Lin Yuchan took the freshly unearthed duck and slowly gnawed on it while observing the lively scene across the street.

Seeing Uncle Pan hesitate to speak, she quickly said, “I’ll pay for this duck, I won’t eat it for free. But I need a straight answer—if I can help Bianyifang win back customers, will you take me to your sister’s residence again?”

Her words were completely Shanghai-style thinking, which immediately angered Uncle Pan.

“Charging for one duck? I’m giving it to you for free! If you can help me, I’ll risk everything to help you—what’s with all this nonsense! Do you look down on me?”

Lin Yuchan saw Feng Yikan frantically winking at her and suddenly understood, quickly apologizing.

Banner people valued face the most. Even though the Eight Banners had declined and many Banner people were too poor to afford food, they still had to maintain their dignity, wearing long robes to teahouses to drink tea while standing. If you talked to them about equivalent exchange or contractual agreements, they’d feel insulted.

Lin Yuchan called to Feng Yikan, “Uncle Pan says this duck is his treat! Then I’ll use someone else’s flowers to honor Buddha—big brother, sit down and eat with me.”

Feng Yikan had been poor for so long that now, earning eight jiao of silver daily as extra income with meals included, he hadn’t felt this comfortable in ages.

He smiled broadly in thanks and instructed her, “Sister, don’t blame Uncle Pan for getting angry. Your eating method is wrong. Duck meat should be dipped in sauce, topped with scallion strips, and wrapped in pancakes. Like this…”

By the time one duck pancake was wrapped, Lin Yuchan had vanished.

She mingled with the crowd queuing at Quanjude, boldly peering inside.

The two restaurants had slightly different duck roasting methods—one used hanging roasting, the other braising roasting, but these weren’t decisive differences. Both establishments had similar decor standards, and their service staff were comparable in number and quality. Bianyifang had the advantage of being an old-established brand, while Quanjude boasted imperial kitchen credentials. The only difference was that Quanjude had a plaque written by a calligrapher, though Bianyifang’s plaque dated to the Daoguang reign, roughly evening the score.

In the capital, neither silver dollars nor banknotes were popular. Shopping mainly used “Beijing coins”—one wen equaled two wen from other provinces. A full roast duck meal, including duck, pancakes, side dishes, and duck soup, cost one string of Beijing coins, roughly equivalent to three jiao in silver dollars.

This wasn’t common people’s daily food, but rather a treat for middle-class families.

However, Quanjude’s “half-price roast duck” had suddenly appeared, attracting many lower-class customers who normally couldn’t afford roast duck. The queue stretched to the street corner.

In comparison, Bianyifang, with its deserted entrance and expensive prices, seemed deflated and unappetizing.

Moreover, Beijing people didn’t eat roast duck like the country bumpkin Lin Yuchan, diving right in. First, they’d use chopsticks to pick up sweet bean sauce, spread it on lotus leaf pancakes, arrange scallion strips, garlic paste, and radish strips, then select skin-and-meat duck slices, evenly arranging them on the vegetables. Wrapping it thin-skinned with thick filling, they’d bite slowly and methodically, savoring the crispy, oily flavor for ages.

Then they’d dip crispy duck skin in fine white sugar, finishing with hot duck soup—three dishes from one duck, completely satisfied.

Because of this, restaurants had low table turnover rates, making waiting queues enormous, as if half of Beijing had dropped everything to come taste this delicacy.

Some grew impatient waiting, seeing people poorer than themselves queuing ahead, becoming even more indignant, each shouting about their social connections, trying to cut in line.

The restaurant staff delighted in maintaining order: “Equal treatment, equal treatment! Sir, please wait a bit longer, everyone gets their turn! I’ll hurry those inside to eat faster!”

After speaking, they’d deliberately glance at Bianyifang across the street, their eyes provocative.

Uncle Pan angrily slammed the table, “We’ll also do half price!”

“That won’t work.” Lin Yuchan hurried back, breathlessly suggesting, “You can’t fight a price war like this. Even if your duck prices match theirs, they still have the advantage of novelty. Your sales still won’t improve. I see the opposition isn’t short of money either. You certainly can’t let them slaughter you, but you need to find the right strategy.”

