The small western-style building fell into complete silence. Click—the aged, poorly maintained window handle loosened, and the semicircular window pane swung open, letting in warm wind carrying the scent of grass and trees.
Lin Yuchan’s fingertips trembled slightly, as if she had suddenly been thrown into turbulent seas aboard a ship, dizzy and disoriented, unable to distinguish direction. The floor was swaying, the walls were swaying, her heart was lurching wildly.
An entire western-style building…
An entire small western-style building with a garden…
An entire garden villa in the prime location of Shanghai’s French Concession…
If not for the genuine official document Rong Hong had brought, she would have almost suspected he had gone mad.
After a long while, she spoke.
“Mr. Rong, please don’t be impulsive. Being an official is very expensive.” She set down her pen and said seriously, “You need to rent a respectable residence, purchase many clothes, shoes, and hats, prepare various gifts and tips, hire private carriages, employ assistants and clerks…”
These were all behaviors she had observed from Hede. Though Qing officials had high incomes, all office expenses had to be self-funded—the court didn’t provide reimbursements.
“…Moreover, fellow villagers, relatives, and neighbors will come to… no, no, come to congratulate you. You must show appropriate courtesy…”
Rong Hong laughed aloud, turning over the official document to show her another paper.
“Duke Zeng entrusted me with funds for procuring machinery—68,000 taels of silver. This is the withdrawal certificate. There’s also a gift of 5,000 taels for personal settlement, travel expenses, and miscellaneous costs. Miss Lin, you’re overthinking.”
He then turned to the dumbfounded Chang Baoluo and other clerks, saying amiably, “You needn’t try to persuade me. I’ve already had sufficient time to ‘think thrice’ about this. Since the Boya family hasn’t dispersed, I’m entrusting Miss Lin to continue operating it. Others might find this approach incomprehensible, wondering why I would transfer so many assets to an unmarried young woman. But having worked with her for over a year, you know she’s no ordinary boudoir lady—she’s someone you can do business with. If anyone is unwilling to work under her, they may leave. But I sincerely hope everyone can continue together. When I complete my mission next year and return to Shanghai, I can still come back for a cup of coffee.”
He smiled as he beckoned to Su Minguan.
“According to concession law, transferring building property of one mu or more requires at least five witnesses. Minguan, this probably isn’t your first time doing such things—you should know the signature format, right? You go first, and the others can copy.”
Su Minguan nodded, unusually experiencing some mental disconnection, only able to smile first.
…He somewhat regretted his cold sarcasm toward Rong Hong earlier.
The fake foreign devil didn’t play by conventional rules. He had learned something new today.
Su Minguan’s smile broadened, his eyes brightening as he unobtrusively examined Rong Hong’s documents.
“Such a western-style building must have considerable annual property taxes and fees, right?” he suddenly said. “Inside and out, maintaining it so beautifully, the maintenance costs…”
“Over two hundred taels annually,” Rong Hong smiled. “Miss Lin, don’t let me down.”
Lin Yuchan still felt like she was dreaming—after all, she wasn’t the only one standing there slack-jawed.
Su Minguan extended his finger, gently tapping her back.
“Miss Lin,” he leaned close, saying softly, “If you can’t afford to maintain it, you can sell it to me. I’ll offer three thousand silver dollars, taxes included.”
Lin Yuchan suddenly awakened from her dream, her pupils contracting as she shouted, “I can afford it!”
For the following month, Rong Hong continued living in the small western-style building but completely stopped managing business. The few remaining bills, loans, and legal documents left over from his disappearance—he signed them with eyes closed, quickly handling them with Zeng Guofan’s gift money, then never asked another question.
He was like a fickle heartbreaker who kicked away his devoted wife to throw himself wholeheartedly at his new love.
The compilation of English-Chinese textbooks for Shanghai’s Guangfang Language School originally had three months remaining, but he completed it at lightning speed with daily updates of ten thousand characters, with no reduction in quality. It was said that when Hede saw it, he immediately apologized, regretting not hiring him for customs work, wanting to employ him as a school instructor at high salary.
Unfortunately, he still couldn’t compete with Zeng Guofan. Hede was depressed for an entire day.
