The Xiang Army and Huai Army pressed forward step by step, the war situation like a torrential mountain flood, rushing toward its predetermined direction.

Curious and bloody details spread throughout the streets and alleys. Officials entering and leaving government offices walked with light steps, all beaming with joy, knowing promotion and wealth were close at hand.

The North China Herald published the Municipal Council’s notice to foreign residents in the settlements, condemning the Qing government’s brutal massacre of rebels while reminding everyone to prepare for a massive influx of refugees.

The prosperity of Shanghai’s foreign settlements, in a sense, depended entirely on the contrast provided by neighboring provinces and cities. The more chaotic the outside world, the more precious the peace within the settlements appeared, with living conditions far superior. At the same time, refugees brought abundant cheap labor and continuous housing demand.

Lin Yuchan’s prediction came true. Within just one month, land prices indeed rose another ten percent. Speculation-obsessed foreigners established more real estate companies, continuing to raise money for construction, hoping to collect sky-high rents and deposits. These crowdfunded investments, from foreign banks to money houses, draft banks, and private loans, spread like peeling an onion down to the general Chinese populace.

Whether officials or civilians, nearly one in ten was now a shareholder in foreign real estate companies. Watching those soaring stock prices and enormous dividends, Shanghai citizens couldn’t sit still, investing their life savings into endless property speculation.

Now that “the world was at peace,” wasn’t this the perfect time to get rich?

Countless construction sites opened within the settlements, with countless laborers shuttling between them. Most were refugees from Jiangsu and Zhejiang who had settled here in previous years—now their predecessors planted trees for successors to enjoy shade, building new affordable housing for later arrivals.

“British United Property Company’s” storefront expanded several times over, hiring several new salespeople.

One day when Lin Yuchan arrived at work as usual, she found Aunt Zhou holding a flyer, begging Chang Baoluo to read it to her.

“…it was given to me by a sister who used to work as a maid. Little Chang, I’ve worked hard half my life—saving one hundred taels of silver wasn’t easy. Help me see if this land stock is reliable or not…”

Lin Yuchan snatched it away and tore up the flyer directly. Looking down at the fragments, she saw it wasn’t “British United” but an unfamiliar real estate company.

“Don’t even think about it. If they run off with the money, your life savings will be gone!”

She also thought: these capitalists have no conscience, even targeting illiterate lower-class women!

Aunt Zhou naturally disagreed, quietly protesting: “Just because that Mr. Su says they’ll run away means they really will? Madam, you can’t listen to him about everything!—Taking a step back, I’m not a maid now, I’m your employee, and I decide what to do with my own money…”

“If you dare buy those stocks, I’ll fire you.” Lin Yuchan didn’t yield an inch. “Think it over.”

Chang Baoluo was caught in the middle, weakly afraid to speak, finally trying to smooth things over: “Miss Lin, it’s all because this flyer is written too flashily—I almost got tempted myself. Yesterday I even quarreled with San Niang over not buying stocks.”

Lin Yuchan burst out laughing, unable to feel sympathy. Who told him to show off his marital bliss constantly since getting married?

This showed that talking about money hurts feelings.

Aunt Zhou was angry and didn’t speak to her for half a day, even slacking off on housework for a day. Lin Yuchan remained unmoved, only supervising her against reckless investments.

In modern times, workplace colleagues minded their own business—no one would interfere with others’ investments.

But in ancient times swept by traditional thinking, a business was like a family, and the business head took on somewhat parental responsibilities. When employees got into trouble or courted disaster, the boss was implicated both morally and legally. So she had to play class supervisor, constantly watching her subordinates’ wallets.

In June, Tianjing fell, and the Xiang Army massacred the city. Eyewitnesses angrily wrote that the government troops “killed anyone they saw, burned any house they found, raping, looting, and burning without restraint. From elderly octogenarians down to young children, their cries reached all directions.” The North China Herald published rough statistics, believing that in just these few months, deaths within Nanjing city numbered in the hundreds of thousands.

Some believed the city’s people had already colluded with the rebels and deserved death; others sighed secretly, not daring to say more; only those foreign real estate merchants held newspapers with beaming faces, calculating in their hearts how many times their land business could expand when refugees flooded in.

