Su Minguan, not being a diplomatic official, had already gone ahead to register at the immigration office. By this time, China and America had signed the Burlingame Treaty, stipulating that citizens of both countries could travel and immigrate freely, so this registration was merely a formality.

Rong Hong had written ahead to reserve a hotel, the “Painted Stone Sculpture Hotel” located near Chinatown. It had a white owner and a Chinese staff member for easier communication. The hotel had newly installed a magnificent elevator that creaked and groaned as it carried carloads of wide-eyed children upstairs.

Rong Hong was responsible for settling the children and the official, while Lin Yuchan went to find ways to purchase tickets to the East Coast.

The transcontinental Pacific Railroad had just been completed not long ago, reducing the journey from New York to San Francisco from several months to seven days, making “Around the World in Eighty Days” possible.

But upon inquiry, she discovered that the long-distance passenger trains, which originally departed every two days, had no tickets available.

“I’m very sorry, madam,” said the person behind the window in a businesslike manner, “the railroad company has not released any tickets since last week.”

Rong Hong had to handle the administrative paperwork for the children and arrange braised rice for several accompanying office staff. Lin Yuchan volunteered to inquire about the address of the railroad company’s San Francisco office.

She also brought along the few hundred dollars’ worth of modest stocks she had asked Rong Hong to purchase for her years ago, to see whether they had risen or fallen.

Taking a carriage summoned by the hotel porter, she soon arrived in front of a large building. Looking at the directory, this building housed at least eight railroad companies of various sizes, all nouveau riche from recent years who could afford to rent high-rise buildings in San Francisco’s prime Golden District.

Lin Yuchan took her first elevator ride since arriving in the Qing Dynasty, reaching the seventh floor where she saw the beautifully decorated office entrance bearing the inscription “Central Pacific Railroad Company.”

The reception room was covered with photographs and newspaper clippings, as well as congratulatory announcements about “railroad openings in various regions” and commemorative badges. The most prominent photograph was of the 1869 transcontinental railroad completion celebration in Utah. Former California Governor and railroad company president Leland Stanford raised a silver hammer high, driving a pure gold spike into the center of the rails. Countless white gentlemen stood on the black rails and locomotive, raising glasses, shaking hands, laughing—a scene of triumphant carnival celebration.

“Stocks?” The handsome British clerk smiled warmly, very service-oriented, as he invited Lin Yuchan into the office. “I wouldn’t have guessed that a foreign lady would also be a shareholder of our company, though the amount isn’t large, but we’ve never encountered this before… If it were large-denomination certificates, you’d need to go to the New York Stock Exchange for trading… Small stocks can be listed at Wells Fargo… What did you say? Just checking the price? No problem…”

San Francisco had many Chinese people. This clerk had also learned a few broken Cantonese phrases. He dramatically took the stock certificate from Lin Yuchan’s hand and was momentarily stunned.

Lin Yuchan’s peripheral vision swept the office, skillfully locating the “Pacific Railroad Company” stock opening price for the day, copied from the neighboring bank.

$18.5 per share.

Her chest suddenly trembled, her heart aching beyond measure.

She remembered clearly. Originally, she had asked Rong Hong to buy 35 precious shares at $20 per share face value…

Seven years had passed, and not only had she gained nothing, but it had fallen!

Although it was only a floating loss of dozens of dollars, which didn’t seem like much now, at that time, it had been almost all of her cash savings!

What kind of fraudulent company was this—building railroads with such fanfare while not protecting shareholder rights!

The handsome clerk, seeing her expression, suddenly laughed and pulled out a stack of old documents from his drawer.

“Your 1865 version stock is extinct in the market—I haven’t seen one since I started working here.” He patiently smiled, “You may not know that our company’s railroad business is thriving, with stock prices rising like a rainbow. Because the excessively high face value limited ordinary investors’ ability to buy in, the stock was split one-to-three in 1867, then again one-to-five in 1869… Last year, there was another three-to-five split, so your shareholding number… let me calculate…”

This person calculated with lightning speed beneath his hands, shattering all stereotypes about “Americans being bad at math.”

Lin Yuchan’s face grew slightly warm as she announced simultaneously with him:

“875 shares.”

“At today’s opening price of $18.5 per share, the latest market value is $16,187.5. Wow. Incredible.”

