“Oh my, oh my, how did you two youngsters end up in such a state…”

Aunt Hong rowed the boat while frowning and nagging.

The small boat quietly left the shore, and by the time the soldiers arrived, the riverbank was pitch black again, with not a single soul in sight.

Lin Yuchan found a rag, wiped the mud and water off her hands and body, and properly bowed to Aunt Hong.

“Thank you…”

“Oh my, oh my, don’t be so polite.” Aunt Hong laughed heartily, “Which official did you offend? How did so many people end up chasing you?”

Aunt Hong was loyal enough, knowing the soldiers were pursuing them, she still readily rescued them. But if she knew what they had done, she might not be laughing anymore.

Lin Yuchan hesitated for a moment: “Well… there were rebels causing trouble by the river, we shouldn’t have walked so close, and got hit by stray bullets.”

Aunt Hong inevitably cursed the dog officials again for being senseless, just like foreigners in nature, wrongfully accusing good people like Young Master Minguan. The soldiers were unreasonable, injuring civilians without compensation—truly a silent loss.

Su Minguan lay quietly in the cabin. The buttons on his long shirt were scattered, the bleeding had mostly stopped, soaking through three or four of Aunt Hong’s foreign cloth towels.

His face was extremely pale, like a Western plaster statue, only distinguished from a plaster statue by the weak rise and fall of his chest.

Disheveled hair lazily stuck to the area behind his ears. Actually, during the late Qing period, men’s hair wasn’t like in TV dramas where the front half of their forehead was always mirror-bright—only wealthy, idle people had the leisure to fuss with such things. Common people had no time for haircuts, so the front of their skulls were often fuzzy with hair, covered with a hat, and that was that.

Old traditionalists were heartbroken by this: such an unkempt appearance, in Emperor Kangxi’s or Emperor Qianlong’s time, would be grounds for execution!

So Su Minguan’s image after shedding his braid wasn’t particularly bald—he naturally had a layer of short, cropped hair. Usually wearing a hat, he didn’t need any styling, just let it grow freely and unrestrained. Every so often, he’d randomly take a razor and shave it himself, creating a refreshing buzz cut. Combined with his injuries, he looked exactly like a young soldier who’d just enlisted and immediately gotten wounded.

It made his entire person seem to have traveled from the Qing to the Republic, crossing an entire era.

Lin Yuchan couldn’t help but smile slightly, thinking that in fifty more years, all the young men on the streets would look like him.

But when Aunt Hong saw this, she was extremely frightened, touching the back of her head: “Where’s the braid? That long, thick braid?”

Lin Yuchan quickly said, “It was burned off, don’t be afraid.”

Aunt Hong asked: “Where to? Should we go to my place first?”

Lin Yuchan quickly waved her hands: “Let’s just drift on the water for now. Please.”

What they needed most right now was to find a foreign medical clinic for Su Minguan. But as soon as they went ashore, nowhere would be safe.

Fortunately, no internal organs or bones were injured, so his life wasn’t in danger. It was just that he was covered in mud and dirt and urgently needed cleaning.

Lin Yuchan asked Aunt Hong to boil a basin of hot water, requested a box of salt and a clean towel, walked into the cabin, and began unbuttoning his clothes.

Grand Helmsman Su had originally been pretending to sleep, following the principle that the more you say, the more mistakes you make, trying to speak as little as possible with Aunt Hong.

Pretending to sleep gradually became real sleep, as a warm darkness surrounded him, inescapable.

He remembered his mother’s embrace in childhood, the Western clock ticking in the bedroom.

He vaguely knew that his family belonged to “secret societies.” Since the Qing dynasty’s founding, resistance forces had been constant, especially in the south. People unwilling to submit fled to remote border islands, to Taiwan, to Southeast Asia, Burma, or simply became pirates, raising a flag and making the four seas their home.

Those who remained in their homeland watched over each other, lying low and waiting for the right moment.

The Qing court implemented a sea ban, forbidding even a single sail to go to sea, leaving only Guangzhou as a trading port to attract merchants, mainly responsible for purchasing Western treasures for the emperor in the capital.

Respectable people had no opportunity to engage in foreign trade. Those who dared to go to sea to strike it rich had more or less countless connections with those outlaws.

This was the birth story of the Thirteen Factories.

