Lin Yuchan finished tying her hair when she suddenly heard commotion rising again outside. Several clerks were shouting, as if arguing with someone.

“Did Kou Laicai get caught stealing tips?” Lin Yuchan thought with schadenfreude.

Listening more carefully, it didn’t seem like the sounds of dispute.

“…We we we’re closed!” she heard Kou Laicai shout frantically toward the door. “We’re not doing business today!”

Several people seemed to force their way in, politely announcing: “We’re not here to buy tea. Call out your shopkeeper.”

Lin Yuchan guessed with even more schadenfreude: Had Old Master Qi’s “donation solicitation” hit an iron plate? Were people already coming to make trouble so quickly?

Another apprentice said apologetically: “Our shopkeeper went out on business – there’s no one in the shop right now. Whatever you need, please come back tomorrow.”

“No one in the shop, then what are you few ghosts?” the visitor said with displeasure. “Hurry up and prepare a seat for this official.”

Hearing the words “this official,” Lin Yuchan was startled.

The prefect had just left after extracting his tribute – who was this now?

What kind of day was this, with officials clustering together to drink tea?

And his accent was a bit strange. His pronunciation was rapid, not like a local person, nor like the standard Mandarin spoken by Manchu officials, but rather somewhat… like a foreigner.

She tiptoed to peek through the door crack. She didn’t see an official, only saw a Westerner wearing a suit and bowler hat, with signature orange hair showing under the brim – rare even among foreigners.

But she’d seen him before. It seemed to be that impatient Robert she’d encountered at the church!

“Little swindler, return the money!”

She recalled his furious curse ringing in her ears.

But last time he was alone visiting the pastor, looking quite ordinary, just one of countless adventurers who’d come to the Far East seeking fortune. Today, he was surrounded like stars around the moon, imposing and dignified, like a nobleman going to war.

The clerks naturally couldn’t make heads or tails of it, saying with apologetic smiles: “That, sir, in our Great Qing, you can’t just be an official…”

Robert waved his hand, and an attendant behind him brought out a red cap insignia.

He removed his Western hat and placed the cap insignia on top.

His face was as stern as water as he interrupted the clerk’s chatter: “Do I look like an official now?”

Faced with this ridiculous combination of cap insignia and Western suit, the clerks looked at each other, none daring to laugh.

“Robert Hart, newly appointed Deputy Inspector General of Customs for Guangdong Maritime Customs of the Great Qing.” He found a grand master’s chair and sat down steadily. “This official has come to audit taxes.”

“Lubin, Hart, Robert…” Lin Yuchan suddenly froze, her ears thundering. “I’ve memorized this!”

Robert Hart might not be a unique name. But appearing together with “customs” immediately brought back memories of reading materials from history textbooks for Lin Yuchan.

The late Qing government lost sovereignty, with foreign powers controlling customs. The Englishman Hart managed China’s customs for over half a century.

Ironically, under foreign management, customs revenue climbed year after year, making tariffs the Qing court’s most stable financial source, at its peak accounting for a quarter of national annual income.

By mortgaging customs duties, the Qing court could afford massive war reparations without triggering financial collapse. So in a sense, he helped China considerably.

Lin Yuchan remembered that when her history teacher discussed foreigners related to modern China – people like Elliot, Parkes, Waldersee – he would usually be filled with righteous indignation and spittle. Only when mentioning Hart did he humorously comment: “This person could be called the Qing government’s god of wealth. Without him, the Great Qing probably couldn’t have lasted into the twentieth century.”

Since coming to this world, this was the first time I encountered a true “historical figure.” Lin Yuchan’s heart pounded with a surreal feeling like Zhuangzi’s butterfly dream.

The wealth god Hart sat just a few meters away from her. He was only twenty-six this year, not yet at the moment of his great achievements. Right, the position he’d just stated was merely Deputy Inspector General of Guangdong Maritime Customs – his official career was just beginning.

However, his every move was already quite seasoned. He squinted his deep-set eyes, carefully surveying the entire shop floor, then sternly asked: “Who’s in charge here? This official needs to ask questions.”

Having used the cap insignia to establish authority, he also found the hat ugly and casually tossed it aside. An attendant behind him quickly picked it up and put it away.