British United Property Company’s initial stocks with a fifty-tael face value had now skyrocketed to nearly eight hundred taels. But no one would sell—everyone held tight, believing stock prices would reach new heights. Due to severe undersupply, stock prices rose day by day.

However, observant suburban residents had already noticed something. After the Taiping Army’s chaos ended, Shanghai’s suburbs hadn’t welcomed the expected refugee influx as before. Large numbers of government troops stationed around the city outskirts—except for occasionally suppressing remaining rebel remnants, both inside and outside the county remained as quiet as if nothing had happened.

There was no sudden surge in housing demand either. On the contrary, many houses, both inside and outside the settlements, posted for-sale signs. Ox carts, horse carts, mule carts, and wheelbarrows loaded with baggage and belongings, carrying crowds of men, women, old and young, began departing Shanghai in groups.

“The world is at peace—let’s go back to our Yangzhou home!”

“Ah, it’s hard to leave one’s homeland. We’ve lived in Shanghai for ten years, but ultimately Changzhou countryside is better!”

“My family still has dozens of acres of farmland outside Suzhou! Look, the land deeds are all here! If we don’t go back, someone will occupy our land!”

“Fellow townsman, you’re returning to Wuxi? What a coincidence, my family too…”

“Sigh, my relatives and clansmen are all in Jiangning Prefecture—probably not many left now… but still should go back and see, or I’ll worry my whole life.”

…

Foreigners never imagined that Chinese people could have such a deep-rooted attachment to their homeland. Those hundreds of thousands of refugees who had fled during the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom chaos over the past dozen years, though they had settled peacefully in Shanghai and some had built substantial fortunes through hard work, upon hearing news of the war’s end, their first reaction was: go home!

Sell houses, cancel leases, pack belongings, take the whole family—go home!

Go home, go home!

The colorful soap bubble was blown to its limit until finally, with a “pop,” these two words burst it.

Refugees remaining in Shanghai formed return groups, evacuating from the settlements in batches, everyone with their reasons.

Those landlords and officials who had fled from war zones to hide in Shanghai hurried back to their original places to investigate their properties and settle scores; those common people who had escaped the flames of war also rushed to return home to rebuild their lives.

Foreign real estate merchants awoke as if from a dream, hastily halting the flourishing construction projects. Large numbers of unfinished buildings gaped with bloody mouths, silently watching as batches of people moved away.

Since news of “rebel suppression” arrived, Boya Company’s business had grown increasingly quiet. Because many suppliers and customers had also returned home…

Lin Yuchan ordered debt collection, keeping sufficient cash on the books, slowing production, giving employees two days off per week, not opposing history’s wheels.

The entire city seemed to have stopped. Except for one place.

All the docks of Yixing Shipping were bustling with people buying tickets to sail home.

But this moment couldn’t be called profitable either. If any Chinese shipping company in Shanghai dared take advantage by inflating ticket prices and obstructing people’s homeward journeys, forget government intervention—the public outrage alone would be enough to condemn such heartless bosses to death.

Yixing responded to official calls, urgently suspending all long-distance routes, reducing massive freight demand, and dedicating all shipping capacity to transporting refugees home.

Foreigners wouldn’t handle this—only Chinese transportation companies could manage it.

“Sorry, Miss Lin.” Su Minguan rested his chin on one hand, gently looking at the contract before him. “Your tea shipment orders will have to be delayed two months. I’ll compensate your losses as agreed.”

He’d been traveling frequently lately, having just arrived in Shanghai at dawn today to coordinate passenger ships from several other ports to meet Shanghai harbor’s growing passenger transport demands.

Reuniting with Lin Yuchan after a brief separation, he said nothing else for ten minutes, but first brought out the freight contract to discuss with her. His attitude was professionally impeccable. Only between glances did his eyes seem to carry the lively moisture of river surfaces, occasionally lifting his eyelids to peek at her, his pupils holding a brazen apology.

Lin Yuchan smiled, saying very magnanimously: “It’s fine. We don’t have that much cargo to ship lately anyway.”

Su Minguan lifted his eyelids, his gaze casually wandering across her face, making her blush slightly.

He suddenly stood up with an invitation:

“Want to go for a walk?”

