There’s no such thing as a free lunch in this world. Lin Yuchan already had ample experience dealing with such cunning characters. The more generous he was, the more wary she should be.

“Give me a number.”

Su Minguan laughed quietly, his other hand unfastening a pipa button at her chest, brazenly reaching inside. His knuckles lightly touched her skin, feeling a violently beating heart.

Lin Yuchan shivered and raised her palm as if to slap him.

He pulled out a small purse from the inner pocket of her garment, opened it to count ten coins inside.

“Well then, fair trade.” Su Minguan took the silver coins, released her, turned away to hide the flush on his face, and smiled. “Ten silver dollars as the transfer fee.”

The brand was indeed his family’s ancestral legacy. If it had been his ancestors or father, they would rather lose their lives than lose this name.

However, the family was unfortunate. This third-generation Minguan was naturally bent in the wrong direction. Regarding ancestral things, he had always discarded them like worn shoes, finding them too hot to handle.

Today’s waste utilization—ten dollars as a brush fee.

There was no unseemly conspiracy or calculation. It was purely a whim, like giving her a piece of candy.

When the ink dried completely, Lin Yuchan extended her fingertip to lightly touch the two characters “Xingrui,” as if touching the dust of history.

She seemed to see Guangzhou Port thirty years ago. There had been no Opium War then, no treaty ports. People followed the old order, repeating lives that had remained unchanged for a thousand years in orderly fashion. The Thirteen Factories merchant officials who monopolized foreign trade were the only group permitted to interact with foreign barbarians. They were this empire’s farthest-reaching tentacles.

At that time, the Thirteen Factories guildhall hadn’t yet been destroyed by fire. Flags of all nations flew from neat porticoes. Giant sailing ships slowly entered port, unloading countless silver taels and taking back boxes of precious tea. At that time, the Qing Empire was the only tea-exporting nation. Red-haired sailors carefully cradled those wooden boxes as if holding the world’s most precious jewels.

On the sides of those wooden boxes, row upon row, column upon column, all bore the two characters “Xingrui.”

Foreigners didn’t understand their meaning, yet from the shape of these two characters alone, they could smell the scent of wealth, driving them to pursue it desperately, setting out from comfortable manors and castles, sailing into the treacherous black ocean, embarking on journeys with uncertain futures…

Only then did she truly react, crying out softly and throwing herself into Su Minguan’s arms, jumping up and down.

“I can use it! I can use it! If you don’t want it, I do! I, I’m the little widow of the Su family, the family is unfortunate, the family business depends entirely on me to promote and develop, haha…”

She babbled incoherently for a while, then carefully rolled up the rice paper and turned to open the door, planning to announce this windfall to the employees.

Su Minguan held down this jumping, darting little firecracker and reminded: “Buttons.”

She looked down, her face flushing crimson, frantically fastening her open garment.

During that brief pause, he pulled her back into his arms.

“You’re going to dismiss me with just ten dollars?” He was both angry and amused, deliberately grinding his teeth. “Not even a word of thanks?”

Lin Yuchan said brazenly: “I’m helping you shed your historical baggage… mmm…”

He gently bit her lip, taking the familiar route to collect that word of “thanks.”

“Don’t you dare tarnish the Xingrui brand.” He pressed against increasingly heavy breathing, his deep voice grinding in her ear. “If you do poorly, I have the right to take it back.”

Lin Yuchan, hearing this familiar-sounding instruction, suddenly thought of Rong Hong and angrily pinched his back, feeling like she was a professional brand trustee, the number one tool person in the Qing tea industry.

She gasped and retorted: “Fair trade, sold as is, you can’t control it…”

“Our family has nothing worthwhile except this one thing we can still present.” Su Minguan bit her earlobe. “If you’re willing to ruin it, go ahead.”

She shook her head: “Then why give it to me so casually?”

She halfheartedly retorted, then suddenly realized something, her mind heating up with a roar, as if millions of strings were plucking beside her ears.

The once enormously wealthy foreign trade giant had long since fallen apart. The only remaining commercial value of the Su family lay in these two characters.

He had been holding his breath, harboring a peculiar stubbornness, patiently waiting. He had waited over two years until she made tea somewhat presentable, barely worthy of this century-old brand.

She suddenly wanted to ask: What virtue or ability do I have?

