Lin Yuchan’s mind went blank as she sat back on the bed in despair.

It was like casting pearls before swine.

She decided to make one last effort, using language this Qing dynasty zombie could understand.

“Fine, then, you rescue me first. After things settle down, we can arrange a matchmaker…”

“Heh, Miss Lin,” Baoliang was quite sharp in this regard, immediately seeing through her intentions and shaking his head disappointedly. “I exhaust my heart and blood helping you, then you turn around and refuse to acknowledge me—do you think I’m stupid? I just want some assurance to get a definite answer from you. Is that so difficult?”

His patience exhausted, he stared at that face that made him love and hate simultaneously, then suddenly reached out to embrace her.

“Fine, Miss Lin, I know you’re embarrassed and won’t give a definite answer.” He forcefully pushed her onto the bed, his expression suddenly turning sinister. “Then give me some assurance to make me trust you. You want to preserve your purity for that dead husband of yours? Impossible! I’ll make you marry me today. Even if you become a ghost, he won’t want you… You forced me to do this, I’m sorry…”

Lin Yuchan’s head hit the wall with a thud. Dazed for a moment, feeling her hands unbuttoning her clothes, she immediately threw a punch while screaming.

“Fire—”

With a creak, the door opened. The several guarding women who had withdrawn earlier rushed in with laughing exclamations: “Ay, why are they fighting again?”

Then one on each side to “break up the fight”—one covering her mouth, one holding her feet!

This wasn’t an official prison after all, just housing orphaned girls with no family or property. Their purity was worthless. Just one wall away was the Ministry of Justice, where occasionally official messengers would pay a few coins to come in and find some fun, also an opportunity for the official matchmakers to earn extra income.

This time, a fresh, tender young woman had come, but they’d been instructed she couldn’t be used for “revenue generation,” causing the women to complain long ago. Only she was precious! This wealthy young master was too infatuated!

Fortunately, the young master had come to his senses, and the official matchmakers skillfully helped these two “make connections.”

Lin Yuchan struggled, the sense of humiliation pressing on her like a boulder, making it hard to breathe. She took deep breaths and shouted sternly: “Minister Wenxiang will send people to check on my situation…”

“If you marry into a first-rank official’s family and are exonerated, everyone will be happy. Wenxiang will congratulate you before he has time for anything else.”

Having been beaten by her last time, Baoliang had gone back to consult the wrestling experts in his mansion and learned a few moves. Though he considered himself refined and scholarly, once the door to violence opened, it couldn’t be closed. His eyes red, he pushed aside her slender arms and twisted, not too lightly or heavily.

Lin Yuchan’s tears flowed from the pain. Dimly she heard opera singing from the courtyard across the way, a kite-string-thin shrill voice drifting into her ears, and she suddenly understood the feelings of the forcibly seized heroine in the opera.

Disgusting! So fucking disgusting!

She bit her lip until it bled, turned her head aside, and pleaded: “Then write a marriage contract, with proper matchmaking, carry me into your mansion in grand style. What does this count as? What will your father think if he finds out!”

Baoliang was overjoyed. He wanted to release her, but was reluctant. When he relaxed his grip, she kicked him in the abdomen, making him grimace and roll to the floor.

Lin Yuchan, afraid he’d get angry, quickly shouted: “What, do you Manchus always believe in acting first and reporting later when marrying? Is this your family tradition? Isn’t it shameful? Did your father teach you this?”

She fiercely buttoned up her clothes.

The two official matchmakers felt awkward, glared at the cowardly young master, thinking: Can’t even handle this?

Baoliang really couldn’t handle it. The Eight Banners’ sons had long lost their fierce courage. Their aggressive, martial spirit had been completely exhausted in the daily, yearly routine of raising pigeons, falcons, crickets, and listening to grasshoppers. Just like over twenty years ago, when his father’s generation was stunned by foreign cannons and could never hold their heads up again.

Lin Yuchan kept saying “your father,” and his mind conjured up Yusheng’s serious, fleshy-cheeked face. All his violent thoughts turned to dejection as he shamefully climbed up.

