“Come, come, Aunt Hong, Sister Nian, over here.”

Half an hour before curfew, Lin Yuchan led Aunt Hong and Sister Nian quietly to the entrance of Zhaojia Bay Street.

Good Sister Hong looked anxious, fingering her belt and repeatedly asking: “This isn’t illegal, is it? Won’t it attract the authorities?”

Lin Yuchan smiled: “Don’t worry. Shanghai has many refugees who burn paper money for deceased relatives daily. As long as you don’t set fire to people’s houses, no one will bother you.”

Aunt Hong tightened her headscarf and nimbly jumped over a stinking ditch by the roadside on her medium-sized feet, her face showing a smile.

“Little sister, earning your wages isn’t easy—we have to do all sorts of wild schemes.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

After speaking, Lin Yuchan handed Sister Nian a box of matches and a large bag of paper money.

The two zi-shu women looked at this seventeen-year-old girl. She was full of ideas, those big eyes appearing pure yet containing quite a bit of mischief.

They vaguely felt they had become young again, returning to their girlhood days of mischief and carefree times.

“Perfect timing to burn some money for my old mother,” Aunt Hong smiled. “Thanks to your blessing.”

“Fourth house on the left, go ahead.”

The two carried the paper money and walked openly into Zhaojia Bay Street, arriving at Xiangsheng Hao’s entrance.

The door panels were half-closed, the shop had finished work, and a clerk was sweeping.

Adjacent to Xiangsheng Hao was a large building without windows—a warehouse connected to the shop.

Aunt Hong spread a cloth on the ground, Sister Nian sat down, struck a match, and began burning paper money.

…

Lin Yuchan went to the other end of the alley, found shelter under an eave, and watched the excitement unfold.

This morning, Su Minguan had helped her move and tricked her out of a small dress for nothing.

But she had also gained something. Su Minguan reminded her: had Zheng Guanying sold his stockpiled cotton?

If he was still hoarding large quantities of cotton, it meant that in this well-informed comprador’s eyes, cotton prices could still be salvaged.

If his cotton had long been sold, then Lin Yuchan felt she shouldn’t hold out hope and should quickly cut losses.

Recently, cotton prices at Shanghai Port had been fluctuating wildly, appearing supernaturally chaotic, but Lin Yuchan always felt that prices were determined by supply and demand. The market shouldn’t be a casino.

She couldn’t act on emotion like that stock-trading security guard, buying and selling purely by luck.

Better to first probe the big shot’s movements.

The zi-shu sisters skillfully burned paper, murmuring prayers. The paper pile gradually emitted red light.

This era didn’t yet advocate “civilized memorial services.” During festivals and death anniversaries, ordinary people wanting to communicate with ancestors and update them on recent situations by burning paper money was perfectly normal.

Sure enough, several passersby glanced at Aunt Hong without looking directly, just walking around the burning paper pile.

Charred paper money carried sparks, floating like fireflies in the wind, into the sky.

Lin Yuchan stared intently at that fire.

Clerk Deng from Xiangsheng Hao finished sweeping and was about to come out to lower the door panels when he suddenly saw a woman burning paper in the street. He frowned, wanting to say something but held back.

After all, she was a stranger. Businesspeople emphasized harmony for prosperity—better to avoid trouble.

Lin Yuchan coughed loudly from afar.

Aunt Hong understood, lit a bundle of paper, and pretended to throw it toward the warehouse.

“Old mother, if you need money there, appear in my dreams…”

Clerk Deng panicked, rushed over to snatch the burning paper, and threw it into the street center.

“Go away, go away! Burn paper elsewhere—don’t you see where this is?” The clerk’s voice changed with fright as he rushed into the shop to get a broom, frantically sweeping the hot paper ashes outward. “Not here, not here! Go away!”

Aunt Hong displayed her quarreling prowess, saying with full vigor: “This street doesn’t belong to your family! I’ll burn paper wherever I want—which law forbids us common people from burning paper?”

Sister Nian also said: “We’re not just burning paper—we’re setting off firecrackers too!”

She pulled out a string of firecrackers from her bag, looking toward the warehouse.

Seeing two “shrews,” the clerk realized he couldn’t handle them and quickly softened, bowing repeatedly: “Big sister, good big sister, honored aunties, I misspoke. Please move a few steps—our shop is full of flammable goods. If it catches fire, none of us could afford the damage!”

The sisters had to say: “Fine, fine, I’ll change locations.”

They moved several feet to the side, with Aunt Hong sitting at the adjacent warehouse entrance and Sister Nian positioning herself beside another large building.

