“Boss Su, where’s your conscience?”

The wharf suddenly seemed much emptier. Lin Yuchan sat on an overturned, abandoned wooden boat, eating a flower cake while coldly glancing at the big profiteer beside her, delivering a soul-searching question.

She could completely imagine that when these followers reached Ningbo and dumped large quantities of goods, it would certainly trigger another round of price drops.

Those who went first might fare well, but latecomers would probably just replay Shanghai Port’s tragedy—unable to board the train, only smelling exhaust fumes.

Su Minguan felt no guilt whatsoever, smiling frankly: “If I don’t make this money, someone else will. Besides, didn’t some people stay?”

Indeed, he had temporarily deployed several Yixing cargo ships with limited capacity. Merchants also sought other shipping companies. But roughly calculating, less than one-third had left. The remaining majority, including Lin Yuchan, were somewhat sensible, knowing that going to Ningbo Port now would likely be another mirage—effort without reward.

Good advice can’t save the damned. There were also clear-headed, kind-hearted merchants at the wharf repeatedly calling “everyone don’t leave,” saying foreign steamships also cost money to dock, we can’t wait indefinitely, and neither can they—prices would eventually rise.

But people are herd animals. Everyone knew cotton brought huge profits. Among these merchants gathered at the wharf were many newcomers who had just entered business or changed careers midway, completely lacking market concepts, only chasing prices, not understanding supply and demand dynamics.

Instead, they confronted those kind souls, advising them to stay: “You can afford losses—don’t delay everyone from making money! You keep saying don’t let people leave—aren’t you trading house compradors’ shills?”

After arguing briefly at the wharf, merchants went their separate ways.

Baoshun Trading House apprentice comprador Zheng Guanying had eaten enough low-priced cotton today, was packing up to leave, pulling compound licorice tablets from his pocket and popping one in his mouth.

After walking a few steps, he suddenly smelled sweetness. Turning his head, he showed slight surprise.

Lin Yuchan’s heart jumped.

But he had already recognized her, so she openly waved at him, shaking the flower cake in her hand—want some?

Zheng Guanying looked at her, then at Su Minguan beside her, then noticed the preserved plums he’d just given her had been opened, and she was using them to treat someone else.

Zheng Guanying’s lips curved in a faint, cold smile. He bowed slightly and quickly left.

Su Minguan quietly gritted his teeth: “A’Mei.”

The food he’d just given her—she turned around and gave it to someone else?

Lin Yuchan looked at his expression and silently swallowed the words “actually the preserved plums were from Zheng Guanying.”

“Conscientious comprador,” Lin Yuchan smiled with feigned innocence, mimicking Su Minguan’s tone. “I should treasure him.”

Su Minguan put on a fierce expression: “Treasure me first.”

Seeing no one was watching, Lin Yuchan quickly stuffed a piece of cake in his mouth to shut him up.

“Did you feel…” she said slowly, “that Zheng Guanying looked at you just now as if he had a grudge?”

Su Minguan smiled: “How could that be? We’ve barely met a few times, just exchanged pleasantries at social gatherings.”

Though he said this, with his sharp senses, he had indeed detected that hostility in Zheng Guanying’s eyes.

It couldn’t be that this Zheng fellow had also taken a fancy to his little girl, could it?

Lin Yuchan sat beside him, gently brushing cake crumbs from her hands. A mung bean-sized piece stuck to her palm, which she lightly licked off.

He glanced at those pale hands, confidently thinking that if that were truly the case, that sickly, boring gourd couldn’t compete with him.

“I have a theory—might not be right.” Lin Yuchan looked intently at the fast boats on the Huangpu River, slowly saying, “Chinese merchants like keeping secrets. Even if someone knows Ningbo Port’s latest purchase prices, they wouldn’t foolishly announce it publicly—they’d go eat alone secretly. This gives compradors opportunities to collect low-priced goods in Shanghai.”

Su Minguan hummed, waiting for her to continue.

“And you just now, to drum up business, directly revealed Ningbo Port’s prices, causing large numbers of merchants to leave. For compradors, Shanghai Port’s supply contracted—tomorrow they won’t be able to collect such low-priced goods. How could he not resent you?—But you’re in shipping, a different industry from his, so he can’t do anything to you except glare.”