Stammering, he said: “I didn’t mean anything… Fine, fine, there are ready matchmakers here. I’ll write the marriage contract now. Next time someone comes to interrogate you, just show this and say you’re promised to me. This case will become my family matter. I’ll pull some more strings and try to get it resolved after the Empress Dowager’s birthday…”

Lin Yuchan watched him write coldly, then suddenly asked: “Will your father agree?”

“With parental command or matchmaker’s words, having one is enough. Shun married without telling his parents, yet the gentleman considered it as if he had told them—even sages did this.” Baoliang smiled apologetically. “Besides, father wants to target Wenxiang; he has no grudge against you. At worst, I’ll kneel for a few more days. Father and son don’t hold overnight grudges.”

When she had just kicked him, he had briefly regretted it, feeling he shouldn’t have provoked such a vicious woman. Now seeing her normal expression, he breathed a sigh of relief. She indeed wasn’t that heartless.

Lin Yuchan looked at the already-prepared duplicate “marriage contracts,” as if seeing the indenture contract from years ago.

Seeing her prolonged silence, Baoliang hurried to explain: “Manchus and Hans don’t intermarry, so… so this isn’t the official kind, you understand… But Miss Lin! I guarantee I’ll never let the principal’s wife oppress you!—I’ll choose a weak one who’ll listen to you, keep her in Beijing to serve my father and mother, while I return to Shanghai with you. We’ll be called husband and wife, staying together constantly, and absolutely won’t return to Beijing unless necessary…”

Lin Yuchan smiled coldly and readily signed and sealed the marriage contract.

Her birthplace and birth details had been questioned and verified countless times when she came to Beijing for the imperial audience—no point hiding them now.

Baoliang beamed, humbly apologized to her, estimated the girl wasn’t angry anymore, tucked his copy of the marriage contract into his jacket, and cheerfully turned to leave.

Lin Yuchan: “Wait.”

Baoliang turned back. This girl was in his trap now—he wasn’t afraid of her backing out.

“Lend me paper and pen. I need to notify the managers and employees in Shanghai to handle the shop assets.”

Baoliang was surprised: “What are you doing? How will you handle them? This is your hard-earned business savings!”

“Since you don’t covet my money, and I’m now prospering, I’m willing to give my business to my managers and employees. You surely have no objection? My former employer, Rong Hong, did the same thing.”

Baoliang was stunned for a long while, repeatedly saying, “What a pity.”

He gritted his teeth and said, “If you don’t feel bad about it, then give it away!”

He loved her for her bold, daring manner, her courage to show him a cold face directly, her composure when facing turbulent situations, and of course… also for her delicate, lovely face and figure.

In any case, he didn’t love her money. After marriage, she’d better not do those boring machine tea businesses. She should focus on managing household affairs, social networking, and finances, and raising children—that would be perfect.

Of course, there were no writing materials in the prison. Baoliang’s servant did carry paper and pen, which he spread on the table.

Lin Yuchan drew water to grind ink, pondered a moment, then began writing a memorandum.

Baoliang was displeased: “Why are you still writing in foreign script?”

“I have foreign employees.”

“I haven’t seen them.”

“They specifically handle foreign customers—of course, you wouldn’t see them.”

Baoliang commanded in a husband’s tone: “You’re not allowed to write in foreign script either.”

Lin Yuchan stared at him for two seconds, then compromised.

Her life and property were in others’ hands. If Baoliang got angry again, never mind anything else, just having him instruct the official matchmakers to let a few thugs in would be enough to ruin her.

So she switched to Chinese characters, writing very neatly.

The content was quite earnest, roughly meaning: I have found my lifelong destination and will henceforth enjoy wealth in Beijing, please don’t worry about me. My shop shares should be divided proportionally among all employees, arranged as follows…

Baoliang watched her write with a smile, feeling warm inside, occasionally commenting on her grammar and calligraphy.

The girl had a clear mind and wrote calmly. Though her characters weren’t very beautiful, she could barely be considered a “talented woman.”

He was once again smug, feeling he’d found a treasure.

“Well then, Miss Lin, I’m leaving. See you later…”

Baoliang had a strict family upbringing. Though his father was Manchu, he’d studied Neo-Confucianism for half his life and was more learned and rigid than Han scholars. Having schemed to sneak out and delayed half the day, he expected to kneel at the inkstone again when he returned. Sighing toward heaven as he left, his chest filled with generous, tragic feelings, he felt himself truly a hero trapped by love.

