Lin Yuchan’s entire body tensed as she immediately entered combat mode, straightening her back: “Please speak.”

Her trip to Beijing was impromptu, and Wenxiang’s chat with her was also impromptu. This spontaneous small request shouldn’t carry too much weight.

The nation lacked Westernization talents. The first batch of Tongwen Academy students hadn’t yet graduated. Although Wenxiang was a first-rank high official who commanded respect with a single call, for certain matters, his advisors and counselors might not match this humble-born small woman.

In a sense, these private merchants pioneering at the forefront of the era were the “compradors” for Westernization officials.

Wenxiang slowly said: “I’ve discussed with several colleagues about purchasing a complete foreign machinery factory in Shanghai as the foundation for our Qing Dynasty’s industry. However, the foreigners are insatiably greedy and quote exorbitant prices to the government. For instance, that Qiji Iron Works is asking for two hundred thousand taels of silver—we can’t afford it.”

Lin Yuchan nodded: “Foreigners charge different prices to officials and civilians—that’s normal.”

However, she calculated privately that Qiji Iron Works was the same ironworks that manufactured her steam tea-making machines. With rich and advanced equipment inside, two hundred thousand might be somewhat inflated, but considering brand reputation, it was indeed worth that price.

Wenxiang: “I see you’re eloquent and speak foreign languages fluently. If you could negotiate a suitable price for us…”

Lin Yuchan quickly asked: “What’s the budget?”

She had experience helping people negotiate prices. She’d negotiated a twenty percent discount for Hede when buying Tongwen Academy teaching materials.

“…The Shanghai Circuit Intendant can spare at most twenty thousand taels of silver.”

Wenxiang finished the second half of his sentence with a smile.

Lin Yuchan: “…”

She wanted to take her leave.

Fortunately, Wenxiang remained amiable throughout, speaking in a casual tone. She boldly smiled and said, “That won’t work. Even my Boya Company isn’t worth selling for twenty thousand taels. That Qiji Iron Works is ten times larger than Boya. They’re asking two hundred thousand—negotiating to eighty percent might be possible, but asking them to sell at ten percent is worse than selling scrap metal. Who set this budget for you? You should criticize them.”

Wenxiang indeed didn’t get angry, stroking his beard and sighing.

“Even you say this, so it seems those people aren’t deceiving me. Well, this matter isn’t important—pretend I never mentioned it.”

The Westernization Movement burned money. Equipping the army with foreign guns and purchasing warships and cannons came first. As this silver was distributed layer by layer, each person who handled it skimmed off profits. For the minor detail of buying a machinery factory, managing to spare twenty thousand taels was already the result of Wenxiang’s best efforts at mediation.

Golden thighs weren’t easy to embrace. No matter how eager Lin Yuchan was to achieve merit, she couldn’t accept this suicide mission.

Fortunately, Wenxiang didn’t force anyone into difficulty. He was just asking casually out of interest.

“Then… what about Chinese-funded iron works?” he asked again. “Are there any with good quality and reasonable prices?”

Lin Yuchan could answer this: “There are about ten, but they’re all Chinese-foreign joint ventures, or even Chinese-funded companies that just use foreign company shells… The quality varies greatly—buying them would be burdensome.”

After hearing her explanation, Wenxiang was slightly displeased: “Are Chinese names so shameful? Must everything have a foreign flavor?”

Lin Yuchan: “There’s no choice. Foreign companies enjoy various tax and policy benefits, while Chinese shops face heavy taxes and levies. People pursue profit, so they don’t care about such an empty reputation. I won’t hide from you—now most Chinese ships on the Huangpu River fly foreign flags. Only this way can they sail quickly on the river; otherwise, various transit taxes would crush them, making survival impossible…”

This was already an open secret. She boldly spoke it out, figuring Wenxiang wouldn’t indiscriminately brand all Shanghai Chinese ship owners as traitors.

Indeed, Wenxiang fell silent for a moment, then smiled: “The loss of navigation rights to foreigners has the entire court lamenting. Hearing you say this, our Chinese people haven’t completely withdrawn after all.”

Lin Yuchan pondered these words—they seemed to suggest pushing ship owners forward as pioneers against imperialism.

