Several loud quarrels broke the silence of the mountain forest. Short grass and shrubs rustled, and a person rolled down from the small hillside.

Su Minguan suddenly stopped, holding Lin Yuchan’s hand and blocking her with his arm.

Then he saw clearly that it was an old monk in tattered clothes, thin as a skeleton, with a lame leg, who had been pushed down several stone steps. He was knocked dizzy and confused, with prayer beads scattered all over the ground.

Only then did Su Minguan step forward. Before he could speak, he heard someone laughing loudly in English: “They say Chinese monks know martial arts, but that’s just hearsay. Even a black woman could crush him to death.”

A tall, strong black woman stood expressionlessly with her hands on her hips by the roadside.

Mr. Smith, a first-class passenger on the Yixing steamship and a foreign merchant, leaned against a crooked tree, laughing heartily.

Beside him stood a local guide bowing at the waist. The guide held several heavy bags of luggage, awkwardly raising his arms and cupping his hands with an embarrassed smile: “Western barbarian slaves are truly incredibly strong. This humble person has learned something today, haha, hehe.”

It turned out the foreigners also didn’t care to listen to opera. With a free day, they had found a local guide and were touring around.

The old monk struggled to get up. Lin Yuchan had already crouched down to gather the scattered prayer beads and held them out to him.

But the old monk didn’t take them. He looked at her gratefully, then lifted his trouser leg and limped up the stone steps, shouting: “Benefactor, you cannot! Those scriptures are ancient artifacts from the Song Dynasty, collected by our temple for many years…”

Smith looked, and the black female slave restrained the angry monk. With another throw, the monk was back at the original point where he had fallen.

“Just some old books with illegible characters, and you treasure them like this.”

Smith stuffed a stack of papers into his leather bag, smugly saying, “Leaving them with you would just let them rot slowly. I’m going to take them back to my estate in Alabama and put them on the desk in my study.”

The guide also spoke up for the foreign master, casually pressing his palms together toward the monk and smiling: “Amitabha Buddha, great monk, this gentleman isn’t robbing by force—didn’t he leave a silver dollar? These days, even Confucius’s sage books can’t sell for one foreign coin, right? You haven’t had a full meal in days. How pitiful. This is called charity—do you understand charity? People usually go to temples and donate ten or eight copper coins, and still get back fortune sticks or protective talismans. Today, this foreign gentleman donated a silver dollar for a few old books—that’s tremendously generous. Great monk, don’t be stingy. Keep this money to buy some rice so you’ll have the strength to chant sutras!”

The old monk didn’t dare approach again for another beating. He repeatedly chanted “Amitabha Buddha” and protested weakly: “When the Taiping rebels burned the temple, so many things were destroyed. These scriptures were what this poor monk risked his life to save. If this poor monk lets you take them away, how can I explain to the abbot? Benefactor…”

Smith frowned: “Isn’t it just that you think the money is too little?—Christmas, give him another silver dollar.”

Slave owners were quite casual in naming their slaves. This black female slave was probably born or bought on Christmas Day, so she was simply called Christmas.

Christmas took out a silver dollar from her bag.

The guide looked at the shining silver dollar, exaggeratedly exclaimed “Wow,” and smiled at the monk: “Great monk, quit while you’re ahead. Two silver dollars will feed your entire temple with vegetarian meals for three days! Even if you don’t sell today, the foreign gentleman will find the officials later and take them directly without giving you a penny! Great monk, I live in Runzhou City below the mountain. I used to come burn incense during festivals as a child—I won’t deceive you!”

The old monk looked hesitant.

Since Jinshan Temple was destroyed by war fires, most of his companions had returned to secular life to make a living. Only a few old ones too old to walk remained here as guardians, living on alms, not having eaten a full meal in years.

Recently, since Zhenjiang opened as a port, foreigners began visiting. Some bold ones, hearing that Jinshan Temple was a historic site, came to explore out of curiosity and would generously give tips. The monks had originally welcomed these foreigners and didn’t dare offend them.

But today’s foreigner was too impolite. The monk felt his cultivation was insufficient to argue with him verbally, and his expression was very annoyed.

He sighed and said to the guide, “Let this poor monk go ask the abbot for instructions.”

Before he had walked two steps, a figure blocked his path.

“No need to ask for instructions.” Lin Yuchan stuffed the handful of prayer beads into his hands, then climbed several stone steps to face Smith directly. “Take out the scriptures. Don’t think about taking them away.”

Smith was startled.

He suddenly recognized her. Wasn’t this the beautiful Chinese girl he had seen on the first day of the voyage?

Still dressed as a man, still so bright and charming, still showing him no courtesy from the start.

Not far from her side, a male companion accompanied her, half-hidden behind a tree, seeming indifferent to what was happening here.

Smith arranged a smile on his face and explained: “Miss, you misunderstand. I’m just interested in Buddhist culture and want to buy their sutras…”

“Really?” Lin Yuchan sneered. “Then these few books are too old. I suggest you have your guide go to the city to find a bookstore. Brand new printed editions of all kinds of sutras—two silver dollars can buy you a whole box. Please leave.”

Smith snorted. Was this girl pretending to be stupid or stupid?

These were antiques!

Although he was new to China, he had chatted with many missionaries and thought himself familiar with Chinese culture. Song Dynasty ancient sutras were equivalent to the original medieval Bibles in Europe. If he took these to New York auction houses, they’d be worth enough to buy him another five hundred acres of cotton fields!

Smith sneered: “I discovered these things. These monks also took money. This is a willing transaction. Isn’t China supposed to have a brilliant culture? Isn’t it supposed to be vast and rich? How come Chinese people are all so petty, unwilling to sell even a book?”

