That little hand shrank slightly but didn’t dare move, afraid of dropping the bowl, so it remained pitifully suspended in mid-air, letting Su Minguan peck at it again.

Deep down, he was still someone who acted recklessly. Normally cloaked in law-abiding, civilized, and honest appearances, he sometimes grew tired of it all. Only in front of certain people did he dare to misbehave with such confidence.

He was a patient now—surely he could be a bit willful and receive some special treatment?

Lin Yuchan’s face turned bright red, her hand first itching, then burning, almost useless. She gritted her teeth and said, “The nurse told you to sleep.”

“Oh, I forgot to ask if you’d allow it.” Su Minguan smiled with pursed lips, his dark eyes glinting slightly. “I don’t have the strength to talk now, so let’s skip that step.”

Lin Yuchan glared at him fiercely: “Won’t sleep, is that it? Then I’ll call the nurse to keep you company.”

In just these few hours, the young man who had lain on the operating table—stubborn yet frail, inspiring maternal instincts—had disappeared. The scheming, lawless big bad wolf had revived with full health.

Physical pain had worn away some of his rationality. His already limited self-control had diminished further with blood loss.

Su Minguan smiled ambiguously, eyes closed, and pulled her down a little more. He felt gentle resistance.

Even with his serious injuries, that resistance was vastly outmatched by his strength.

Lin Yuchan looked serious: “You just had surgery without anesthesia! Don’t make yourself suffer more!”

Oh, right, the surgery.

Su Minguan suddenly came to his senses, opened his eyes apologetically, took a long, gentle breath, and suppressed his chaotic emotions.

He remembered the deadly naval battle from days ago. His experience with ship-to-ship combat was zero—thrust onto the command deck like a duck forced up a shelf. After just a few minutes of panic, he gradually became adept and began a crushing counterattack.

Not because he was some once-in-a-century military genius. He had that much self-awareness.

Those battle-hardened, vicious bandits, regardless of their skills or martial arts mastery, their flesh and blood bodies, their rough but sturdy sailing ships, their homemade muskets and firearms… none could withstand the unified roar of several precision steel cannons.

The steel cannons’ terrifying destructive power—Su Minguan had only heard about and witnessed it before, but this time he truly experienced firsthand that intoxicating sense of power.

No wonder. No wonder the Western powers possessing these guns, cannons, and warships wouldn’t simply shelve these wonderful instruments. Once you tasted the sweetness of power, it became addictive.

But he also tasted the backlash. As the bandits began fleeing, eager to annihilate and capture enemies, he hadn’t noticed that newly trained crew members had slightly miscalculated the gunpowder loading weight.

The final cannonball exploded in the barrel, injuring several people. He was the most severely wounded.

While half-conscious, he etched this lesson in his heart.

Don’t become a slave to power.

He slowly released her wrist, restraining some inappropriate impulses, and smoothly changed the subject.

“There are many interesting things from inland—want to hear?”

…

Of course, he wouldn’t tell her the dark and difficult parts. There were plenty of amusing anecdotes, and Lin Yuchan, having never been to the interior, listened with great interest.

“…Eight hundred taels of silver to acquire Anqing Yixing Tea Warehouse?” Lin Yuchan laughed. “Who manages there? The Two Lakes branch? Ah, that’s almost finished too. No one tried to drag you into anti-Qing restoration activities?”

Su Minguan yawned and murmured with a smile: “Want it? I’ll keep the Yixing brand name. I’ll sell you the tea warehouse business. Give you a supply point inland, too.”

Normally, he would never so readily offer such bargains. But at this moment, he had no mind for calculations. The pain hadn’t fully passed, his body alternating between ice and fire—he just wanted to say something to make her laugh and distract himself.

But the little girl didn’t laugh, nor did she seize this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to take advantage of him. Instead, she pretended to wipe away tears.

“Thank you for your consideration.” Lin Yuchan said mournfully: “I’d like to, but I’m about to drink the northwest wind.”

“No haggling.”

“Willing but unable. I’m not lying.”