“Old mother… your unfilial daughter is sending you money…”

The clerk looked left and right, hurrying to intercept Aunt Hong again.

“Big sister, big sister, this won’t work either—this is also our warehouse. Please go over there. Those people are kind and definitely won’t mind.”

He pointed to a residence three zhang away.

Aunt Hong snorted, exchanged glances with Sister Nian, packed up, and left.

“Yesterday, Aunt Hong, Sister Nian, and I went scouting—everything went smoothly without arousing suspicion.” The air was dry, and Lin Yuchan’s teacup was empty. She refilled it. “I estimate that Zheng Guanying rents at least three large warehouse spaces on Zhaojia Bay Street. At that scale, he’s stockpiling at least two thousand dan of cotton inside.”

In Boya headquarters’ small Western building, Lin Yuchan set up a tea service and called together all her cotton-managing subordinates for a meeting.

It was just three people: Chang Baoluo, Aunt Hong, and Sister Nian. Aunt Zhou, as the domestic helper, had also moved with Lin Yuchan to the small Western building, still serving afternoon tea and occasionally helping with moving and shipping goods, counting as a half-employee, so she was also invited to sit on a stool.

Chang Baoluo looked around at the circle of women, feeling somewhat dazed—who am I, where am I?

But once Lin Yuchan spoke, she pulled his attention back to business.

“That man surnamed Zheng is stockpiling his cotton without selling, indicating he’s optimistic about future price trends.” Chang Baoluo became indignant, his scholarly face showing a flush as he said, “Yet he repeatedly urges Miss Lin to sell cheaply, harboring ill intentions.”

The others were also filled with righteous anger, various high and low female voices denouncing: “Compradors are all scoundrels!”

Lin Yuchan smiled coldly to herself.

Hah. “Conscientious comprador.”

“Since Zheng Guanying is hoarding cotton, it means he has information that ordinary people don’t know.” She said, “I intend to continue holding our cotton. Continue processing and screening those not yet ginned. Our account funds can last another month. In this month, I don’t believe prices will keep sliding.”

Chang Baoluo slammed the table, declaring with scholarly spirit: “Right! We can’t let foreigners cheat us!”

Aunt Hong hesitated: “What if that Mr. Zheng also bet wrong?”

After saying this, Sister Nian suddenly tugged her sleeve. Both women blushed.

Originally, zi-shu women lived in isolation, avoiding unfamiliar men.

How had she, after just a few months in Shanghai, become so influenced by her environment that she thoughtlessly interrupted this scholarly manager?

They felt momentarily embarrassed.

Lin Yuchan pretended not to notice, answering Aunt Hong’s question: “Zheng Guanying isn’t ordinary—I trust his judgment. If even he judges wrongly, then I’ll accept the loss gracefully.”

Zheng Guanying was the big shot she had identified. This counted as a little cheating from history books.

Others couldn’t quite understand how a barely twenty-year-old apprentice comprador who had lost to Miss Lin in last year’s tea bidding earned such a high evaluation from her.

But everyone knew Miss Lin’s business acumen was always sharp. Her legendary feat of buying four thousand jin of tea for one hundred silver yuan, then making seven times profit through empty-handed schemes, had become part of Boya Company culture, with Chang Baoluo having vividly recounted it to everyone.

Lin Yuchan made the decision: “Good then. Baoluo will coordinate and supervise the orphanage workshop operations. Aunt Hong and Sister Nian will follow his directions. Also…”

Last night, Xiangsheng Hao’s clerk’s terrified reaction to someone burning paper near the warehouse reminded her that cotton was flammable. The longer it was stored, the greater the fire hazard.

“Also, with the dry weather recently, cotton warehouses must strictly prevent fires. Warehouse compartments should be properly separated, with extra water vats, no-smoking signs posted around, and daily scheduled inspections. Night watchmen should also be hired to watch over things—the expenses can be recorded.”

After finishing her arrangements, she looked at her subordinates and asked: “Any questions?”

Everyone hesitantly looked at each other.

Chang Baoluo carefully said, “Um, Miss Lin, let me confirm again. Our Boya is now a limited liability company, right? If we lose money, we employee-shareholders won’t be liable for debts, right?”

Lin Yuchan quickly nodded: “Even if creditors come knocking, they’ll find me. At worst, your investments become worthless, but you won’t be arrested.”

Everyone brightened, slapping the table: “Then let’s gamble!”