Lin Yuchan still looked at him coldly, stepping closer: “Take them out.”

Modern China was poor and weak, with so many cultural treasures stolen by foreigners. The Old Summer Palace had already been burned to ashes, and the stolen treasures had long filled the Louvre and British Museum. She was powerless to retrieve them, so she had to let it go. But now even a small trading house clerk knew to pilfer from thousand-year-old monasteries, and she happened to encounter it—she had to interfere.

Fahai was watching.

Seeing Smith unmoved, she immediately added: “Otherwise, I’ll go complain to your Ming Trading House. Go report to customs. Say you’re carrying valuable items out of the country without declaring them, and they’ll charge you huge customs duties.”

Customs had no such policy currently, but Lin Yuchan spoke with such conviction that Smith couldn’t help being alarmed.

“You’re not allowed to tell…”

“I have a very good relationship with Mr. Tang, the comprador of Jardine Matheson & Co. With Jardine’s capital, they could easily bankrupt you, right?” Lin Yuchan smiled. “I also know American Consul Seward. I’m also friends with the editor of the North China Herald…”

You couldn’t talk about conscience and morality with this type of person. You had to make him feel his interests were threatened.

Actually, Tang Tingshu still didn’t know her real gender. She couldn’t really say she knew the American consul—she had only exchanged one letter while running errands for Rong Hong. She had never even met North China Herald editor Mr. Compton, though he had drunk plenty of her black tea—he recognized the tea but not the person.

But this didn’t stop her from bluffing. Could Smith run back to Shanghai to verify?

Lin Yuchan turned around as if to leave, calling to her male companion: “Down the mountain! Victoria Road No. 8 in the concession, Ming Trading House, the one with stone lions at the entrance—let’s go file a complaint right now!”

Not far away, by the small Buddhist hall, Su Minguan listened to this girl’s glib nonsense with a smile on his face.

Lin Yuchan wouldn’t let him come over. Since Smith was a steamship passenger, if he had a conflict with the Yixing boss, it would greatly damage Yixing’s business reputation. She boasted she could handle it herself.

Su Minguan had been somewhat worried at first. Smith wasn’t formidable, but the black woman beside him, who looked like a bodyguard, was strong as an ox and half a head taller than him. Su Minguan hadn’t brought firearms today, and after roughly calculating his chances of winning, if it came to a fight, it would probably be quite ugly.

But now, seeing the expression on Smith’s face like he had eaten shit, his heart relaxed.

When people have guilty consciences, their intelligence doesn’t quite keep up either. Being seriously frightened by the little girl’s bluff, he believed it all.

A Chinese person knew the specific location of the Ming Trading House in the concession. Could she have connections and backing?

Smith hurriedly caught up a few steps, blocked her path, glared for two seconds, then reluctantly pulled out those ancient sutras from his bag and threw them on the ground.

“Who cares about them, hmph.”

This girl was no longer cute in his eyes at all—quite annoying.

Lin Yuchan quickly crouched down to pick them up.

Smith spat on the ground.

“Christmas, what are you standing there for? Let’s go!”

The guide glared at Lin Yuchan, then hurriedly followed: “Master, you said you’d hire this humble person for a whole day…”

The old monk received the sutras, gently brushed off the dust on them, and carefully tucked them into his robes. He chanted “Amitabha Buddha” dozens of times, constantly expressing gratitude.

Lin Yuchan kept alert and asked: “Where did he take these books from? How many more do you have?”

The old monk pointed up the mountain, then climbed up step by step with difficulty.

Near the mountaintop, there was a small, damaged Buddhist hall with doors that wouldn’t close properly, walls blackened by smoke, and several bullet holes.

Jinshan Temple had been built since the Eastern Jin period. Through successive dynasties, it had accumulated countless ancient artifacts: scriptures, Buddha statues, relics, fragments of stone tablets with Emperor Kangxi’s imperial calligraphy…

Most had been destroyed in the fires of war. A few crooked wooden boxes remained, randomly piled in the corner of the Buddhist hall. Beside them were the bedding and meditation cushions of several monks.

A white-browed old monk sat at the doorway in meditation. His entire face was withered, with skin marked by knife-like wrinkles. Under his monk’s robe seemed to be only a skeleton, like a decaying door god.

“This poor monk is called Lejing. That is our abbot, Master Leguan. There’s also Senior Brother Lezhen—only we three remain in the temple.” The previous old monk spoke with pride, saying softly: “When the British came, when the Taiping Army came, when the imperial government troops came, they ransacked our temple again and again. This poor monk’s leg was broken then. Finally, the temple couldn’t be defended, so we only managed to save these few boxes of things. The abbot sat here in meditation—spears couldn’t move him, swords couldn’t cut him. Those evil demons thought they saw a true Buddha and were filled with fear, finally having to retreat.”

Lin Yuchan looked at the old monk with reverence.

She carefully approached, unsure whether to greet him.

Master Leguan sat in lotus position, ignoring her.

She tiptoed across the edge of the meditation cushions.

Master Leguan remained unmoved, breathing extremely slowly, as if hibernating.

Lin Yuchan felt somewhat embarrassed and called softly: “Master.”

Then she made a gesture toward moving those precious boxes.

Master Leguan remained motionless as a mountain.

Lin Yuchan: “…”

A hero shouldn’t boast about past glories. The current Master Leguan had dim eyes and probably poor hearing, too. Once in meditation, he was approximately in a semi-drowsy state.

Never mind government soldiers or Smith—he couldn’t even stop a cat now.

But he was still immersed in those thrilling times of the past, sitting day after day at the Buddhist hall entrance, thinking he could block some demons and monsters.

…He was indeed quite optimistic.