Rong Hong modified his schedule, no longer sleeping in. Every morning, he went out for meetings and discussions, visiting every notable Western engineer in Shanghai. Each night, he brought back thick stacks of materials and documents, as if injected with stimulants, studying by lamplight until midnight.
A perfectly good liberal arts scholar who had daily headaches over calculus at Yale became almost a comprehensive engineer through self-study in less than a month, speaking knowledgeably about cutting-edge world machinery.
Then he invited specialists from various foreign firms and factories, lavishly entertaining them with public funds, asking them to make connections and help introduce reliable Western machinery manufacturers.
“Everyone, look at this needle in my hand. This is a domestic needle hand-made by Chinese craftsmen. It requires grinding iron wire thin, filing it sharp, then drilling needle eyes one by one. The finished product is thick, blunt, soft, and non-durable.”
In the villa’s garden, Rong Hong wore a crepe silk robe, holding two embroidery needles, passionately introducing them in English.
“And this one is a Western-imported machine-made foreign needle—slender yet hard, smooth yet sharp, priced far below domestic needles at only three cents per hundred. Within just a few years of foreign needle imports, domestic needles vanished from the market, and needle-making craftsmen all lost their jobs. I spent an entire morning getting this domestic needle from an old woman’s house.”
The foreigners looked at the two needles in his hands, making interested “oh” sounds.
“Vast China currently has absolutely no manufacturing industry of its own,” Rong Hong paced back and forth, saying. “A bolt of crepe silk, a screw, even a needle—all extremely dependent on imports. Swedish matches quickly replaced flint and steel, kerosene lamps eliminated oil lamps, and foreign cloth suppressed domestic cloth. Even the painting pigments for Boya refined tea canisters—those female workers voluntarily switched to foreign green and red, which color better and last longer, both practical and beautiful.
“Gentlemen, if you can bring Western machinery to China and develop this market with enormous demand, it will be a win-win for the West and China. Every item that Chinese people produce themselves in the future will have your firm’s contribution. Now I have the Qing nation’s finances backing me. Regarding money, you can rest assured—I’ll spare no expense purchasing the most advanced, durable machinery. Naturally, the commissions you’ll receive will also be quite substantial.”
Rong Hong beamed, facing the assembled foreign merchants, enticing them with profit, attempting to convince them to provide the best machinery.
The foreigners applauded enthusiastically, expressing how deeply moved they were by Rong Hong’s speech.
However, when Rong Hong mentioned asking them to make connections with machinery factories, the foreigners smiled as they left their seats, beginning to drink, socialize, and chat idly.
The dignified Yale scholar was left aside like a fool.
Foreign merchants were all shrewd. They knew foreign goods had already penetrated every aspect of Chinese daily life. The Qing people’s meager income flowed like sand in an hourglass, drop by drop, into foreign countries.
This caused the entire nation’s exports and finances to be completely manipulated by the powers, unable to control their interests, with trade deficits increasing annually.
For foreigners, this was the most comfortable situation.
Help China establish its own manufacturing industry, then sit back and wait for Chinese national industry to develop healthily and compete with foreign goods?
Anyone who took on such “making wedding clothes for others” foolishness would be a traitor to the entire Western society.
Rong Hong spent money organizing a high-end reception in vain, receiving a pile of perfunctory polite encouragement. Very few foreign merchants and firms were truly willing to help, and some were planning to swindle his money.
After seeing off the various foreign merchants, Rong Hong’s face darkened with anger as he drank the remaining foreign liquor straight from the bottle.
Lin Yuchan silently helped him clear the dishes.
She looked up at the ivy covering the walls, still feeling somewhat dazed.
“I’m a woman who owns a small western-style building”—this thought flashed through her mind several times a day, initially seeming like a daydream, gradually becoming real as time passed.
“Mr. Rong, this approach won’t work,” she kindly reminded him. “Foreigners wish China would remain forever backward, forever needing to import even a single needle—that’s how they make money. Even if you’re wealthy, they won’t sell you the most advanced machinery.”
Even in modern times, many high technologies were jealously guarded by various countries, unwilling to reveal them casually to maintain their monopolistic leading positions.
World unity was ultimately just a beautiful ideal.
Rong Hong nodded with a bitter expression.
Buying machinery from foreigners, especially mother machines capable of making other machines, was equivalent to asking master craftsmen for martial arts secrets, asking Deqiang Bank for tea-frying formulas, asking game developers for cheat codes—they’d have to be crazy to agree.
