“Wow, this is incredible—”

Monday Boya meeting. In the center of the room, a large wooden table was spread out with a long thick scroll of rice paper unrolled on top. At first glance it looked like an ink wash painting scroll, but closer inspection revealed that the paper bore neither flowers and birds nor mountains and waters, but rather horizontal and vertical lines, meticulously drawing out a mechanical engineering blueprint.

The shapes, lengths, materials, weights, and assembly instructions of each component… everything was categorized and thoroughly detailed.

Old Zhao asked in awe: “Miss Lin, this was… given to you for free by your friend?”

Lin Yuchan wasn’t seeing this blueprint for the first time—she had slept holding it last night. But viewing it again at this moment, she was still mesmerized and forgot to answer for a long time.

“I, I never expected he would design it so meticulously…”

Back then, at the Hankou Shunfeng Brick Tea Factory, she had studied Li Weinuofu’s steam engine, drawing the blueprints in her notebook—just a few sparse pages that, compared to the dense and complex professional blueprints before her, were completely like a child’s simple drawings.

No wonder her closed-door attempts hadn’t succeeded, and she had never been able to convert the “Li Weinuofu High-Pressure Tea Machine” into the “Boya Refined Tea Production Line.”

Later, Lin Yuchan had helped Xu Jianyin and the experts at the Anqing Inner Arsenal purchase Western scientific instruments, offering attractive prices through bulk purchasing negotiations with customs, making no profit herself. Then she had casually written to inquire whether Xu Jianyin could help her complete the final step of modifying the machinery.

Xu Jianyin, having received a heap of world-class physics and chemistry instruments and seeing his research progress advance by leaps and bounds, was probably bubbling with joy. Then, repaying a drop of kindness with a gushing spring, he immediately put his mind to work and completely upgraded her crude mechanical concept. Across thousands of mountains and rivers, it arrived in her mailbox.

Sorting, roasting, screening, until final canning… all could be driven by one steam engine, requiring only a few people on the side to control rhythm and quantities.

Xu Jianyin was a man who had designed steamships—designing a steam engine to process tea was child’s play for him.

“This blueprint can be taken directly to an ironworks to begin construction,” Chang Baoluo determined. “I’ve seen foreigners’ machinists draw plans, and those numbers and symbols are the same as what’s on this paper.”

Xu Jianyin’s drafting was indeed very standardized. Foreigners used pencils; he used brushes, making the lines particularly beautiful.

In comparison, Boya’s research personnel, Mao Shunniang, seemed much more amateur.

She stared at the blueprint with “confused” written all over her face, taking a long time to figure out what this machine was for.

But once she understood, Miss Mao was so delighted she nearly fainted.

“So… we don’t need to use physical strength for these tasks anymore? We can move however many pounds we want?”

Tea processing was hard physical labor. For instance, stir-frying tea in large woks required using special brooms to stir the heavy dry leaves in the pot, while also controlling the weight and rhythm… An inexperienced person working for half an hour would have sore arms for several days.

As a teenage girl, although she loved this career, her physical strength really couldn’t keep up, and many experimental ideas couldn’t be realized.

Lin Yuchan had once painted her a rosy picture, saying that in the future she could be a manager, hiring a group of laborers and supervising them to work hard.

Now the “laborers” were nowhere to be seen, but this complex machine in the blueprint could do the work of dozens of people!

Mao Shunniang was the first to jump up in support: “Build it quickly! Teach me how to use it, and I’ll replicate Defeng Company’s secret recipe completely for you!”

Others weren’t as enthusiastic as she was.

Shopkeeper Mau first routinely criticized his daughter, slowly stroking his beard and saying: “Since ancient times, tea-making has been handwork. Those leaves must be picked by hand, kneaded by hand after picking, then sorted by hand, stirred by hand… Tea made this way has spirit in every jar, and tastes good when drunk. Although foreign machines have high output, the tea fried that way is uniformly crude and shoddy—who would want to buy it? Little girl, you can inherit my craft, but you must first understand these basic principles.”