Having the Shanghai shipping industry’s Chinese-foreign price wars as reference, she knew that in price wars, following big conglomerates in cutting prices was the worst strategy. Killing one thousand enemies while losing two thousand of your own would only lead to faster death.

Uncle Pan was stunned: “Then what do you suggest?”

Lin Yuchan pondered for a moment, then slowly said, “First, let’s steal away those well-dressed young masters queuing outside…”

How did Chinese shipping companies respond to price wars? Differentiated operations, market segmentation—for instance, defending non-treaty ports, adding Chinese-exclusive services, and first securing some loyal customers…

Quanjude’s crude price-cutting had attracted many ordinary wage earners who normally couldn’t afford roast duck. By comparison, customers with some money were also squeezed out, forced to queue together.

They could afford Bianyifang’s original-price roast duck, but with similar food quality at both restaurants, who would want to be the sucker paying double?

In commercially-minded Guangzhou or Shanghai, some would certainly pay for time, preferring to spend extra rather than waste time queuing.

But in the capital, where everything moved slowly, everyone’s time was worthless. Even wealthy second-generation heirs and officials’ sons didn’t mind wasting an entire afternoon playing with hawks, teasing crickets, raising pigeons, and smoking—they enjoyed whatever time-consuming activities.

Getting any of these young Beijing masters to independently leave the queue and be the first “fool” to “buy time with money” was nearly impossible.

Therefore, Bianyifang needed to develop its unique advantages, making wealthy customers willing to pay for these advantages.

Lin Yuchan’s mind raced, quickly thinking of seven or eight improvement strategies. But… they all required time.

She couldn’t possibly stay in Beijing for months helping Bianyifang slowly transform.

She suddenly turned around. Feng Yikan was rolling up his tattered sleeves, mouth stuffed with half a duck pancake, duck oil dripping from the corners of his mouth as he ate with complete abandon.

“Master Feng,” Lin Yuchan smiled, “we agreed before—eight jiao per day all-inclusive, willing to do anything, right?”

…

Moments later, at the tail end of Quanjude’s long queue, a roughly-dressed man in tattered clothes, apparently impatient from waiting, suddenly spoke up clearly: “Since we’re just standing around anyway, I’m a Tianjin wharf crosstalk performer. Today, I’ll tell you a couple of segments for free to beat the boredom of queuing! What would you like to hear?”

His voice was clear and smooth, delivered at an unhurried pace that immediately attracted many people’s attention.

Someone called out: “Good!”

Feng Yikan cleared his throat and began his opening poem at a measured pace.

“From afar, it looks swaying and floating, up close, it seems drifting and distant. Neither gourd nor ladle it appears, bobbing and surfacing in the water…”

The surrounding chatter immediately quieted by seventy percent. Everyone couldn’t help but crane their necks to listen.

“Some say it’s a fish belly, others say it’s a bladder. Two men bet and went to the riverside to see, turns out it was a monk…”

Clap! A hand slap, like a gavel.

“Bathing!”

The crowd burst into laughter. The punchline landed.

Feng Yikan was performing popular “Eight Big Sticks,” specifically for meal times when other performers went to eat. To keep the audience, one person would hold the stage, telling long, continuous solo segments.

These segments had continuous suspense and hooks, very engaging. Experienced masters also knew how to control emotions—audiences would listen and listen, and before they knew it, an hour had passed before they remembered they hadn’t eaten.

Moreover, this segment came from Tianjin wharfs, rarely heard in the capital.

“…Time passed quickly, and before long, he was six years old. But there was one problem—this child couldn’t speak, like a mute!…”

The story had structure and development, with punchlines and hooks, quickly reaching its stride, told with great enthusiasm.

The dozens of people queuing nearby stopped complaining, listening quietly and occasionally bursting into laughter.

Quanjude’s staff were delighted. They’d been worried about queuing customers getting anxious, and now they had a ready-made comedy king. After relaxing and listening for a while, the manager sent word to give the crosstalk performer one string of coins.

Feng Yikan was about to deliver a punchline when he saw someone offering money. Following convention, he thanked them.

Then, pocketing the string of coins, he said: “The wind and sand are too strong.”

Next, he turned around and slowly walked into Bianyifang across the street.

The queuing crowd was left hanging in mid-air, getting anxious.

“Hey, master, come back! You haven’t finished!”