Lin Yuchan coldly watched him leave. The thread she’d been holding in her heart suddenly loosened, and she could no longer maintain composure. She threw herself onto the bed, grabbed the quilt to wrap herself randomly, bundling herself into a cowering ball. Finally, in those layers of quilts, she sobbed quietly.

Several official matchmakers, seeing she’d truly climbed a high branch, perfunctorily offered congratulations and left.

Suddenly, a bundle of quilts flew off violently. Lin Yuchan emerged again, clutching a pen and ink stick she’d secretly hidden while writing the “marriage contract.”

The white paper remained on the table. She closed the door, stone-faced, and silently began writing.

…

Deep in the night, knock knock knock—someone tapped at the window.

Lin Yuchan had finally fallen into deep sleep and nearly cursed from her bed. Forcing herself alert, she put on clothes and shuffled to the window to look—

“Sister, what’s happened to you! You were so hard to find!” A scruffy, bearded head poked through the window bars, saying anxiously, “A foreign lady came to Pianyi Restaurant, dragged me off stage, and gave me this crumpled lantern paper—did you write this?”

Lin Yuchan rushed to the window, saw a large, rough hand extending through the wooden bars, grasped it tightly, tears flowing.

She thought no one would come!

Only now did she realize that the day she met Suo Er Niu was Saturday. Sunday school wasn’t in session, and Monday seemed to be some Christian holiday. Probably only today had Mrs. Bridgman received her cry for help.

“Master Feng,” her first question was, “This is the Ministry of Justice—are you safe coming here?”

Feng Yikan hung upside down from the eaves, patting his chest: “Don’t worry about me. Old Feng practiced martial arts when I was young… Hey, sister, what happened to you?”

The window suddenly went quiet. Then came suppressed, shallow crying.

Feng Yikan quickly pressed his eye to the window crack, somewhat nervous.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Did someone bully you?”

Lin Yuchan shook her head and wiped her tears.

“Then—sigh, you want to get out, but it’s difficult. This window would take three to five days to saw through, and the soldiers outside… Sister, may I boldly ask how many years you’ve practiced martial arts?”

Lin Yuchan broke into laughter through tears and quickly said: “Don’t escape first, don’t escape.”

Originally, this was a disposable charge, but if she escaped, it would be completely confirmed. Even if she wasn’t killed on the spot by pursuing troops, she’d have to live in fear forever unless she could hide in Hong Kong or Macau for life.

“I was falsely accused and implicated…”

She used the most concise language to describe the case she’d been dragged into, including being forced into marriage by Baoliang, laying everything bare.

“What the hell! I could tell that kid wasn’t a good person!” Feng Yikan cursed angrily, then regretted it. “Damn it, why did I have to blab and tell him your address! I deserve to die!”

Lin Yuchan: “I agreed.”

Feng Yikan was stunned: “You…”

So matter-of-fact—should he congratulate her? Take back that curse?

“Otherwise, staying locked up here long enough would kill me.” Lin Yuchan said. “Can you run an errand for me?”

Seeing this young girl suffering such misfortune, Feng Yikan couldn’t help feeling sympathetic and wanting to comfort her, but still had to haggle: “The ten days are long past, your eight silver dollars are spent. Are you planning to renew…”

“This letter details my case. Copy it twice on the road and send them separately to the North China Herald and Shanghai Xinbao newspaper offices. Keep the original,” a stack of densely written white papers squeezed through the window crack, urgently pressed into Feng Yikan’s hands. “This note should be copied four times and sent respectively to Boya Company, Inspector General of Customs…”

Feng Yikan hurriedly called a halt: “Wait, I’ve never been to Shanghai. Speak slower.”

Lin Yuchan repeated: “Boya Company, Inspector General of Customs, the wife of Director Ma at Shanghai Arsenal, and Yixing Shipping.”

This last place name Feng Yikan finally recognized. He hesitated a moment, then quietly confessed: “Sister, actually Brother Su from Yixing has been corresponding with me these past few days. He told me to look after you and he’d reimburse any expenses. But you, you this…”

Lin Yuchan couldn’t help laughing softly. She’d had a premonition.