However, she also knew the court lacked money and capable talent. Many things weren’t unwanted but unachievable, leaving common people to find their paths.

Wenxiang continued: “By the way, about that orphanage matter you mentioned…”

Lin Yuchan was startled again. She hadn’t had time to mention the orphanage yet! How did Wenxiang know?

Wenxiang smiled and pointed toward the gate: “At the Zongli Yamen entrance, there’s a foreign female missionary who stands there daily speaking foreign languages. The gatekeeper won’t let her in, but I heard her. I asked Tongwen Academy students and only understood the word ‘orphanage’—are you together?”

Lin Yuchan was delighted for a moment and immediately said, “That’s Miss Aldersey. She should be waiting outside the gate right now.”

Wenxiang turned to scold the old servant: “How can we let a foreign lady wait outside! Quickly invite her in!”

The old servant was unfairly scolded but knew his master was just making a gesture, so he humbly apologized and ran out.

While they went to invite Miss Aldersey, Lin Yuchan quickly organized her words and repeated the orphanage crisis to Wenxiang.

Mrs. Wenxiang also chimed in: “About foreigners digging out hearts for medicine—Mrs. Su here debunked that rumor for me last time. Infants are hard to raise. My sister’s middle-class family couldn’t keep their children alive, which is common for families that don’t have several children who died young. Those wet nurses, at most, were negligent in care, not deserving of death. Sir, please show mercy and help them find a way to live.”

This matter involved no money, so Wenxiang could naturally sort out the pros and cons.

“Isn’t there a man coming to see me about this?” He stroked his beard, somewhat dejected. “Must it be you women coming to the capital to file complaints?”

“Bishop Lang is recuperating from injuries at the consulate,” Lin Yuchan gradually became more relaxed, half-joking with this amiable gentleman. “People also cherish their lives.”

She paused and said seriously: “Foreign men are either officials or merchants, or connected to churches—their motives are inevitably impure. If they came to you, this matter might not end well. Miss Aldersey has no property or interests in the Qing Dynasty. Today, she comes purely for the orphans’ welfare, at her own expense and voluntarily. You should trust her.”

While speaking, Miss Aldersey arrived. Wenxiang quickly stood and cupped his hands in greeting, muttering: “My humble home is small—please excuse the poor hospitality, madam.”

Lin Yuchan was slightly surprised.

Were Qing officials this modest?

Why don’t TV dramas portray him?

…

After simple negotiations, Wenxiang comforted Miss Aldersey: “This official will have someone deliver a letter to the Shanghai Circuit Intendant, asking him to show benevolence by first sending people to care for the orphans, avoiding freezing, hunger, and illness. Then orders will come from the Zongli Yamen to discuss proper handling for those missionaries and wet nurses. Madam’s chivalrous spirit and loyalty deeply move this official. If there’s an opportunity in the future, perhaps I’ll request commendation for you, for other foreigners to learn from.”

Miss Aldersey’s eyes filled with tears as she repeatedly thanked God, happily bowing to Wenxiang again and again.

Wenxiang then turned to Lin Yuchan, smiling kindly: “Rest assured, the Zongli Yamen’s working speed is much faster than other places. Wait patiently for three to five days. After we finish deliberations and send out official documents, you can return to Shanghai with the official courier.”

With Wenxiang’s words, a great weight lifted from Lin Yuchan’s chest.

She maintained composure as the old servant escorted her from Wenxiang’s residence, then finally couldn’t help herself. Right at the alley entrance, she and Miss Aldersey embraced tightly, attracting at least twenty spectators and three Pekingese dogs.

Lin Yuchan rested peacefully at the Nantang Guest House, finally having leisure to properly appreciate the capital’s scenery.

Unfortunately, capital residents had no touring habits—first because Beijing implemented segregated Manchu-Han residence, with Manchus in the inner city creating natural cultural barriers. Second, because there was too much imperial property, civilian scenic spots were truly lacking.

In Guangzhou, locals liked mountain climbing during festivals. Shanghai county residents could leisurely visit concessions, experiencing wide roads and grand Western buildings. But Lin Yuchan discovered that Beijing residents’ favorite entertainment within the Forty-Nine City was literally “standing on streets”—standing at street corners with bird cages, cricket cages, prayer beads, casually standing there, chatting with acquaintances, occasionally playing chess. By day’s end, with braids full of sand, this was many Banner men’s entire daily routine.