Hearing her father mention “inheriting the craft” for the first time, Mao Shunniang was overjoyed yet couldn’t believe it, not daring to say anything contradictory.

Zhao Huaisheng raised another concern: “Machines are expensive to build, plus maintenance costs—it might be more expensive than hiring people, not worth the loss.”

This was true. The Great Qing had no labor protections, and landlord capitalists had only one method for treating laborers: as long as they weren’t worked to death, work them to death. Fourteen to fifteen hours of work per day was very common, and even seventeen to eighteen hours went unregulated. If they were bought out long-term workers or servants, the labor costs were appallingly low—they wished they could work them to death upon entry, with no need whatsoever to replace them with machines.

Lin Yuchan thought for a moment and amicably offered a different opinion: “Now Shanghai’s population has sharply decreased by half, labor costs are fifty percent higher than before, while raw materials like coal and firewood are piled up like mountains in warehouses, becoming cheaper day by day. Moreover, if we use machines, we can operate twelve hours a day, and the increased output can offset the machine costs. If Shopkeeper Mau has quality concerns, we can run two production lines—one for refined handmade tea, one for machine mass production, without damaging our reputation.”

Shopkeeper Mau’s concerns weren’t making a mountain out of a molehill. Current mechanical technology wasn’t very advanced yet, and many steam-powered machines could only roughly simulate human operations, lacking refinement.

If she directly said “industrialization is the trend, machines will eventually replace human labor,” obviously that would be complete hot air that nobody would take seriously.

Lin Yuchan had to take a roundabout approach: “The machinery designed by Young Master Xu must be more precise than those crude machines on the market. I’m confident about the results. That Mrs. Gao, you’ve all met, is willing to invest three thousand taels in Boya. This money can be used exactly for building machines…”

Everyone still hesitated, saying in unison: “Miss Lin, you can try to convince us. But such a major change of direction requires all shareholders’ agreement.”

Lin Yuchan found it somewhat amusing. How did introducing machines become “changing direction”?

But she also understood that her colleagues around her were already rushing quite far ahead in the historical tide. If they all held cautious attitudes, she couldn’t be recklessly headstrong and oppose the times.

“I will seek the shareholders’ support,” she thought and said, “Miss Mau, please trouble yourself to copy this blueprint twice—let’s keep backups.”

Among Chinese-dominated businesses, Boya Company’s shareholding was quite dispersed. When Lin Yuchan reorganized Boya to integrate that mess, she had sought investment everywhere—one hundred taels, two hundred taels, anyone who gave money became a shareholder.

Over the past year, Boya Company’s bumpy profitability, while not exactly getting rich overnight, should have no problem with year-end dividends. Now she suddenly had the novel idea of mechanized production, which predictably encountered heavy resistance.

Lin Yuchan had wanted to convene a shareholders’ meeting to personally answer everyone’s questions. But Boya’s shareholders included both men and women, some mutually unknown—having them all gather for a meeting was too contrary to this era’s customs, and nobody would accept the invitation.

So Lin Yuchan personally wrote letters, thoroughly promoting the prospects of mechanization plus her calculated profit projections, sending them to each shareholder’s residence. She was always available to answer questions by correspondence.

For those shareholders who firmly refused to accept introducing machines, she tirelessly made personal visits if they were women, or sent subordinates if they were men—in any case, wearing out her lips, seeking support person by person.

Lin Yuchan suddenly felt she was quite similar to Su Minguan, who had stubbornly insisted on buying a steamship back then.

However, what surprised her most was that Boya Company’s thirty percent major shareholder—Yixing Shipping—clearly expressed non-support and sent a letter inviting her for a detailed discussion.

“I want a big steam-spouting machine too.”

Facing Su Minguan’s questioning, Lin Yuchan didn’t bother presenting facts and reasoning like she did to other shareholders, but opened her heart with a sweet smile and threw out the simplest reason.

Boss Su remained unmoved, put on his monocle, and turned a small screwdriver with his fingers, gently removing the casing of the Western clock on the table and pulling over an oil lamp.

Lin Yuchan quietly watched him show off. The clock in Captain Luna’s cabin was broken, but instead of finding a Western clockmaker, he insisted on studying it himself to show his capability.

