Lin Yuchan giggled and flopped back onto the sofa.

Finally, she had a bit of that female lead script feeling!

The domineering CEO was cooking for her!

For a moment, it seemed her stomach wasn’t rebelling as much either. She pounced on the desk and bookshelf, looking through documents, checking accounts, flipping through the member registry, brewing herself another pot of tea, then finally bending down to open the small cabinet and finding two clean bowls and spoons, arranging them face-to-face on the table.

She wouldn’t eat alone—she’d share with him when the time came.

But after waiting left and right, she heard no movement from the doorway. Su Minguan seemed to have vanished, taking a basket of items and running off.

She called softly—no response.

Lin Yuchan felt uneasy, covered her stomach, and got up, wandering to the kitchen and pushing open the half-closed door—

“Cough, cough cough…”

A wave of burnt smell hit her face, pushing her back two steps!

The stove fire had burned vigorously but was now extinguished, leaving black ashes all over the floor. Bowls and dishes crowded the cutting board, minced ginger was everywhere, and there was a puddle of milk on the ground. Su Minguan gritted his teeth, wiping sweat with the back of his hand.

Forgetting there was still ginger juice on his hands, it immediately stung his eyes to tears, his eye area red all around, making him look like a pitiful little thing who’d suffered endless grievances.

Lin Yuchan burst into laughter, quickly taking the milk pot from him. All the cleaning cloths had been dirtied by him, so she stuffed a handkerchief in his hands to wipe his tears.

Seeing her enter, Su Minguan was startled, his face flushing red.

He was supposed to be the rebel leader controlling two provinces, but his glorious image was now completely ruined—he wanted to crawl into the stove hole.

Lin Yuchan laughed until tears came: “So you actually can’t do it—you should have said so earlier.”

He was very indignant, angrily crushing a piece of ginger and muttering quietly: “I can do it.”

Just watching without practicing was all show—one must know this matter requires personal experience. Watching vendors make it was one thing; doing it himself was another.

This ginger, this milk—how did they seem to have developed intelligence, stubbornly refusing to obey him!

Either too cold, or too hot, or too thick, or too thin, or adding sugar too early or too late. He’d made countless attempts, but not once achieved even the slightest solidification effect.

He glanced at her sideways, pursing his lips as if holding back energy to prove her wrong, effortlessly grabbing that half piece of ginger and slapping it on the cutting board, then raising the knife—

His posture was quite dashing, sword energy whooshing through the entire kitchen. Unfortunately, he’d forgotten to peel the old ginger.

Lin Yuchan laughed until tears flew, tossing out a soul-searching question: “Young Master Minguan, have you ever been in a kitchen?”

Su Minguan steadfastly sealed his lips, glaring at her with tragic indignation.

Come to think of it, that made sense. He’d lived luxuriously as a child, coming from the womb already following “gentlemen should stay far from the kitchen,” eating with his mouth open daily, and until age five still thought chicken legs grew from the ground.

Then, when his family fell, no one cooked meals or made sweets for him anymore. He worked from dawn to dusk, earning money for food, with no time to study culinary arts—that time would be better spent signing two more contracts.

His eating was also quite casual. When poor, roadside stalls; when well-off, teahouses and restaurants. In any case, too lazy to do it himself.

He felt that with his orchid-like quality, intelligent and exceptionally gifted nature, what couldn’t he learn in one try? A bowl of ginger milk pudding should be easily within reach.

As it turned out, the ginger and milk and knife and stove all had their ideas.

He was incredibly frustrated. “Come on, I’ll take you out to eat something else.”

Lin Yuchan’s stomach had stopped hurting from laughing. His first time cooking an elaborate little dessert was hard on him.

She took the bowl from his hands and boldly pointed: “Wait over there.”

Then, skillfully lit the fire and started the stove.

Of course, she wasn’t a dessert expert either, but she understood chemistry and knew that ginger milk pudding could solidify into custard because fresh ginger juice contained an enzyme that reacted with proteins in milk at specific temperatures.