Su Minguan restrained himself from taking further advantage, withdrew his hand, laughed quietly again, kissed her forehead, and answered her previous question.

“Because you can do better than I. Miss Lin, don’t disappoint me.”

“Machine-made tea, come try something fresh.”

Zheng Guanying, trainee comprador at Baoshun Trading House, had monopolized several major commodity categories this year. In the tea market, he encountered this bold and ambitious girl again.

Nearly a year had passed, and the little girl’s wings had grown stronger. She had come directly to his office, still giving him a headache just looking at her.

Zheng Guanying rubbed the taiji fish amulet at his waist, puzzled in his mind: How had she not gone bankrupt yet?

Not only had she not gone bankrupt, but that emerging “business association” seemed to have her involvement. Zheng Guanying now had several shops under his name. He thought that someday he’d send a manager to join the association and find out what she was really up to.

However, the tea she brought looked quite good. Zheng Guanying had performance targets to meet, so he patiently tried a sip.

Compared to the famous Boya refined tea, there were indeed subtle differences.

To a Chinese palate, he didn’t find it particularly amazing. However, an intuitive feeling told him this flavor was exactly what Westerners liked.

The tin can was well-sealed. Following Boya’s previous tradition, orphan children had hand-painted flowers and birds with gold trim. The difference was that this packaging had been redesigned with a more low-key, reserved decorative style, and the trademark featured the mature, steady characters “Xingrui.”

Examining the dry tea leaves, there were no impurities or coarse stems. The selection was indeed meticulous, pleasing to the eye.

“How is it?” Lin Yuchan asked eagerly.

Zheng Guanying was economical with words. Without saying anything, he turned to take another sample tea can from the counter and placed it before her.

Lin Yuchan recognized this as a sample from a high-end tea house. Opening it for a look, it had excellent color and aroma, uniform appearance, and superior grade.

Zheng Guanying’s meaning was obvious: doesn’t compare.

Tea, as long as basic quality was passed, other aspects like aroma and taste were largely subjective judgments. Zheng Guanying was telling her: If I say it doesn’t compare, it doesn’t compare.

Lin Yuchan wasn’t discouraged and smiled: “Machine-made tea excels in stable quality, absolutely no mixing of coarse tea or watering down. Also, it’s clean and sanitary—machines are cleaned daily, no contact with dirty hands, feet, or saliva. You can send people to randomly inspect the tea factory.”

Zheng Guanying was just eating a preserved plum when his mouth twitched slightly at these words.

Everyone knew traditional tea-making was like this—kneading by hand and treading by foot were standard operations, but… could you not say it out loud, young lady?!

Lin Yuchan: “With epidemics spreading this year, cleaner tea is always more reassuring.”

Zheng Guanying looked sideways at the tea in her hands, a flash of slight surprise crossing his pale face.

Countless Chinese merchants had come to pitch goods to him, but none had ever boasted from this angle.

He pulled out an order form and tossed it to her.

“Start with one hundred catties, same commission as usual.”

This was the first sentence he’d spoken to her today.

Lin Yuchan hurried to say: “This year’s tea harvest is abundant, we have…”

Zheng Guanying politely bowed to her and lowered his head to calculate accounts.

Lin Yuchan was discouraged. What about the century-old brand reputation? This was the treatment she got?

She still had to start from scratch, building credibility bit by bit…

Under someone else’s roof, she picked up the brush and dipped it in ink.

Suddenly, a series of clicking leather shoe sounds. Zheng Guanying put down his ledger, and he and several clerks in the room stood up together.

The boss of Baoshun Trading House, Dent the taipan, strode over for inspection with measured steps.

Dent was getting on in years. He had made his fortune smuggling opium and had nearly been executed by Lin Zexu back in the day—his hands still bore shackle marks. Now that he was older and couldn’t handle smuggling anymore, he had washed his hands of it, switching his business to silk and tea, and of course, the recently popular shipping, planning to coast smoothly to retirement.

He toured the office and frowned at this unfamiliar Chinese girl.

Lin Yuchan was quite familiar with such disdainful looks. She took a deep breath and entered self-defense battle mode.

But Dent didn’t speak. His gaze shifted and fell on the tea can in front of her.