She said patiently: “American Banner Iron Works—the same ironworks that helped you dismantle the Guangdong—I asked them, and they can undertake manufacturing the ‘Xu-style Tea Processing Machine,’ quoted at 3,800 taels of silver. The production period is one month, during which I can contact Anqing tea merchants to increase raw tea purchases and train relevant personnel. When the machine arrives…”

“I’ve read your plan and budget.” Su Minguan finally spoke, carefully removing another screw, “I still think the risk is too great. Have you considered why Banner Iron Works quotes are lower than other ironworks? Because they can’t get orders right now…”

“The reason they can’t get orders is because they accepted the court’s cannon orders and did them very seriously, so they’re being isolated and boycotted by other foreign merchants.” Lin Yuchan smiled, “Don’t worry, I’ve looked into everything. Although there are risks, they’re all within controllable range. And when Boya has large quantities of machine-processed tea…”

“If you insist on introducing machines, as Boya’s thirty percent shareholder, I have the right to demand withdrawal.” Su Minguan said, “Miss Lin, you’d better prepare cash in advance.”

He said no more, holding his breath and using tweezers to remove a gear, carefully examining the exposed parts.

Lin Yuchan clenched her fists, momentarily furious. He wasn’t giving her any way out!

If he withdrew now, where would she find those thousands of taels of silver?

She restrained herself, with a slightly sarcastic tone: “Withdrawing now is so unprofitable. Wait until I stubbornly build the machine and lose everything, and by year-end can’t pay dividends—according to the betting agreement, you can take the entire Boya, wouldn’t that be satisfying?”

“What would I want with a business that’s losing everything?—Ah, just a broken mainspring.” Su Minguan sighed in relief, slowly fiddling with tweezers, glancing up at her once, his eyes behind the lenses bottomlessly black, “Alright, step back—please wait two years before discussing this, okay?”

Lin Yuchan thought this wasn’t “please”—this was using his shareholding to threaten her.

Fortunately, she had been visiting various major shareholders recently, accustomed to cold words and unreasonable questioning, making her character unprecedentedly zen-like.

“What exactly are you worried about? I’ll discuss each point clearly with you, okay?” she said, “Hey, be careful not to burn your hand.”

Su Minguan didn’t look up, using the alcohol lamp flame to heat the two broken sections of the mainspring.

Lin Yuchan didn’t know where he had learned this amateur clockmaking technique—possibly just from dismantling countless clocks as a child. Obviously, he knew the principles in his head, but his hands weren’t skilled enough yet. He was a bit hasty with the tempering, then failed at the crucial moment when drilling holes at the joint.

Su Minguan’s patience today matched hers. He silently put down the two broken mainspring sections, closed his eyes for a moment, turned his head to exhale deeply, then picked up the tweezers and started over.

Lin Yuchan couldn’t help saying: “Just find a clockmaker.”

“Westerners charge too much; better to do it myself.” Su Minguan lit the alcohol lamp flame for the second time, his tense face relaxing somewhat, showing slight amusement in his eyes, “No choice, money’s tight.”

“Boss Su can’t afford twenty taels of silver?”

“I also can’t bear the consequences of Boya’s losses. Miss Lin, I’m counting on this year’s dividends.”

After finishing this sentence, he used tweezers to pick up the broken mainspring for the second time, approaching the alcohol flame. This time his hands were extremely steady, slowly tempering, then quickly grabbing the small lead strip beside him—

The tiny lead strip bounced twice and rolled to the floor.

Su Minguan shook his head with a self-mocking smile, uncaringly half-kneeling on the ground to pick it up.

Lin Yuchan pulled in her feet, suppressing the urge to kick his head.

“Since land prices plummeted, how many people have gone bankrupt, how many shops have closed?” Su Minguan lit the alcohol lamp for the third time, speaking slowly, “I believe this is not a good time to expand production. The blueprint Young Master Xu sent is beautiful, I know you like it, but acting on impulse…”

“When certain people fell in love with steamships at first sight, they didn’t think they were acting on impulse.”