Su Minguan laughed, countering: “But you said he’s also stockpiling cotton, waiting for price increases.”

“Because the price increase he’s waiting for is controlled by foreign trading houses and merchants, while the price increase you brought today wasn’t in foreigners’ expectations. You made him feel passive.”

Indeed, as Lin Yuchan spoke, she saw the white-scarved foreign trading house interpreter emerge with a long face, a roll of paper under his arm, unprecedentedly revising the day’s opening price.

“One penny, one farthing per pound.”

Su Minguan was slightly surprised, looking at her with approval in his eyes.

Lin Yuchan proudly winked at him.

Ningbo Port’s prices were no longer secret. If Shanghai Port kept suppressing prices, who would still be willing to be leeks?

They could only make token gestures, also raising prices a bit to appease cotton merchants on the verge of eruption.

Also, making those merchants who had hurriedly boarded ships to Ningbo regret to death.

The white-scarved interpreter jumped down from his stool as the wharf erupted in cheers.

Cotton merchants swarmed over, enthusiastically surrounding the comprador.

“One penny, one farthing, right? We’ll sell at this price! Sell everything!”

But the comprador wouldn’t easily admit defeat, putting on airs and sneering: “We’re revising prices temporarily today—we have to work overtime too. Sorry, commission increases by fifty percent.”

The cotton merchants were slightly disappointed but then thought this price was still an unexpected joy, much better than the morning.

“Fine, we’ll sell! Don’t cheat on the scales—Chinese people shouldn’t cheat Chinese people!”

Compradors returned to the collection points and began signing orders.

Su Minguan coldly watched this farce unfold, stretched lazily, and stood up.

“A’Mei?”

He gestured toward the queuing collection point—you going too?

Lin Yuchan also stood up, smiling: “Let’s go. Unless prices rise back to three taels per dan, I won’t sell.”

Unexpectedly, when Lin Yuchan went to the wharf the next day, she felt like she’d been struck by a club.

Prices had fallen back again…

Cotton merchants sighed dejectedly.

She wasn’t discouraged. Su Minguan wasn’t a deity after all—he couldn’t influence the market with one sentence.

He had only stirred up some ripples in that slowly fluctuating market trend.

The security guard’s stocks also fell slowly day by day. Cotton prices, similarly, couldn’t rise or fall dramatically. Lin Yuchan told herself to be patient.

Only when reviewing accounts at month’s end did her heart turn cold.

Boya Company’s large stockpile of cotton required money for storage and maintenance. Originally, she had planned to sell processed raw cotton immediately, not budgeting much storage cost.

The orphanage children’s first wages had already been paid. Paying them at adult male worker rates—three taels of silver per person per month for 170 people—this item alone cost over five hundred taels.

When Lin Yuchan visited the orphanage, Sister Teresa wore a newly made nun’s habit, glowing as she thanked her, saying the older children were now studying again, with the bright ones already learning English letters.

In the open area, a row of cotton gins operated as children used their tender arms to turn them forcefully while following volunteer teachers in singing English songs and reciting the Three Character Classic. When work breaks came, children abandoned their machines and shot like rockets to the cafeteria, where meals had been upgraded with added meat scraps and crushed soybeans.

“Also, look at your little Florence,” Sister Teresa proudly pointed at the little bomb running around everywhere, “and other young children—they now get an egg once a week! Madam, your merit is boundless!”

Lin Feilun, as usual, wouldn’t let her hold him. But as the small child’s intelligence gradually developed and he became more sensible, he also knew who was good to him. He ran to a distant corner, hiding behind a chair, thinking he was invisible, then secretly peeked at Lin Yuchan.

Lin Yuchan felt warmth fill her chest and blew Lin Feilun a kiss.

Just for these promising children, she had to persevere.

So she boasted: “Please arrange it—the children will work as usual next month, and I’ll pay their wages as before. I’ll send Baoluo to calculate and supervise.”

She wasn’t at wit’s end yet. The tea production line now generates stable profits, all used to fill cotton expenses.

Lin Yuchan knew that without this life-saving tea, she would probably have to bite the bullet and sell at low prices like most cotton merchants to avoid starvation.