The handsome clerk murmured a string of exclamations, then looked up, realizing this “foreign beauty’s” net worth was several times his own. Suddenly remembering something, he stood up and instructed a servant to pour her a cup of coffee.

“Of course,” he maintained his professional demeanor while beginning to calculate with his head down, “separated by thousands of miles, I imagine you haven’t been receiving dividends on time… Let me see, twice in 1865, three times in 1866… quarterly in 1869… The most recent was last month, 65 65-cent dividend per share. Adding it up…”

He wrote a number on the paper with a beaming smile.

$4,885.75.

Lin Yuchan carefully identified the position of the decimal point, reminding herself to stay calm, stay calm.

This was all the dividends the railroad company had distributed to her over seven years. Not including interest.

She felt perfectly justified in taking this money—it was fair and just. She had invested to help build America, and now that America was thriving, she deserved returns.

“Friendly reminder, our company’s stock is currently in a new wave of growth, with gains much prettier than our main competitor—the Southern Railroad Company. The investment advisor’s recommendation is to hold… If you want to cash out, Wells Fargo has small transaction points and can send telegrams to New York for listing. As for these four thousand plus dollars in dividends, the company can pay them directly. What name should I write on the check?”

Lin Yuchan put away the exchanged new stock certificates and smiled: “No rush.”

HSBC had no branches in America, and American banks routinely didn’t allow women to open accounts independently. Carrying too much cash wouldn’t be safe either.

“By the way,” the handsome clerk smiled warmly and continued, “our company is hosting a shareholders’ reception next Wednesday evening. All gentlemen and ladies holding ten thousand dollars or more in shares may attend—oh, you’re also a diplomatic envoy? I cordially invite you…”

Lin Yuchan smiled: “Thank you, but I don’t like crowds.”

“No, no,” the handsome clerk belatedly realized that her status would be like a living advertisement for the railroad company, quickly standing up to invite her again, “Trust me, you’ll be the star of the banquet! Are you staying at the ‘Painted Stone Sculpture Hotel’? I’ll have the manager send you an invitation…”

Lin Yuchan: “I’d rather hurry and take the train east before next Wednesday.”

Now that she was a ten-thousand-dollar shareholder of the railroad company, she spoke with confidence, immediately taking on a proprietorial attitude and inquiring why trains to the East Coast had stopped running. She had dozens of children to send to school on the East Coast.

This time the handsome clerk looked troubled, hesitating for a moment before saying quietly: “There are coolies causing trouble, they tore up a section of track, currently under emergency repair… Miss Lin, just listen and don’t spread this around, or the company’s stock price will fall…”

Lin Yuchan frowned slightly, hearing another Cantonese word from his mouth: “Coolies?”

The handsome clerk looked somewhat embarrassed: “They’re all dirty, stupid Chinese pig-boys… I don’t mean to look down on Chinese people, but since you’re new to California, you’d better not associate with them…”

Crash!

From the stairwell behind the office came the sudden sound of heavy objects falling. Someone shouted curses, the sound carrying through the wall.

The handsome clerk was still embarrassed when Lin Yuchan had already rushed out. She vaguely heard someone speaking Cantonese.

In the stairwell, two Mexican strongmen were grabbing a thin Chinese boy like an eagle catching a chick. The boy was at most fifteen years old, in tattered clothes, with lonely, fierce light shooting from his eyes as he desperately bit, hit, and kicked, continuously cursing in a mixture of English and Cantonese profanity.

Lin Yuchan immediately shouted to stop them.

Though she was also Chinese, in American eyes, the two of them were worlds apart, not even the same race. The handsome clerk looked, signaling to take the boy downstairs.

“Embarrassing… that’s a cook from the worksite. Don’t let his young age fool you—in this incident, he injured our white manager, that poor father of three children who’s now barely alive, still lying in bed recovering… We’re taking him straight to the police station. Hmph, trying to act wild in America…”

The beaten boy cursed: “Uncle Afu was injured by steel rails and you forced him to keep working, the Berkeley worksite had no water for three days with no one caring, Brother Baishun went to argue and you chained him up at the police station—if I didn’t come today, when would this month’s wages be deducted to! What’s wrong with me hitting people? I hit you untrustworthy white-skinned bastards…”

Lin Yuchan’s face darkened, feeling somewhat nauseous for a moment. The railroad company stock in her pocket suddenly felt hot to the touch.