As for foreigners, they couldn’t tour as conveniently as in coastal concessions, mostly confined to several large churches.

Lin Yuchan could only search her memory for travel program content, being self-reliant.

Attractions like the Great Wall and the Ming Tombs were too distant to visit. Even glimpsing the Forbidden Palace from afar would constitute “offending superiors” and result in arrest. Places like Jingshan and Beihai were imperial forbidden gardens—even if the emperor and empress dowager never set foot there year-round, they’d never open to ordinary people.

Fine, let’s go shopping at Wangfujing.

Lin Yuchan’s hired eight-jiao-per-day personal attendant Feng Yikan had now become Bianyifang’s star performer, daily storytelling until his throat smoked. He’d quickly sent word to Tianjin to transfer two disciples for support. When Lin Yuchan suggested he accompany her on a tour, he immediately drank some boat-sterculia tea and headed out. He didn’t mind wind and sand, didn’t mind the exhaustion of running alongside sedan chairs, serving with pleasure.

Though Beijing was dusty, it had one advantage: streets ran perfectly straight, due east, west, south, and north, making it hard to get lost. After several hours of wandering, Lin Yuchan had adapted to this square grid layout.

Following the general direction, she arrived to discover that “Wangfujing” at this time was unremarkable—just residences and princely mansion courtyards, nothing like the bustling commercial street of later times.

As she strolled casually, suddenly an official-looking person intercepted her.

“What’s your business? Where are you from? What’s your husband’s surname? Is that follower behind you your household servant?”

This wasn’t her first time being stopped for inspection. Though Lin Yuchan had learned Mandarin since childhood, she still had some front-back nasal sound confusion problems, making her quite obvious among the Beijing dialect on the streets.

At the emperor’s feet, with ears and eyes everywhere, no suspicious persons were overlooked.

She thought: No wonder Su Minguan dared not enter Beijing. Too easy to be exposed.

Fortunately, she was prepared. Taking out identity documents, she explained: “I came to…”

Before saying much, someone called her: “Miss Lin!”

The voice was familiar. She turned in surprise: “Young Master Bao?”

The official’s son Baoliang, who had briefly pursued her in Shanghai before she politely declined him, was apparently home on leave and also strolling on Wangfu Street. He wore a sleeveless wide-sleeve Jiangchou jacket, prayer beads, a water pipe at his waist, hair combed bright and smooth, with a bowing and scraping servant following behind. Completely changed from his Shanghai style, he’d returned to his Banner, wealthy young master demeanor.

Baoliang dismissed the household registration inspector with a few words, then looked at Lin Yuchan with great surprise.

After learning Lin Yuchan’s purpose, he quickly put on a smiling face, exchanging pleasantries and repeatedly calling it “fate.”

Growing up in Beijing, all he’d seen were proper, old-fashioned Banner girls. Last year, he’d finally been assigned a leisurely post, left home to spread his wings, immersed in the bizarre new world with pleasure. He’d occasionally encountered charming, intelligent new-style women, finding them heavenly, feeling that ordinary women could no longer catch his eye.

Now back in Beijing, everywhere he looked were illiterate Banner women—both proper and rigid, faces always wearing appropriate joyful smiles, serving elders by standing for two hours, able to recite eighteen generations of family relatives… Like beautiful soulless mannequins, making his heart unbearably depressed.

Suddenly seeing Lin Yuchan again, he felt like meeting an old friend in a foreign land, past scattered emotions suddenly reigniting.

“Miss Lin,” he smiled warmly, “it’s too desolate here. Shall we go to a teahouse? Recently, there’s a newly promoted opera troupe. I know the troupe leader—we could reserve the entire venue…”

Baoliang was truly sincere. His method of pleasing girls was singular and unchanging: opera.

Lin Yuchan quickly shook her head, feeling quite helpless.

Rarely meeting an official’s son, if she were a man encountering an acquaintance in a foreign place, she’d certainly happily play with him—drinking, listening to music, chatting, expanding Beijing connections.