“Finish this segment first, okay? This is killing us!”

“Come back! Sir will tip you!”

But this was a wandering performer, not hired by Quanjude—he’d just spontaneously entertained fellow queuers out of friendship. By convention, he could start when he wanted and rest when he wanted to “hear the next installment,” with no obligation to stay.

Moments later, faint sounds of storytelling emerged from the empty Bianyifang roast duck restaurant, followed by scattered applause and cheers, and occasional exaggerated laughter.

The queuers here were dumbfounded.

If it had been boring queuing all along, that would be fine, but “from luxury to frugality is difficult”—after enjoying a few comfortable minutes, the sudden silence became unbearable. Wind and sand blew in their faces, surrounding people’s hair oil smells invaded their nostrils, stomachs growled, Quanjude’s entrance was still far away, and time suddenly seemed especially long.

Suddenly, someone cursed.

“Damn it, I’m fed up! It’s not like I can’t afford that extra half-string!”

With that, he stepped out of line, turned around, and dove into Bianyifang.

Where there’s one, there’s two. Several young masters twisted around and left.

“Hey, that master performer, if you don’t want to stand outside drinking wind, we don’t either! Wait up!”

Quanjude’s staff stood stunned at the entrance: “Hey, you’re almost next in line… Hey, the manager says you can cut in line!…”

…

Within half an hour, Bianyifang was packed with distinguished guests, the chefs were working frantically, the ducks going into ovens weren’t enough, so they urgently went to Xianyu Kou market to buy live ducks.

Word spread throughout the streets and alleys: “Bianyifang hired a Tianjin crosstalk master to hold the stage. As long as you go eat, you can listen as long as you want. Much better than going to Quanjude—cheap stuff isn’t good, and their waiters come by like revolving lanterns urging you to pay and leave!”

The manager of Quanjude across the street was also confused. That Uncle Pan was a complete amateur, not business material at all. For so many days, he’d just lain flat and taken beatings—they’d laughed at him privately every day after work. But when had he quietly pulled out such a trump card from nowhere?

They were completely unprepared!

Someone suggested: “Let’s also go to Tianqiao and invite that ‘Qiong Bu Pa’!”

But others shook their heads. Those in the storytelling business, no matter how popular, belonged to the lowest social class. A high-class restaurant like Quanjude, especially during its crucial opening period, couldn’t lower its standards for no reason. Besides, Tianqiao performers had fixed performance venues and audiences—they might not even be willing to come!

After discussing back and forth, by closing time, they dejectedly shut their doors.

Across the street at Bianyifang, Uncle Pan smoked his pipe, watching staff wipe tables and listening to the accountant settle accounts. The abacus beads clicked pleasantly like celestial music, making him chuckle with joy.

Feng Yikan sprawled on the table frantically drinking cold water, saying weakly, “Sister, buying my voice for a day with eight jiao—you really know how to do business.”

Uncle Pan slammed the table with earth-shaking force:

“What do you take me for! Looking down on me! Today’s earnings should be shared with you! Little brother, you’re impressive—from now on, stay here with me, don’t go back!”

Feng Yikan quickly demurred: “You overestimate me, I’m just getting by day to day…”

“Do you have disciples? Bring them all here—you can’t work alone! I’ll provide lodging! Waiter, bring wine!”

“Oh my, how embarrassing…”

The two men spent half an hour being polite and deferential to each other.

“Uncle Pan,” Lin Yuchan handed him a stack of papers covered in neat pen calligraphy, “using storytelling to steal back customers is just the first step. They’ll eventually have countermeasures, hiring singers and musicians to compete with you. If you want to compete and coexist with them long-term, here are some modest suggestions. Pick and choose—use what fits, discard what doesn’t, just consider it entertainment.”

Uncle Pan was greatly surprised. He put on his glasses and called the accountant to read through each item carefully.