Yes, Chinese workers had contributed greatly to building America’s railroads. Yet they came to America with gold rush dreams, only to be exploited and abused instead. Many died in America’s central snow mountains and deserts, died beneath the railroad ties they had laid with their own hands.

This was a fact known by any student who had studied modern world history.

And now, with the main sections of the east-west railroad completed, Chinese laborers had not received the honor and compensation they deserved. They settled in America, continuing to contribute to this country’s prosperity, still being discriminated against and bullied, until much later…

When Lin Yuchan had impulsively thought that American railroads had great prospects and were worth investing in, she had completely failed to connect these two matters.

This dozens-fold stock appreciation had been earned with her compatriots’ blood and sweat.

In that railroad completion celebration photograph, there wasn’t a single Chinese person.

She blushed with shame, feeling as if something was stuck in her throat, with nowhere to hide.

That foul-mouthed, bruised boy reminded her of herself at fifteen.

She also thought of those boys staying in the hotel—well-dressed, polite in speech, surrounded and praised by people, hailed as China’s “future light.”

They were all Chinese—why should they be sorted into heaven and hell?

She turned with a cold face and commanded the clerk: “Write me a check. I want to withdraw all dividends.”

What a lousy company—she’d find an opportunity to sell quickly and stop being their shareholder!

Half an hour later, Lin Yuchan inquired with the porter and strode purposefully to the San Francisco Police Station two blocks away.

The cook boy had struggled all the way, receiving countless punches and kicks. Now exhausted, he was dragged through the police station doors and chained to a pillar, cursing weakly but continuously.

“Assaulting and battering a white man…” the police chatted and laughed, “Let him enjoy himself in jail! This poor little devil probably doesn’t know that any white man testifying in court could cost him his life, haha…”

Lin Yuchan barged straight in and asked a few questions.

“Bail?” The police chief, seeing her well-dressed and extraordinary appearance, didn’t dare neglect her and smiled, “Not to hide anything from you, madam, this kind of dirt-poor lower-class coolie who committed a serious crime—who would post five hundred dollars bail for him? Why don’t…”

Lin Yuchan threw down crisp new five-hundred-dollar bills with bank seals.

The police chief was speechless.

“How much to hire a lawyer? I can cover that too.” She said with financial confidence, “Is there anything I need to sign?”

San Francisco also had a few Chinese women, whose occupations were nothing but laundresses and prostitutes. The police had never seen such an extravagantly dressed Chinese woman and were stunned for quite a while, not knowing what protocol to use.

Lin Yuchan signed a stack of bail documents, motioned for the boy to follow her out, and asked: “Your surname?”

The boy was about the same height as her, rubbing his bruised arm and looking at her warily, glancing at the name on the bail document with an expression that said, “Didn’t you see it already?”

“Lin—Shen.” Lin Yuchan pretended to struggle reading the American spelling on the document and smiled, “Oh, same family name.”

“Liang Xian.” The boy couldn’t help but correct her, “Xian as in envy.”

Lin Yuchan suppressed a secret smile. What a quick-witted response.

“I just happened upon injustice and drew my sword to help, that’s all. I happened to make a small fortune today and am accumulating some virtue for myself.” Her tone was casual as she led the boy through the corridors, “Chinese people abroad should help each other—it’s nothing special. Don’t think about repaying me, or I’ll feel bad.”

In just a few minutes of meeting, she could see this child had strong self-esteem and a ruthless streak—someone who had fought his way up from the bottom, definitely not some innocent flower. Lin Yuchan was cautious and didn’t plan to be his caring big sister. Helping within her means so her conscience was clear would be enough.

“By the way, the bail document orders you not to break any laws for three months and to report regularly…”

As she spoke, her eyes suddenly flashed as she noticed an office nearby with its door open, inside which a very familiar prisoner was being interrogated.

“…Please, do all Chinese people look the same to you? I can’t stand it. How long do you need to keep asking? I’m just a businessman…”

Su Minguan sat with arms crossed, speaking in his pretentious Queen’s English accent, leaving the two American police officers bewildered.

