“How old, what symptoms, how long, what medicine are you taking?”

The old Chinese doctor tapped the “Medical Guide” on the wall, waiting for the patient across from him to speak.

The old Chinese doctor was famous, nicknamed “Three and a Half Sentences,” meaning his style was sharp—no matter who came for consultation, within three and a half sentences, he could find the root of their illness and address the fundamental cause.

The consultation fee was naturally extraordinary—one silver dollar per visit. On average, three jiao per sentence.

“Three and a Half Sentences” brushed away the fine medicinal powder on his desk, looking at the spirited and handsome young man across from him.

“It’s not for me to see a doctor. I’m asking for advice…”

Su Minguan hesitated for a moment, then shamelessly stated his request: “I don’t want to have children.”

“Three and a Half Sentences” stroked his long beard, picked up his spectacles, looked up in confusion, and said his first sentence:

“You’re overthinking it—roosters don’t lay eggs.”

In his twenty-two years of arguing with countless people, Su Minguan had never been so thoroughly rebuffed that his face darkened.

Looking at all the silk banners in the room—so many people spent one silver dollar to come here and get scolded?

For the sake of life’s happiness, he remained calm and changed his words: “My wife and I are newlyweds. She doesn’t want to get pregnant… Is there a reliable prescription?”

“Three and a Half Sentences” had an epiphany, nodded, stroked his beard with a smile, and wrote like the wind.

“Wait,” Su Minguan looked at the illegible handwriting, his smile disappearing as he frowned slightly, “this isn’t a prescription.”

“These are several reliable matchmakers I know well,” a slip of paper with addresses was handed over, “your condition is easy to treat. Take a concubine, and you’ll be cured immediately.”

Su Minguan choked on his breath, couldn’t help rubbing his temples, and changed his words again: “I don’t want her to get pregnant.”

“Three and a Half Sentences” coughed, suddenly extended his miraculous hands that had saved countless people, two fingers like wind, feeling Su Minguan’s pulse.

Su Minguan felt this doctor was completely confused: “I’m not the one seeing the doctor!”

“Forgive my bluntness, young man, this matter is indeed your problem. Heart ailments require heart medicine. If you have insurmountable difficulties, don’t be afraid. Just look at the silk banners in my hall…”

This young man was stubborn. Who gets married for anything other than continuing the family line? The more children born, the more blessed. Only girls in brothels fear pregnancy.

Su Minguan got up to leave.

“Three and a Half Sentences”: “Hey, one yuan consultation fee…”

He wouldn’t pay. What a waste of half an hour’s round trip.

“Three and a Half Sentences” was so angry he lost all composure, finally breaking character, muttering his fourth sentence: “You really shouldn’t have come to me. Go to the Imperial Palace’s Office of Eunuchs and have someone cut it—that’ll solve everything…”

Su Minguan wasn’t discouraged. That evening after work, the chief helmsman again took the lead in violating organizational rules, spending three silver dollars to call Mama Hua from Fuzhou Road to set up a game.

After several exchanges with the sharp-tongued old doctor, his eloquence had greatly improved. Through intimidation, inducement, and sweet talk, he finally broke down the old lady’s guard, and she mysteriously introduced him to several exclusive remedies.

Su Minguan was even more frustrated. They were all methods that didn’t treat girls’ bodies as important. Some didn’t require much experience to imagine how much suffering the girl would endure.

Fuzhou Road was protected by local gangs. Those three dollars still had to be spent. Su Minguan was so heartbroken that he ate half as much dinner.

However, he wasn’t too disappointed. Chinese people had lived this way for thousands of years. It was always a matter of luck anyway—he hadn’t expected to find some heaven-defying secret methods.

In young people’s hearts, life was long and days were plentiful.

As she said, take it slowly.

On this day, the weather was pleasant, and Su Minguan arrived at Yixing for work on time.

“These people’s identity documents,” he examined several files, rolled them up, and called a worker, “deliver them to Miss Lin.”

Those were unemployed personnel whom Lin Yuchan had claimed from the organization, probably already starting work. The new identities had just been forged to handle occasional household registration checks by the Municipal Council.

The worker took the documents, but Su Minguan suddenly changed his mind.

“Never mind. I’ll deliver them myself.”

Everyone fell silent for a moment, then showed meaningful smiles.

He was becoming less and less concerned about concealment.