In anxious waiting, one thing brought Lin Yuchan surprise: her compiled Raw Cotton Quality Assessment Manual, after free distribution to fellow merchants, gradually began gaining popularity. Cotton sample packages piled at the wharf increasingly bore quality inspection reports in the same format.

Resource-poor small and medium merchants used these to compare cotton quality with each other, saving much probing and argument.

The inspection standards in the manual were all learned by Lin Yuchan from Old Man Huang. Actually, other cotton merchants didn’t lack this professional knowledge. But large shops bullied customers with their size and wouldn’t bother creating unified standards; small and medium merchants struggled at subsistence level without time for altruistic efforts; so Lin Yuchan ended up being first to eat the crab, creating a market exclusive.

Quality inspection standards existed, but unscrupulous merchants still exploited loopholes, arbitrarily labeling their cotton with inflated grades.

Today at the wharf, Lin Yuchan saw two cotton merchants arguing. One waved calipers, saying sternly: “What right do you have to call your cotton Grade A! The fiber length doesn’t meet standards at all! If everyone falsifies like you, why would foreigners buy from Chinese people?”

The other retorted: “Doesn’t the Manual say that eighty percent qualified cotton can determine the grade? If you’re capable, test my entire cotton package! Just picking out one unqualified piece—are you trying to go blind?”

They argued for a long time. Fortunately, Shanghai residents didn’t like fighting, maintaining a war of words.

A third person came to mediate: “Enough, enough. In my opinion, that old scholar who compiled the manual was confused. These standards are too complex, unsuitable for Chinese cotton! Rather than blindly trusting books, you should just casually glance at the Manual—don’t be superstitious!”

The “old scholar who compiled the manual” stood ten feet away, sneezing twice for no reason.

Lin Yuchan wore a men’s long robe, cotton cape, and black hat—low-key and elegant—routinely coming to the wharf to check price boards.

She silently reflected that her earlier ambitious revival of the “Cotton Guild” had indeed been premature.

Wait a while longer. When these inspection standards became popular, a third-party quality inspection agency would eventually be needed.

Organizing then wouldn’t be too late.

Only the cotton purchase prices posted at the wharf seemed to understand her thoughts, dropping daily below the previous day, finally falling to one and a half taels per dan, then lying comfortably at the bottom, occasionally half-heartedly jumping twice.

Today, as usual, large groups of merchants gathered under the price bulletin board, drinking tea, smoking, waiting for today’s “opening price.”

New faces appeared at the wharf daily—all outsiders who had previously heard Shanghai cotton prices were three taels per dan and came to speculate. Instead, they encountered halved cotton prices. Unable to leave or stay, spending daily on inn and warehouse rental fees, they ran to the wharf before dawn, anxiously waiting.

Suddenly, the crowd stirred. A foreign trading house interpreter ran over carrying a roll of white paper.

The buzzing noise stopped. Dozens of heads lifted in unison, holding their breath.

Someone whispered, “Amitabha.”

The foreign trading house interpreter, wearing a respectable white scarf, bowed to the crowd, got a stool, took a bucket of paste, then unfolded the white paper in his hands and pasted it up.

Cotton merchants stared intently, watching the black text on white paper slowly unfold—

“One penny per pound?”

Someone burst into loud lamentation.

The white-scarved interpreter turned around, considerately helping everyone convert: “Don’t panic, everyone! Today, the pound strengthened! At today’s exchange rate, it equals one tael and eight qian of silver per dan! It’s risen! Foreign merchants have purchasing quotas—sell quickly if you want to sell!”

Then he bowed to the cotton merchants again and quickly left.

The wharf merchants loudly clamored and cursed.

“What kind of rise is this! Rising leg hair! Treating us like beggars!”

“At the beginning of this year, everyone said cotton prices would double. We temporarily canceled rice crops and switched entirely to cotton—if we’d known this, I’d have continued growing rice! At least we’d have food!”

“Won’t sell, won’t sell! Everyone doesn’t sell! Let’s outlast them!”

Some people stormed off home immediately. Others couldn’t withstand the pressure, going to nearby foreign trading house collection points to queue and sign contracts.

“Yesterday one and a half taels, today one tael and eight qian—forget it, be content!”

Especially those outside merchants who had traveled far, having waited bitterly for over ten days, couldn’t waste time at the wharf daily. Finally unable to bear the costs of traveling with goods, they tearfully decided to sell locally.

“Sir, please look—my cotton is all first grade. Only five hundred Dan left in the warehouse. Sell at one tael and eight qian price! …What, still charging commission?…”

The wharf collection compradors were all smiles, signing low-price contracts while not forgetting to comfort the Chinese merchants with cigarettes.

