“The property distribution Miss Lin mentioned in her letter—you didn’t calculate it carefully after receiving it, did you? Please go back and verify again.” Su Minguan picked up the broken pen, lightly tapping a few dots on the letter paper, saying calmly, “The Xingrui brand tea inventory has issues. The commission amount owed to me from the Defeng Trading merger is wrong. And here, and here… The first few items could be her remembering incorrectly, but she can’t even calculate her share amounts accurately. Roughly adding it up, there’s at least a thousand taels of silver in error.”
He spoke faster and faster. Though he hadn’t been drinking, his voice carried inexplicable excitement.
Just now, he’d been stunned by the sudden heavy blow and almost missed these details!
“Sister,” Su Minguan said quickly, “go back and tell the others that the first few pages of this letter are nonsense—don’t believe them. Don’t handle the shops. Find connections. This is Miss Lin’s cry for help. Miss Lin is asking us to find ways to save her.”
Aunt Hong widened her eyes: “Really? How do you…”
Such a huge shop with countless trivial details—even several managers would need paper and pen to calculate slowly for half a day. This young man wasn’t even a Boya employee, yet he could glance and immediately point out errors. He was like an abacus spirit!
Su Minguan explained very sincerely: “My betting agreement with her is about to expire. I have to pay attention to Boya’s recent situation.”
Aunt Hong: “But what trouble has she gotten into…”
“I don’t know either.” Su Minguan replied crisply. “I only know she wrote hastily, with someone beside her while writing, someone who wouldn’t let her speak her true thoughts.”
He re-dipped his brush, focused entirely on completing the inspection form, then personally escorted Aunt Hong out of the dock.
“Please handle things here.” He strode back. “Get me a ship!”
The night watchman struck his wooden clapper, approaching then departing. Lin Yuchan leaned against the wall, estimating Feng Yikan’s travel speed.
When he left that day, Lin Yuchan had impulsively almost called him back, but ultimately restrained herself, watching him disappear through the gap in the wall.
She didn’t know if what she was doing was right. Why did she have to play that riddle with Su Minguan instead of explaining clearly? Probably deep down she still felt this crooked method was too shameful, hoping he could figure it out himself and make his own choice, rather than everything following her demands.
If he refused… then she had nothing to complain about. It was an excessive request to begin with.
She had others to rely on.
Thinking it over, she didn’t know whether she hoped Feng Yikan would run faster or slower.
A lost crow flew chaotically on the rooftop, cawing as it crossed the night sky. Lin Yuchan climbed back onto her bed, forcing herself to close her eyes to meet the new day’s battle.
Cold wind billowed through white sails. In late autumn’s fine rain, Tianjin port welcomed an unscheduled passenger ship docking.
The travel-worn ship owner efficiently paid supplementary taxes, passed inspection, and steadily came ashore.
In the opera troupe’s noisy singing, he hurried through the mixed crowd at the dock and found the “Octagon Tea House.” Inside was still empty as usual, with a thirteen or fourteen-year-old shop assistant watching the store.
“Master Feng,” the assistant said blankly. “He’s gone on a long trip for business, not here now. If Sir wants tea, I can serve you. If Sir is looking for him, please wait a few days.”
Su Minguan was stunned.
Jiang Gaosheng, beside him, tentatively spoke a few code phrases, but the assistant understood none of them.
Feng Yikan, guarding Tianjin alone, probably also felt the revolutionary cause was hopeless and hadn’t planned to recruit more subordinates. Several apprentice assistants were all ordinary people who knew nothing about their master’s secret activities.
Hong Chunkui angrily muttered, “Northerners are all unreliable.”
Jiang Gaosheng asked blankly: “What do we do now? We don’t even know where Miss Lin is.”
Su Minguan was also somewhat confused. Wasn’t Feng Yikan supposed to be following Miss Lin? Even if she was forcibly seized and married, regardless of the causes, even if he was powerless to rescue her, he couldn’t just run away, could he?