Finally, she had a chance to tell him that she hadn’t been thriving these days either—they could hold a misery competition.

Su Minguan opened his eyes, hiding slight surprise, and quietly listened to her speak.

Lin Yuchan didn’t want to burden him with too many worries, so she simply said that Rong Hong had gotten into trouble, been inexplicably detained until now, Boya might close at any time, and they owed a pile of debts.

As for her own running around, the walls she’d hit, the grievances suffered, the money spent…

She didn’t need to cry to him about all that.

Su Minguan said nothing and listened to her finish.

Lin Yuchan tentatively asked: “What do you think?”

He didn’t answer, showing a slight helpless smile.

“I know I’ve been foolish these months, not earning money but putting in quite a bit of my own,” she generously admitted before he could criticize, “but… not doing this would make me uneasy. You’ve known me from day one—give me some advice.”

Su Minguan was even more helpless and yawned again.

“None. You’ve done everything you should.” He said flatly. “I’ll just remind you of one thing. For Yixing’s accounting tasks, I’ve currently only assigned two assistants. The head accountant position is still vacant.”

Lin Yuchan: “…”

This sounded so ominous.

He never acted on emotion, nor would he paint rosy pictures just to comfort someone. From her scattered account, he had probably already calculated the most likely outcome.

Su Minguan’s thoughts were hazy as he smiled.

“A’Mei, lend me a hand.”

Then he pillowed his head on her palm, closed his eyes, and spoke no more.

Actually, a body that had just undergone surgery couldn’t recover so easily. Su Minguan, relying on his youth, thought he could maintain complete alertness. While chatting idly, he felt a second wave of intense pain strike, knitting his brows tight again.

This time, he didn’t need to compete with the doctor and could finally be lenient with himself.

Half the thin blanket on him slipped off. He was too lazy to care.

What was there for a grown man to be afraid of showing? He just hadn’t wanted to frighten her earlier.

Lin Yuchan thus saw his bare right arm. Usually hidden in sleeves, she had only thought it well-proportioned, even somewhat thin. Now looking closely, she discovered his arm was actually a circle thicker than hers, muscle lines slightly bulging, not like the rigid appearance of dock workers, but flowing and containing strength, just capable of steadying a heavy firearm.

She suddenly noticed that near his elbow, there were several light red scars, the size of small fingernails, arranged very regularly. They didn’t look like knife or gunshot wounds, but rather… like something had burned them.

Being on the inner arm where skin was rarely exposed, she had never noticed them before.

“Comrade Xiao Bai,” she was a bit afraid but curious, gently moving her finger to pat his cheek, asking: “What’s that about?”

Su Minguan was already fast asleep, mumbling a few unclear words in response.

This was ancient times with extremely low life expectancy. Lin Yuchan, fearing it might be some parasitic infectious disease, didn’t dare take it lightly. She gently withdrew her hand, stood up, and went to find the nurse.

Meanwhile, at Number 9 on the Shanghai Bund, the Russell & Co. headquarters office.

Russell & Co. had been developing rapidly recently. The office was full of pretentious European-style decorations, hung with authentic European classical oil paintings transported from thousands of miles away—anyone entering had to praise their taste.

Among the row of oil paintings, there was only one ugly gap, like a missing tooth, lacking one painting.

Manager Jin Nengheng leaned on his walking stick, looking at that empty frame, a cold smile forming at the corner of his mouth.

That was the only time since coming to China that he’d been outmaneuvered by a Chinese merchant. They had coordinated with all Shanghai’s European and American trading houses to boycott him, seemingly about to squeeze that Chinese fellow coveting steamships into bankruptcy. But he had turned the tables from a desperate situation, striking back before the foreign merchants could react—the Guangdong had already been dismantled and sold, becoming Luna.

Jin Nengheng had been so angry he rampaged through his office, randomly smashing things with his walking stick. Although he retained a trace of rationality at the time and chose the cheapest oil painting to attack, calculating the losses afterward still made him quite regretful, and he resolved to control his temper.