Then, as if a gust of wind blew by, it opened his half-closed eyes. His expression changed, and he pulled out glasses from his pocket, hurried over, grabbed the tin can, and examined it carefully from all angles.

“Xingrui Company from Guangzhou’s Thirteen Factories?” he asked in standard Cantonese. “Not counterfeit?”

Lin Yuchan nodded and also switched to Cantonese, introducing: “Although it’s not the original team, but…”

Dent squinted his presbyopic eyes, poured out a handful of tea leaves, smelled them for a good while, and all the wrinkles on his face smoothed out.

“How much do you have?”

Lin Yuchan thought: You haven’t even asked who I am…

“One thousand catties in stock.” She said quickly. “The next batch of raw tea arrives at month’s end.”

Dent patted Zheng Guanying’s shoulder.

“Take it all.”

Zheng Guanying’s eyes widened, his usually expressionless face showing rare astonishment.

“This, this…”

Dent was all smiles: “The next batch, too. Cancel Da’an Tea House’s orders.”

Lin Yuchan bit her lip, restraining the smile that was about to overflow, and poked Boss Zheng’s sleeve with her brush handle.

The “Xingrui” brand re-emerged, transformed with a new appearance. The technique remained the Thirteen Factories’ secret recipe, but the production process was mostly handled by steam engines, making it the Qing Empire’s first mechanized refined export tea.

Lin Yuchan fanned herself while counting the mountain of accumulated orders on the table, her mouth nearly grinning to the sky.

Not just her. Tea manager Old Zhao and his subordinates had all entered an unprecedented desperate working state—their wages were tied to performance, which was still uncommon in foreign trade shops at the time. Everyone seemed to see silver dollars waving at them, collectively volunteering for 996 schedules, so busy they ate standing up.

Old Zhao no longer corrected his children’s homework during work hours. He directly hired a teacher to go to his home while he focused on making money, his abacus clicking loudly every day.

Technical director Mao Shunniang was stretched thin, so she recruited several aunts and sister-in-laws, and after training they all came to work together. Even Shopkeeper Mau couldn’t bear to interfere—this was all silver!

Who could have imagined that the simple two characters “Xingrui” carried such weight in the hearts of established foreign firms!

No wonder Su Minguan wasn’t willing to authorize it lightly.

Lin Yuchan checked the accounts receivable while thinking that although Boss Su hadn’t asked for returns, she couldn’t take advantage for nothing. She should give him one or two percent of Xingrui brand tea sales as a token gesture.

Chinese ship merchants were fighting desperately against foreign merchants, and Yixing was facing massive losses this year. She couldn’t let him eat dirt.

Someone called at the door: “Long-distance letter!”

Lin Yuchan looked around. Surprisingly, no one went to collect it.

The employees were all busily engaged in tea production. Old Zhao was buried in calculating orders, raised his head to hesitate a moment, then lowered it again.

Lin Yuchan laughed helplessly, deeply feeling that Boya was doomed.

Such declining morals. Even Rong Hong’s overseas letters couldn’t pull back everyone’s money-making hearts.

She lifted her skirt and ran out to collect the letter.

Unexpectedly, this long-distance letter wasn’t from Rong Hong.

But from Beijing.

Lin Yuchan was full of curiosity as she used a small knife to open this unfamiliar letter and saw an unexpected name.

Lady Pan, wife of Wenxiang, sends her greetings.

Ever since two years ago, through Lin Feilun’s adoption incident, she had formed connections with Ladies Pan the Elder and Younger, indirectly lobbying Wenxiang and promoting the establishment of Shanghai’s Guangfang Language School. Lin Yuchan regarded these two ladies as her lucky stars. Although they probably only saw her as an amusing Granny Liu for entertainment, she dared not neglect them, sending greeting cards during festivals and reporting on Feilun’s recent situation.

Living in the Qing Dynasty, whether as an official or merchant, proper etiquette was indispensable. Since Rong Hong’s era, Boya’s accounts had specifically reserved public funds for these social correspondence expenses.

These ceremonial greeting cards—she didn’t expect the official ladies to read them. Most likely, they were uniformly collected and opened by the household, and she had never received replies.

Receiving a letter with a first-rank lady’s seal today was truly unprecedented.