Only because she was a woman, dating equaled tacit flirtation. This connection had to be abandoned.

But she didn’t want to turn and leave like a chaste widow—petty and offensive.

Moreover, if she fled every time she encountered a man with some interest in her, she might as well stop showing her face in business and stay home.

So she maintained her commercial smile, politely declining: “Thank you for your trouble, but no need. I’ll just browse here.”

Being on his “home turf,” Baoliang wasn’t as cautious as before, very relaxed in speech and behavior.

He took two steps forward, whispering with a smile: “Don’t be shy, Miss Lin. Previously, I only told you that someone in my family served as an official in court. Because I was away, I couldn’t be too ostentatious. But actually, father is a first-rank court official with considerable influence. I know you’re conflicted about Manchu-Han differences, but now it’s not strictly enforced…”

He spoke quickly, unconsciously getting very close to her. Two feet between a strange man and a woman was considered modern romance in Shanghai, but in Beijing, it was like acting like a hooligan.

Lin Yuchan stepped back, too lazy to be polite, saying seriously: “Baoliang, you’re overthinking…”

Feng Yikan finally belatedly caught up. Seeing Baoliang’s attire, he knew he was wealthy or noble, quickly inserting himself between them while winking at Lin Yuchan and cupping his hands apologetically: “Sorry, sir, I… oh, I’m just hired by Mrs. Su to carry luggage, haha… right, right, staying at Xuanwumen Nantang, not far away. Come, come, have a smoke. Tell me if there’s anything. Mrs. Su is a bit tired today—she doesn’t mean to slight you.”

Seeing a male attendant, Baoliang felt too embarrassed to be too forward. After holding back for a while, he managed: “Then I’ll treat you to dinner…”

Lin Yuchan: “Goodbye!”

Baoliang watched the sedan chair disappear, standing dejectedly in place, both angry and heartbroken.

…

While waiting for food in a small restaurant, Feng Yikan quietly complained: “Sister, did you forget everything I told you? This is Beijing, he’s a wealthy Banner person—you must consider his status. How can you casually disrespect him like in the South? If I hadn’t smoothed things over today and he held a grudge, who would you turn to for justice?”

Lin Yuchan countered: “If I don’t refuse, what if he misunderstands? Besides, he doesn’t seem petty.”

Feng Yikan: “Sigh, you can’t just turn cold on the spot! There’s so much to learn about social interaction!—Forget it, no time to teach you. To put it bluntly, we Hongmen people in Beijing can only keep our tails between our legs. Next time, remember to restrain your personality, okay.”

Lin Yuchan was somewhat unconvinced. She felt she’d cultivated sufficient smoothness, but in Northerners’ eyes, she still had too strong a personality.

No choice—when in Rome, do as Romans do.

Beijing was good and great, just too restrictive. Having completed her main mission, she toured half the day with a “broadening horizons” mindset and was already somewhat homesick.

Fortunately, the afternoon itinerary was quite rewarding. Near Dengshi Kou, Lin Yuchan discovered a foreigner-run school—small door, small courtyard, with a shabby sign reading “Bridgman Girls’ School.”

Lin Yuchan was overjoyed: “Also a girls’ school!”

She quickly tidied her clothes and hat, knocked, and entered to pay respects.

The school occupied a small courtyard. The sole foreign teacher and principal was an American lady over fifty, serious and unsmiling, introducing herself as Mrs. Bridgman, widow of the late missionary Mr. Bridgman.

Lin Yuchan exclaimed: “The missionary who wrote A Brief Account of the United States?”

This was the Qing Dynasty’s first book describing American customs, history, and institutions. Shanghai’s Mohai Publishing House had printed it, and Rong Hong had bought a copy to keep at home for introducing America to others.

Mrs. Bridgman’s icy face showed slight warmth as she turned to take a copy of A Brief Account of the United States from her desk.

Since the Qing Dynasty opened ports, foreign missionaries had flooded in, but compared to the native population, they remained as rare as phoenix feathers. Those who achieved anything beyond missionary work were even fewer. With slight mental effort, one could trace many interconnected relationships.

Seeing her late husband’s reputation intact, Mrs. Bridgman was moved, smiled at Lin Yuchan, and said: “Feel free to look around.”