But now, having just received intelligence that Boss Su of Yixing Shipping had quietly returned to Shanghai and was currently having surgery at Renji Hospital, Jin Nengheng felt delighted and thoroughly vindicated.

To pave the way for Russell & Co.’s new shipping company, he had secretly sent people to collude with local bandits, agreeing to share the spoils in attacking Yixing’s fleet.

Although they hadn’t managed to sink the entire fleet, they had made Yixing bleed heavily, sinking two ships and destroying considerable cargo.

Manager Jin Nengheng was overjoyed to hear this news. Even the foreign “business partners” who usually competed fiercely with him now shared a common enemy, all waiting to watch the show.

The steamship’s maiden voyage had failed—the decline was self-evident. This overreaching Chinese ship owner should hurry home to farm.

China’s rivers, China’s seas—how could they escape the control of civilized white people?

If Chinese people obediently sailed ships and swept decks for them, they would generously give them food. But if they dared harbor crooked thoughts, imperialism’s iron fist was always victorious.

Pop—the secretary opened a bottle of champagne, poured a glass of foaming liquid, and handed it to Manager Jin Nengheng.

Jin Nengheng smiled broadly, seeing his hawk-nose reflection in the golden liquid.

“To beautiful Paris of the East.”

“To beautiful Paris of the East.” The secretary and several clerks echoed softly and drained their glasses.

Of course, why exactly they were drinking this toast, the group understood like mute people eating wontons.

Jin Nengheng asked with a smile: “Did he report it?”

Who “he” referred to needed no elaboration.

Indeed, the secretary understood perfectly, laughing: “The Municipal Council heard no news. Seems he’s prepared to swallow his broken teeth.”

Chinese shipping companies were small with thin profits and simple business; they had never been able to compete with foreign merchant capitalists. Jin Nengheng had long determined that even if Su Minguan guessed the mastermind, he absolutely wouldn’t dare make a big fuss.

He smiled, feeling regretful. If Yixing reported it, that would be exciting. His elite lawyer friends weren’t freeloaders either.

Someone knocked. An interpreter handed over a wrinkled piece of rice paper covered in Chinese characters, with an English translation attached.

Jin Nengheng picked it up and first read the title:

“Yixing Shipping Cargo Insurance Terms and Conditions.”

It was a copy obtained from a Chinese merchant. The original was confidential, but money could buy anything.

Jin Nengheng sneered. This Yixing Shipping was quite creative, actually learning from foreign merchants to offer “shipping insurance.” This made it even more interesting—the compensation would kill them.

He carefully read the “insurance terms.” The more he read, the more surprised he became.

The wording was quite meticulous, not at all like the Chinese “vagueness is beauty” style.

The terms stipulated that in cases of war and other force majeure, compensation could be refused.

Jin Nengheng called the interpreter and immediately asked: “What does ‘war’ mean here? Do gang and bandit attacks count as war?”

Russell’s interpreter was a well-informed Chinese who trembled inwardly upon hearing this.

Could the industry rumors that the bandits attacking Yixing were directed by foreign merchants… be true?

But he still had to respond respectfully: “I just translated as written. In Chinese, ‘war’ generally refers to conflicts involving government troops. But… but there’s no standard interpretation. If you want to relate it to bandit attacks, then… established bandits, like the Nian bandits or the Taipings—attacks by such forces could count as war…”

Jin Nengheng frowned. A small oversight. They’d forgotten to check the caliber of those hired bandits…

But this also showed that the Chinese “vagueness is beauty” characteristics had left a small trap in Yixing’s insurance terms.

Bandit attacks—did they count as “war”?

Could compensate, could also not compensate.

It depended on how Yixing and the clients argued.

Best if those clients sued individually. Drag them to death.

Who told them their documents had no English or French versions—they deserved it.

Last time, they failed to prevent him from buying a steamship. This time, Jin Nengheng was determined to get even, making these overreaching Chinese recognize that steamships were too hot to handle—they weren’t qualified to control them.