Since it was distant, plastic brotherly affection, Su Minguan wasn’t polite. He took some money to send the assistant away to buy things. With the tea house empty, he closed the door, targeted a few suspicious drawers, cabinets, and stove holes, felt around, and found a mechanism. Twisting it, he pulled out several gleaming, sharp knives from the cracks.
He slowly traced the sharp blade edges with his fingertips. It had been a long time since he’d used knives.
Since the failure of the Guangzhou uprising, this was the first time he’d had such an unconfident premonition. He couldn’t see the path ahead, didn’t know what the next step should be, didn’t know at which step he’d fall into the abyss trap already set.
Suddenly, he recalled his training days at the Guangdong assembly hall. His predecessor, Jin Lanhe, had told him: Weapons are inauspicious tools, but when they must be used, they must be used.
For a moment, his blood surged. He wanted to take up arms and rebel again, to charge into Beijing, to split that gray, dusty fog with blood, to stab each person who bullied her.
“Borrowing these first.” He called to a few old brothers, saying calmly, “Let’s go to the capital to scout the way.”
“Miss Lin, just let me kiss you once… So stingy, you weren’t so shy before…”
Baoliang came again to visit his captured “fiancée,” bringing a box of sesame winter melon candy, eating it with great relish himself.
Lin Yuchan said coldly, “According to ancestral rules, an engaged couple shouldn’t meet before marriage. Your father has studied Neo-Confucianism for so many years—surely he taught you at least this much?”
Baoliang was stunned and nodded in distress.
“I’ll probably get beaten again when I go home today.”
Speaking of it, he was somewhat proud, feeling that he could break through the obstacles of corrupt tradition, bloodied but pursuing love, truly a perfect match with a modern woman like Miss Lin.
He didn’t think he was wrong at all. Harming the girl to this extent wasn’t his intention—you couldn’t blame him. If anyone was to blame, blame the rotten court atmosphere. After the girl fell into trouble, he actively rescued her, braving family pressure, fighting for the most comfortable life within his abilities, then, with his identity as a Manchu from a first-rank family, sent this drifting girl lifelong support, giving her a chance to be exonerated…
Simply the most honest lover in the Qing dynasty. Though his methods were a bit immature and the process dragged, as long as the ending was perfect!
Lin Yuchan’s mouth twitched into a smile.
She still had to placate when necessary. At least Baoliang was straightforward—she’d already figured out his logic. Compared to Yusheng and Cixi, he was much easier to handle.
Even if she had no choice but to marry him, she could find an opportunity to stage a “dead husband’s resurrection” drama and righteously divorce.
She asked: “You mentioned earlier that the case had developments—what do you mean?”
These past days, the officials interrogating her had changed again, starting over from name and birthplace, also threatening and tempting, hinting she should admit not only colluding with Wenxiang but also having connections with Prince Gong, asking if she’d helped certain Beijing officials deposit silver in foreign firms through Boya Company.
Lin Yuchan heard countless traps in these vague accusations and immediately chose to play dumb and stay silent. She endured countless insulting spittle and several threatening punches.
Someone wanted to make this big!
Hearing her question, Baoliang looked troubled, glanced around vigilantly, then pulled down his hat brim and whispered: “Prince Gong grasps power and takes bribes, shows favoritism and pride, disrespects the emperor. My father was persuaded by several Hanlin Academy people to try using this case to bring down that foreign devil…”
Lin Yuchan found it incredible: “Just with one forged foreign firm letter?”
Could they topple the leading Grand Secretary, Prince Regent, and head of the foreign affairs faction—Prince Gong Yixin?
Baoliang asked back: “Why not?”
She remembered materials she’d read in history books. The foreign affairs faction didn’t have smooth sailing. Because they touched many Manchu interests, many foreign affairs officials were always suspected, resented, and even impeached and framed…
Take that foreign affairs representative Prince Gong Yixin—his life had several rises and falls, not always sitting in that leading position.
One fake letter wasn’t enough. But if it happened to catch the foreign affairs faction at a low point, one wrong word, one wrong protocol, could become an excuse for action.
Baoliang suddenly left his seat, plopped down kneeling at her feet, and gently slapped himself twice.