From Old Master Qi at the top to bookkeepers and clerks at the bottom, everyone at Defeng Trading House had responded to the prefect’s call and gone out to “solicit donations” for military funds. Only a few worthless apprentices were left to watch the shop, long on braids but short on knowledge. Forget literacy, some couldn’t even work an abacus.

After a long daze, someone finally reacted and whispered: “Right, right, customs officials are indeed all foreigners…”

After the Opium Wars, to appease and protect foreigners from war damage, His Majesty graciously signed treaties specifically allowing Great Qing customs affairs to be led by Westerners. A magnificent customs office had been built near the riverside Western embankment wharf and was recently completed.

Foreign merchants selling goods to China had to pay taxes, and Chinese merchants exporting goods also had to pay taxes. Customs was truly a fat position for collecting money.

Handing this fat position to foreigners was truly imperial benevolence.

Of course, for merchants, it was the same paying taxes to anyone. The only headache was poor communication with foreigners, requiring hiring interpreters at expense.

But previous foreign tax officials all sat comfortably in their offices, having Chinese subordinates run errands when needed. This Hart, young and with the zeal of a new official, actually came personally to audit taxes. The clerks were immediately flustered, not knowing whether to serve tea first, flatter first, or quickly find an interpreter.

Fortunately, Hart was fluent in Chinese and didn’t need an interpreter. Seeing the clerks dumbstruck, he could only glance at each person and said: “This official has examined the past three years’ customs revenue and reviewed this year’s ship entry and exit records as well as trade correspondence documents submitted by your firm. I found that tax payments due this spring were significantly lower than in previous years – I wonder what the reason is. Today, I happen to be free and stopped by to investigate, also to understand public sentiment. You needn’t make a big fuss – just bring the account books for this official to see.”

He spoke rapidly, and the clerks looked at each other.

Everyone had seen many officials, but none with such solid professional standards.

Hart was tall with long legs, his Italian leather boots positioned right in the gap at the bottom of a row of shelves. Kou Laicai stared at his foot, unable to help breaking into a cold sweat, fearing his pointed boot toe might extend two inches inward and accidentally drag out some silver dollars.

Seeing Kou Laicai’s evasive expression, Hart pointed at him specifically: “Hey, do you know where the account books are kept?”

Another clerk, Liu Ershun, had seen more of the world. He performed a standard bow to the official and said respectfully, “Your Excellency has traveled far and worked hard. The shopkeeper is indeed not in today. When the shopkeeper returns, we subordinates will explain the situation and quickly prepare a business report to submit to customs. How does that sound? You see, our account books are a mess, truly unsightly…”

While speaking, he made eyes at several Chinese attendants behind Hart, asking them to put in a good word.

Who knew the attendants also looked helpless, pursing their lips to point outside, meaning our master has already visited several trading houses – not just yours.

Liu Ershun was furious, cursing the traitors in his heart.

Hart’s lips curved slightly in an emotionless smile: “No problem. This official can read them.”

Actually, in the past, trading houses reporting taxes to customs did as Liu Ershun said – they wrote annual reports themselves and submitted them, reviewed by specialized customs staff. As long as they roughly matched import and export cargo manifests, the government usually turned a blind eye. But Hart, as a new official with high ambitions and pride, was unwilling to accept someone else’s chewed bread and insisted on seeing this firsthand original material.

Liu Ershun smiled again: “Master Hart, we heard you resigned your appointment at the British Consulate to become an official of our Great Qing. All the people of Guangzhou praise your loyalty and righteousness. When our Old Master Qi mentions you, he’s also full of praise, instructing us to treat you well when we meet you – this new special Wuyi Mountain black tea, would you take a few boxes back to try?”

Old Master Qi could casually pull out bank drafts to bribe superiors, but these small clerks had no authority to use ready cash from the shop. They could only try indirect rescue, using tea leaves to make up the difference. Fortunately, Defeng Trading House’s tea sold worldwide and was presentable.

Hart immediately changed expression and said excitedly: “Do you think this official is just here to collect taxes? I’ll tell you honestly – Guangdong Maritime Customs is undergoing reform under my leadership. That corrupt old officialdom can go to hell. What I want to establish is a modern, institutionalized new-style customs that will be as clean and efficient as the customs in Liverpool, Bristol, and Hong Kong. Let me see—”

The clerks gaped, understanding only half, thinking Hart had switched to a foreign language.