Lin Yuchan suddenly stood up, pressing her palms on the table, delivering a pointed retort.

Su Minguan: “There were plenty of opposing voices then, too. Just within Yixing alone…”

“But the steamship ultimately reached port and became Yixing Shipping’s revenue hero.”

“This time is different…”

“Boss Su, I’m not trying to copy your success path; I just want to responsibly give my shareholders an accounting. Since there’s already the precedent of machine transportation, why do you still firmly distrust the prospects of machine tea processing? I don’t understand. I hope you can give me a chance to convince you, rather than turning a deaf ear and threatening me with withdrawal.”

She finished speaking in one breath, standing before that half-broken bamboo window blind, gazing vaguely through the thin gaps at the outer shop, breathing in and out to calm her emotions.

With such an attitude, still “making it up next time”? What a beautiful dream!

Su Minguan, having been jabbed three times in a row, finally extinguished the alcohol lamp, removed his monocle, and also stood up, walking behind her to stand two feet away.

Lin Yuchan felt his gaze fall on her head. Her back felt like an invisible hand was stroking down her spine, making her skin inexplicably tense.

Arguing with her employees sentence by sentence didn’t make her nervous; fighting for principles with various stubborn major shareholders didn’t make her retreat; but today, when Su Minguan also confronted her, she suddenly felt a trace of fatigue and unwillingness. Her heart stewed up a pot of murky soup—she didn’t know if it was anger or grievance, bubbling with sour bubbles.

“It’s not threatening you.” Su Minguan softly called her: “A’Mei.”

Not a finger touched her, but this voice seemed to embrace her from behind, making her shiver all over.

“For that steamship, I nearly lost everything, utterly embarrassed—you remember that too.” He said, “You just acquired Defeng Company, Boya doesn’t have much silver on the books. Your savings have already crossed the ocean, exchanged for several pieces of parchment you can’t see or touch. If you have another huge loss, you can only borrow money everywhere like I did. But this year’s business is hard to do; times are much worse than when buying the steamship, and nobody has deep pockets.

“A’Mei, I don’t mean to look down on you. In business, I started earlier than you, and haven’t gone bankrupt yet—you can think I’m very capable, but don’t take me as your benchmark. I was just luckier.”

His breath flowed behind her, carrying strong warning implications.

Lin Yuchan quickly self-reflects. Was she taking Su Minguan as her benchmark?

To the extent that she firmly believed what he could accomplish, she could certainly achieve safely by following in his footsteps…

And Su Minguan reminded her in a gentle yet ruthless tone: What if you can’t replicate my success, but instead replicate my failure? What will you do then?

Lin Yuchan turned around, seriously gazing into those scrutinizing eyes opposite her.

You’re not my benchmark, she thought. You’re the obstacle I need to overcome.

Only by withstanding his questioning would her plan be considered solid.

She said calmly, “This time is different. I don’t need to borrow from foreign banks. I have a ready investor.”

“That Mrs. Gao?” Su Minguan pressed step by step, asking, “How long have you known her in total? How many times have you met? How many hours altogether?”

Lin Yuchan: “I accompanied her to withdraw five thousand taels of silver, not a penny less.”

“Is this money in your hands?”

Lin Yuchan nodded frankly: “I convinced her to keep part for herself, to find a reliable money house for interest later; part to invest in Boya. She decided to invest three thousand taels in me. These three thousand taels in bank drafts are currently in my safe.”

A flash of surprise crossed Su Minguan’s eyes.

But he continued pursuing: “What if she changes her mind? She’s an official, you’re a commoner.”

Lin Yuchan knew Su Minguan was just checking for loopholes—she couldn’t brush this off with words like “trust” or “intuition.”

She smiled: “If all shareholders agree, I’ll go to the ironworks tomorrow to pay the deposit, making it impossible for her to back out.”

“If your production line completely loses money, the remaining silver won’t last you three months of burning through it. How will you explain to the official’s wife?”

“The shareholding agreement we signed doesn’t stipulate returns or dividends. She bears her risks.”

Having said this, Lin Yuchan suddenly felt she was being quite roguish.

