Su Minguan’s expression remained unchanged as he waved to everyone, pulling Lin Yuchan down the gangplank before finally being unable to hold back, bending over her shoulder and laughing for quite a while.

“What to do,” he whispered, “now I want a hot bath.”

Lin Yuchan also replied quietly: “Let’s return to the ship early today and secretly fire up a boiler.”

Su Minguan: “I also want someone to scrub my back.”

“Twist around yourself.”

The two exchanged challenging glances.

The hard, earthen ground at the dock had already been trampled into a muddy mess by the constant traffic of merchants and customers. Fortunately, both were prepared, wearing tall leather boots.

In ancient times, without municipal engineering, snow was truly not a pleasant thing. Aside from the beautiful snow scenery that could inspire refined scholars to compose a few verses, traveling in snow was inconvenient in every way, and for the poor, it was an ordeal to endure.

In the distance, temples were dispensing gruel, with queues stretching for a mile. Several pawnshops also had lines at their doors. Poor people searched for valuable household items to pawn to redeem the cotton clothes they had pawned last year.

Lin Yuchan remembered that when she first arrived in the Qing Dynasty, she still had several red frostbite scars on her hands. Due to the original body’s malnutrition, they persisted from winter to summer without healing. Later, after eating well and taking care of herself, those wounds finally healed completely.

Frostbite and wounds were daily realities for the poor in this era.

Under Su Minguan’s indulgent and helpless gaze, she ran to the temple’s merit box and donated a handful of copper coins, then followed him cheerfully to the Yangtze River ferry.

Across the water, under Wuchang City, Yellow Crane Tower stood draped in silver. The thin snow covered the somewhat dilapidated structure, making the entire tower look like a beauty in plain clothes, quietly watching the comings and goings of wind and clouds.

However, the ferry to Wuchang was blocked.

The several Yixing brothers who had just been clamoring to go bathing also stood there dumbfounded, awkwardly staring at their boss.

Only Jiang Gaosheng cheerfully called out: “Ah, boss came! Bathing is still more comfortable, right? What did I tell you?”

Several locals walked by, pulling and arguing with each other.

“Can’t go… come back… foreigners acting high and mighty…”

Lin Yuchan’s ears perked up, quietly tugging Su Minguan’s sleeve. They stopped walking.

Several small wooden boats quickly ferried across the river, disembarking a group of Wuchang residents in various clothing. They spoke in the imposing Wuhan dialect—even simple phrases like “get off the boat” and “excuse me” sounded like quarreling.

Moreover, they seemed to be quarreling…

“Don’t let him go!” The middle-aged leader, having trouble with his legs, was carried on a sedan chair. He pointed at a foreigner on the dock and shouted: “Come back here! Hey everyone, get him, block him, don’t let him escape!”

Lin Yuchan looked at the familiar silhouette of that foreigner and discovered with surprise: “It’s Smith again! I haven’t even gone to find him yet!”

He had already made quite a scene, somehow attracting a crowd of trouble in the tough-spirited city of Wuhan.

Smith turned around, not afraid of the surrounding mob at all, his expression calm with a hint of mockery.

“I am an American citizen. Please let me pass.”

The black slave Christmas carried bags and bundles, loaded with a pile of luggage that had swelled by half compared to when Smith first boarded the ship.

Due to the heavy load, she couldn’t walk fast and was intercepted by several locals who immediately tried to grab her luggage. Christmas loyally protected her master, kicking an eight-foot-tall man to the ground. The man slid several more feet in the snow, grimacing as he got up and huffily examined the scrapes on his palms.

No one dared rob Christmas after that. They watched as she shouldered her way through, escorting Smith several more steps, getting closer and closer to the Hankou concession dock.

Suddenly, someone shouted: “Don’t let him enter the dock! He’s going to take a foreign steamship away!”

The middle-aged man on the sedan chair loudly explained to the onlookers: “This foreigner is a thief! I am the security committee member of Wuchang Yue Wang Temple, also serving as temple keeper. Today’s heavy snow injured my leg, so I sent my son to watch the temple. This foreigner saw that no one was there, pried off a brick, and hid it in his bundle to take away. Fortunately, I saw him! When questioned, he pretended to be deaf and mute, acting like he didn’t understand Chinese, and tried to leave by boat! He even incited his black servant to beat up my son! I’ve already reported to the authorities. Please, fellow townspeople, help block him and don’t let him escape!”