“Miss Lin, I deserve to die! I didn’t think it would be this serious! I’ve already begged friends at the Ministry of Justice. Let’s get married quickly so I can take you to live at my mansion. You’d only need to occasionally respond to summons. Maybe we can’t clear your name, but if they want to sentence you, I can arrange for a house-born servant girl to take your place—not difficult…”
Lin Yuchan became increasingly irritated listening, momentarily feeling somewhat out-of-body, floating above this small prison courtyard, coldly watching Baoliang’s kneeling scene freeze, watching his mouth open and close, making various expressions.
Like a thin fuse running through her limbs. For an instant, she had violent impulses again.
Suddenly, several crisp bamboo clapper sounds drifted into her ears from the alley.
“The great Qing empire unified, military music and civilian peace. Ten thousand nations come to court bearing tribute, speaking eloquently, matching the sage and wise…”
Street performers shook bamboo clappers, casually advertising themselves.
Lin Yuchan heard that familiar tune, calmed down, stood up, and extended her hand: “Return the marriage contract.”
Baoliang: “Huh?”
“Marriage contract for freedom—wasn’t that our original agreement? Now you can’t fulfill your promise. Sorry, I’m not marrying.”
Baoliang exploded: “How can marriage be a transaction! Besides, Miss Lin, think of a better solution! If you stay here longer, someone might torture you tomorrow!”
Lin Yuchan was silent for a moment.
“Next month is the Empress Dowager’s longevity celebration. At this time, prisons are inauspicious, right?”
Baoliang smiled apologetically: “Yes, yes, you think thoroughly.”
He had exaggerated a bit without scaring her.
“You want to marry a principal wife, not some girl randomly redeemed from the entertainment district to play with, right?”
“Yes, yes, yes! Of course, how could you compare to those women? Except for one empty title I can’t give, I’ll prove with actions that I only cherish you alone and will never change…”
“Good.” Lin Yuchan lifted her eyelids without expression. “If we’re getting married, it should look like a marriage. I’m Cantonese—we care about feng shui. There’s a yin-yang master in Guangzhou named Wang Laoji whom I trust most. Have him come calculate an auspicious date. I’m staying here—could I run away?”
After Baoliang left, darkness fell. The official matchmakers in the courtyard drove other female prisoners back to their rooms, then bought several pounds of beef heart persimmons for themselves, sitting in the courtyard slurping them deliciously. Lin Yuchan returned to her single room and sat by the wall.
Moments later, knock knock knock—someone tapped the wall.
Lin Yuchan’s heart suddenly raced as she pressed her face to the wall and called softly: “Master Feng! You’re back!”
After a pause, she asked hesitantly: “Did you see Minguan? Were all the letters delivered?”
“Boya Company received them. They know your predicament and are finding people to help. Your managers and staff, though not underworld people, are calm in crisis and truly brave, resourceful, and loyal. Good people.”
Lin Yuchan couldn’t help smiling, explaining quietly: “They have experience.”
Feng Yikan continued: “That arsenal director’s wife is your friend, right? This friendship was worth it—she immediately asked if I wanted to break into Beijing to rescue you from prison. Startled me… But the foreign side didn’t go smoothly. The newspaper won’t accept Chinese submissions, wouldn’t even let me in the door. I begged everywhere and left the letter with the gatekeeper, but I don’t know if they’ll throw it away as trash. The Inspector General’s people also drove me out. The foreign official you know isn’t in Shanghai, and they said they were powerless.”
Lin Yuchan nodded. It was originally “saturation rescue”—she didn’t expect every line to connect.
“Then, Yixing…”
“Sigh,” Feng Yikan suddenly sighed. “Your Brother Su was too quick. When I reached Shanghai Yixing, he’d just boarded a ship and left…”
Lin Yuchan didn’t know if she felt relieved or disappointed. The two words she’d written to Su Minguan seemed to have been delivered directly to Yixing by Feng Yikan, missing him…
That was good too. Saved him from difficulty.
She said: “Thank you for your trouble.”
Feng Yikan: “…Then I took a ship back to Tianjin. Guess what?”
