Lin Yuchan was startled, then smiled and said, “Mr. Rong doesn’t allow it. One of his conditions for transferring Boya was that the tea brand’s reputation couldn’t be ruined.”
Boya premium tea was the company’s founding hero, one could say a three-dynasty veteran, a wife who shared hardships—how could it be abandoned at will?
“That clerk wasn’t the first to break contracts!” Old Zhao said anxiously in a low voice. “That Defeng Company is targeting our products specifically. They don’t dare provoke us openly—they dodge whenever they see our people—but wherever we deliver goods, they immediately go there to sell too. The tea they sell is always just a tiny bit better quality than ours. Over time, they’ve stolen quite a few of our customers. In short, the premium tea business is now completely losing money. Your little apprentice, Miss Mau—”
Lin Yuchan asked: “Wasn’t she supposed to research Defeng Company’s secret formula?”
Old Zhao shook his head with displeasure: “Every time she goes, she does seem to bustle about with great purpose, but who knows what she’s doing. When I ask her, she just says she’s encountering various difficulties, and if only she could get a look inside Defeng Company’s tea-roasting room—isn’t that nonsense? If we could go observe their tea-roasting process, why would we spend money for her to do experiments?”
Lin Yuchan nodded, showing she understood Old Zhao’s feelings.
She didn’t think Mau Shunniang was being lazy. If she wanted to slack off, going home to embroider her wedding trousseau would be better than soaking in tea leaves every day.
Though that little girl was clever, she wasn’t very interested in commercial business matters, only extremely perceptive about tea itself.
Lin Yuchan let her play to her strengths.
But research—how could it achieve immediate results, producing outcomes on demand? Even in modern times, developing new products or technologies requires entire teams working day and night for months or years before seeing any progress.
As for “working for years only to fail at the crucial moment,” that was even more common.
Moreover, Miss Mau was fighting alone, without any external resources to assist her.
But Old Zhao had complaints about this “little girl taking a salary for nothing.” Lin Yuchan thought it over, and to accommodate Old Zhao’s feelings, smiled and consoled: “Scholars study for ten years in their cold chambers, and only in the eleventh year do they achieve scholarly success—you can’t say the first ten years of effort were wasted, right? You’re also a tea expert now, so help her out more.”
Zhao Huaisheng laughed: “Oh my, if I go chat with someone’s engaged young lady for no reason, wouldn’t Shopkeeper Mau kick me out?”
This was an honest man—his first reaction was to “avoid impropriety.”
But Lin Yuchan disagreed: “I’m still a young widow, but do you talk to me any less?”
Old Zhao: “…”
Lin Yuchan: “Anyone who dares gossip, I’ll fire them.”
Breaking down gender barriers starts with me. If male and female employees under her supervision couldn’t communicate and collaborate, what was the point of being a boss?
After doing ideological work on Old Zhao, she couldn’t help but fall into contemplation again.
Many in the industry had already noticed the reemergence of the “Defeng” brand, with many comparing it to the rising star “Boya Premium Tea.” The conclusion was self-evident—
When experts make their move, you know whether they have skill or not. The old established brand was still slightly superior.
Wang Quan, Shopkeeper Wang, seemed determined to oppose her. He didn’t dare to confront, fearing being used as a punching bag by the “Hometown Association” again, but relying on his experience and technical expertise, he was willing to spare no cost in crushing Boya in the tea market to repay old and new grudges.
The premium tea business was gradually shrinking. Looking at the customer order list, only the loyal old customers Lin Yuchan had accumulated when she personally sold tea at the shop remained, or those buying because of her charitable reputation.
After handling a pile of miscellaneous matters, Lin Yuchan still couldn’t sit. Seeing Old Zhao free, she called him over, planning to probe Defeng Company’s situation.
Wang Quan came to Sifang Street, facing two open noodle shops, and decisively chose the cheaper one.
It wasn’t that he was willingly poor, but accommodating his old friend’s taste.
Old Huang was already waiting on a stool, sipping a cup of tea with great relish.
Wang Quan ordered two bowls of noodles, and the two politely deferred to each other for a while before each began eating.