Lin Yuchan suggested that Bianyifang restaurant should emphasize its unique characteristics, stress its long history, and highlight the differences between “braising” and “hanging roasting.” They should develop new dishes—for instance, French-style duck liver and duck legs, which she hadn’t seen in Beijing yet. They could rent a foreign chef from Tianjin’s concessions to teach them. Staff behavior needed training, following Western restaurant standards to be polite, clean, and proper. Also, since roast duck meals take time to eat, they shouldn’t rely only on dine-in service, but could add a takeout business. Don’t forget to maintain standards—use exquisite small boxes to arrange each side dish properly, so people could take them home ready to eat…

These ideas included fashionable practices from progressive cities like Shanghai and routine operations from modern restaurants. None were particularly innovative, but Beijing’s atmosphere was traditionally conservative, and Uncle Pan was new to business, so seeing this detailed and appropriate “transformation guide” left him with nothing but praise.

“Like this, could we really… defeat that Quanjude across the street?”

Without Wenxiang using official pressure, without relying on layers of “connections,” could they compete with them based on real merit?

“Making them close is unlikely,” Lin Yuchan smiled, “but they bullied you before because you’re a newcomer to business, so they dared to play this money-burning suppression strategy. Now that you have help, if they try to destroy you completely, they’ll have to consider their capabilities. I estimate that within a month, Quanjude will also start considering transformation to avoid competing with Bianyifang on the same terms. The ideal result would be for both of you to have unique characteristics and loyal customer bases, supporting each other and prospering together. Isn’t that better than this ugly life-and-death struggle?”

Uncle Pan repeatedly slapped the table, laughing: “Excellent! Mrs. Su, at first, I didn’t believe you were also in business, but now I have to believe it. This approach—truly a heroine among women, straightforward, comparable to our Banner women!—Hey, you’re not someone my sister sent to help me, are you?—That must be it! Haha, I knew she wasn’t that heartless. She’s embarrassed by her husband’s position and can’t say it openly, but she still cares about her older brother…”

The next morning, Uncle Pan personally escorted Lin Yuchan to Wenxiang’s residence.

“Sister,” he said cheerfully in his booming voice, “you haven’t told brother-in-law about the restaurant business yet, have you?—No need! Brother wronged you—don’t hold it against me! Brother will listen to you, conduct business honestly, and you can rest assured!”

Mrs. Wenxiang’s burden of obligation vanished, leaving her both delighted and puzzled.

This time Lin Yuchan stayed in the residence for a full morning, talking about everything from concession landscapes to Wusong battery, from North China Herald to Mohai Publishing House, from foreign banks to real estate bubbles, from Huayi Street to Shiliupu Wharf, from police stations to the British Consular Court…

Mrs. Wenxiang had also been to Shanghai, but unfortunately spent most of her time confined to the residence, her understanding of Shanghai limited to local snacks sent from the kitchen. Hearing this again, she truly opened her eyes. She started by listening casually, but later couldn’t help leaning forward and asking frequent questions.

Two pots of flower tea were completely drained. Suddenly, someone outside interrupted.

“What does ‘moderate gambling’ mean?”

It was a somewhat aged male voice, gentle and measured, with a muffled quality.

Lin Yuchan’s entire body tensed, instinctively standing up.

“Mr. Wen…”

Mrs. Wenxiang smiled and waved her hand, indicating not to be nervous, then tentatively asked her:

“We Banner people aren’t so strict about separation between men and women…”

Lin Yuchan quickly said: “I don’t mind! Meeting Mr. Wen would be my honor!”

The door opened. Lin Yuchan finally met this pioneering figure of the Westernization Movement she’d heard so much about.

Wenxiang was not yet fifty years old, but the two long whiskers beside his lips were already grizzled. He wasn’t tall, wearing a somewhat worn azure crepe jacket and long robe with a melon-skin gauze cap, hands behind his back, slightly hunched, eavesdropping in the courtyard like any ordinary old man you’d see all over Beijing’s streets.

Lin Yuchan had also met high-ranking Banner officials. For instance, Hubei-Hunan Governor-General Guanwen had an enormous ego, was completely ignorant, and had “just getting by” written all over his face—worlds apart from Wenxiang.

Wenxiang had been listening outside for quite some time. He’d led the Westernization Movement for over two years and had repeatedly written to local officials inquiring about industrial and commercial conditions in treaty ports. The replies he received were mostly official nonsense. Only his conversations with the foreigner Hede had been somewhat beneficial, providing some honest talk.

But Hede’s loyalty was questionable after all, and Hede also spoke from a condescending, highly macro perspective when evaluating policies, making his stance inevitably biased.