Beijing land prices were low, and Mrs. Bridgman had church funding support. The school was properly arranged with complete writing materials and books. Classrooms displayed crucifixes and Jesus portraits, and two local women were hired for miscellaneous duties. But Lin Yuchan noticed that though the dozen girls sitting on stools wore uniform azure cloth jackets and skirts, their undergarments beneath the uniforms were all tattered. Their hands gripping pens were incredibly rough, and half wore no shoes.

Mrs. Bridgman noticed her confusion and sighed.

The school just opened this year. We can only recruit poor girls and street begging girls. Respectable families absolutely won’t send their daughters to read outside their homes.”

“Many children can only attend half-day classes, working the rest of the time to supplement family income. Sometimes we even have to pay money to convince parents to let girls come study.”

This problem still existed in poverty alleviation work over a century later. Lin Yuchan could only comfort Mrs. Bridgman: “When these girls grow up and experience the benefits of education, they and their families will thank you.”

Hearing that Lin Yuchan also ran a school in Shanghai, Mrs. Bridgman curiously asked: “How do you recruit students?”

Lin Yuchan was somewhat embarrassed: “Mine is an adult school—most attendees are foreign wives.”

Mrs. Bridgman had previous schooling experience. After chatting briefly, Lin Yuchan felt she’d gained much and considered improving her Yude Girls’ School after returning.

The next day, no longer “self-reliant,” she went to Bianyifang to consult Uncle Pan. Following his directions, she went to Tianqiao to observe the “Eight Eccentrics of Tianqiao.”

These were skilled folk artists famous in jianghu circles—Pingju opera, martial arts, acrobatics, vocal mimicry, crosstalk… all represented.

Lin Yuchan truly opened her eyes. Some Pingju segments were probably skills honed through lifelong blood and sweat by performers, no less than later comedians—a few words could make her burst into laughter. But some body-destroying acrobatics or deliberately crude performances for shock value, she found hard to accept.

Baoliang was delighted, pointing and commenting with nearby audience members, laughing in mounting waves.

After one performance ended and the audience dispersed, the legendary artist crawled with difficulty from under a stone mill, arching his obviously deformed spine, lying on the ground slowly collecting copper coins one by one.

Lin Yuchan turned away.

In the afternoon, she went to Liulichang. Because examination candidates gathered in this area, it had become a lively, elegant recreation spot with shops selling books, stationery, and antiques everywhere.

Lin Yuchan naturally dared not get fleeced at antique shops, so she first toured bookstores. Most sold various examination reference books, finely printed and selling well, with many scholars inside discussing topics like “dignified tranquility,” “careful observation,” “self-restraint and ritual restoration,” evaluating books’ academic achievements.

But to her ears, first, it was incomprehensible; second, it was useless. After flipping a few pages, she drew glares from booksellers worried that a woman would damage their books.

Lin Yuchan snorted. These things could only harm the country—she wasn’t interested anyway.

While leaving, she suddenly discovered several Western lead-type printed books in a corner—Natural Philosophy, published by Shanghai’s Mohai Publishing House. The covers were dusty with spider webs. Lin Yuchan curiously picked them up. The bookstore owner didn’t chase her away but shouted: “Half price!”

Lin Yuchan sighed, put down the books, and dusted off her hands.

She could only go to the old established “Songzhu Studio” to buy quality stationery, then found nearby Wang Zhihe fermented bean curd and Liubiju pickled vegetables, selecting items that could be stored long-term as gifts for employees and shareholders.

Additionally, she toured several nearby tea shops for observation and learning.

Beijing was an ancient capital with severely polluted groundwater—salty and bitter—so from officials to commoners, everyone preferred richly flavored flower teas. Most shops sold various flower teas, broadening Lin Yuchan’s horizons. She packaged dozens of flower tea varieties as samples to research back home.

Feng Yikan followed behind, stealing time to buy a carrying pole, shouldering her pile of purchases like Sha Monk.

Lin Yuchan felt too embarrassed to buy more, but finally thought: surely she should bring something different for Su Minguan?

The young master probably could never enter Beijing in this lifetime. She couldn’t just bring him pickled vegetables and stinky tofu.