No wonder he was so enthusiastic. Making money from both sides.

“This is an unprovoked disaster—how could I blame you?” she said generously. “Fine, I’ll write him a special note telling him to give you full reimbursement as usual…”

The white paper tricked from Baoliang was limited, leaving only a pathetic palm-sized piece.

Lin Yuchan was about to write when she hesitated again.

Fallen leaves were swept by the wind, rustling loudly in the narrow alley. Night spread, wrapped in an ominous thick blackness.

She suddenly felt lost. Having experienced anger and bitterness, suffering and humiliation, fear and danger, she’d finally won herself a chance to write to him. But she had already agreed to marry someone else.

On this narrow slip of paper, what should she write?

“Master Feng,” she suddenly said, “that new play ‘Third Son Returns Home’ hasn’t been performed in Shanghai. Minguan loves opera—when you see him, tell him about this play in detail.”

Feng Yikan agreed, somewhat puzzled.

“It’s about a young widow being forcibly married by a villain, then her supposedly dead husband wasn’t dead, the villain’s efforts were wasted, and the widow was reunited with her husband…”

Lin Yuchan nodded. “Also, apologize to him for me…”

Feng Yikan was a performer who traveled the rivers and lakes, understanding human nature. From just a few sentences, he’d guessed this Brother Su had an unusual relationship with her.

He comforted: “You mean marrying that official’s son? Sigh, since ancient times, common people haven’t fought officials. This is a matter of necessity—Brother Su will certainly understand your difficulties and won’t blame you…”

“It’s not about that, it’s about something else.” Lin Yuchan said. “He might be troubled, but I’m asking him to help me this once.”

She made her final decision and wrote only two characters on the note.

“Marry me.”

A marriage contract was like an indenture—once signed, it couldn’t be reversed, unless—

She recalled lines from the opera: “A woman doesn’t betroth herself to two husbands. Everything follows first-come, first-served. Since Xiao Sanlang isn’t dead, he’s your rightful husband. Even if the other is an imperial relative or nobility, he can’t violate human relations!”

Now it depended on which would reach Shanghai first: the self-confession Baoliang sent, or these rescue letters entrusted to Feng Yikan.

“Sister, don’t joke with me.”

Su Minguan hurriedly jumped down from the gangplank, his voice calm but his steps already quickening.

Aunt Hong looked around this dock with straight brows and wide eyes. Yixing had gotten rich lately. They said the foreigners’ price war hadn’t brought it down, but instead let Young Master Minguan take advantage to launch surprise attacks, acquiring many bankrupt small shipping companies at low prices. She’d never even visited this dock before—Yixing’s clerk had brought her here.

Su Minguan was also busy. Probably because there was no girl around him, he took advantage to travel long distances, fulfilling himself completely.

“I’m not joking,” Aunt Hong collected her thoughts, somewhat anxious. “The messenger from Beijing spoke clearly, and there was the girl’s personal letter. Though I can’t read, both managers have seen it and said the handwriting was correct…”

When Boya’s people heard the news that “Miss Lin entrusted her life in Beijing, would marry soon, please handle Boya’s assets locally, hoping to reunite if fated,” they were truly stunned for a while.

This Boss Lin was even less reliable than Rong Hong!

But on second thought, people climb toward higher places—human nature. If an ordinary single man went to Beijing and was taken by golden branches and jade leaves, becoming a wealthy son-in-law, everyone would congratulate him.

Moreover, Miss Lin was female. The other party didn’t take advantage of power to bully but gave her status—quite good already.

The only strange thing was this “handle Boya” decision seemed rather hasty. Miss Lin didn’t seem like someone who’d abandon career for husband and children. Could it be the husband’s family wouldn’t let her continue business? And she was willing?

These details aside. After the shock, several old employees who were close to Lin Yuchan unanimously thought of one person—

Everyone felt awkward to the extreme, looking at each other, none willing to be the villain.

Finally, Aunt Hong was straightforward, sighed, and set off running toward Suzhou Creek.

No one stopped her.

…

Aunt Hong tugged Su Minguan’s sleeve, asking quietly: “Hey, did you two quarrel before?”

Su Minguan’s brows tightened, his ears slightly warming.