Whether blessing or curse, if it was a curse, it couldn’t be avoided. Lin Yuchan’s heart pounded as her gaze wandered over the formal opening on the far right, gathering courage to read on—

She sighed in relief.

First, Lady Pan the Younger remained obsessed with that abandoned baby from two years ago and had recently become fascinated with Western photography, asking her sister to request a recent photograph of Lin Feilun from Lin Yuchan.

This wasn’t difficult. Lin Yuchan figured that next time she visited the orphanage, she could ask the Western missionaries to take one.

Second, Lady Wenxiang indicated in the letter that she had heard Lin Yuchan was very knowledgeable about foreign affairs, so she was writing to ask many questions about foreign matters, requesting quick written responses.

Lin Yuchan was shocked: “Me?”

Her first reaction was: Are there no people left in the court? Has it come to Lady Wenxiang recruiting foreign affairs talent?

Then she was even more puzzled: “How does she know I’m in foreign trade?”

Old Zhao finally finished his calculations and came over, carefully reading this letter from a Beijing official’s wife, marveling.

“Ah, Mr. Rong recommended you.”

After Rong Hong settled in America, the letters he sent back to the Qing Dynasty weren’t limited to the one Lin Yuchan received.

He had simultaneously sent two other letters, to his patron Zeng Guofan and Beijing’s Zongli Yamen, respectively, reporting progress on machinery orders in America, estimated delivery times, and requesting the court prepare suitable factory buildings to house these machines.

Since machine customization involved many complex details with specialized terms and concepts, Rong Hong feared no one in the court offices would understand, and such military and state matters couldn’t be entrusted to foreigners. Therefore, he mentioned in his letter that Miss Lin, current general manager of Shanghai’s Boya Company, had good English and was reliable—if necessary, she could be consulted for clarification.

Zeng Guofan was still busy killing Taiping rebels at the time and set this letter aside; the other letter sent to the Zongli Yamen fell into Wenxiang’s hands.

Wenxiang looked at the terms “company,” “general manager,” and “Miss Lin”—each more unfamiliar than the last—unable to understand how these concepts could be bound together. He thought it was probably because this fake foreign devil Rong Hong’s native language had deteriorated, producing incomprehensible writing.

Fortunately, for safety’s sake, Rong Hong had written in both Chinese and English. Wenxiang quickly found outstanding graduates from Beijing’s Tongwen Guan to interpret English in the letter—

Even more bewildering. This so angered Wenxiang that he wanted to demolish that school on the spot.

Wenxiang went home to complain. Fortunately, he had a wise wife who immediately deduced:

“Ah, it’s a businesswoman widow. I met her when I went to Shanghai.”

Looking at the name again, the Wenxiang couple were even more surprised—wasn’t this the female lawyer who recently sued Westerners!

Many foreign affairs officials subscribed to the North China Herald to observe Western movements. This amusing story of “a civilian woman suing Western officials” had also been discussed with relish for several days as after-dinner conversation.

Combining the two, this led to Lady Wenxiang’s letter. On the surface, it was an official’s wife condescending to greet a civilian woman, but it actually contained Wenxiang’s intentions.

Wenxiang was a rare enlightened foreign affairs minister, but unfortunately with limited experience. Having lived for decades without visiting Jiangnan or seeing the ocean, upon hearing of such an extraordinary woman in Shanghai, he immediately had his wife write a private letter inquiring about foreign settlement customs and Western court legal rules.

…

Lin Yuchan understood the cause and effect from the letter, excitement making her hands tremble slightly.

This counted as “breaking into the mainstream”!

Although she didn’t particularly value fame. Due to her identity and gender, she often deliberately kept a low profile, fearing “fame brings trouble.”

But… being able to indirectly dialogue with this empire’s core political personnel and even influence some of his views on foreign affairs—this opportunity absolutely couldn’t be missed.

Old Zhao was also excited beside her: “Miss Lin, you must have accumulated virtue in your previous life! Mr. Rong struggled for half his life before getting a chance to be consulted by an official. You’re so young and already known by name to Beijing officials… This is wonderful, our Boya is going to prosper! Miss Lin, may I presumptuously ask if my son can become an apprentice next year… can my bonus this year be converted to shares…”

Lin Yuchan found it amusing: “How have we suddenly risen to success? The official’s wife isn’t investing money in us.”