In one week, Feng Yikan had run across half of China, rushing back to his precious tea house. Before he could catch his breath, he ran right into Su Minguan with several people, having swept clean the little revolutionary equipment in the tea house, each carrying two knives!
“Sister, let me tell you, you Guangdong brothers are too much.” Feng Yikan complained. “If you’re borrowing things, just borrow them—why leave such a big chunk of silver! Too insulting!”
Lin Yuchan’s heart tightened as she urgently asked: “What does he want to do?”
“Don’t worry, I talked him out of it with all my might. That Cantonese doesn’t know how high the sky is, thinking the capital is as easy to mix in as the foreign settlements? He still has a criminal record—isn’t that like a mouse licking a cat’s nose, looking for death? The Empress Dowager is celebrating her birthday, congratulatory gifts from everywhere are entering Beijing, all city gates have extra guards, people going in and out need travel permits and credentials. Him? Ha, he’d be caught before getting through Yongding Gate!”
Lin Yuchan anxiously picked at the wall plaster.
“You did right. Don’t let him enter Beijing at all.”
“Of course not. I talked and talked until I kept him at the tea house. Fortunately, I, Old Feng, performed in Beijing in earlier years and have some acquaintances among the Guard commanders, so I can go back and forth smoothly. He wanted to write you a letter, but I said it wasn’t safe—you’re constantly searched here. I could only help him bring a message…”
Lin Yuchan nodded silently, listening intently.
“…He said, preserve your life above all—everything else is unimportant formalities. Don’t worry about Shanghai. That betting agreement—he’s giving you an extension. Even if you can’t return by year’s end, he won’t take your shops.”
Lin Yuchan made a small “mm” sound, her eyes welling up again.
That was his familiar tone. Infuriatingly relaxed, with sincerity hidden in calculation. Without careful consideration, you’d think this person was the epitome of heartlessness.
“Brother Su also asked me to ask you,” Feng Yikan said, “tell him the case process and details, everything no matter how small. He’ll use his connections to find solutions.”
Lin Yuchan smiled bitterly. The north was a vacuum for Hongmen influence. His “welcomed everywhere” identity as a Guangdong helmsman was worthless here—what connections could he use?
She still told Feng Yikan in detail: the names of ministers present at the time, the forged letter, Cixi’s flip-flopping attitude, along with today’s new developments from Baoliang, how Yusheng was trying to use her case as a breakthrough to strike the entire foreign affairs faction… the important parts, transmitted through the wall.
Night had deepened. The night patrol watchman approached with his lantern. Both fell silent by mutual agreement.
The Ministry of Justice was taking prisoners at night again. Distorted wails mixed with the north wind, slanting through the narrow alley, became clearer and more piercing as they approached.
Feng Yikan slowly stood up, saying quietly, “I have to go.”
“Fine. Tell Minguan that I…”
Lin Yuchan hesitated for an instant. Too little time, too many things to say.
She finally said briefly, “Tell him to be careful and not risk himself.”
She knew he was cautious, didn’t need her reminders. But this was truly the first thought that came to her mind. Even if his ears got callused, she had to repeat it once more.
“Also,” she urgently added, “I bought him a gift, but it was all confiscated, I don’t know whose house it’s in now. Tell him it was a pair of…”
“Who’s there?!”
The night patrol official shouted from thirty feet away.
Feng Yikan meowed, dragged himself through fallen leaves, rolled and crawled over the wall. The night patrol cursed a few times about damn rats.
“…clay figurines. That Fahai was made to look especially like you.”
Lin Yuchan finished quietly, hugged her legs, rested her chin on her knees, and stared into space for a long time, until the watch drum sounded again and clouds covered the stars in the night sky.
The deep-night Tianjin dock had none of the day’s bustle. Boxes, bamboo poles, wooden planks, and scaffolding lay scattered on the ground. Rows of ships tied to posts floated with the waves like sleeping soldiers.
Octagon Tea House had doors and windows covered, curtains all down, blocking the thin light inside.
Su Minguan stood up, cupping his hands to Feng Yikan: “Thank you. No more questions.”