However, when she inspected Xuhui Tea Shop, Deputy Manager Zhao Huaisheng invited her to the back conference room.

Shopkeeper Mau and several senior masters were there.

Lin Yuchan habitually looked behind the curtain and saw a half-hidden little head.

She quietly waved at Mau Shunniang.

“Miss Lin,” Zhao Huaisheng still remembered her frazzled, crying appearance over the cotton business, so today he was embarrassed to elaborate, simply saying, “Customs tea procurement bidding has begun. I inquired—we’re last year’s supplier, and Boya refined tea is very popular with customs employees, which is our advantage. But that Defeng Trading from Guangzhou has secret tea-roasting methods with a better reputation among foreigners—they’re our strong competitor.”

Lin Yuchan hummed and looked toward Shopkeeper Mau.

Shopkeeper Mau, having battled wits with her for a long time, immediately understood her meaning and waved his hands: “Although Defeng Trading commissions us for some processing steps, they’re clients—clients are gods. I must strictly maintain confidentiality for them. This is industry rules… Sorry, even though you’re the major shareholder, I absolutely cannot reveal their secret methods, or I won’t be able to work in the industry anymore.”

Though Shopkeeper Mau was cunning, his basic professional ethics were sound. As he spoke, he straightened his neck with a tragic expression, clearly meaning: worst case, fire me!

The masters beside him also nodded, echoing: “Moreover, though we help Defeng Trading roast tea, we only handle one or two processes. At key steps, that Shopkeeper Wang personally supervises or switches to their masters, not letting us interfere.”

Lin Yuchan nodded and smiled: “I wasn’t asking you for secret methods.”

She still had principles—she hadn’t reached the point of stealing others’ secrets.

Besides, Defeng Trading’s success was only partly due to secret methods; reputation and qualifications were more important. Even if she stole the secret methods, she couldn’t steal the Defeng brand’s commercial reputation.

Zhao Huaisheng suddenly said quietly: “For such large bidding contracts, there’s usually some room for behind-the-scenes operations. Miss Lin, if you could approve one thousand… oh no, a few hundred taels would suffice. Shopkeeper Mau could use it for activities…”

Lin Yuchan frowned slightly, then looked at Shopkeeper Mau with a smile.

Shopkeeper Mau kept a straight face, saying: “Miss, don’t look at me like that. Customs is a government office—which government office doesn’t take bribes? This is standard practice. You’re a shareholder—I wouldn’t cheat you!”

Lin Yuchan said mildly, “Didn’t I tell you? Customs has strict regulations forbidding bribery. Your methods for dealing with Chinese government offices can’t be copied wholesale.”

Besides, even if customs were truly corrupt, she couldn’t approve this money. Several hundred taels—enough to pay orphans’ wages for another month. Why give it away for nothing?

She thought about it and decided: “We’ll compete fairly and squarely. Extra attention must be paid to tea quality during this period—better to be strict than have flaws.”

Everyone nodded in agreement.

Only Shopkeeper Mau scratched his bald head, quietly muttering: “No matter how high the quality, it can’t exceed Defeng’s. What’s the use…”

Lin Yuchan: “…”

She wanted to fire him.

Shopkeeper Mau seemed to sense her resentment and immediately changed his expression, smiling apologetically: “Honest advice sounds harsh, boss.”

Lin Yuchan half-closed her eyes and smiled coldly.

Indeed, honest advice sounded harsh.

As a tea merchant, Lin Yuchan was, after all, a rising star. Her initial tea knowledge enlightenment came from stealing lessons bit by bit from Defeng Trading.

Now student and teacher competed on the same stage—she wasn’t confident either.

Suddenly, the door curtain swayed as someone called from behind: “Sister Lin, Sister Lin.”

Shopkeeper Mau turned to scold: “Little girl, go back! It’s fine to listen for novelty, but why butt in?”

Lin Yuchan didn’t look up, calling loudly: “Speak.”

The conference room fell silent for a while.

Shopkeeper Mau coughed awkwardly: “Speak up, don’t dawdle.”

After all, the trading house belonged to someone else. He could still compete over tea matters, but the little girl’s affairs… forget it.

Mau Shunniang hesitated momentarily, her voice somewhat timid.