“That dead girl has abundant finances. She uses cotton trading profits to subsidize tea, so she won’t collapse anytime soon.” Guangdong native Wang Quan didn’t notice the chili in his noodles, slurping away with sweat pouring down his face while complaining angrily, “My money is almost running out. Old Boss Huang, that property speculation business you introduced me to—please don’t let anything go wrong.”
Old Huang was unhurried, pouring two more spoonfuls of chili oil into his noodles, making Wang Quan’s tongue tremble at the sight.
Chili was poor people’s food—the spicy and salty flavors could compensate for inadequate dishes. Old Huang had been poor for so long, he’d developed this taste.
But when he spoke, his thinking was completely unlike a poor man’s.
“Since we couldn’t deal with her last time, is Boss Wang giving up so easily? Everything requires persistence!” Old Huang stroked his glasses stem, patiently advising Wang Quan, “That Lin woman is arrogant now because she has money and customers. But once you steal her customers and prevent her from making money, will so many people still support her? In all your time in Shanghai, how many fools have you seen who help others for free? When the time comes, you can quietly capture her and send her to the officials to be judged as an escaped slave—then her shop will naturally and rightfully belong to you! Didn’t you say her father died from opium long ago? There’s not even a plaintiff! Boss Wang, you’re a merchant, a wealthy man. What does she have—a woman with no foundation or backing—to fight you with?”
A complete set of jungle society experience that sounded very convincing.
Wang Quan nodded, deeply agreeing.
Actually, he thought the same way. Hearing Old Huang put it like this, he felt great resonance.
“But,” Wang Quan drank several cups of tea, finally suppressing the spicy taste, and said with a frown, “but I’m running short on ready cash. Old Boss Huang, let’s speak plainly—if you could provide some working capital…”
Old Huang shook his head, saying resentfully, “Thanks to that Miss Lin, this old man really can’t make much money now. But you can continue investing in real estate stocks!”
Wang Quan smiled bitterly. All the liquid cash he could mobilize had already been sent to the “British United Property Company” to earn interest. He couldn’t conjure up more capital from thin air.
Seeing his difficulty, Old Huang squinted, breathing out waves of spicy fumes, carefully suggesting: “Actually, Boss Wang might try mortgage lending… Many people speculating in land and stocks do this—huge profits with small investment. Once you earn the interest, just redeem it back…”
Wang Quan’s expression changed slightly. His instincts told him the risk was too great.
Old Huang scoffed: “How can you make money without taking risks? Don’t you Guangdong people always say ‘only those who dare to fight will win’?”
Wang Quan couldn’t help reminding: “That’s Fujian dialect.”
“Same difference.” Old Huang laughed, “Anyway, you can’t catch wolves without risking the child. Back when I came to Shanghai with fifty silver dollars, I nearly died countless times before earning my later fortune. I’m not belittling you, Boss Wang, but if I’d been as cautious as you back then, I’d still be running errands in some cotton shop now!”
Wang Quan endured and endured, swallowing the comment “Guangdong and Fujian are very different,” and was about to say more when suddenly someone came over with a bowl of noodles, politely asking: “Share a table?”
Wang Quan looked up and saw the man in a long robe with a pipe at his waist, dressed more respectably than himself, yet also coming to this shabby noodle shop to fill his belly. He thought: “Saving face at any cost.”
There was nothing worthwhile about socializing with such a poor scholar. Wang Quan impatiently waved his hand: “We’re discussing business, no sharing! Go wait at another table.”
Zhao Huaisheng politely took his leave, and upon exiting, handed his noodles to a beggar by the wall.
After walking one street, he entered a mid-range teahouse. Lin Yuchan had already ordered, and the tea master brought bowls and chopsticks.
“Miss Lin,” Zhao Huaisheng sat down, very relaxed as he picked up a bowl of chicken silk congee, “that Shopkeeper Wang who has a grudge against you—guess who he’s mixed up with now?”
“Pfft.”
Lin Yuchan had just swallowed a sip of congee and nearly sprayed it all out.
Wang Quan was mixed up with Old Huang—truly birds of a feather.