Su Minguan, being new to cooking, didn’t dare be rash and strictly followed his mental process, systematically first extracting ginger juice, then heating milk… after waiting so long, the enzyme had long since deactivated.

Moreover, he’d been flustered, making another bowl when one failed, afraid they wouldn’t mix well, even stirring them. The milk’s temperature had also cooled, each bowl worse than the last.

“The key is the ginger juice must be fresh, milk temperature must be hot, and you can’t stir.”

Lin Yuchan gave him a lesson while setting up the steamer, pouring those failed semi-finished products back into two bowls and steaming them again.

Su Minguan looked suspiciously at the steam rising from the pot.

“I’ve never seen anyone steam it like this.”

“Because this is just a remedy,” Lin Yuchan said. “I’m not sure if it’ll work either.”

Making the milk and ginger juice hot again creates conditions for the chemical reaction to occur anew.

Su Minguan felt extremely embarrassed but didn’t forget to clean up the mess, silently organizing knives, cutting boards, bowls, and dishes.

After waiting about ten minutes, he turned off the heat and lifted the lid. He rushed to bring out the two small bowls.

“Wow.”

One bowl was still milk, but the other bowl, though not as silky smooth as finished products from sweet shops, had at least solidified!

He beamed, his earlier frustration completely swept away, praising her: “A’Mei knows everything.”

He scooped a spoonful of the successfully rescued pudding, first touching it to his lips to test the temperature, then reversing the spoon handle to feed it into her mouth.

Lin Yuchan accepted with pleasure. Fragrant and sweet, the taste wasn’t bad.

For a bite of ginger milk pudding, it was quite troublesome.

Su Minguan’s second spoonful also went to her mouth.

She felt embarrassed, saying, “You eat some too.”

How could he dare? He took the bowl that still hadn’t solidified—just hot milk mixed with rock sugar and ginger juice—and drained it in one gulp.

Fresh milk wasn’t cheap—only because foreigners in the concession had demand did farmers come into the city pushing carts to sell it. He took responsibility for his own actions, not wasting ingredients.

Lin Yuchan still forced him to eat a bite: “You have to taste my handiwork!”

Su Minguan had no choice but to comply.

One bite into his stomach, his expression suddenly became complex, then immediately he covered his mouth and spat back, with a piece of unpeeled old ginger clearly in his palm.

Lin Yuchan burst into laughter for the third time.

He’d clumsily squeezed ginger juice earlier, dropping a large piece of ginger into the milk. This ginger also knew to settle scores with the right person—Lin Yuchan had eaten most of the bowl without incident, but it deliberately ran into his mouth!

Young Master Su and ginger milk pudding just had no fate today.

After chaotically finishing a bowl of dessert, Lin Yuchan’s stomach had long stopped hurting. But she still contentedly played the invalid, smiling as she watched Su Minguan clean up the kitchen.

Actually the kitchen had tea servers to handle it. But Su Minguan didn’t want others to see the mess he’d created—too embarrassing—so he had to do it himself.

He was probably naturally incompatible with kitchens, slowly busying himself for ages, making bowls and dishes clatter, nearly breaking a pot.

Still not forgetting to care for the patient: “Don’t come in! I can handle it!”

…

At the kitchen doorway, tea server Liu Wu stood outside, stamping his feet and rubbing his hands.

He’d been waiting half an hour—please let this humble one go in and clean up!

Liu Wu cried inwardly.

But no help for it—Su Minguan was both boss and big brother, usually putting on airs, so as a tea server, he didn’t dare go in and disturb, only able to stand outside foolishly, listening to the cheerful laughter inside.

While shaking his head and sighing, Young people these days know how to have fun…

The “Yixing Business Association” opened smoothly and entered the tense phase of daily operations.

In Shanghai’s Chinese business community, this medium-sized news was discussed for a few days, then gradually replaced by fresher gossip.

At the tea cargo wharf, compradors propped up their feet, sitting in leather chairs at collection points, waiting as usual for tea merchants to come sell goods at low prices.