Only Jiang Gaosheng objected: “Those Ningbo customers who want to see the ships that we arranged to meet the day before yesterday will arrive in half an hour.”

“I know, I’ll be back on time.”

Su Minguan’s mouth curved up as he quickly walked out of the storefront to personally deliver express mail to Boya.

Most of Yixing’s employees had noticed that Boss Su had been smiling more lately.

Not just the spring-like satisfaction from his desperate counterattack and elimination of competitors. It was as if he had suddenly matured a little, with less of that past inappropriate coldness in his eyes.

He was naturally still as strict as ever with his subordinates. But when dealing with trivial daily matters, he seemed to have added a touch of gentle patience.

When Su Minguan pushed open the door to the Western building, Lin Yuchan was training five newly hired employees—three men and two women—together with the staff.

The five were selected from Nanjing refugees. After several days of good food and drink in Shanghai, they had all gained weight, their mentalities gradually returning to normal, appearing no different from ordinary people at first glance.

Plus, Aunt Hong and Miss Nian, who had joined midway and hadn’t had opportunities to study before, started work immediately upon hiring, and were also following along to improve today.

Called training, but neither manager had a strict personality, and the recruited employees were all cheerful and easygoing types. After a few words about precautions, they had already started chatting about various embarrassing stories of their former employer, Rong Hong.

“…Mr. Rong has high aspirations. Hearing that Chinese people cannot be promoted to manager positions in foreign trading houses, he immediately wrote a resignation letter and submitted it. It wasn’t that he envied that manager position, but he was indignant that Chinese people couldn’t enjoy equal rights with the British. The trading house owner thought he was complaining about low pay and promised to double his monthly salary. Mr. Rong’s mind was made up, leaving that owner so regretful…”

Chang Baoluo spoke with animated gestures, stars shining in his eyes.

The grassroots employees imagined the foreigners’ embarrassment and laughed heartily.

The first lesson upon joining was patriotic education. Only Boya employees could pull this off.

Only Lin Yuchan sat to one side with a helpless smile on her face.

Every company has its own corporate culture. Boya’s corporate culture had been stereotyped as “lazy slacking,” and though it had improved considerably, by her high self-discipline standards, it was still too leisurely.

But there was no helping it. Lin Yuchan couldn’t make so many old employees collectively change their nature, so she had to accept it and hire more people to compensate for efficiency shortfalls.

The orphanage factory was the same. The children worked with low efficiency, but fortunately, there were many of them, creating a harmonious atmosphere. The costs were just a bit higher.

This corporate culture wasn’t entirely without merit. Employees got along harmoniously, unlike other shops with frequent job-hopping. It helped grassroots employees accumulate experience and saved considerable friction costs.

She could only repeatedly review Rong Hong’s various glorious achievements. Suddenly turning her head with a bright smile, she got up to greet the delivery boy.

“Good morning!”

Limited by the “confidentiality agreement,” she only lightly hooked her little fingers when exchanging the files.

“Eh, where did you go yesterday?”

Lin Yuchan lowered her head, smelling a hint of lingering sweet fragrance on his belt.

Su Minguan: “…”

He looked at the little girl’s cheerful, girlish smile, hesitated for a moment, then firmly concealed his misdeeds of consulting without paying and illegally drinking flower wine: “Nothing much.”

Su Minguan greeted the Boya employees. Besides the identity documents, he additionally delivered a water-stained large envelope. Looking at the date, it had just arrived and hadn’t been opened yet.

“Oh my,” Lin Yuchan smelled the damp seawater scent on the envelope, then looked at the postmark with delight, “Mr. Rong has reached America!”

The Qing Dynasty had no proper postal service. Long-distance letters were all carried by civilian ships to docks, then distributed by various transport groups on a first-come-first-served basis in disorderly fashion. Whoever delivered the letter received the delivery fee.

This time, the delivery fee went to Yixing. Su Minguan collected the money according to the rules and thanked everyone before saying goodbye.

Lin Yuchan was a bit confused. Just three minutes?

Was the Yixing big boss so idle?

Su Minguan chuckled softly. Taking advantage of her coming out to see him off, he squeezed her into the outside wall corner, blocked her with his body, caught her hand, and quickly kissed it.

Then she took the opportunity to touch his face, her thumb brushing over the stubble at his temples, mischievously pinching his earlobe, creating a faint red crease.