When the Thirteen Factories developed and expanded, local officials were shocked to discover that these merchants who earned fortunes daily were half secretly members of societies, privately worshipping the Ming Zhu family!

—The officials wisely chose not to make a fuss. The Thirteen Factories were the Imperial Household Department’s money bags. Without these merchants, where would their clocks, vases, enamelware, ivory carvings, and military funds for campaigns come from?

Moreover, the Zhu family bloodline was now barely traceable. As times changed, those who cherished the old dynasty had mostly died. The Heaven and Earth Society’s threat to the court diminished daily, becoming an ordinary, harmless underworld gang.

But fate is unpredictable. As foreigners bombarded the nation’s gates and the Qing court’s foundation shook, these “society members” seemed to see opportunity again, beginning to stir restlessly, organizing rebellions!

The court finally decided to deal with this persistent threat. Cooperating with foreigners, they gradually strangled them. The Thirteen Factories fell one by one. Even though they desperately tried to distance themselves from society, they couldn’t stop those greedy eyes coveting their enormous wealth from all directions.

The young master dimly remembered that after the house raids, there was chaos everywhere, with women’s crying and screaming filling his ears. All kinds of real and fake creditors came flocking, lying on the corpse of the wealthy family, trying to suck the last drop of blood.

At that time, he was still a child with no ability to protect himself. Uncle Jin Lanhe rescued him, sheltered him, and when he was a bit older and showed the family talent for business, introduced him to Jardine Matheson & Co. to earn respectable foreign wages.

He didn’t like it there. In the past, foreigners had bowed and scraped, begging the red-capped merchants of the Thirteen Factories to give them a path to striking gold in the East; now the tables had turned, and it was the Chinese who had to bow to foreigners.

However, fortunately, he was capable and could make money, so the foreigners could tolerate his coldness.

“Heaven destroys the Qing, sending foreign devils.” He remembered Jin Lanhe saying, “Don’t fear the humiliation. Get along well with the foreigners—when we destroy the Qing in the future, the foreigners might even lend us a hand.”

Su Minguan, who had been a second-class citizen under foreigners for a few days, disagreed: “Foreigners only care about profit; they won’t genuinely help us.”

Jin Lanhe scolded him for being ignorant.

When he turned fifteen, at the moment of joining the society and swearing brotherhood, he caused trouble again. He pointed at the portrait of Emperor Taizu of Ming and shamelessly said, “Who is this guy? I don’t know him. I won’t kowtow.”

This made the roomful of elders so angry they were fuming from all seven orifices, lamenting that each generation was worse than the last.

So his status was always awkward. Although he had memorized all the code words, received full training, and knew all the Heaven and Earth Society’s secrets, he had never lit those three and a half incense sticks and could never become an official member.

But fate plays tricks. When he found Jin Lanhe riddled with bullets and on his deathbed, he couldn’t help but shed tears, accepting his mantle, cutting his hair to show his resolve, and swearing to carry the anti-Qing cause to the end.

So… who exactly was he?

“Hiss…”

He awoke from the pain. Looking down, he discovered his upper body was completely bare, and Lin Yuchan was holding a towel, gently wiping away the mottled, colorful stains from his chest, revealing clean skin and a gaping wound.

He almost jumped up, grabbing clothes to cover himself. As his arm moved, it pulled at the wound, everything went black before his eyes, and he unconsciously arched his back, gripping the towel beside him, suppressing a muffled cry.

“I… I can do it myself.”

Lin Yuchan didn’t raise her eyelids, gently positioning his limbs properly and saying: “Don’t try to be tough. You’ve worked hard and achieved great merit today—just peacefully be a patient for once.”

His chest was firm; when she pressed a little harder, it caused violent heaving.

He was covered in sweat, biting the pillowcase beside his face. It was embroidered by Aunt Hong and still smelled fishy.

He still slowly raised his arm, tremblingly touching his bare chest, suddenly his expression changed slightly, and his breathing became rapid.

“Looking for this?” Lin Yuchan quickly stuffed a small pendant into his hand. “It got dirty, so I took it off and washed it.”

It was an exquisitely crafted gold button jade longevity lock, strung on a red cord. He had always worn it against his skin, and she only saw it when she opened his clothes, showing how much he treasured it.