The tea harvest peak season had passed, and tea goods were now in short supply. Several foreign trading houses purchasing tea had already conspired to collectively suppress prices at treaty ports along the Yangtze, forcing local tea merchants to sell at low prices, either transporting tea to Shanghai or selling to Shanghai foreign trade intermediaries, in any case concentrating large quantities of tea at Shanghai Port so they could uniformly slash prices.

This strategy had always been very successful in previous years. Chinese merchants would discover that even at Shanghai Port, with its numerous foreign trading houses and most flexible prices, tea prices were still depressed, so they’d usually give up searching around and sell their tea on some not-so-low-price day to be done with it.

But this year, the situation was somewhat different.

Several small tea merchants pointed at the marked “opening prices” on the boards, speaking with disdain. Some even spat on the ground. Behind them, they weren’t followed by strings of laborers as usual, nor did they bring boxes of tea, and no one came to sign contracts.

One comprador couldn’t sit still and sent a subordinate to investigate.

The tea merchants whispered among themselves: “Prices along the Yangtze are all the same, not one tael of silver different—is that possible?”

Someone nodded: “I heard the Hankou Tea Guild has decided not to sell anything below fifteen taels. Damn it, tea has harvest seasons, but those foreigners drink tea year-round. They’re pushing such low prices—are they playing with us?”

This information about commodity conditions at external wharfs, even when sporadically spread by people before, had questionable authenticity and not everyone dared believe it. But today, several small tea merchants seemed to have agreed beforehand, just wearing cold smiles, discussing a few sentences, then left.

The comprador was shocked upon hearing: “How do they know our other branches’ quoted prices?”

Could they have specifically sent people to investigate other places and bring back news? But that cost would be too high!

Shanghai Port had been suppressing export black tea prices for several days with few responses, and prices finally began to rise gradually.

Several major foreign trading houses simultaneously felt strange. Foreign merchants at billiard tables, in steakhouses, and at evening club dances expressed similar puzzlement to each other.

At the second Chinese merchant gathering, Lin Yuchan decided, based on everyone’s feedback, to meet weekly and add newspaper reading and translation activities. The “North China Herald” contained considerable information about shipping and commerce, plus cutting-edge reports on world political and economic situations—all very precious intelligence for shops doing foreign trade business.

Foreign merchants could subscribe to newspapers, but Chinese merchants rarely had comprehensive foreign language skills. To communicate with foreigners, they either hired interpreters or went to night school themselves. Shanghai now had several privately run English schools of varying quality, some teaching complete nonsense. After a few months of classes, being able to exchange pleasantries with foreigners and recognize numbers within a hundred was considered excellent for students.

As for fluently reading English newspapers, Chinese merchants who could do this were extremely few.

Hearing the association had added a newspaper reading project, people flocked to it eagerly.

Lin Yuchan naturally took on the role, reluctantly becoming an interpreter.

Interpretation was very mentally taxing, requiring overcoming the instinct to divide one’s mental attention into two. What the eyes saw was English word order and diction, while the mouth needed to instantly convert to Chinese sentence patterns—very exhausting mentally.

Fortunately, this wasn’t the insanely demanding simultaneous interpretation of later eras that required split-second timing. Slowly, sentence by sentence, according to the newspaper, ensuring listeners could receive the general framework of the news, counted as mission accomplished.

Simultaneously, Lin Yuchan felt her English ability had leaped another level since working at customs.

After finishing a newspaper, fellow merchants would sometimes discuss further, brainstorming and opening new lines of thought for each other.

Lin Yuchan also felt she had gained much.

Having remedied informational disadvantages, Shanghai’s small and medium Chinese merchants gradually began developing a clearer understanding of the market.

At the wharfs, when foreign merchants’ purchase prices were too cheap, everyone had the confidence to say: “No, let’s wait longer.”

Though association members were a minority and had signed guarantees not to leak intelligence externally, their decisions and attitudes would subtly influence others. In Shanghai’s business community, where everyone minded their own business, just having several or dozens of shops act in unison could become a force sufficient to influence the market.

Lin Yuchan didn’t understand the patterns of other bulk commodities well. But after just two weeks, she felt raw cotton purchase prices in various places seemed less outrageously different.