It seemed overnight, his state of mind had subtly changed. He seemed to suddenly realize that falling in love with someone wasn’t a burden in his life, but the finishing touch that brought life to everything.

When being intimate with her got out of hand, he no longer felt struck by sudden guilt and sin as before, had extreme thoughts of either giving up completely or retreating while the going was good.

He wasn’t as abnormal as he thought.

Having a warm lover, wanting to be close to her, fool around with her, oppose her, share with her… these were the most normal human instincts.

That old Chinese doctor was the abnormal one.

“I do have business later,” he said easily, “I just came to supervise your work. Otherwise, this tea party of yours would go on until tomorrow.”

Lin Yuchan smiled and waved goodbye.

Unlike Yixing, Boya’s new and old employees had no interest in gossip. They swarmed around, all focusing on the envelope in Lin Yuchan’s hands.

Looking at those dancing rows of foreign text, touching that envelope carrying foreign dust, everyone felt incredibly proud, chests puffed high.

Where else in the entire Qing Dynasty was there a second shop that could establish relationships with such remarkable people, that could travel the world without leaving the store?

Everyone felt honored by association, as if they too had traveled half the globe. Several new employees secretly decided they would never quit, no matter what.

Opening the letter, Rong Hong’s handwriting leaped from the page: “I assume you have all received my Paris travelogue and accompanying souvenirs…”

Everyone collectively cringed: “Ah?”

Long-distance shipping was unreliable, and lost packages were common. Especially with gifts included—over several months, from loading and customs clearance to unloading and transport, any link where someone might steal packages would leave no trace. Not to mention possible water damage, mold, shipwrecks, and encountering bandits…

So, except for Lin Yuchan lamenting “how could anyone steal even this,” the others were quite philosophical, laughing: “No matter. He definitely wouldn’t send anything too valuable. As for the travelogue, Mr. Rong would certainly keep draft copies before mailing.”

They had to read the letter he sent from America to deduce his movements over these months.

It appeared that after his shopping spree in Marseille, Rong Hong took a train to Paris. Apparently because his luggage was mistakenly sent on another train, he had to stay in Paris waiting, during which he took a ten-day Paris self-guided tour.

Travel expenses were naturally reimbursed by the Qing government.

Even for a world citizen like Rong Hong, who had traveled to many countries, touring the prosperous, romantic capital was eye-opening. This trip left him too happy to think of home. He took several large rolls of photographs but didn’t have time to develop them all, only carrying them with him.

Good thing he didn’t mail them back.

As for his notes and sketches from touring Paris—cathedrals, cafés, parks, salons, little Johann Strauss’s European concert tour… since these were unfortunately lost, they could only be imagined by various stay-at-home country bumpkins.

…

Then Rong Hong reluctantly left Paris, took a ship from Calais, France across the English Channel, took a train from Dover, England to London, and began serious business.

He needed to order machinery for the Qing Dynasty’s “machines to make machines.” Most European countries had language barriers and were prone to fraud, so he mainly pinned his hopes on Britain and America.

Rong Hong lingered around London for a month, investigating many machine factories, too busy to write letters. Though quite productive, he wasn’t satisfied.

“I originally thought that the Qing people’s submissive acceptance and numb indifference were the main causes of national backwardness, that we should cast off this weak national character to become prosperous and strong.” Rong Hong finally had ample free time upon reaching America and began writing essays. “But I didn’t know that going too far was as bad as not going far enough—an overly rigid and clanging national character is also not beneficial to social progress. Observing British factories, although workers’ treatment is low, they can still maintain basic sustenance. Compared to our Qing people, it’s wanting compared to superiors but surplus compared to inferiors. Yet they remain unsatisfied. When they have demands for raises, rest, safety insurance, etc., they’re unwilling to humbly discuss with leaders or argue reasonably. Instead, they readily organize strikes and struggles, causing production to cease, truly regrettable.

“During my days observing factories in London, half the time I encountered workers organizing assemblies, production stagnating, unable to observe machinery manufacturing processes in detail. Though factory owners repeatedly clarified that European worker organizations had recently gathered in London intending to assemble, thus causing chaos that wasn’t the daily norm, I still harbor concerns. If machinery customization were entrusted to British factories, they might not complete it punctually and efficiently…”

After hearing Lin Yuchan’s translation, Aunt Hong laughed: “So foreign countries also have rebellious subjects, quite similar to the Qing Dynasty. I thought over there—how was it said—even things dropped on the ground wouldn’t be picked up!”