“Sister Lin, I haven’t seen Defeng Trading’s tea processing, but I’ve looked at their finished tea. Their so-called secret methods are just combinations of temperature, hot and cold, pot sizes, wind strength, and heat levels. I think… I think…”

Halfway through, Lin Yuchan’s heart stirred.

“Little girl, come out and speak.”

Mau Shunniang felt vaguely proud and gathered courage, revealing half her face from behind the curtain.

“…I think if you gave me enough tea leaves to experiment for a while, I might… might be able to somewhat guess their secret method content…”

Lin Yuchan’s heart jumped. She smoothed her hair to hide her emotions and looked at Shopkeeper Mau.

“Would a little girl doing this violate industry rules?”

Shopkeeper Mau was stunned, then repeatedly waved his hands: “Impossible, impossible—she doesn’t have that ability!”

Mau Shunniang became anxious: “For example, I think when they roll tea, they don’t roll it into round balls but flat long strips, so the aroma is more even!”

Shopkeeper Mau’s scolding tone still hung mid-air when he suddenly went quiet.

He touched the back of his head, looking incredulously toward the curtain with complex emotions—part surprise, part indescribable anger.

Beside him, several old masters also showed various expressions, discussing in low voices.

Mau Shunniang felt she’d been too bold and retreated behind the curtain, saying softly: “I… I was just guessing randomly…”

Lin Yuchan: “How much tea do you need for experiments?”

Looking at Shopkeeper Mau’s expression, the little girl’s guess was probably correct.

When she initially established Boya refined tea’s processing flow, her principle was “focus on the big picture”: Defeng Trading’s secret methods were icing on the cake, the final step forward from already high standards, so she hadn’t bothered guessing, thinking that using standard processes with strict step-by-step control could produce A-grade tea.

It seemed this strategy was indeed effective. Even without secret methods, relying solely on solid fundamentals, hadn’t Boya refined tea’s reputation been established?

But today, Mau Shunniang suddenly said she might be able to replicate Defeng Trading’s secret methods…

Lin Yuchan’s heart suddenly itched.

She remembered long ago, when Su Minguan approached Defeng Trading and hinted at stealing secret methods, how Wang Quan had been like facing a great enemy—strictly guarding against him, even setting traps using every underhanded means to prevent him from getting even one detail of those secret methods.

Wang Quan’s such treasuring of secret methods already demonstrated their value.

She looked at Zhao Huaisheng, seeking his opinion: “Give her one hundred taels in experimental funds first—enough?”

Zhao Huaisheng smiled helplessly: “Cotton doesn’t need money anymore?”

In front of a group of grown men, Lin Yuchan couldn’t properly sigh toward heaven—she could only gesture slightly with a soft sigh.

“No matter how tight money gets, I’ll advance it from my profits.”

Worst case, she wouldn’t take dividends at year’s end.

Entrepreneurship requires the awareness of possibly working for nothing.

Having thought it through, she smiled slightly: “It’s decided then.”

At the end of the ninth lunar month, Boya Company received two overseas letters in succession. They were from Rong Hong in Singapore and Ceylon, respectively, a week apart.

Overseas steamship services were already rare. These two letters, a week apart, eventually converged on the same cargo ship, arriving simultaneously at Shanghai Port and lying side by side in the mailbox outside the small Western building.

Chang Baoluo and Zhao Huaisheng, two Boya veterans, heard the news and eagerly gathered to open the letters together.

Rong Hong had taken his usual photographs in Singapore, with the crowded Chinatown community as background. Roadside residences were dense and low, with rubber trees and coconut palms everywhere. Chinese laborers with queues carried heavy packages, wearing the same numb, bewildered expressions as Qing subjects, blankly watching this Western-suited stranger.

In Ceylon, Rong Hong hadn’t photographed anything, only written a letter. The letter said the entire South Asian region was suffering floods, with large areas of fertile land completely washed away and starving refugees and bandits everywhere. On his bodyguard’s advice, he hadn’t disembarked but had donated some goods.

Lin Yuchan carefully read the letter’s details, pondered long, and lamented with the two managers.

At the letter’s end, Rong Hong sent regards to old friends and expressed optimistic expectations for New Boya’s operations.