Jin Nengheng dismissed the interpreter, stroked his hawk nose, smiled, and called his secretary, instructing: “Tell my lawyer friends to watch for recent insurance conflicts among Chinese merchants in the settlement—there might be big cases. Also, quietly notify some people…”

Su Minguan awoke to see the bright small window of the hospital restroom, sunlight having moved to the corner of the wall.

He slowly propped himself up and put on his clothes.

After sleeping for a full two hours, the burning pain had mostly subsided. He knew that in ten days to two weeks, he’d be lively again.

That quack doctor had told him to “eat well”!

A pair of small hands supported his armpits. Lin Yuchan asked with a smile: “Going back so soon?”

He was startled, somewhat dazed. Only then did he remember—he had disembarked and wasn’t alone.

“I still have business. Those insured goods—I don’t know if I can afford to compensate…”

As he spoke, he turned his head and was shocked.

“A’Mei, you…?”

She had rolled up her right sleeve high, exposing half her thin arm, with white gauze wrapped around it.

His expression darkened as he asked: “What happened? Are you injured?”

Lin Yuchan couldn’t help but laugh.

“You had cowpox vaccination as a child—why didn’t you tell me?” She pointed to his right arm. “I never had it. This hospital happens to have a vaccination bureau, so I just asked the doctor to inoculate me. Look!”

She proudly showed him the scratched arm.

This was one of the great contributions Western missionaries brought to China: establishing vaccination bureaus, providing low-cost or free cowpox vaccinations to prevent smallpox.

Starting from Guangzhou, by now, almost all treaty ports had vaccination bureaus established by foreigners.

China had actually had “variolation” measures since ancient times, which could also prevent smallpox. But the side effects were severe—if anything went wrong, instead of developing antibodies, the inoculated person would succumb first and meet their ancestors.

Comparatively, cowpox was much safer.

Of course, most people didn’t believe this and avoided vaccination bureaus—foreigners begged them to get inoculated.

Su Minguan had been vaccinated as a child because his family dealt with foreign merchants daily and was relatively enlightened. He was vaccinated early, never got smallpox later, and only had a few marks left on his arm.

When Lin Yuchan saw his scars, she hadn’t thought of “vaccines” at all. She hurriedly asked the nurse before realizing—this was like modern people’s vaccine scars!

The Qing Dynasty of the nineteenth century, besides giving people various scares, occasionally had surprises.

Vaccines for infectious diseases. Which other dynasties had such benefits?

However, as a lowly commoner left to fate, Lin Ba Mei’s family naturally wouldn’t worry about vaccinating her, leaving her with zero resistance to smallpox.

Fortunately, during her growing years, Guangzhou hadn’t had major smallpox outbreaks. Her survival until now also involved considerable luck.

When Lin Yuchan suddenly realized this, she felt the surrounding air was poisonous everywhere and hurriedly begged the doctor for immediate vaccination.

Renji Hospital had been operating a vaccination bureau for several years, relying on church funding to import expensive vaccine preparations from overseas, but usage was slow. They depended entirely on doctors and missionaries going door-to-door like salespeople, begging people to get vaccinated. They even promised twenty wen nutrition fees per person to slowly attract poor people to bring their children for paid vaccination.

Today, someone actively came requesting vaccination—a clear-thinking, knowledgeable girl, not coming for those twenty wen—the entire hospital staff felt like celebrating, seeing hope for Chinese civilization.

While Su Minguan slept, the hospital director personally performed the vaccination for Miss Lin.

Not an injection, but cutting the skin and dropping in the vaccine preparation.

Not just one spot either—three or four cuts were needed for sufficient immunity.

Somewhat troublesome. Somewhat painful. But she accepted it gladly.

Lin Yuchan happily thought: From now on, no smallpox! Defense +10!

She pulled out the twenty-wen coins from her pocket, plus a bilingual Chinese-English vaccination certificate, cheerfully showing off to Su Minguan.

Su Minguan raised his hand to button his clothes, pulling at his wound, slightly frowning.

Lin Yuchan simply helped him, looking up and slowly closing his garment front, fastening the buttons one by one.

Su Minguan looked down. Half of her thin little arm swayed before his eyes. The restroom’s window was open with good light, making her skin especially white, like a piece of translucent ivory carving. Blue blood vessel patterns faintly showed through her skin.