However, if Su Minguan’s worst-case scenario came true and she lost everything, then she had no choice but to face Gao Dewen with a roguish attitude.

Although this possibility was small, it had to be considered.

Su Minguan looked at her suspiciously.

The meaning was obvious: When that time comes, can you be roguish?

Won’t you cut your flesh to feed the eagle, preferring to swallow bitter fruit yourself rather than let your friend suffer huge losses?

She finally said in a small voice: “How much is Yixing’s one twenty-fifth share worth now?”

Su Minguan couldn’t help laughing, extending one hand, wanting to touch her cheek.

Lin Yuchan twisted away to dodge, looking warningly behind her.

The bamboo blind couldn’t close properly—this was a semi-public place.

Su Minguan calmly rolled up the blind, saying quietly: “We’re closed today.”

Lin Yuchan quickly looked back—indeed, they were.

She remembered that when she entered, there was nobody in the shop. She had thought the clerks were all busy at the docks and on ships.

Merchants shipping goods didn’t pick days. Except for holidays like New Year and Mid-Autumn, Yixing had always operated year-round without breaks—she’d never heard of them taking holidays!

Su Minguan pushed open the small tea room door and pulled several printed papers from the second drawer of the counter.

Outside, rain drizzled continuously, and the entire room was filled with moist water vapor. But these papers were high quality, crisp and white, with clearly outlined fonts from lithographic printing, appearing very high-end.

“Before we discuss your machine tea processing,” he said with a half-smile, “Miss Lin might first consider how much breach-of-contract damages you should pay me…”

Lin Yuchan glared at him and said decisively: “Boya has never breached contract.”

She took that stack of papers, glanced twice, and was completely stunned.

“…Impossible!”

There were several latest advertisement flyers from foreign steamship companies. Following this era’s tedious style, they densely listed a series of passenger and freight prices.

“Raw silk… three taels of silver per piece?” Lin Yuchan read aloud, “Processed tea two taels per piece… Shanghai to Ningbo, one-way passenger ticket three hundred wen?”

She slowly looked up, her tone somewhat dazed.

“Boss Su, our signed tea freight transport contract seems to be seven taels of silver per piece?—And that’s after a twenty percent discount…”

Su Minguan nodded, smiling frankly: “Haven’t you compared prices with other shipping companies?”

“I compared before, and yours had the best value.” She spoke truthfully, “But after signing the contract, I never…”

She suddenly stopped speaking, a terrible thought emerging in her mind, and she looked down again carefully at those advertisement flyers.

Qichang, Jardine Matheson & Co., Baoshun… all top-tier foreign shipping giants.

Looking at the printing dates on the flyers, just the past month or two. The ink was still fresh.

She quickly calculated. Boya had signed a long-term transport contract with Yixing. If she breached now, paid penalty fees, and instead commissioned these foreign shipping companies…

At the bargain-basement shipping rates on these advertisement flyers, she would still profit greatly!

So Su Minguan, casually, instead, encouraged her to “breach.”

He wasn’t hypocritical. Being shrewd himself, he didn’t force her to waste money unnecessarily.

Lin Yuchan put down the advertisement flyers. When things were abnormal, there must be demons. She wasn’t so easily led around by such small profits.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“Jin Nengheng was driven out of Shanghai.” Su Minguan took her hand, returning to the small tea room, putting on his monocle and sitting back before the broken wall clock, “The succeeding Taipan Yabinuo… how to put it, his strategy for dealing with Chinese people is different from his predecessor. A month ago, all foreign steamship companies collectively lowered prices—at the most extreme, ticket prices were ten or twenty percent off, almost like giving them away. You’ve cooperated with Yixing for quite some time, you should know the costs…”

Lin Yuchan immediately exclaimed: “At these prices, they lose money on every trip!”

Lin Yuchan’s expression became serious, watching Su Minguan put his eyepiece back on and skillfully pick up the tweezers, somewhat understanding why the busy Boss Su had begun finding leisure time to repair clocks.

She also vaguely understood why he would strongly oppose her steam engine blueprint.

Su Minguan smiled quietly: “My apologies.”