Now, suddenly, much more leisurely, Lin Yuchan was somewhat unaccustomed. She mentally reviewed today’s schedule, discovered it was Boya’s day off, and smiled happily: “Let me change clothes.”

Shanghai had entered the muggy rainy season—a few steps brought sweat, so respectable people changed clothes several times daily.

Lin Yuchan changed into a light azure gauze robe with loose, long sleeves, took an umbrella, and followed lightly.

Young men and women walking side by side no longer attracted stares in the settlements—as if overnight, the settlement population had plummeted. Rows of residences and shops stood with doors wide open, furniture and garbage discarded along roadsides, with hardly anyone on the streets.

It momentarily created the strange illusion of being in some poorly managed, soon-to-close film studio.

Many shikumen residences had cheap transfer notices posted outside, with prices crossed out several times, dropping repeatedly, but no one inquired.

Lin Yuchan sighed: “Too desolate.”

Since they’d both coincidentally come to settle in Shanghai, for years they’d only seen the prosperous foreign settlement scene like fire cooking oil, as if everything was like rising hot air balloons that would only climb higher; now for the first time, the hot air balloon touched the sky’s ceiling, and they finally witnessed the cliff-like rapid decline during economic stagnation or even downturn.

Lin Yuchan couldn’t help thinking: in twenty-first century Shanghai, if the city’s population suddenly evaporated by two-thirds, what would be the consequences?

Hard to imagine. But this absurd scenario became reality in the Qing Dynasty.

“A’Mei, short on cash?” Su Minguan suddenly opened his mouth with schadenfreude. “I still offer three thousand silver dollars for your little Western house on Saigon Road.”

Lin Yuchan couldn’t help laughing while feeling heartache. Her little Western house had been valued at seventy-five hundred silver dollars at its peak. But with land prices falling like this, she couldn’t even say if the house was still worth three thousand.

She suddenly remembered something and asked: “No one at Yixing bought real estate company stocks, right?”

“A few did.” Su Minguan secretly connected with her sleeve, his pinky hooking the pinky inside her sleeve cuff, caressing it while saying softly, “After I discovered it, I ordered them all to sell immediately. Coming and going, they even earned dozens of taels.”

Lin Yuchan deliberately beat her chest and stamped her feet: “I should have bought dozens of shares early on, then sold them last month for triple the capital—Boya wouldn’t need to open for business in the second half of the year!”

Su Minguan scoffed: “Monday morning quarterbacking. Daring to think but not act.”

Suddenly, they saw people blocking the road ahead. Su Minguan released her hand.

The originally quiet main road was deserted on both sides, but at one storefront, nearly a hundred people crowded—mostly common citizens. There were scholars, small and medium merchants, and even several old ladies.

“Open up! Open up!”

The crowd pounded the tightly closed Western iron gate, shouting angrily.

“Open up! We want to sell stocks!”

Above the iron gate hung a plaque reading “Hongguang Real Estate Company.”

This iron gate was heavily cast with decorative patterns, obviously valuable—”Hongguang Real Estate Company” must have once been a treasure pot that Shanghai people competed to support. But today, no matter how angrily the people knocked, no one inside responded.

“I bought one thousand taels of real estate stocks here!” A businessman-looking young man sat down on the ground, crying to the crowd, “That’s my whole family’s decades of savings! All because I believed those unscrupulous clerks’ deception, thinking I could make huge profits. We wanted to sell those stocks several times to secure our gains, but couldn’t resist those clerks’ sweet talk, promising to buy back anytime, so we kept them unsold. Who knew today they won’t open the door—are they planning to default? Fellow townsmen, we’re all Hongguang Company shareholders. Whoever’s hiding inside, today they must give us an explanation!”

Others loudly agreed: “Exactly! If they don’t open the door, we’ll smash it open! Five hundred taels per stock—they promised to buy back anytime! If they dare not exchange, we’ll smash their store and take away everything valuable inside!”

…

Crack—the iron gate broke. Turns out that “Western cast iron” was fake—hollow, filled with wood chips!

Angry and panicked citizens rushed into the real estate company, finding it long empty, leaving only garbage on the floor and an old briefcase someone forgot to take, containing a stack of greasy company stocks.

Truly a “briefcase company.”

Some people cried on the spot.