Old Zhao slapped his thigh: “Could this letter be written for nothing? After you reply and solve their puzzles, can that official gentleman be stingy? How embarrassing! Silver rewards are the minimum, right? If there’s also an imperial inscription or plaque, hanging it in our main hall… oh my, even if there’s nothing else, their calligraphy can be directly framed…”

Zhao Huaisheng had always been accurate in gauging human relations. As a senior veteran of Boya, he switched freely between “traditional scholar” and “new intellectual” identities.

Lin Yuchan secretly smiled, forcing herself to ignore his exaggerated fantasies, and pulled out paper to begin drafting a reply.

…

In her letter, she detailed the current competitive difficulties facing Chinese merchants. If this letter could truly reach Wenxiang and move him, prompting policies favoring the national bourgeoisie, then not only she but all foreign trade merchants in Shanghai port and even all treaty ports could benefit.

After writing the letter, she didn’t rush to send it. She needed cultured people to review it, ensuring every character, word, and stroke was proper.

On Sunday, Boya employees voluntarily worked overtime. Lin Yuchan stole time from her busy schedule for her routine visit to Tushanwan Orphanage.

Before boarding the carriage, she didn’t forget to tuck a package of candy in her bosom.

Lest she always be upstaged by Su Minguan’s people-buying tactics. Lin Feilun was nearly two, and upon seeing Lin Yuchan, his lifesaver, would immediately hit her, instead chasing after Su Minguan with the fawning attitude of “whoever has candy is daddy.”

The carriage suddenly stopped. The coachman outside asked fearfully, “Madam, is the address you gave correct? Tushanwan Western Orphanage?”

There was a scissors shop next to the orphanage. Lin Yuchan heard the familiar crisp sound of metal and looked out: “That’s right…”

Her voice caught in her throat as she looked at the small courtyard across the street, suddenly feeling ice-cold all over.

The orphanage lacked its usual sounds of children playing and studying. The entrance was crisscrossed with official seals.

Lin Yuchan jumped down from the carriage and rushed over: “Sister Teresa!”

It had been fine when she visited last month!

Sister Teresa, usually so worldly-looking, now appeared ashen-faced, disheveled, wearing shackles and kneeling on the ground with a placard behind her head reading “Evil Woman.”

Several other black-robed nuns and caretakers were also publicly shackled.

“Injustice!” Sister Teresa cried hoarsely. “This civilian woman is wronged. I never harmed anyone! God bears witness, we’ve always been law-abiding… Yes, I believe in God, there are legal protections, you can’t shackle me…”

Passersby spat at them, cursing with disgust: “You evil hags, Western devil lackeys, utterly conscienceless, should have been arrested long ago! We don’t understand legal provisions, we only know you’re not human! May you die horribly!”

Caretaker Mrs. Guo boldly argued: “Those girls died of epidemic disease! It wasn’t us…”

“Bah!” An official kicked her. “Still making excuses! Someone personally witnessed you digging out children’s hearts and livers! Just wait, eventually orders will come from above to behead you along with your Western masters!—You’re all Chinese, who gave you the gall to do such conscienceless things? Heaven should strike you dead with lightning at midnight! Old hags!”

Miss Ordansey, the female missionary, hurried over with two servants, angrily arguing with another group of officials: “They’re not bad people, release them quickly!”

Miss Ordansey’s interpreter had probably also caught the epidemic and wasn’t by her side.

The officials couldn’t understand English and directly drew blades: “Keep babbling and we’ll shackle you too!”

Onlookers pointed and whispered, gloating over the misfortune.

Lin Yuchan’s vision darkened, momentarily unsure whether to cry or laugh.

This rumor about “Western orphanages digging out children’s hearts and livers for medicine” had been debunked countless times, yet believers kept coming in waves. Not just now, even decades later, people would still believe it.

But what had Mrs. Guo just said about children dying…

“Last month, cholera spread through the Xujiahui area. The orphanage couldn’t escape either.” Miss Ordansey saw Lin Yuchan and said, choking back tears, “I only learned later that thirteen poor little angels had already returned to God’s embrace…”

Lin Yuchan felt as if struck by a heavy hammer in the chest, her fingertips immediately trembling. The package of candy in her arms scattered with a crash, spilling everywhere.