Otherwise, Zeng Guofan wouldn’t have condescended to ask, entrusting this historical task to a commoner under suspicion, simply because he was familiar with foreign languages and culture, hoping he could communicate smoothly with foreigners.
Rong Hong had staked his entire future and destiny on this matter, naturally not retreating due to one small setback.
“These people have stayed in China too long, enjoying privileges unimaginable in their home countries. Their thinking has become rigid and domineering—we can’t place hope in them.” He planned ambitiously, “I must personally go abroad to directly inspect and order from European and American factories—America is also a rising new nation. I don’t believe I can find a single factory with an international vision.”
“Miss Lin,” his plans decided, he looked at Lin Yuchan with a somewhat ingratiating smile. “Though this western-style building already belongs to you, I still need to live here for a while, making thorough preparations. You don’t mind, do you?—By the way, when will Boya Trading House reopen? Any difficulties? I haven’t seen Old Liu and Old Li lately.”
Finally, remember to show concern for her. Lin Yuchan put away the last wine glass, smiling, “Lord Rong needn’t worry about such small matters. Old Liu and Old Li have resigned. You were too busy, and they didn’t want to disturb you. I’ve already paid their severance. They said when you have free time, they’ll come to bid farewell.”
Rong Hong was greatly shocked: “Ah?”
Only then did he learn that while he was displaying his talents, striving tirelessly for Chinese manufacturing industry from zero to one, Miss Lin’s days weren’t easy either.
Boya Trading House was already half-dead. After Rong Hong’s return, Lin Yuchan first spent two weeks resolving accumulated bad debts, disposing of hard-to-sell goods, and restoring the shop to an openable condition.
To save on labor costs, most tasks were handled personally by her and a few employees.
Then Old Liu and Old Li came to resign, hemming and hawing, saying many polite words she couldn’t remember.
The underlying reason was simply an unwillingness to work under such a young girl.
Even with unchanged treatment, it would be embarrassing when talking to relatives and neighbors.
During Boya Trading House’s temporary joint management, everyone united in following Lin Yuchan’s directions because they were mindful of Rong Hong, knowing she was also fulfilling a trust. Now, without Rong Hong’s backing, the two elderly men felt awkward taking her orders daily, running errands, and earning money for her.
But both remained honorable. After completing basic restoration work, they both withdrew.
Lin Yuchan politely saw them off, paying severance as agreed.
…Even less money now.
Fortunately, Chang Baoluo and Zhao Huaisheng chose to stay. Both were young with relatively open minds.
Having them call a strange young girl “boss” was definitely unacceptable, but Lin Yuchan was Rong Hong’s designated successor, endorsed by their former boss, so they respected her.
Since the beginning of “joint management,” Chang Baoluo had unsuccessfully challenged for leadership and thereafter remained subordinate to Lin Yuchan, obeying her completely.
Zhao Huaisheng originally handled accounting for the trading house. Not yet thirty, he already had four children, the youngest sickly and constantly requiring medicine, leaving him heavily in debt and needing income. Unable to find better work elsewhere, he willingly stayed.
When Rong Hong managed Boya, he naturally called him “Little Zhao,” but the man had married young—his eldest daughter was over ten and just engaged, with a son-in-law the same age as Lin Yuchan.
Ancient early marriage and childbearing had many drawbacks, including easily confused generational relationships.
Zhao Huaisheng also grew a long beard. Every time Lin Yuchan looked at him, she felt like she was looking at an elder.
When Lin Yuchan took over Boya, Little Zhao naturally upgraded to “Old Zhao.” As a former dynasty meritorious official, Lin Yuchan judiciously promoted him to deputy manager, also handling accounts.
Old Zhao had no great ambitions. As long as he could earn money to support his family, he’d call anyone boss.
So now Boya Trading House had a sparse staff with inflated titles—one boss, one manager, one deputy manager. Everyone had ranks, with huge deficits, much like the contemporary Qing government.
However, Lin Yuchan had her strategies. The five self-combing women including Aunt Hong, seeing Boya about to close, were discussing seeking other livelihoods, going to work in newly opened foreign textile mills. Lin Yuchan invited them, asking if anyone would work with her.