Since carrying off the money and disappearing, she hadn’t seen Old Huang on Huayi Street, thinking he’d been boycotted by the “Hometown Association” and couldn’t do business, having long since been unable to survive in Shanghai.
Unexpectedly, he was still lurking nearby. It seemed he was deliberately avoiding her.
People have a hundred forms. Some are like exotic flowers in a greenhouse—brilliantly beautiful when blooming, but if the soil and water are even slightly wrong, they immediately wither and never recover; others are like ugly weeds that, no matter where they drift, can take root with just a bit of moisture, then grow wild and unruly, seemingly able to dominate the world through sheer stubborn vitality.
Since they met again, it was fate. Since he dared to provoke her again, Lin Yuchan couldn’t just let him use her as a punching bag.
She asked: “What were they talking about?”
“Nothing but how to deal with you. That Huang fellow is now his military advisor.” Old Zhao, normally tolerant and kind-hearted, couldn’t help but sneer coldly, stroking his long beard in a military advisor pose, “I don’t understand—with Wang Quan’s foundation, if he worked steadily from scratch, going to the docks for bulk tea business, he could slowly make money just the same. What deep hatred does he have with you that he must smash our Boya’s reputation and seize your shop? Such risky business—how does it compare to steady progress, earning money bit by bit? From what you’ve told me, he’s not stupid!”
Lin Yuchan felt she knew the reason: “It’s not that he hates me so much. He… probably no longer knows how to start from scratch with empty hands, so he can only target me. His real estate stock purchases were most likely also Old Huang’s instigation. The two are using each other—it hardly counts as friendship.”
In the past at Defeng Company, Wang Quan could be said to control wind and rain, with deals worth tens of thousands of taels at any moment—this had long since inflated his appetite. Now asking him to return to decades ago, starting with deals of dozens or hundreds of taels, he probably lacked the patience.
Just like many ordinary people who won lottery jackpots—after squandering the prize money, they could never return to their previous nine-to-five working life. Winning the lottery instead led to bankruptcy—this is a human weakness.
Take Lin Yuchan herself—now, if not wealthy, at least she’d achieved modest prosperity, able to go to teahouses anytime for a proper meal. If everything were suddenly stripped away, leaving her penniless to start over, working as a laborer with two meals a day, there would be a psychological gap, definitely insufficient motivation, and thoughts of taking shortcuts.
Lin Yuchan analyzed: “So Wang Quan will most likely continue tilting all resources toward competing with Boya. Our premium tea can’t stop production—we’ll continue fighting him. I don’t believe his property speculation can generate endless money.”
She also reminded herself that doing business in the Qing Dynasty offered no guarantees, even with vast wealth. She was currently at most middle-class level—she couldn’t “die from comfort.”
Wang Quan and Old Huang emerged together from the small noodle shop, hurrying down the street.
Lin Yuchan slipped into the “British United Property Company” to chat with salesman Zhang Baiwan.
“Is that your uncle?” Zhang Baiwan was both curious and emotional. “What were you arguing about outside just now?”
Lin Yuchan said half-truthfully: “Yes. Uncle wanted to borrow money from my family, saying land speculation brings huge profits. My family disagreed, saying since he started investing in your stocks, we haven’t seen him bring home a single cent—he must have been swindled. We met on the road just now and had a few words.”
Wang Quan had conducted his real estate stock purchases secretly, fearing others would discover this wealth formula, and would never confide his grudges with Lin Yuchan to a salesman.
The salesman, with his preconceptions, immediately believed Lin Yuchan’s words, hastily saying: “No, no, our company is properly registered with the Municipal Council and would never swindle anyone. Shopkeeper Wang’s earnings all went into his business—understandably, he didn’t bring money home. Madam, you don’t know—he mortgaged his entire shop, all assets, equipment, and inventory of new and old tea, converting everything to money and investing it all in our company’s stocks. He just came to collect dividends. To tell you the truth, this dividend payment is fifty percent higher than when you last inquired, Madam. Don’t hesitate—invest quickly!”
Listening to Zhang Baiwan’s flowery praise of Wang Quan’s boldness, Lin Yuchan felt only tremendous shock.
He had mortgaged all of Defeng Company’s paper assets for property speculation?
His trip to the money house earlier was for this?