A relatively lively new employee whispered back, “How could it be so good? Foreigners are thieves and robbers in their bones.”

Chang Baoluo shook his head and sighed: “People are never satisfied with what they have. Western countries are wealthy—I hear foreign farmers, foreign workers, even foreign widows can eat beef and potatoes daily. Yet they still engage in struggles. They don’t know their blessings.”

Everyone agreed.

Old Zhao wielded his age authority, taking the opportunity to admonish new employees: “Though our shop deals in foreign goods, you’re not allowed to learn from foreigners. If you dare slack off, I won’t show Miss Lin any face—I’ll still fire you!”

After speaking, he looked at Lin Yuchan with righteous bearing, waiting for her to nod in agreement.

Lin Yuchan was in a daze, completely unaware of what everyone was saying.

She read through Rong Hong’s handwriting once more, suddenly feeling her heart surge with indescribable excitement—

Worker movements?

European countries had already united to launch worker movements?

Like a lost timeline floating in a void—snap—it fitted into her world.

Yes, the development of the Industrial Revolution caused tremendous changes in European social and economic structures… the basic contradictions of capitalist society were increasingly exposed… the proletariat became an independent political force…

She could recite pages of textbook definitions, but those were all theoretical. Only the familiar, slightly scrawled handwriting before her now concretely told her how fast the outside world was moving.

Old Zhao’s first time lecturing new employees without getting a response from Boss Lin left him somewhat embarrassed, so he coughed.

Lin Yuchan hurriedly snapped back: “Uh, right, Old Zhao is correct. However, those sweatshops in Hongkou and Pudong that exploit labor should indeed have people resist. Our Boya doesn’t exploit workers. Everyone can rest assured. If you have any demands, feel free to raise them with me.”

Citizens of this era’s Qing Dynasty, even those as intelligent and enlightened as Rong Hong, could hardly immediately realize the epoch-making significance of these “rebellious subjects.”

Rong Hong only felt that the entire European industrial atmosphere was somewhat impetuous. Workers wouldn’t dutifully work hard, wouldn’t properly negotiate with capitalists when problems arose, and would just organize violent movements.

He subtly complained that only Europe, with its industrial revolution and colonial history foundations, without risks of dynastic change, could tolerate workers acting this way. If it were the Qing Dynasty, with hundreds of millions of farmers standing up demanding “rights,” the people would have starved long ago, and the Qing would have perished.

“While investigating British factories, I nearly encountered worker group conflicts several times,” Rong Hong wrote with lingering fear. “A fanatical Moore even stuffed me with many pamphlets and booklets, though most were immediately confiscated by military police. I had to explain at length, proving I wasn’t a foreign worker representative here to organize some ‘International Workingmen’s Association,’ before being released… In any case, I decided to entrust the Qing’s orders to America. That’s a young and enthusiastic new nation whose people work together harmoniously without so many politically conflicting internal struggles.”

Reading this, everyone lamented Rong Hong’s luck: “In the Qing Dynasty, he was nearly treated as a rebel, and abroad, he was nearly treated as their kind of rebel. Must be an unlucky year—we should go to a temple to divine for him later.”

Only Lin Yuchan was still mentally wandering, the stirring prelude to “The Internationale” echoing in her mind.

“International Workingmen’s Association”…

Is that the International Workingmen’s Association I’m thinking of? The First International?!

The origin of that term “The Internationale will surely be realized”?

—Mr. Rong, don’t leave! Help me register there! I want to meet Marx! I want to be a founding member!!

Unfortunately, this cry was several months too late and separated by the entire Eurasian continent, so it could only be a dream.

Even in Europe, where advanced thought clustered, the proletarian revolution was currently in a state where everyone wanted to suppress it. Regardless of country or government—leftist, rightist, enlightened, dictatorial, radical, or conservative—all would spare no effort to stamp out these sparks.

Rong Hong couldn’t possibly have much contact with them. Under unanimous condemnation, he wouldn’t develop sympathy or favorable impressions of them either.

This was the era’s helplessness.

However, at least Lin Yuchan knew she wasn’t alone. Those seemingly fantastical ideas in her head that would be considered absurd if spoken weren’t water without source falling from heaven, but genuinely existing pieces of the puzzle within this world.

She was still silent while others were already urging.

“Miss Lin, Miss Lin, keep reading.”