A few with stronger nerves helped the old and young stand up, planning to appeal to the Municipal Council.

Seeing a young couple watching from afar, thinking they were fellow victims, they waved and called: “Hey! Sir and Madam, we’re going to report to officials—are you coming? The more people who register, the smoother debt collection will be!”

Su Minguan couldn’t care less about these people’s fate. He quickly turned around, pulling Lin Yuchan away.

Taking a detour to the Bund, before catching their breath, they saw long lines outside several British banks, countless respectable merchants in long robes sitting on pins and needles, queuing in the muggy weather with sweat-stained clothes. In their hands and bags—all stocks.

Unlike “briefcase companies,” many large-scale real estate companies had banks underwrite their stocks, conducting transactions at bank windows. Such stocks were generally considered more reliable, low-risk, and worth investing in.

Only the investment threshold was slightly higher. And for ordinary people, the operation methods were too unfamiliar. Therefore, those buying and selling stocks at banks were mostly wealthy officials and businessmen.

But these officials and businessmen now also lost all dignity, collars and armpits soaked with sweat, fanning themselves while whispering to each other.

“Will anyone buy for four hundred taels? It was still four hundred the day before yesterday!—No? Three hundred fifty?… Three hundred?”

Here, sellers accumulated while no buyers appeared. Chinese clerks inside the banks were quite leisurely, even playing cards.

Stock investors could only help themselves. Someone had a bright idea, hawking stocks to passersby: “We urgently need money now, so we’re selling cheaply. Everyone, come bargain hunt! Prices will recover soon!”

This attracted several uninformed idlers. Learning that real estate company stocks originally cost four hundred taels face value but had dropped to three hundred taels, they truly saw it as a great bargain hunting opportunity and were eager to try, inquiring left and right.

Someone slightly more clear-headed remembered: “But so many new construction sites have all stopped work. Everyone’s going home—who will live in the houses? How will real estate companies make money?”

Immediately, seven or eight people answered: “Hey, many people have recently left Shanghai for home, but think about it—how dirty and smelly the countryside is, how unclean! After living there for a few days, won’t they miss Shanghai’s convenience? Won’t they come back? It’s inevitable! This land absolutely won’t be wasted!”

The idlers found some logic in this and hesitated to pull out money.

Suddenly, commotion arose at the Bund dock: “Someone jumped in the river!”

The jumper was determined to die—others couldn’t stop him, only seeing a swift leaping figure. The river water was muddy and stinking, with boats of all sizes blocking chaotically. When a bold boatman approached to fish him out, it was clear he couldn’t be saved.

Police arrived and carried the drowned corpse to shore for a look: “Ah, a foreigner!”

A foreigner in a neat Western suit with short-cropped hair, wearing a cross around his neck—he couldn’t think straight and jumped in the river!

Immediately, three layers of people surrounded him. Even some queuing to sell stocks came over to watch.

Someone quickly recognized him: “Good heavens, isn’t this the foreign boss of ‘Gibson Real Estate Company’! The British Mr. Gibson! Wasn’t he very wealthy? Last year he even bought a garden house!”

Several stock investors suddenly turned pale, looking at their “Gibson Real Estate Company” stocks and sitting down hard on the ground.

…

Banks closed their heavy doors. Poor people peered around, watching the excitement, delighting in the “rich people’s bad luck” drama.

Lin Yuchan watched the pale foreign merchant’s corpse from afar, involuntarily gripping Su Minguan’s sleeve tighter.

She suddenly said: “Quick, let’s go check ‘British United Property Company’!”

“British United Property Company’s” entrance also gathered a crowd. There were real shareholders and onlookers.

Fortunately, no one ran away or committed suicide. Salesman Zhang Baiwan was bowing and cupping his hands all around, hoarsely pleading:

“Don’t panic sell, everyone! Stocks are just temporarily down—they’ll recover soon! Don’t follow the crowd!—Ah, you must sell?… Our company’s funds are tight right now, so we can’t take so many stocks temporarily. But—if you can’t sell here, try elsewhere! Our company has branches in Ningbo, Suzhou, and Hankou—everyone can try selling there. Our headquarters are in Hong Kong, where there are many banks—you can also have someone sell there! Our company has strong finances with so many branches—we absolutely won’t run out! If we run, may heaven strike us with lightning, may our ancestors’ coffins flip in their graves…”

The crowd blocking the door naturally didn’t buy it, saying their stocks couldn’t be sold anywhere now, and the company must give an explanation.