After talking long into the night, he’d forgotten to even drink water. His voice was hoarse, his eyes bloodshot, and he couldn’t help rubbing his eyes.
Feng Yikan returned the courtesy, somewhat embarrassed, laughing: “Haven’t handled affairs for over ten years. All this running around recently, plus staying up nights, really can’t take it. Won’t hide it from you—I’ve been going in and out of Beijing too frequently, always rushing through closing time, and the Guard Assistant at the city gate has started asking questions…”
Su Minguan immediately said, “Understood. Great kindness needs no thanks. Please do as you wish.”
The jianghu described in novels and by storytellers—where righteousness was greater than heaven—had long died. Feng Yikan, forced by livelihood, had cooperated with the Guangdong branch on one deal, finally fulfilling his long-cherished wish of “looking south for the royal army another year,” settling an unfinished jianghu dream.
Even the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom had fallen. The Manchu giant, cut open at the chest, dragging bloody organs, had somehow survived and slowly healed. Who would dare “raise great affairs” in the future? Who could claim to be another Hong Xiuquan?
Just wasted effort.
Feng Yikan supported himself on the table to stand, slowly walked to the tea house door, took a small carving knife from his sleeve, and slowly chiseled off the dust-covered double copper coin symbol.
The broken flag of “Octagon Tea House” still swayed in the wind. Suddenly, clouds covered the waning moon, and the flag darkened.
“In the future, this humble person will perform at Beijing’s Pianyi Roast Duck Restaurant. Please come support when you have time.”
Su Minguan smiled: “Certainly.”
Feng Yikan walked two steps, then suddenly stopped again, saying quietly: “All usable methods and paths were considered just now. We common people sometimes really must accept ‘fate.’ Don’t forget Miss Lin’s instructions. Don’t waste her painstaking care.”
Su Minguan nodded, drained his tea, and called to his companions: “Gaosheng, Chunkui. Let’s board the ship.”
Nights without moonlight were truly terrifyingly dark. Especially docks without lights—the pitch-black water and sky made the ground seem to disappear, becoming an unfathomable void, making it impossible to see whether what lay ahead was road or water, not daring to step forward.
Su Minguan suddenly thought that she’d pasted so many lanterns—she should have a chance to hang one in front of her prison window too?
Otherwise, this endless night would be too hard to endure.
He remembered the Little New Year’s Eve three years ago. He was alone, covered in wounds, soaking wet as he was pressed into the Huangpu River, imprisoned on a damp, stinking small boat. During the day, they chained his ankles and used him as a slave, stealing his strength and draining his spirit.
Between people, it was such naked oppression and being oppressed.
Then he couldn’t find an escape route. All he could do was light a cigarette in the deep night, stick it outside the cabin, and split a tiny bit of light in the thick darkness, trying to see the demons and monsters around him.
Until the dock carried the light, broken sound of a young girl’s voice.
“Minguan! Long time no see!”…
She was fifteen then. Wrapped in thick cotton clothes, so small she was almost invisible. Ill-intentioned thugs escorted her, and she nervously tugged at her trouser legs. Her lips were frozen white, trembling at the corners when she smiled.
Su Minguan couldn’t help wondering—if time could reverse, if he could warn that fearless girl, would he calmly advise her: “The odds aren’t good, don’t be reckless?”
…
Now she’d grown up, her mind increasingly rational and clear. The hardships of cutting through thorns along the way had wrapped her in thick cocoons, teaching her to think thrice before acting.
This time, she rationally warned him not to be impulsive, not to try pulling teeth from a tiger’s mouth, losing himself, and the entire organization.
He equally rationally advised her not to be reckless, not to put herself in danger for the sake of pride or some ridiculous moral purity. She seemed to have listened.
Both understood how to calculate risks and benefits.
But being careful, just like in the boundless night where no one dared step forward, perhaps they’d never reach each other.
Someone had to risk everything like a moth to the flame.
Su Minguan’s steps grew faster and faster, stepping into that bottomless darkness, his companions behind almost unable to keep up.
It was his turn to deliver guns.