The dozen or so people chasing Smith were presumably brought by this temple keeper to make a show of force. Hearing this, they all nodded in unison, corroborating his words.

Onlookers wondered: “Why would this foreigner pry off bricks for no reason? Does he covet the good feng shui of your temple?”

The security officer said: “If it were ordinary bricks and tiles, that would be fine—foreigners love novelties, I could give him a cartload without concern. But this brick is from a batch of old bricks that General Yue supervised the firing of when he defended our Wuchang, bearing the seal of his Yue Family Army. The temple doesn’t have many left in total. I don’t believe he just randomly pried it off!”

At this, the crowd erupted, saying one after another: “Daring to steal General Yue’s belongings—isn’t he afraid of divine retribution?”

Going back several hundred years to the Southern Song Dynasty, Wuchang was Yue Fei’s base camp for his northern expedition. General Yue had stationed troops there for many years, and locals took pride in this connection.

Although during the Qing Dynasty, Yue Fei’s “anti-Jin” achievements seemed somewhat awkward to hear, and the court intentionally suppressed Yue Fei worship, causing the incense offerings at Yue Wang Temple to decline precipitously. But the legendary deeds of General Yue were still passed down from generation to generation.

Hearing the security officer’s explanation, many people immediately became enraged, roaring toward heaven, rolling up sleeves and clenching fists, looking ready to “satisfy their hunger with barbarian flesh.”

Lin Yuchan saw that among the indignant crowd seemed to be Boss Zhu and other tea merchants she’d met yesterday, wielding mops and shovels, skillfully marshaling troops.

The people of Wuhan were busy—first confronting Russians, now Americans.

One could imagine that foreigners trying to settle and live here faced much greater difficulties than in Shanghai.

Smith finally showed some panic. Hiding behind Christmas, he loudly defended himself: “I bought this brick! I asked someone at the temple and bought it! It was a monetary transaction, sale final—you can’t go back on it, that’s breaking faith!”

The security officer cursed: “My boy is only seven years old—what does he understand! Give him a few coins and he’d sell his mother!”

The onlookers laughed: “Hand over the goods! Damn it, let’s all rush him—ten of us can’t beat one of his black servants?”

Seeing the crowd’s excitement mounting, Su Minguan frowned slightly in the distance, extending his hand slightly to block his Yixing crew members who wanted to meddle.

Today he’d truly witnessed the local customs of Wuhan’s three towns. Smith was going to fall hard today.

However, if they beat the foreigner to death in public, there’d be no way to clean up the mess.

These troublemaking “unruly people” present, while the law couldn’t punish everyone, probably wouldn’t all lose their heads, but the ringleaders would likely have a few beheaded, with the rest facing at least three thousand li of exile.

Others’ life and deaths originally wasn’t his concern. But he saw that soldiers had already arrived upon hearing the commotion, pulling aside common people to inquire about the situation. If Smith died at these people’s hands today, he, Lin Yuchan, and the many crew members watching the excitement would probably all be dragged back to the yamen for questioning.

He gave his subordinates a look, telling them to watch Miss Lin carefully, while he straightened his clothing and hat, coughed, and prepared to play the role of a collaborator to help smooth things over.

“Everyone, I am the steamship owner who transported this foreigner to Han…”

Halfway through his self-introduction, suddenly, a Manchu battalion officer galloped over and rudely interrupted him.

“Silence!”

Su Minguan was slightly startled. Having suffered under the Green Standard Army before, he quietly retreated.

“The Governor-General arrives! Idle people stand back!”

A small sedan chair swayed as it was carried over. Soldiers and constables formed ranks, welcoming out an imposing high official.

Smith, who had been cowering while clutching the bundle containing the ancient brick, hesitating about whether to open it, immediately showed smugness upon seeing Chinese officials arrive. He straightened his chest and respectfully doffed his hat toward the sedan chair.

The noisy crowd immediately fell silent. Someone whispered: “Huguang Governor-General!”

Some hesitantly knelt, not knowing how many kowtows to perform.