The women looked at each other.
Aunt Hong asked, “How much wages? More than textile mills?”
Lin Yuchan nodded. Foreign textile mills were all sweatshops, very exploitative. But large numbers of poor people still competed for work there.
Aunt Hong: “Then I’ll follow you.”
She was unattached and carefree, her greatest aspiration being earning money. She was also an old acquaintance of Lin Yuchan’s, and with Minguan’s protection, the decision was easy.
Yao Niandi fingered the small wooden mouse carving behind her head, hesitating before asking, “Only doing logistics, not greeting customers directly—is that acceptable?”
Yao Jingniang laughed in surprise, “When did Sister Nian become so bold? Not afraid to show your face at a trading house?”
Aunt Hong smiled secretly, quietly answering, “Her deceased beloved from twenty years ago used to work odd jobs at trading houses.”
Sister Nian smiled slightly, acknowledging this romantic motivation.
Lin Yuchan asked, “Can you handle street deliveries? You’d need to deal with gatekeepers, servants, and such during handovers.”
Sister Nian nodded, “No problem, physical labor is even better!”
The others still decided on the textile mill with its concentration of female workers. Self-combing women lived in isolation, often surrounded by onlookers asking questions, causing many to become reclusive, unwilling to interact with men.
So Lin Yuchan didn’t force them. She brought Aunt Hong and Sister Nian to headquarters, signed contracts, and introduced them to Chang Baoluo and Zhao Huaisheng.
“From now on, our shop will have mixed male-female workers. Everyone might feel unaccustomed initially—just treat each other as family. Mixed-gender workplaces are a world trend. Such shops will only become more common.”
So the current Boya headquarters had Chang Baoluo and Zhao Huaisheng stationed in the shop. Given the business volume, they didn’t need many clerks. For small orders of foreign cloth, foreign hardware, etc., Aunt Hong and Sister Nian handled deliveries.
Currently, there are few female workers in the market, with cheap wages, only one-quarter to half of male workers. Lin Yuchan didn’t want to exploit her female compatriots, and since they were as strong as men, she paid male worker rates. Following Rong Hong’s established practices, she created salary increase plans.
Both were delighted beyond words: “Five silver dollars monthly? Girl, Shanghai pays well!”
As for Aunt Zhou, she remained at Boya Hongkou. Until Lin Yuchan redeveloped tea channels, she temporarily handled cleaning and housework.
The day Boya headquarters reopened was quite lively, with many regular customers arriving.
Rong Hong, originally upstairs studying engineering machinery in seclusion, was also pulled down by these customers, surrounded by their warm greetings.
“Haha, congratulations on Lord Rong’s promotion! With your smooth ascent ahead, we’ll count on you for the meat while we drink the soup, haha…”
“When Mr. Rong mysteriously disappeared, we all said you were born to wealth and honor—nothing could happen to you! See, you’ve returned safe and sound!”
“These past months, we’ve also been tight on funds, so we couldn’t renew contracts with your firm. We’re very sorry—please don’t mind, Mr. Rong. Magnanimous people don’t remember petty grievances…”
“Congratulations on the shop’s reopening! A small token of our regard, please don’t refuse, hahaha…”
Rong Hong frowned secretly.
Lin Yuchan’s work notes were written in blood and tears. He had read them and recognized that many of his so-called “friends,” when he was in trouble, had hastily distanced themselves, canceling business cooperation with Boya. Some even kicked him when down, finding excuses to default on payments or demanding early settlement, fearing any additional connection with him.
How a young girl leading a group of scholarly soldiers had handled these difficulties one by one, Rong Hong couldn’t imagine.
The world’s fickleness was extreme, with relationships divided by wealth and status. Most worldly “friendships” were exactly like this.
Conversely, those who had genuinely helped, like Zheng Guanying from Baoshun Trading House, due to business commitments, only sent a fruit basket through someone else today, not shamelessly coming to curry favor.
When Rong Hong had casually “entrusted his orphan” in prison, asking Lin Yuchan to help handle his assets, he had completely failed to anticipate so many ugly complications.
Now, “friends” returned to his side, “magnanimously” coming to congratulate and celebrate, more enthusiastic and affectionate than ever. Rong Hong felt no emotion, only boredom.