Nor did obvious deviations appear with major rises in some places and major falls in others.

The sample size was too small—she didn’t know if this was the association’s intelligence effect.

From “Chinese merchants regaining pricing power,” this was just the first step of a thousand-li journey.

But Lin Yuchan was very certain the association’s existence had already caught the attention of foreign merchants with keen senses.

“Cliquishness or Xenophobia? Chinese Mysterious Business Association Raises Suspicions”

Lin Yuchan held the latest issue of the “North China Herald,” suddenly seeing such a brief report, her heart lurching as she unconsciously stopped her translation.

People around her urged, “Mrs. Su, what’s wrong? What does the newspaper say?”

Lin Yuchan frowned, reading on while slowly translating the content.

“A foreign reporter has discovered our newly established association… He claims to have visited the association attempting to understand the specific situation, but was driven out… The rest is mostly questioning, saying we Chinese act secretively, don’t communicate with the outside world, hold hostile attitudes toward foreigners… This bad habit has been brought to the association… This foreign-excluding association’s future direction is unknown… In any case, the tone isn’t friendly.”

She suddenly looked up, asking: “When I wasn’t here, did anyone expel a foreign reporter?”

The reporter, having been rebuffed, used his pen as a knife and immediately went back to write a barbed report, hinting at the “Yixing Business Association’s” xenophobic nature.

This would lead to foreign merchants “coming to investigate,” pointing and cursing at the door, treating the Yixing Business Association as an organization specifically excluding foreign merchants, and engaging in malicious competition.

Headache-inducing.

When the association was first established, it had also formulated basic behavioral guidelines. But those were all traditional Chinese business association systems copied by several senior directors based on experience. There were no temporary clauses about “how to treat foreign reporters.”

The group of members and directors was also confused: “No. No foreign reporters have come.”

Lin Yuchan was more puzzled. Could someone be spreading rumors?

Though she was mentally prepared that this Chinese business association would eventually enter foreigners’ sight, she never expected it would be in this way, and so quickly.

Reading to the end, she saw the byline of this report and nearly spat blood.

E.C. Bennett.

Lin Yuchan was both amused and frustrated, standing up to ask seriously: “Has a foreign woman ever come here?”

Once she said this, several people immediately had epiphanies.

“Right! That day, several of us silk merchants were having a small gathering here, and some foreign girl insisted on coming in to look, speaking foreign words we couldn’t understand. But the association has rules—the intelligence inside must be kept secret, can’t let people in casually, right? We talked nicely and asked that foreign girl to leave. Even if she was angry, it was no use—not allowed to see means not allowed to see! —I tell you these foreigners are idle, wanting to stick their noses into everything, not knowing how annoying they are. Do they think we Chinese are monkeys for people to observe!”

“It’s that Yixing Business Association!” Miss Compton put down her pastry, indignantly complaining to Lin Yuchan. “Last week, when I came for tea, you weren’t there. Paul chatted with us for a while, mentioning this newly established Chinese business association, speaking glowingly about how impressive it was. So I went to interview them out of interest. I swear I didn’t bring any prejudice—it’s just their attitude was too bad…”

Through coaxing and cajoling, Lin Yuchan finally figured out why Miss Compton had written such a hostile report.

Having heard about an exclusive news source from Chang Baoluo, Miss Compton, determined to become Britain’s first female reporter, certainly wouldn’t pass up this topic.

So a few days ago, she brought paper and pen to Yixing Business Association planning to understand the situation. Lin Yuchan wasn’t there at the time, and several silk merchants were having a small gathering inside. Seeing a foreign girl visit, chattering in foreign language without bringing an interpreter, no one could understand, so naturally they couldn’t let her in casually. After a few rebukes, they drove her out.

In Miss Compton’s view, she had clearly identified herself as a reporter and promised to write objective and fair news reports, expecting these Chinese people would immediately invite her in. Who knew the door would slam in her face, driving her back to the street in less than a minute. How could she not be angry?

She thought this association must be up to something!