Yes. Over a “kidney garment” matter. But that wasn’t a quarrel, was it?

He shook his head, grabbed a inspection form, multitasking as he checked boxes while taking the letter from Aunt Hong to quickly scan.

It was her familiar student handwriting, the tone roughly the same. She wasn’t good at formal written language—her usual notes and memos were all colloquial and easy to understand.

“I have found a good man…”

With a hiss, Su Minguan’s pen slipped, drawing a trembling diagonal line.

Her previous letter was still in his jacket—he still remembered the colorful spring satisfaction in it. After a dozen days, she sent another one like this.

Aunt Hong secretly sighed, guessing by her speculation, and comforted: “Don’t laugh at me—never mind the girl. Even I, a self-combed woman, if I met some noble person’s favor someday, I’d be moved too…”

Su Minguan’s pen tip froze, ruining another inspection form.

He gently bit his lip and simply put down the pen. A clerk behind him wanted to urge him, but he gestured for the man to wait.

After a long time, he slowly said, “Miss Lin isn’t that kind of person.”

Aunt Hong: “We thought at first, too—could she be forced? But if someone was forcibly seizing a commoner’s daughter, would they let her write back to arrange the shop’s fate? Besides, you see, she says everything’s fine…”

“You believe whatever she says?” Su Minguan’s face suddenly turned ice-cold as he said coldly, “Has Boya Company’s money these years all been blown in by the wind?”

Aunt Hong: “…”

Actually, Boya’s employees weren’t stupid either, but reading Lin Yuchan’s letter, they were first stunned by “handling the shops”—after all, it was tied to their interests and futures, no joking around.

Only secondly was Miss Lin’s marriage. Boya’s work atmosphere was very Westernized, respecting personal privacy, not interfering too much in colleagues’ family matters. So besides trying to find reasons for her, they didn’t think too badly.

Su Minguan had always respected Aunt Hong, but now couldn’t help making a sarcastic comment. He immediately restrained himself, looking apologetic but not apologizing.

The moment was strangely quiet. The distant boatmen’s chanting seemed incredibly jarring.

After a long while, Aunt Hong said gently, “Young master, since ancient times, civilians don’t fight officials. Whether the girl is willing or not, you can’t compete with the Eight Banner golden branches and jade leaves. What’s destined will come, what’s not destined shouldn’t be forced. Don’t be impulsive and bring trouble on yourself—if the girl knew, she’d worry too.”

Su Minguan nodded, his expression uncertain. Suddenly, with a snap, the pen shaft in his hand broke.

“Sister,” his chest rose and fell as he said softly, “When she was leaving, I didn’t say a word to keep her, even accompanied her to buy travel supplies. I knew she didn’t like me being clingy.”

His voice was very soft, very clear. To Aunt Hong, it sounded exactly like that little boy who once sought her protection.

“I have a contact brother in Tianjin who wrote asking if I wanted reports on her whereabouts. I said No need. I knew she didn’t like being monitored.”

“Sister, seven times I almost asked her to marry me. But I never spoke up.”

Aunt Hong reached out her hand, embraced the young man’s head, letting him lean on her shoulder.

“None of that counts,” she smiled bitterly. “Years ago, a man proposed to me. I said I was self-combed, impossible. He wouldn’t give up, found seven or eight people, and proposed twelve or thirteen times. I almost decided to elope with him, then he turned around and married someone else.”

Su Minguan’s lashes trembled, his eyes showing dimness, drifting with a trace of almost frozen bewilderment.

In Miss Lin’s heart, he was that stubborn self-combed woman, wasn’t he?

Usually laughing and playing harmoniously, but now that she was far from him and clearheaded, she finally lost heart and stopped making herself suffer.

Knowing this possibility was extremely small, he couldn’t help thinking it over and over. Pushing a giant millstone, masochistically grinding his own heart.

He wouldn’t take the normal path, so heaven gave him a dead end.

Su Minguan used his sleeve to dab his eyes, gently released Aunt Hong, lowered his head, and carefully read Lin Yuchan’s letter from beginning to end a second time.

He suddenly contracted his pupils. That slight, embarrassed expression faded, and aggressiveness returned to his eyes.

“Something’s wrong.”