But the Wuhan people’s respect for their parent official was limited to this. Huguang Governor-General Guan Wen was a Manchu who played with birds and trained hawks, holding this position entirely to monitor Zeng Guofan and the Hunan Army. In the teahouses and opium dens of Wuhan’s three towns, people privately mocked him, saying the Governor-General’s mansion had “three greats”—great concubines, great gatekeepers, great cooks—ridiculing his ignorance of governance and letting household servants decide everything.

So these kowtows were also quite perfunctory. Most people simply took advantage of the chaos to run away.

Su Minguan turned around to find Lin Yuchan had also slipped away at some unknown time, not a trace of her to be seen.

Jiang Gaosheng made a bitter face and gestured, pointing toward the Hankou concession, indicating he couldn’t stop her.

Su Minguan had a vague guess in his heart and watched the show coldly.

Only that security officer, supported by others, got down from his sedan chair, prostrated himself in a great bow, repeatedly calling: “Parent official, please provide justice for this humble one!”

This kind of trivial civil disturbance would at most fall under county magistrate jurisdiction and normally wouldn’t require alarming the Governor-General. But Guan Wen happened to be in Hankou inspecting commerce. Hearing the commotion and seeing the matter involved foreigners, he dared not be negligent. He immediately dropped his official business and came over to rack up some political achievements.

His entourage chattered away, explaining the situation in a few sentences.

The security officer kowtowed and said: “This humble one’s ancestors served as temple gods in Yue Wang Temple. Passed down to this humble one, it’s the seventh generation. This humble one truly cannot let the temple’s every brick and tile be destroyed in this humble one’s hands! Official, please have mercy and ask the foreigner to return the ancient brick. This humble one is willing to pay from his pocket to compensate the foreigner for his losses…”

Though he hated foreigners in his heart, he also knew the foreigners’ status in the Qing Dynasty. Therefore, in front of Guan Wen, the security officer spoke in a humble and subservient manner, completely lacking his earlier bold spirit.

The snowy ground was slippery and had been trampled black by the constant traffic. The security officer on the ground immediately got his knees covered in black mud. The cold penetrated his joints, making him frown continuously.

If this were a people-loving official, he should have told him to rise and speak standing up.

But in Guan Wen’s mind, foreigners were the most important thing. He completely ignored the security officer, putting on a smiling face to bow and exchange pleasantries with Smith.

“…So you’re a special commissioner from a foreign firm. I wonder if you’re finding Hankou agreeable? Is the food and drink suitable?…”

Guan Wen put on an approachable facade, condescending to converse with the foreign merchant while continuously making eyes at his translator beside him.

The translator understood, quickly reminding: “Good morning. Sir, the foreign phrase is ‘good morning.'”

Guan Wen: “…Good morning!”

Completely unaware that it was already afternoon and “morning” had long passed.

Smith didn’t point this out, also putting on a polite gentleman’s manner, smilingly flattering Guan Wen a few times, then saying: “Chinese culture is so ancient that even a small brick is older than the age of the United States of America. I truly admire it immensely and only hope that when returning to my country, I can bring back some meaningful objects to commemorate this charming nation.”

Pausing and seeing this official was Manchu, he smiled and said a phrase in Manchu he’d learned somewhere: “Long live the Emperor. Sir’s good fortune.”

Upon hearing this, Guan Wen smiled so broadly his eyes disappeared as he repeatedly patted Smith’s shoulder. The two quickly warmed up to each other.

The onlooking common people looked at each other in dismay.

Someone tentatively said, “But this foreigner stealing things…”

“Presumptuous.” Guan Wen glared, “He admires our Chinese culture…”

Halfway through, he felt somewhat awkward again. After all, this “Chinese culture” was old stuff from hundreds of years ago and had nothing to do with his Manchu people. Moreover, it was from Yue Fei’s temple—what kind of treasure could that be?

So he changed his tune: “This foreigner speaks Chinese well and Manchu too—refined and cultured, with propriety and restraint, much better than you lot! Our Great Qing has a vast territory and abundant resources, lacking nothing. What’s wrong with letting him take some things back? Look at your petty, stingy appearance—truly disgraceful to our Great Qing! If he wants it, give it to him!”

At these words, all the common people showed expressions of disbelief.