Thus, she formed the preconceived impression that the “association was xenophobic and unreasonably domineering.” This led her to write a criticism-based article, speculating that this association was full of hostility toward foreigners, possibly gathering daily to study how to scheme against foreign merchants.

“Luna,” Miss Compton finally concluded indignantly, “After spending so much time with you, I almost forgot how much hostility ordinary Chinese people have toward us foreigners. I tried my best to maintain a smiling face in dealing with them, but they still exclude and discriminate against me…”

Lin Yuchan worried herself into a headache. This young lady was truly a standard clueless foreigner.

Discriminate? Who would dare discriminate against her?

If Lin Yuchan hadn’t known Miss Compton for over a year and hadn’t known her nature wasn’t bad, she’d be too lazy to waste words with her.

Moreover, involving the association’s reputation, she had to clarify the misunderstanding today.

“Stop there. Dear miss,” Lin Yuchan interrupted her while adding tea leaves, “There’s definitely a misunderstanding here. Those association people you encountered—they probably couldn’t understand English at all…”

She didn’t mince words, honestly admitting that the small businessmen in the association had terrible English, sometimes pretending to understand when they didn’t, causing misunderstandings where you thought you were communicating smoothly when they only knew “yes” and “no.”

“Moreover, the association has internal confidentiality agreements forbidding outsiders from visiting inside. I believe they explained this to you, too, but you couldn’t hear… no, their English was too poor to explain clearly. However, I happen to also be an association member, and I can introduce it to you right now.”

…

After half an hour of detailed explanation, Miss Compton finally realized what kind of mistake she’d made.

“I see… Luna, not to criticize, but your association really should offer English classes, or at least post some English signs and notices at the door, otherwise such misunderstandings will happen frequently in the future!”

Though Miss Compton felt sorry, she couldn’t bring herself to self-criticize, gracefully tossing her brown curls and passing the buck.

Lin Yuchan smiled: “Thank you for the suggestion. We’ll gradually improve in the future.”

Miss Compton sipped her tea, somewhat restless, asking embarrassedly: “Then… that report, what do you plan to do about it?”

She was going to be Britain’s first female reporter. Having written an inaccurate report in anger over being snubbed, though it only offended Chinese people and wouldn’t have consequences, she still felt uneasy, fearing it would become a stain on her “career.”

Imagine in future, in that beautiful new world of gender equality, when people wrote biographies of “first female reporter pioneers,” if they included such black history…

Miss Compton was very worried about this, fearing eternal infamy.

Lin Yuchan smiled: “I would certainly love to ask you to write another article overturning your previous one, praising our association highly. But fabricating from thin air violates journalistic professional ethics. So I won’t ask you to do such a thing. How about… how about finding a day when I formally invite you to tour the association interior, letting you see what else might be worth writing about.”

A week later, the Yixing Business Association welcomed a strange guest.

The routine intelligence sharing had just ended. The blackboard was wiped clean, and the gatekeeper was cleaning tea stains from the floor.

Over a dozen fellow merchants from different industries remained in the guild hall’s main lobby, discussing various newly released information.

At that moment, the doorway brightened—a Western lady entered!

She wore a fur vest and lace gloves, her puffy skirt trailing on the ground, looking around with curious brown eyes at the shrine on the wall, then at the group of Chinese people in the main hall.

The fellow merchants had all dealt with foreigners, but had only seen foreign men. Many were seeing a Western woman’s appearance for the first time.

Five or six people immediately jumped up as if their bottoms were on fire, not knowing what posture to use in greeting.

Lin Yuchan immediately introduced: “This is my friend Miss Compton. Today she’s invited by me to tour our association.”

The moment she closed the door, she suddenly noticed several people standing on the street, staring fixedly at the association’s entrance with expressions that made her uncomfortable.

Lin Yuchan thought they were probably curious about seeing the foreign young lady.

She didn’t take it to heart, pausing before adding: “Miss Compton’s family isn’t in business; she is a refined young lady who knows nothing about money transactions. She can’t speak a word of Chinese or recognize a single character—today she’s purely here to satisfy curiosity.”