A middle-aged man who looked like a big boss carefully inquired: “We don’t want current stock prices—just take back our stocks at the original face value of fifty taels per share, okay? We’re short on working capital—even redeeming half would be fine…”

Lin Yuchan watched the excitement from the street corner while gloating and quietly sighing: “Shopkeeper Wang really isn’t simple.”

While others worried about “huge profits evaporating,” Wang Quan showed more rationality than others, only seeking to recover his principal—even partial principal was fine, minimizing losses as much as possible.

But British United Property Company was now an empty shell. The foreign boss had long since fled back to his country, leaving behind the abandoned pawn Zhang Baiwan. Forget fifty taels—even buying back at five taels per share was beyond his power.

“Everyone, wait a bit longer…”

A hunched, dirty figure quietly slipped out of the scattered door-smashing crowd, hugging the wall, slowly walking outward.

Lin Yuchan stepped forward and called: “Who’s that! Why is he sneaking away!”

In the chaotic din, one sharp female voice stood out like a crane among chickens.

Everyone turned one hundred eighty degrees—over a hundred eyes looked toward that gray-braided person—

“Old Huang!” someone shouted, “Aren’t you also a victim? Why are you leaving? Don’t you want your money?”

Immediately, dozens of people called out: “Boss Huang, why are you leaving?”

Wang Quan’s face went deathly pale. Reacting faster than others by a few seconds, he finally realized—

“Boss Huang! You can’t leave! Everyone, stop him! Boss Huang, you were the one who dragged me into buying British United stocks, swearing we’d make big money! What does your leaving today mean? You—are you in cahoots with them? And I even considered you a friend!”

Everyone suddenly awakened as if from a dream. For months, that seemingly well-connected “Boss Huang” with countless startup stories, who enthusiastically pulled them into real estate stock investments, turned out to be a deeply hidden shill!

Old Huang had nowhere to go. Someone kicked him down, and he opportunistically hugged his head and crouched, hoarsely shouting: “When stock prices were high, you all thanked me profusely, treating me to feasts, prostitutes, and opium—who could have predicted today? Didn’t I tell you repeatedly that land speculation had risks? Who told you not to sell early? Holding until now when stocks are worthless—blame me? Why don’t you go home and find your mothers?! Let me go!”

“Sophistry! Dare you say you didn’t get commissions for introducing us to buy stocks?” Wang Quan had already turned against this old friend, removing his glasses and angrily scolding darkly, “Pay up! If we can’t find the bosses here, you all must pay! Everyone, grab him and that Zhang Baiwan! Make their families come redeem them…”

This was quite a rational suggestion. Unfortunately, the surrounding men and women were all immersed in extreme anger over their savings becoming nothing, their vast wealth vanishing—they couldn’t hear Wang Quan’s words at all.

Instantly, fists and feet flew. Zhang Baiwan, young and clever, burst through the crowd with a bruised and swollen face and ran away like a shot. Old Huang couldn’t dodge in time—a punch hit his stomach, a kick hit his shin, his forehead struck the roadside, and he curled up on the ground in pain.

“Old man is wronged… I, I’m also a victim, my commission all went to buying their stocks… if you don’t believe me, look, look… I bought a full forty shares…”

Explanations gradually turned to screams, screams became groans, growing weaker and weaker.

Su Minguan watched casually for a while, softly reminding: “If this continues, someone might die.”

Lin Yuchan struggled for a long time, then steeled herself: “Don’t save him! If we intervene, they might beat us up as accomplices too!”

Old Huang deserved to die—today she’d just stand by and watch, serves him right!

She shifted her gaze from Old Huang to Wang Quan standing outside the circle, sighing deeply while clutching a stack of nearly worthless stock certificates, not knowing where to turn.

She suddenly remembered something and quietly consulted with Su Minguan: “He mortgaged large amounts of Defeng Company assets at ‘Dingsheng Money House’!—Mr. Su, may I ask, how do money houses usually handle clients’ unredeemable assets?”