Hart pulled out a small booklet from his person, flipped through it, and said coldly: “Hmm, bribing superiors to evade inspection – first offense, warning issued.”

This time, they understood and were scared into throwing away the tea leaves, each face red with embarrassment.

Seeing their resources exhausted, Kou Laicai had no choice but to steel himself and move a stack of account books from the cabinet.

“Your… Your Excellency, please examine them.”

Lin Yuchan watched the show from behind the wall.

The last time she saw Hart, she was recovering from a serious illness and nervous, leaving no concrete impression of him. This time, seeing him suddenly, she viewed this Englishman with new respect.

He was only in his twenties but had the grand ambition to reform the entire customs system, cure the chronic ailments of hundreds of years in the Great Qing, and was willing to personally conduct field research…

Just for this point alone, he deserved to enter the history books.

Compared to him, that prefect from earlier was like a clay statue in a city god temple.

His declarations about making the entire Great Qing officialdom “clean and efficient” might sound far-fetched to others, but Lin Yuchan knew he was one hundred percent serious.

In other words, every bit of negligence and defiance from these clerks was challenging his lifelong ideals.

Hart examined the account books very seriously, hardly blinking. Occasionally, his eyelids would quickly close once, his long lashes battling up and down, making the nearby clerks involuntarily shiver.

Lin Yuchan couldn’t help wondering if Defeng Trading House had some tax evasion or illegal activities.

Hart suddenly frowned and asked: “Why aren’t you using the Western bookkeeping method that this official promoted earlier this year?”

How could these clerks know? They answered randomly: “This… It’s too difficult, we can’t learn it.”

Trading houses currently use the “four-column bookkeeping method,” a thousand-year-old customary practice. Like the Chinese language, though vague, it was simple. The double-entry bookkeeping promoted by foreigners was like their foreign language – full of tedious grammar that seemed precise but was considered cumbersome by those accustomed to Chinese ledgers.

Therefore, the promotion of double-entry bookkeeping was all thunder and no rain. Everyone didn’t take it seriously. Who could have thought the foreign master would personally condescend to check homework?

Hart pointed to spot after spot, sternly saying: “These two entries don’t match – what’s going on? Why is there a missing page between these two? Why are there erasure marks here?”

Several clerks instantly broke into sweats, repeatedly answering: “Our establishment has always been honest with all customers, absolutely no tax evasion!”

Hart was somewhat impatient: “This official is just asking.”

Many of these clerks were older than Hart, but when he shouted at them, they were like a bunch of hopeless underachievers facing a young genius professor, as pathetic as could be.

The accounts were kept by the shopkeeper and the bookkeeper. These clerk apprentices weren’t usually allowed to see the account books, so how could they answer now? Their stammering only made things worse.

Hart’s face darkened: “Then this official will consider it fraud.”

Liu Ershun didn’t know it was a bluff and urgently felt his blood pressure spike, whispering to urge Kou Laicai: “Hurry out and find the shopkeeper! Find the master! Find Mr. Zhan! … If all else fails, find the young master too! Go quickly!”

But the master and the shopkeeper’s whereabouts were unknown at this time. The young master was even more absent from home, probably enjoying himself in some brothel, hardly someone who could be summoned at a moment’s notice.

Hart’s attendants looked at each other, expressing deep sympathy for this ill-fated trading house.

Someone kindly whispered a reminder: “Master Hart wants to establish authority and make an example – you’d better explain clearly.”

Hart coughed once and again opened his little notebook.

“Fabricating ledgers, evading taxes… hmm, first seal up…”

Hart’s attendant pointed to the document bag in his hand, very considerately indicating: We brought the seals.

The clerks fell to their knees with a thud, kowtowing repeatedly: “Your Excellency, show mercy! Your Excellency is compassionate! Defeng Trading House has operated for fifteen years without touching a legal boundary – this would cost us our lives! Your Excellency, considering we subordinates work honestly, perhaps grant a few days’ reprieve…”

Hart grew tired of the clerks’ wailing and threw the account book on the ground.

“Then explain every page clearly to this official!”

While the clerks were at their wits’ end, the back hall door was suddenly pushed open, and that cleaning servant girl appeared out of nowhere.

She picked up the account book and flipped through several pages as if no one else was there, her black braid tip falling on the yellowed pages.

“How about I give it a try?”