No wonder he was so confident!
A lean camel is still bigger than a horse. Even after years of storm-like losses, he should still have tens of thousands of taels in capital, right?
She probed: “Are property prices still rising?”
“Absolutely!” Zhang Baiwan answered without hesitation, “That Western-style house on Saigon Road that Madam asked me to appraise last time—it was sixty-five hundred silver dollars then, right? Fortunately, Madam didn’t sell. If you sold now, it would be at least seventy-five hundred—I’m not lying! If Madam is interested, I can help you list it today. If you can’t bear to sell, you could also mortgage that house, use the money to invest in our real estate stocks—this is called using houses to generate houses, compound interest, endless wealth, Madam… But these stocks are expensive now, too. Last time it was one hundred taels of silver per share, wasn’t it? Now, if you want to buy, it’s one hundred twenty taels per share, limited supply, buy while supplies last, prices will rise again tomorrow…”
Lin Yuchan got goosebumps listening. The salesman’s eloquence was truly impressive. She felt that if she stayed here another half hour, she’d be talked into selling her house to buy stocks.
At least now she knew where Wang Quan’s money came from. During this period, Shanghai property prices continued soaring, driving real estate stock prices skyward like rockets. Just the regular high dividends he withdrew were enough to support his cost-regardless production of premium tea to compete with Boya.
Lin Yuchan turned to leave.
The salesman quickly stopped her: “Won’t Madam consider it…”
Lin Yuchan smiled: “Since my little Western house’s valuation is rising so fast, I’ve decided to keep holding it—maybe by this time next month, it could rise another ten percent! We’ll talk later.”
Zhang Baiwan was stumped by her “using his spear against his shield” argument and could only bow: “Madam… farewell.”
Lin Yuchan turned the street corner and met up with Old Zhao.
“Wang Quan has staked his entire fortune on real estate stocks.” Lin Yuchan instructed, “We just need to withstand his dumping, and when his capital chain breaks someday, we’ll win without fighting. Don’t worry.”
Old Zhao was surprised by her decisiveness. “Miss Lin, are you certain his capital chain will have problems? To be honest, I have several distant relatives speculating in land stocks too, and the money comes so fast—saying I’m not envious would be a lie…”
Lin Yuchan said firmly, “I can’t stop your relatives. But I’ve reiterated many times at Boya—none of our people are allowed to participate in property speculation investments. Don’t be envious either. This kind of castle-in-the-air prosperity won’t continue forever.”
Since early this year, when Boya’s people first discussed “land speculation,” Lin Yuchan had clearly stated she didn’t encourage everyone’s participation.
Back then, everyone agreed readily, thinking it was something for rich people that had nothing to do with them.
But after several months, as more and more people around them joined the property speculation army—customers speculating, suppliers speculating, even neighbors bragging about their real estate stock gains while playing mahjong—ordinary people’s mentality became a bit unstable.
Chinese people naturally follow trends. In ancient societies without regulation and with limited information channels, they were even more prone to believing and spreading rumors, being led by superficial news.
After hesitating briefly, Zhao Huaisheng couldn’t help arguing: “We’re cowardly, we admit it. But land is something that truly makes money—this can’t be denied.”
Lin Yuchan replied seriously: “No speculation allowed!”
She indeed had the confidence to say this. The real estate industry was closely tied to the overall economic environment. In the long term, Shanghai, the Qing Dynasty, and even the entire world would endure multiple wars in the future. The foreign settlements wouldn’t be eternal paradises either, and land prices couldn’t keep rising forever.
In the short term…
The Taiping Heavenly Kingdom war would soon end.
She couldn’t remember the exact date. But history’s direction was set—countless complex causes would result in predetermined effects, and at the proper time, the fruit would definitely fall.
In the fourth lunar month, when locust flowers filled the air, news spread among the people: Hong Xiuquan had starved to death in besieged Nanjing.
This war, lasting fourteen years, sweeping eighteen provinces, affecting millions of people—the largest in Chinese history—was like a heaven-shattering giant dragging its broken body, dragging smoke and charred flesh and blood, step by step, leaving crimson footprints, finally approaching its ultimate curtain call.