Lin Yuchan didn’t want to spend those ten wen of unjust money, and the face of that collaborator collecting bridge tolls was truly detestable.

She thought a moment, then struck up conversation with a local woman on the street: “Auntie, what’s all this excitement about?”

The auntie was a local, but this situation was rare for her, too. She smiled: “Auction—have you heard of it? Foreigners are auctioning steam ships. Over there at the wharf, it’s black with people, all foreign merchants—red hair, yellow hair, brown hair, white hair like opening a dye shop. Everyone’s going to watch the excitement!”

Lin Yuchan nodded, thanked the auntie, then suddenly realized something, turned and ran toward Su Minguan, shouting: “Steam ships!”

Hadn’t Boss Su always been saying he wanted to acquire Western steamships?

Hearing this, Su Minguan’s smile bloomed, and regardless of the public setting, he grabbed her wrist and pushed forward.

“Excuse me… excuse me.”

One hand protecting her, the other pushing forward without courtesy, generating a string of complaints.

Fortunately, Shanghai’s folk customs favored words over fists—no one beat him up.

Finally, squeezing to the riverside, they saw the opposite wharf—

Indeed, a large steamship was moored on the water, with both steam and sail power, its hull mottled and looking quite old. A row of dark cannon mouths along the ship’s side.

A space had been cleared on the wharf with at least twenty-some foreign merchants in suits, a podium in the middle with several clerks and officials—definitely an auction bidding setup.

Lin Yuchan turned back, somewhat disappointed: “A big steamship, and it’s a warship.”

Needless to say, this ship’s value far exceeded Yixing’s cash reserves. Su Minguan’s eyes dimmed slightly, still smiling: “Let’s go broaden our horizons.”

Even Chinese residents in the concessions rarely saw so many foreigners gathered together, behaving strangely, raising signs and calling prices alternately—like opera, like a three-court trial, extremely novel.

But everyone wasn’t very enthusiastic about the auction item—there wasn’t the frenzied bidding scene from movies. Some were already smoking pipes and socializing, with servants providing refreshments. The few people on the podium had also begun chatting and laughing, quite slack in their work.

All ferry services along the river had stopped. Lin Yuchan decisively pointed left: “Take Wells Bridge.”

Ten wen in bridge fees slammed into the collaborator’s face. Su Minguan comforted her: “When we have money, I’ll build a bridge next to Yixing and starve them out.”

But after crossing the bridge, they soon encountered patrol police blocking the way, shouting: “Chinese step back! Chinese step back! There’s an auction inside! None of your business! Go watch from across the river!”

This kind of scene was commonplace in the concessions. The usual strategy was to say a few nice words and give a few jiao of silver yuan—sometimes it worked.

But this time the patrol police were very conscientious, actually refusing even bribes, standing straight as ramrods with very firm attitudes: “There are concession officials present—we must strictly ensure safety and cannot let a single Chinese person in.”

Arguing about national dignity in this setting was like playing music to cattle. Su Minguan snorted coldly, walked away a few steps, and studied the auction poster on the gate.

Lin Yuchan suddenly saw a familiar face inside the gate and immediately called out crisply: “Victor!”

She didn’t quite understand why the Maritime Customs needed to participate in auctioning a steamship. But in the clearing she not only saw commercial assistant Victor, but also Hede’s new secretary Jin Denggan. Although Hede was always critical of him, obviously this person was quite valued, constantly speaking quietly with several Chinese officials present.

Lin Yuchan was only familiar with Victor. After calling out twice, the blonde, big-nosed, handsome young man came running over happily, pushing left and right, shoving two dutiful patrol officers to the roadside.

The officers stumbled with their queues dragging, steadying themselves while angry but not daring to speak.

“Haha, Miss Lin, Maritime Customs exclusive cooperative tea supplier.” Victor dramatically recited her title. “Trust me, when Mr. Hede announces the winning bidder, you’ll want to know the expressions of those fat Chinese gentlemen… Miss Lin, won’t you honor me with a kiss on the cheek?”

He stretched his neck, turned his face sideways, full of expectation.

Crack, crack—two patrol officers’ jaws dropped, not daring to move.

Lin Yuchan automatically ignored the last sentence, and not wanting to appear too opportunistic, still exchanged pleasantries, extending her hand for a handshake.

“Just some tea—buying from anyone is the same… mm, today…”

“It’s not that Robert made some improper exchange conditions to you, is it?” Victor suddenly lowered his voice, drooping his eyebrows in a tragic expression. “These Wesleyan Methodist devils appear abstemious on the surface but are full of licentiousness inside. My dear, rest assured—if this is true, I’ll draw my gun to seek justice for you…”

“Gossiping about superiors’ religion and private life behind their backs—full year’s bonus deducted,” Lin Yuchan waited for him to finish his verbal display, then smiled slightly. “Now I have dirt on you. Take us in, and I’ll keep quiet when I see Mr. Hede next time.”

Victor’s eyes widened: “U—s?”

Turning around, he saw a young Chinese man striding over. His features were picturesque, his eyes profound, with the delicate sensibility characteristic of southern Chinese. The thin winter afternoon sunlight fell slanted across his face, carving clear contours—he could easily play the male lead in an Orientalist opera.

But those eyes now showed gloomy light, sweeping a chill with his steps, clearly not coming with good intentions.

Victor had seen plenty of Chinese who bluffed. Those people looked at him from afar with gritted teeth, carrying exaggerated nationalist indignation; but when he approached, their angry expressions changed to fawning and fear, people pursing their lips, speaking English he couldn’t understand, inviting him to patronize their shops.

Maybe the angry ones and the fawning ones weren’t the same group. But Westerners were face-blind regarding Chinese people—Victor couldn’t tell them apart either.

He was just slightly shaken by Su Minguan’s aura, then grinned and waved at him, casually ordering: “Miss Lin’s friend? Stand over there and wait—I haven’t finished chatting with her…”

Su Minguan’s lips curved slightly with a dangerous smile, extending his right hand toward Victor.

“Mm, Miss Lin’s… friend.”