He still had his short flat haircut but had somehow changed into the shirt and trousers Lin Yuchan had bought him, outlining his strong, graceful physique. Nineteenth-century men’s shirts were somewhat looser than modern ones, with silk fabric dotted with subtle matching embroidery, revealing glimpses of the tight white undershirt beneath, dashing with a touch of rakish charm.

He leaned casually against the wall, immediately making the uniformed American police beside him look like thugs in comparison.

Lin Yuchan rubbed her eyes, her heartbeat skipping a moment.

This was how he should look!

She had good taste! The clothes she picked perfectly suited his figure!

…She wanted to go out on a date immediately. She shows off her CEO boyfriend everywhere.

The white police officer looked confused, holding what was a wanted poster.

The young man in the picture had the same arrogant air, with a long braid casually coiled around his neck, wearing a loose, baggy Chinese-style robe.

“Just sent from the Qing diplomatic mission in America.” The officer turned to whisper to his colleague, “Do you think it looks like him? He probably just cut off that pig tail…”

Lin Yuchan was simply speechless. The “diplomat” was still at the hotel, dealing with braised rice after the arduous journey, while the “globally wanted rebel” had already been arranged. Looking at the thick stack in the officer’s hands, besides Su Minguan, who knew how many unlucky souls had gained overseas fame today.

Fortunately, it was just routine procedure. With so many portraits, the “diplomat” probably hadn’t looked at them himself, and having the preconception that Su Minguan was “family” and “Chinese-American,” he probably should have discovered this on the ship otherwise.

Su Minguan suddenly saw something, looked up, and smiled helplessly at Lin Yuchan.

“Haven’t you received detective training?” He patiently educated the police, “If it were a fresh shave, the scalp would be very white and the stubble would feel very hard, not like mine…”

The police examined carefully and indeed found this head had been shaved for a while, with even sun-tanned traces between the hair, from Hawaii’s proud sun.

“Then how do you explain the injuries on your body?”

“Got in a fight with natives in Honolulu.”

“Tsk tsk,” the police looked at him with new respect, “those Polynesians are not to be trifled with.”

Lin Yuchan sweetly called from outside: “Darling?”

Police: “…”

Who flees overseas with a darling?

“…Sorry, sir. We’re just following procedure. Thank you for your cooperation. Take this warrant and you can collect your firearms at the front desk.”

Su Minguan smiled like a spring breeze, thanked the police, and walked out naturally. Lin Yuchan openly took his arm.

Such an outstanding, handsome man in a foreign land—she couldn’t let him get lost!

“Not bad.” She put on airs, “Saved me five hundred dollars in bail.”

Su Minguan gave her a look and asked with a smile: “Who is this young brother? Good skills—it took three police officers to hold him down.”

The boy called Liang Xian kept a stern face and said nothing. Lin Yuchan smiled: “He’s a righteous hero—no—need to know his name.”

She was now quite the expert at handling teenage boys’ psychology, or else all those years going in and out of the orphanage would have been wasted.

She suddenly thought that when Su Minguan was young, helpless and bullied by others, his lonely, cold, and indifferent personality was probably formed this way.

Sure enough, Liang Xian was slightly stunned, and because of her evaluation of him as a “righteous hero,” his eyes showed friendly pleasure.

“I dare not!” He answered with martial arts flair, “I studied with Master Wong Fei-hung for half a year when I was young!”

Lin Yuchan smiled: “Oh, student of a famous master. My respects.”

She didn’t expose him. These martial arts schools charged hefty tuition fees—if he could afford it, he wouldn’t have come to America. Most likely, he just watched from the sidelines.

“I’ll pay you back the money.” Wong Fei-hung’s informal disciple asked, “What’s your name?”

Lin Yuchan smiled: “Can’t you read the bail document?”

Liang Xian was unhappy again: “I don’t know English. Can speak but can’t spell.”

Lin Yuchan apologized and patiently told him her name.

They reached the police station’s front office. Su Minguan showed his documents and successfully retrieved his confiscated gun.

“My surname is Su,” he also introduced himself politely, “You can call me…”

Liang Xian suddenly became distracted, his stubborn eyes widening as his gaze fixed on the antique carved wooden-handled percussion pistol in Su Minguan’s hand.

He opened his mouth and said softly: “Jin Lanhe?”