“I can do it myself…”

He always felt guilty toward her. He wanted to stop her but didn’t dare touch, as if using any force would break this fragile artwork.

The ivory carving wasn’t perfect—several small white gauze patches covered tiny bleeding points.

Knowing vaccination was good, he instinctively felt somewhat angry that someone had been willing to hurt her, make her bleed, and suffer.

He reminded quietly, “It will hurt for several days.”

“I know. The doctor told me everything.” She smiled easily. “The wound will hurt, and I’ll have fever for two or three days—same as you. This is called sharing joys and sorrows.”

Su Minguan couldn’t help but smile, correcting her: “Sorry, now there’s only shared suffering, nothing joyful to share.”

He took her arm, gently lowered her sleeve, slowly covering the gauze down to her wrist, unfolding the last roll and smoothing it.

“I need to go back and clean up the mess. Sorry to trouble you a bit longer—please see me off.”

Before the carriage turned toward Suzhou Creek, they heard voices and crowds gathered on the street, loudly clamoring in various accents.

“Yixing Shipping, pay up! Su Minguan, pay up!”

“I told you Western things aren’t reliable. If that steamship were sturdy, how would anyone dare rob it?”

“He went around crying and acting pitiful at first, and I even lent him fifty taels to buy the ship! How is it that he bought such a vessel that sinks upon launching?”

“They can’t compensate! Fellow countrymen, let’s go in and take some valuables!”

“What insurance agreement—I think it’s just waste paper! Otherwise, why is their boss hiding and not coming out to see people?”

“Pay up! Compensate! Pay up!”

…

In the carriage, Su Minguan’s expression changed slightly.

“Stop.”

He’d been back in Shanghai just one day, and creditors were already blocking his door!

He’d deliberately kept a low profile. Where did these people hear the news?

Why did they all know he’d been attacked by bandits?

And “the steamship sank”? Who told them?

Chinese merchants had always been scattered like sand—how were they suddenly banding together?

Without Su Minguan’s instruction, the driver had already stopped, smiling bitterly: “So many people—my carriage can’t get through. Please settle the fare.”

Yixing Shipping’s main door was tightly closed. Without orders from their boss, the clerks stayed inside and didn’t respond to this sudden organized confrontation.

Su Minguan supported himself on Lin Yuchan’s hand, struggling out of the carriage. He squinted at those real and fake “creditors,” color returning to his pale face, a long-absent aggressiveness appearing in his eyes. He smoothed his garment front, preparing to advance into battle.

Lin Yuchan grabbed his sleeve.

“Boss Su,” she gave him a stern look, “don’t you need to rest?”

Su Minguan smiled coldly: “I’d like to go back and sleep. But people are blocking my door—I can’t get back.”

His movements were still very inconvenient. Under his well-fitted robe, bandages bulged in a small ridge.

Lin Yuchan was so anxious her face turned red, forcefully blocking him in the street corner, whispering: “Don’t go! Don’t show off.”

Even with Su Minguan’s clever tongue, convincing these agitated fellow countrymen to leave would cost him dearly, if not his life. Not to mention his current injured state—if anyone pushed and shoved, resorting to violence, Yixing Shipping might never be able to pay those insurance claims.

When the wall falls, everyone pushes. Just at New Year, Yixing Shipping was still a rising industry star, a beacon of Chinese commerce, the first choice for local merchants shipping goods. But friendship ultimately couldn’t match profit. Learning that goods were damaged and Yixing Shipping might face massive compensation, former loyal customers turned against them one by one, fearing Yixing wouldn’t compensate quickly enough.

Among the troublemakers were several “business partners” who had lent Su Minguan money to buy the steamship, now also turning coat, angrily denouncing their poor judgment and clamoring for immediate repayment.

Someone began banging on the door. The earth god shrine at Yixing’s entrance was kicked with several footprints.

Su Minguan’s expression was extremely cold as he gently brushed away Lin Yuchan’s hand gripping his sleeve.