Hearing a common small merchant speak freely was a first. Many seemingly trivial details revealed unexpected perspectives when she discussed them.

Banner families often had women in charge, so for Wenxiang, such women were rare but not incomprehensible.

Wenxiang sat on a stone bench in the courtyard, squinting his slightly protruding eyes, carefully observing this small woman who grew up by the sea, then opened a book beside him, patiently asking again: “What does ‘moderate gambling’ mean?”

Lin Yuchan looked down and saw Wenxiang holding an English textbook from the Tongwen Academy—the reliable version provided by Hede.

The Beijing Tongwen Academy was right next to the Zongli Yamen. During breaks from work, Wenxiang heard students reciting English daily and became curious himself. But probably due to his age, he’d forget the back after reading the front. After several months, he’d only turned three pages of the book. Those twisting tadpole-like letters came and went, and he only remembered “abandon.”

Lin Yuchan smiled, took the English textbook, and carefully explained its contents to Wenxiang.

Wenxiang was both surprised and amused.

Students at the Tongwen Academy studied hard daily, but after a year, their foreign language was still halting. Yet she could use it effortlessly!

She hadn’t attended foreign schools, so this must be an exceptional natural talent. If she were a young man taking imperial examinations, she’d likely earn an official degree.

When his wife mentioned this clever female merchant, Wenxiang hadn’t quite believed it. Seeing her today exceeded his imagination.

Wenxiang closed the textbook and smiled: “I heard that last time you came, you brought some small gifts that made my wife suspicious. Don’t take that personally. The political arena is like a battlefield. I’m not the type who gets rich from being an official, and making enemies through the Westernization Movement, I must be extra careful not to give anyone leverage against me.”

Wenxiang being so frank surprised Lin Yuchan, who quickly said: “I don’t blame you at all. You should be careful. But…”

She looked around the simple, small courtyard. Surely being an official in the Qing Dynasty couldn’t make you poorer, could it?

Mrs. Wenxiang, seeing her country bumpkin expression, immediately understood what she was wondering and smiled: “Don’t laugh at us. My husband’s annual salary is four hundred taels, probably less than yours.”

This was where Lin Yuchan showed her inexperience. Our Qing officials were all public servants serving the people, so naturally their salaries were extremely low, insufficient even for daily clothing, hat, transportation, and lodging expenses. Therefore, these public servants needed to find ways to earn extra income themselves.

Some officials put money first, openly conducting business daily, brazenly engaging in corruption for personal gain. As nodes in bribery networks, they naturally protected each other, with no one exposing them.

Like Li Hongzhang, whose hometown pawnshops operated successfully. But when the Empress Dowager asked about it, everyone spoke well of him, saying Prefect Li devoted himself wholeheartedly to the Qing Dynasty, creating value far exceeding a few pawnshops. Nobody’s perfect—why investigate deeply?

Wenxiang belonged to another network—those who prided themselves on integrity, forming support chains through teacher-student and hometown connections. This group of officials was relatively self-disciplined, only accepting small amounts like “ice tribute,” “charcoal tribute,” and “New Year tribute” to maintain living standards.

Like Zeng Guofan, who vowed to “learn to be a sage.” Knowing that being an official would certainly mean losing money, he gathered fifteen hundred taels of silver from home before coming to Beijing. Later, he indeed ran deficits annually, having to borrow money, owing various creditors over a thousand taels at most.

Since they wanted to be “sages,” others naturally held them to stricter standards. Once they became money-focused and someone impeached them, the risk of downfall was greater.

So Wenxiang was extremely cautious about accepting gifts, fearing “crossing the line.”

Lin Yuchan vaguely understood this and couldn’t help sighing: “It would be good if all Qing officials were like you.”

She also thought: no wonder Wenxiang liked Hede—both were integrity pioneers.

Wenxiang glanced at her and smiled ruefully. After a while, he murmured to himself: “If they were all like me, even less would get done.”

Lin Yuchan: “What did you say?”

Wenxiang didn’t pursue this topic. Suddenly, his expression grew serious, he stood up, and his voice carried authority.

“Mrs. Su Lin, since you’ve traveled far to the capital, it’s better to come at the right time than early. I happen to have a matter requiring someone to go to Shanghai. Would you be willing to listen?”