Everyone looked at each other and selected an elderly gentleman with scholarly credentials to bow respectfully to Guan Wen and argue: “Sir, please examine clearly—this isn’t about culture or not. Taking without permission is theft. Even an embroidery needle shouldn’t be taken casually. Moreover…”

Guan Wen impatiently waved his hand: “Under heaven, all land belongs to the emperor. In this Wuchang city, whose brick doesn’t belong to the Aisin Gioro family? When is it your turn to decide?—I am Manchu, I decide, give it to him! Guards, take another fifty taels of silver to reward the foreigner to calm his nerves. Don’t let him think our Great Qing nation is full of rude, shameless people, pointlessly disgracing our Great Qing.”

Smith showed his delight, mimicking Manchu etiquette by squatting down to bow to Guan Wen.

Guan Wen was flattered and laughed heartily.

This left a crowd of common people gritting their teeth, angry but not daring to speak. The temple keeper was so enraged that he wanted to rush forward and snatch the items, but unfortunately, his leg was injured, and he was immediately seized by soldiers who, in front of the foreigner, gave him two harsh lashes first.

Smith looked at him contemptuously, instructing: “Christmas, secure the luggage. Let’s go to the dock.”

“Wait.”

An unfamiliar voice came from another direction. Everyone was surprised to discover a young girl aggressively blocking Smith’s path.

“Mr. Smith, this matter isn’t finished.”

Among the accompanying soldiers, some kind-hearted ones stepped forward to chase her away: “Whose girl is this? Take her away quickly! Offending official authority is punishable!”

Only because she was a girl did they show leniency. If it were a fierce man, he would have been beaten down and dragged to the yamen long ago.

Lin Yuchan glanced sideways at the Huguang Governor-General’s imposing formation, unafraid.

She pulled out a paper from her bosom, waving it with borrowed authority as she announced loudly: “A summons from the American Consulate. Mr. Smith, the Consul, requests you to come for tea when convenient.”

Smith frowned, thinking his ears had gone bad.

Having a guilty conscience, he expected conflicts with Chinese people along the way—that was fine, he could handle it. But he never imagined it would alarm the consulate. So many foreign compatriots behaved badly in China—when had the consulate ever cared? Why single him out?

The newly appointed American Consul to Hankou, Mr. Brack, whom he’d even encountered and greeted in the concession—they hadn’t made enemies.

He snorted coldly. This girl had ill intentions, opposing him from the first day aboard the ship. This time, she was surely up to some new trick.

He simply ignored her: “Everything you’re saying is pure fabrication, without proof or evidence. No one will believe it—Christmas, we’re leaving.”

The Huguang Governor-General behind was left aside, feeling the situation was somewhat beyond his understanding.

“What’s happening here?” Guan Wen had no opinions of his own, lowering his voice and desperately asking his advisors and translators behind him, “Did this foreigner break laws in his own country? What rank is an American consul? What do we do now?”

Unfortunately, his entire brain trust was also encountering this situation for the first time. They offered chaotic advice that made Guan Wen’s head swell without providing clarity. He could only put on airs first, coughing a few times and pretending to inspect the dock’s shipping.

The common people craned their necks. Though they couldn’t understand the conversation between this girl and Smith, they still pricked up their ears to listen carefully and watched her gestures and movements, as if they could decode the plot from them.

Su Minguan leaned in a dark corner, a barely noticeable smile at the corner of his mouth.

Lin Yuchan hadn’t been idle this morning—she’d run to the Hankou American Consulate, and indeed achieved significant results.

Of course, he had a part in it too, providing a small bit of help.

The five silver dollars bet was just for fun after all. If she could win and control Smith, he could also vent his frustration.

Following behind Lin Yuchan, a uniformed constable came running, scolding the crowd: “American Consul arriving! Idle people stand back!—Oh, Governor-General sir, greetings to you, haha.”

Though the constable was Chinese, he ate foreign wages, lived in the foreign concession, and was protected by foreign laws. Meeting his own country’s officials, he also felt superior and didn’t kneel, only making a deep bow.

Fortunately, Guan Wen was quite magnanimous and didn’t pursue the matter.

An elaborately decorated carriage stopped by the roadside. A group of Chinese servants with brooms swept away the snow, water, and mud from the ground, revealing a clean pathway. From that carriage descended a curly-haired foreigner.

Smith’s eyes went wide: “B-Brack, sir?”