Rong Hong’s letters mixed Chinese and English—others couldn’t interpret sentence by sentence.

Lin Yuchan quickly scanned the second half of the letter, looked up, and said in a flat tone: “Long story short, Mr. Rong is doing well in America, currently visiting machine factories everywhere. He’ll stay there several months—alright, now back to work.”

She wouldn’t be an unscrupulous capitalist exploiting workers, but slacking off had to have limits, folks.

Only then did everyone remember why they were here. After several embarrassed laughs, they returned to their proper state and dispersed to work.

Lin Yuchan put away Rong Hong’s letter, suddenly realizing something—

This last letter mailed from America, unlike the previous ones, had left an address on the envelope!

Willard Hotel

17 Market St. Hartford, Connecticut

United States of America.

Rong Hong had taken residence at a mid-level hotel in Connecticut. The letter mentioned that due to waiting for order queues and machinery manufacturing, he would stay for at least several months.

Lin Yuchan excitedly picked up her pen and began writing a reply to Rong Hong.

“Miss Lin, everyone has studied that foreign trading house fixed-price contract you brought,” Chang Baoluo said cheerfully. In Europe, someone has created more efficient spinning machines. This year, trading houses received European textile factory orders that increased fivefold, and printed cotton has also risen in price, so they’ll purchase large quantities of cotton from China. Prices will also rise. I’ve already had San Niang’s family purchase more cotton fields and exchange them for superior seeds. Among the five new brothers and sisters, I got four from Old Zhao. Starting now, we’ll begin pre-ordering quality cotton fields, machinery, and storage. If we’re late, we won’t be able to compete with others.”

Raw cotton prices were like a tornado, blowing higher and higher in the new year. With the chamber of commerce’s information integration, many Chinese merchants had switched businesses or added cotton operations, planning to join in and catch this express train.

Boya Company already had last year’s foundation, starting earlier than others, and now operates smoothly.

Lin Yuchan had a little selfish motive. Jin Nengheng’s leaked contract had been thoroughly digested by Boya’s people, but at chamber of commerce meetings, she hadn’t revealed everything. Instead, based on external business environments, she selectively released information. For instance, when trading houses wanted to manipulate raw silk prices uniformly, she released the purchase quotas for raw silk from the fixed-price contracts, letting those in the silk business know what to expect and avoid being caught off guard.

This strategy had been effective so far. The Yixing Chamber of Commerce’s reputation had risen dramatically, with membership increasing by half in just one month.

Moreover, while others followed trends, Lin Yuchan was confident. From Rong Hong’s letters, she read that America’s civil war still showed no signs of cessation. Most American machine factories had converted to military production, manufacturing urgently needed national components, causing orders for civilian machinery from foreign customers like Rong Hong to be delayed for months.

Though Lin Yuchan knew this war would end next year, based on current information, world raw cotton supply remained tight with prices continuing to rise—this was inevitable.

So she authorized Chang Baoluo to proceed freely with cotton purchasing and processing. With the Yixing Chamber of Commerce’s information integration, they wouldn’t be precisely sniped by foreign merchants like last year.

As for the tea business, it wasn’t so smooth sailing.

Before Old Zhao could begin his report, the wind chimes at the Western building entrance rang, and a street runner entered.

“Bosses, I’m sorry.” The runner bowed all around, presenting a contract. “Our trading house has recently had some difficulties with capital flow. After much consideration, the owner can only return the tea contract ordered from you. We’ll look for opportunities to sign again later… The owner specifically ordered me to apologize properly to all bosses. We’ll still be friends in the future…”

After chattering for ages with full sincerity in “apologizing,” Lin Yuchan felt some anger rising.

Thousands of pounds of tea leaves—they could just say they didn’t want them? Trading houses were all backed by foreign banks and had purchase quotas for bulk tea goods. How could they so easily have “insufficient capital flow”?

Old Zhao’s face showed displeasure as he suddenly interrupted the runner: “I suppose you’ve switched to another tea supplier? Defeng Trading House?”

The runner’s face stiffened, then smiled impeccably: “The owner makes decisions, I just run errands. I don’t understand anything. Goodbye, goodbye.”

…

After the runner left, the people in the Western building looked at each other.

Zhao Huaisheng broke the silence, hesitantly suggesting: “This isn’t the first time in recent days. Miss Lin, should we temporarily suspend production of Boya refined tea?”