“How much silver has Miss Lin led everyone to earn?” he wrote cheerfully in English. “Surely no one misses my time as boss, haha!”

Lin Yuchan stared at this sentence with complex emotions.

Rong Hong surely couldn’t imagine that at this very moment, the newly established Boya Trading Co., Ltd. had cash flow approaching complete depletion.

All cotton in the warehouse had been processed and sorted, stacked full. Shanghai Port raw cotton prices still hovered around two taels per dan.

Just like when co-managing Boya, Lin Yuchan again added her savings to fuel this stubborn war machine.

She had also looked around Xiangsheng Hao’s warehouse perimeter. The walls were now covered with no-smoking, no-fire signs, and an extra clerk had been hired as a guard, no longer giving outsiders opportunities to approach. She could no longer probe whether Zheng Guanying’s stockpiled cotton had been sold.

She could only rely on intuition.

She organized her bookshelf, looking at several letters from Rong Hong, silently encouraging herself.

Markets weren’t gambling. They must have discoverable patterns.

Chang Baoluo held an account book, quietly approaching Lin Yuchan with his fair face flushed red, hesitantly saying: “Miss Lin, selling at two taels per dan, we’d at least break even.”

Lin Yuchan looked into his eyes and corrected: “That’s including profits from tea support to break even. Counting only the cotton business, we’d still lose a little.”

“But at least we wouldn’t lose everything!”

Lin Yuchan smiled bitterly. Even a good man like Chang Baoluo was getting anxious. She was truly becoming isolated.

Continuing like this, she’d have to sell everything, even stopping The North China Herald subscription to save that fifteen taels annually.

She reluctantly picked up the new issue, casually browsing while saying to Chang Baoluo: “Hold on one more week. If it still doesn’t rise above two taels, then we’ll sell in batches. Can’t starve to death. Okay?”

Before finishing her words, her gaze suddenly fixed on a notice in the corner.

The British Consulate announced that India had suffered floods in many areas this year, asking British nationals in China to donate generously to help colonies recover quickly and let poor Indian children eat one more bite of bread.

Lin Yuchan pursed her lips, thinking: crocodile tears.

But then she screamed and bounced three feet off the sofa.

Miss Compton was having a garden party with her girlfriends, her long dress trailing on the ground, laughing charmingly, just accepting tea from Aunt Zhou.

Suddenly hearing a scream, the ladies’ hands shook, spilling tea and turning pale with fright.

“Oh my God, what happened…”

Lin Yuchan rushed out of the Western building.

“Sorry,” she said breathlessly with a smile, “sorry for scaring you—free tea and snacks. Aunt Zhou, watch the shop—this is yours now!”

She gave Chang Baoluo and Aunt Zhou brief instructions, then ran wildly regardless of appearance, disappearing from the courtyard in a flash.

A brand-new copy of The North China Herald fell to the ground.

Miss Compton picked it up, looking left and right, seeing the donation appeal notice with nail marks from Lin Yuchan’s fingers at the edges.

“Really,” Miss Compton frowned, “this notice wasn’t even written by me… this entire issue doesn’t have any of my articles… Hey, Luna! Come back! You promised to tell me news today!”

Lin Yuchan jumped from the carriage, lifted her skirt, and rushed straight to Wang Family Wharf at the end of Cotton Street.

She hadn’t had time to change into men’s clothing today, wearing a blue shirt with green trim—quite eye-catching among the drab clothing of poor people at the wharf.

Several dock workers immediately turned to look, their burning gazes shooting at her. Some loudly made crude remarks.

Lin Yuchan ignored them. She skillfully navigated several turns to reach the cotton trading grounds.

In Shanghai’s nearby suburbs, the first batch of early-ripening cotton had finished selling. Fewer cotton merchants came to watch prices. In the collection point offices, several compradors smoked and played cards.

A foreign trading house’s speedboat quietly docked, and a white-scarved figure jumped down.

The white scarf dropped his ink-fragrant North China Herald, climbed on a stool, tore down the day’s opening price, and pasted up new paper.

Lin Yuchan’s heart pounded wildly as she read the gradually unfolding price word by word.

—Two and a half pence per pound.