“Sigh, international markets change instantly—we’re also following orders. Remember to come a few days earlier next time.”

Lin Yuchan coldly scanned those few star compradors who regularly stationed at the wharf. Zheng Guanying’s style was different from others—always emotionless, collecting goods and paying with a cold face like a robot.

Regarding how to dispose of the large quantities of cotton stockpiled in his Xiangsheng Hao, he seemed completely unconcerned.

Suddenly, Zheng Guanying lifted his eyelids, his gaze meeting Lin Yuchan’s exactly.

Lin Yuchan expected another contemptuous cold smile. But Zheng Guanying today seemed disinclined to oppose her, even smiling slightly at her.

It wasn’t easy to catch the big shot in a good mood. Lin Yuchan quickly ran over eagerly, forcing a smile under that “one penny per pound” sign to chat up the big boss.

“Mr. Zheng, what do you think of this price…”

Zheng Guanying completely ignored her words. He tapped his brush and pointed to a corner of the table.

Lin Yuchan looked down to see several well-packaged bags of preserved plums and sweet olives.

What did this mean?

Zheng Guanying grabbed a bag of preserved plums and tossed it into her hands.

Lin Yuchan was so startled her whole body shuddered. The big shot’s sudden change in attitude was a very ominous sign. She felt his next words would be “It’s getting cold—let Boya go bankrupt!”

“Mr. Zheng, I…”

“Returning yours.” Zheng Guanying’s tone was gentle as he looked at her. “Miss Lin, a word of advice: Shanghai cotton merchants are scattered sand—the Cotton Guild is wasted effort.”

Lin Yuchan was stunned for a long time, silently nodding.

Zheng Guanying had extensive business connections. When she organized the Cotton Guild, he heard the news immediately; now that the Cotton Guild had died stillborn, who knew how many people told him this as a joke.

She suddenly understood why Zheng Guanying’s attitude had suddenly become friendly today.

Because she had been humiliated! Been played!

I was fooled by a blind old man who seemed ready to starve to death the next day!

So in Zheng Guanying’s eyes, she had probably been downgraded from “somewhat annoying strong businesswoman” to “pitiful little girl being bullied,” with drastically reduced threat level, thus earning his sympathetic preserved plums.

Thinking this way felt very unpleasant.

But who told her skills were inferior? She’d lie flat and accept the mockery.

So she accepted the preserved plums and graciously thanked him: “Thank you for your guidance. I’ll learn slowly.”

A crowd of cotton merchants eager to sell rushed through the door. She took the opportunity to withdraw.

…

“Boss Lin.”

Suddenly, someone called.

The wharf was crowded—calling “Boss Lin” made several people turn around.

Lin Yuchan didn’t initially realize she was being called.

Hearing the second “Boss Lin,” she realized she was wearing men’s clothing today, so she hesitantly turned around.

An unfamiliar wharf worker winked at her: “Boss Lin, from the masses we come.”

Lin Yuchan’s lips curved up as she replied: “To the masses we go.”

Then she quickly followed.

The Heaven and Earth Society’s Hongshun Hall—the Two Guangs branch—had undergone drastic reforms these past two years that even their mothers wouldn’t recognize. For instance, recognition passwords, because the big helmsman was too lazy to memorize those long, cryptic doggerel poems, were all simplified to seven characters or fewer—suitable for all ages, memorable after one recitation.

Of course, overly simple passwords had drawbacks. Phrases like “congratulations and prosperity” or “safe travels” were too common and often triggered by unrelated passersby, so they couldn’t be used.

Fortunately, there was a strategist Bai Yushan good at capturing era trends who casually designed several sets of code phrases—both fresh and fashionable. Big Helmsman Su greatly appreciated them, using them directly without paying copyright fees.

Moreover, these phrases seemed simple but weren’t within the ordinary Qing subjects’ daily cognition. Hearing someone say them suddenly was like hearing “good morning”—hard to react immediately.

Therefore, quite safe. Even conducting meetings before patrolling soldiers wouldn’t arouse suspicion.

The Heaven and Earth Society wharf worker led her a few steps, pointing. A Yixing cargo ship had just docked.

The bow displayed a sign with red paint reading “Shanghai-Ningbo,” indicating this was a long-distance cargo ship between Shanghai and Ningbo.

Su Minguan stood at the bow, scanning with his eyes until spotting that graceful, small figure in long robes among the crowd, an involuntary smile blooming in his eyes.

He didn’t even set down the gangplank, shook out his outer coat, and jumped directly onto shore, striding over.