He said coldly, “I still have important business—going back now. Everyone, please don’t interfere with official duties. Discuss matters with others. That Miss Lin, Manager Chang, Manager Zhao—all are available.”
The friends looked at each other in confusion.
Managers Chang Baoluo and Zhao Huaisheng also couldn’t muster enthusiasm for these “friends.” They remembered how everyone had worn cold expressions, looking at them like autumn crickets.
So they all reverted to their old ways, returning to their state from a year ago, becoming two lazy, idle fish.
The group of friends felt embarrassed, secretly complaining.
“Those who gain power are different, now looking down on us, old friends. Such shallow human feelings, such worldly coldness.”
Everyone looked around and suddenly noticed a neat, efficient young lady stationed at the counter, smiling as she greeted customers.
Rong Hong had said that Miss Lin was now “in charge.” Everyone initially didn’t believe it, disdaining conversation with her.
But now, with others ignoring them, everyone suddenly thought the young lady might be thin-skinned, unlikely to put on airs like others.
So they all approached with beaming smiles.
“Miss Lin, congratulations! Managing such a large foreign goods shop must be exhausting. Mr. Rong is something, making a young lady shoulder such responsibility… Don’t mind me saying, Uncle can share some experience with you…”
Lin Yuchan looked up, identifying each of these “friends'” faces.
“Oh, Boss Qin,” she showed her small white teeth, smiling. “Last time, Manager Chang visited you and was turned away—said you were ill and resting. You recovered so quickly? Not easy—you should send a banner to the doctor. Mr. Guan, I remember you terminated the imported hardware contract early, finding another partner. What happened? Did they breach the contract? Dishonest business requires integrity. This gentleman is… oh, sorry, you’ve been absent three months. I’m forgetful—may I ask your surname?…”
The young lady didn’t put on airs, blooming with cute smiles while speaking to each person with needle-sharp wit wrapped in silk.
Several grown men were made to blush, somewhat embarrassed and angry.
“Young lady, how do you speak? I’m showing concern for you—that’s why I came to congratulate you. We’re all people with business entanglements—coming out once isn’t easy.”
Lin Yuchan smiled slightly, saying calmly, “Yes, yes, thank you for your concern. I’m young and don’t know how to speak diplomatically. Please sit inside.”
Regarding these plastic-friendship “friends,” she also wanted to ignore them like Rong Hong or give them a thorough tongue-lashing, properly slapping their sycophantic faces and venting months of suppressed frustration.
But she was becoming a businessperson. Rong Hong now held official status, backed by the Qing government—even if he pointed and cursed people, they’d respond with smiles. Her current capital was merely the Boya shop. Acting impulsively was easy, but if she offended this group of “friendly merchants,” future business would be difficult.
Moreover, the “friends'” stepping on the low and praising the high had hurt Rong Hong most. The knife hadn’t directly stabbed her. She felt she wasn’t that fragile.
She maintained composure, receiving these customers neither humbly nor arrogantly.
“So, Boss Qin came to renew contracts today? Continuing to buy tea from Boya? Sorry, this year prices have risen—wholesale prices must increase by thirty percent. Since you’re Mr. Rong’s good friend, I’ll give you a discount—just add twenty percent. Yes, I’m in charge now.”
…
Taking advantage of the “friends'” strong desire to curry favor with dragons and phoenixes, she’d first fleece some wool.
Fill Boya’s current deficit.
Cursing and face-slapping were too childish. Real silver money best healed her wounded little heart.
By evening, Lin Yuchan’s mood was complex.
“Finally…”
After a full day of reopening, cash flow was finally positive, pulling Boya one small step out of bankruptcy’s abyss.
However, this was merely the beginning.
She opened the safe, counting cash—
Correct. One hundred twenty silver dollars. This was her entire current cash holdings.
“Good gracious,” she thought in confusion. “Hasn’t my net worth multiplied several times now? I have a small western-style building… a small western-style building in the French Concession’s prime location…”
Unfortunately, the small western-style building couldn’t be liquidated. She hadn’t donated to Xuhui Orphanage for three months. Various “foundations” had stalled. And next month she’d owe property tax again.
Exactly one hundred twenty silver dollars.
This was truly “poor except for the villa.”
Lin Yuchan sighed at the moon, climbed into bed, and lay flat.