American Consul to Hankou Brack was short and small, with a gaunt face stretched over bones. Deep nasolabial folds carved beside his cheeks pulled down his thin lips, making him perpetually appear stern and harsh, like the most conservative headmaster at a boys’ school.

Brack smiled coldly, his mouth corners twitching slightly before drooping down again.

He perfunctorily shook hands with Smith, then greeted Christmas behind him.

“This negro lady, don’t be afraid. You can put down the luggage you’re carrying. It looks like we’ll be standing in this damned cold for a while.”

Christmas opened her thick lips, hesitantly nodding.

Born in Alabama, having lived nearly thirty years, she’d been called various names by white people: Hey, nigger, African monkey, female ape, damned bitch…

No white person had ever called her “negro lady.”

Though this wasn’t exactly an honorific, just a neutral term with a bit of distant politeness, Christmas was already terrified, lowering her head and saying: “Yes, master.”

Brack looked toward Smith again, saying seriously, “The consulate has received a complaint. Shanghai Yixing Shipping Company accuses you of deliberately sabotaging steam engines, causing massive operational losses and nearly resulting in casualties…”

Smith burst out laughing, as if hearing a crude joke.

“The Chinese are slandering me,” he had prepared for this and answered confidently, “without proof or evidence, purely for extortion. Consul, sir, you know the Chinese temperament—I advise you not to believe such hearsay. I am a qualified American citizen from a respectable Alabama family who will obey state laws wherever I go. Besides, if someone made such false accusations against me, there’d be no need for the Consul to come personally—I could just go to the consulate to explain…”

Brack’s mouth corners twitched as his voice became more severe: “Do you dare swear to God that you didn’t force your poor slave into these illegal activities? Additionally, I’ve received Chinese complaints saying you ordered this negro woman to be your enforcer, having numerous physical altercations with Chinese people. She didn’t want to do these immoral things for you, but you forced her…”

Smith’s expression worsened, thinking: What kind of chaotic complaints are these! The black slave was his property—he kept hundreds on his Alabama plantation. What did it matter to anyone else if he made his slaves work?

Quickly glancing at Christmas beside him, he said with a stiff neck: “No. This wench has a violent temper and starts fights wherever she goes. I can’t even control her. When we return to America, I’ll sell her!”

Though his words were fierce, he was secretly alarmed. To him, household slaves were like personal possessions—he never hid any of his private secrets from her. If this stupid black slave couldn’t grasp the situation…

Smith kicked her menacingly as a warning: “Am I right or not! Nigger, answer your master!”

Christmas’s face showed indignation, her thick chest rising and falling unevenly. The anger in her eyes flickered twice before slowly extinguishing.

She bent down, respectfully saying: “Yes, it has nothing to do with my master. I caused some trouble on the road, and my master has already disciplined me. As for the steamship, neither my master nor I ever damaged it. I testify that at the time, I was in the room serving my master by washing his feet.”

This was the fate pressed upon her head. God had created all this. She was already accustomed to yielding in everything to her master, compressing her dignity—if such a thing still existed—into a tiny ball and stuffing it into a corner where no one could see.

Smith showed his smugness.

Christmas would never betray him. As long as there were no witnesses, his deliberate sabotage of the ship was just a groundless accusation. He would even sue the shipping company for false accusations!

Then he saw that beautiful but malicious Chinese girl approach Brack and quietly say something to him.

Brack nodded, his thin lips pulling into a contemptuous smile.

“If you’re still hoping your black slave will keep your secrets only because her sons and daughters are in your hands,” Brack took a document from his subordinate’s hand, saying, “then Mr. Smith, you’ve misjudged the situation. I suppose since coming to China, you haven’t followed domestic news? Our great federal President, Mr. Abraham Lincoln, has already announced the Emancipation Proclamation at the beginning of this year, declaring that all black slaves in the rebellious territories of the Southern Confederacy should immediately enjoy freedom—I believe this includes Mr. Smith’s home state of Alabama?”

As Smith stood dumbfounded, Brack nodded toward Christmas.

“This negro lady, if your master hasn’t told you yet, you and all the black slaves on Smith’s plantation have now obtained legal freedom. As a United States federal government consul abroad, I have the honor to announce this to you.”

Then Brack unfolded that copy of the Emancipation Proclamation sent from Washington, his expression solemn as a stone-carved statue, reading word by word to Christmas.