Lin Yuchan smiled at him in pleasant surprise. When he approached, she eagerly asked: “Went to Ningbo? How’s the situation there…”

“Haven’t left Shanghai in the past month,” Su Minguan gave her a slight glare, his tone aggrieved. “Just hitched a ride to save some steps. Came to see you on the way.”

She said “oh” and lowered her head bashfully.

He had especially come to see her, yet she immediately asked about market conditions. Honestly speaking, she was quite the scoundrel.

Shame flashed across her face, her pale red lips pressed together, then she obediently looked up. Not daring to appear too intimate in public, she gave him a clear, sweet smile and said softly: “Thank you.”

Su Minguan’s faint dissatisfaction immediately vanished, eyes crinkling as he pulled out a small paper bag and placed it in her hands.

“Had the ship workers bring it.”

A bundle of Cicheng printed flower cakes, exquisitely wrapped, with the Ningbo shop name printed on the paper bag. Common affordable specialty snacks seen at wharfs.

“Wow, so pretty.”

Lin Yuchan happily thanked him. Having nothing to reciprocate with, she opened the preserved plums Zheng Guanying had just given her and let him take one.

Su Minguan gestured toward the cargo ship behind him, where ship workers and laborers were unloading large bundles.

The cloth bundles were huge but light cargo. People carrying them on their shoulders looked like ants moving rice grains. Cotton inside.

“Ningbo merchants heard Shanghai prices were high and insisted on coming.” Su Minguan’s eyes showed mockery as he said quietly, “Ship workers couldn’t dissuade them. I told them not to bother dissuading next time. Money not earned is money lost.”

On the Yixing cargo ship, the Ningbo merchant wore a shiny silk jacket, striding confidently down the gangplank with bulging eyes, looking for comprador offices, planning to make it big.

Lin Yuchan unwrapped the Cicheng printed flower cake, broke off a small piece to put in her mouth, mentally lighting candles for that merchant.

The wharf bustled with activity—some people heard them discussing Ningbo and listened with interest.

Su Minguan: “My ship workers still remember Ningbo wharf’s cotton purchase prices…”

Lin Yuchan quickly gestured to stop him, giving him a look toward the corner, meaning to speak quietly.

Information was money. The unwritten rule among cotton merchants was to mind your own business—any business opportunities must be kept secret, not casually shared with others.

But Su Minguan wasn’t a cotton merchant. He completely ignored trade rules, smiling at her and instead clearing his throat.

“…Yesterday’s prices, one penny one farthing per pound, at that day’s exchange rate, equivalent to two taels and two qian silver per dan.”

His volume wasn’t loud but extremely magnetic with strong penetration. After those few words, several interested listeners had already gathered around.

Due to poor information flow, cotton market supply and demand imbalances between Shanghai and Ningbo caused price differences; foreign merchant compradors, being well-informed, knew about price gaps but didn’t publicize them; Chinese merchants ran small businesses fighting individual battles, with very few knowing about price differences.

Until Su Minguan said “two taels and two qian,” those people instantly showed shocked expressions.

Someone quietly asked: “Sir, are you… Are you certain?”

Su Minguan deliberately rolled his eyes slightly, dissatisfied: “I can count, thank you.”

Then someone cursed “damn it” and shouted: “I admit defeat—back to Ningbo! All back to Ningbo to sell! —Hey, isn’t there a cargo ship over there!”

He called to his servant: “Ah Fu, quickly book passage! That ship that just unloaded! Yixing Shipping! Quick, run!”

Within a minute, news that “Ningbo Port cotton prices rebounded to two taels and two qian” swept the wharf.

Angry merchants began packing up.

“To Ningbo! All to Ningbo to sell! It’s early now—we can arrive before market close tonight!”

Crowds surged toward the shore.

Five or six empty ships flying money flags had quietly entered port, waiting like hunters.

Wooden signs at the bows marked routes—all Shanghai-Ningbo round trips.

Merchants swarmed aboard, competing to load their goods.

“To Ningbo! To Ningbo!”

Only one person moved against the current in the crowd. The Ningbo merchant who had just arrived on the Yixing cargo ship pushed through shoulders, finally squeezing to the opening price board, looked once, and sat dejectedly on the ground.

Lin Yuchan slowly looked up, her expression complex.

Su Minguan wore a slightly mischievous smile, taking the remaining half of the flower cake from her hands and calmly taking a bite.

“A’Mei,” he leaned down, whispering in her ear, “shipping fee twenty percent off—want to consider it?”