One side of the lock had been struck by high-speed mud and sand, leaving a small chip.

Su Minguan gripped the jade lock, his thumb feeling the chip, gave her a slight nod, and closed his eyes.

The “mud bullet” had made his wound a complete mess. The jade lock could no longer be worn, so Lin Yuchan carefully put it away.

She meticulously wiped away the dirt from his body bit by bit, talking to herself: “It doesn’t hurt, right?—You don’t fear pain, so I won’t be polite. This kind of wound really should get a tetanus shot, but that doesn’t seem to exist yet… Sorry about that, let’s rinse with saline solution, 0.9%, hand-mixed, hope the margin of error isn’t too big… Tetanus bacteria seem to be anaerobic, so it can’t be bandaged either, let’s just air-dry it for now…”

These were all college entrance exam points, fresh and hot—Lin Yuchan hadn’t forgotten any of them.

Su Minguan was left half-conscious by her ministrations, couldn’t understand what she was saying, and could only let her have her way. He looked up at the ceiling in grief and indignation, realizing that all his cool image in front of her had been wasted—this girl now looked at him like looking at a little brother.

He half-opened his eyes and saw the little girl’s nose tip sweating, with mud stains remaining on her small earlobes that hadn’t been wiped clean. His body was already clean and refreshing, as if he’d just taken a shower.

He licked his cracked lips and said coldly: “If you delay any longer, don’t expect to return safely to the Qi mansion.”

“Screw the Qi mansion!” Lin Yuchan suddenly became agitated, heavily setting down the water basin. “Better not to go back!”

She had never had much fondness for this exploitative, man-eating landlord family. Tea trading was at least a legal business—exploitation was exploitation, but she hadn’t expected them to be trafficking people behind the scenes. That coolie barracks flowing with excrement and urine, with people stacked on top of each other, was a hundred times filthier than the servants’ toilets in the Qi mansion.

Thinking about it afterward, Master Qi must be the mastermind, responsible for smoothing things with the authorities; Wang Quan was the one connecting with buyers, very experienced; the rest might not necessarily know about this. Oh right, Accountant Zhan often worried about the huge losses in the tea business, while Wang Quan was always nonchalant, saying things like “the master still has lending income and land income, won’t die from losses.”

Young Master Qi was devoted to poetry and romance, probably didn’t manage this affair; and most people in the tea house probably didn’t know. But who cares—a bowl of ink dropped into a large dye vat, it’s already blackened.

After today’s events, they would probably repeat their old tricks, luring the next batch of coolies overseas.

She remembered Su Minguan saying, I can’t save all these people.

It wasn’t just him. In the long years to come, all those benevolent people and righteous individuals who emerged from the sea of history—soldiers, merchants, doctors, teachers—when had any of them been able to save all these people?

Lin Yuchan couldn’t help feeling irritated. If she hadn’t been meddlesome, insisting on freeing this batch of coolies, she and Su Minguan wouldn’t be drifting miserably on the river right now.

Su Minguan half-closed his eyes, seeming to see through her thoughts, softly laughing as he delivered the finishing blow.

“A’Mei, I didn’t see it before—you’re so fond of being a bleeding heart.”

“Me?” Lin Yuchan laughed despite herself, “You flatter me.”

This was completely turning black into white. Lin Yuchan knew clearly in her heart that her only survival goal was to muddle through until the Qing dynasty collapsed. Every step she’d taken to this point had been calculated for her future—she was a model of selfishness.

How had she become a bleeding heart?

Though she had indeed acted thoughtlessly in rescuing people. She took a clean towel, gently covered Su Minguan’s wound, tied it with old clothes, while softly conducting self-criticism: “First time launching a mass movement, no experience. Need to improve fighting methods in the future.”

Su Minguan: “…”

Speaking Hakka again.

He raised his voice and called: “Aunt Hong.”

Aunt Hong was rowing outside, worried about Young Master Minguan’s injuries but too embarrassed to enter randomly. Hearing his call, she set down her oar and poked her head through the cabin door, nearly jumping back in fright.

“My goodness, was this a shark bite?”

Su Minguan: “Aunt Hong, please get a clean set of clothes for Miss Lin to change into. Then, moor the boat at the Haizhuang Temple pier on Henan Island. Your steering skills are superb—make sure no one notices. Otherwise, you’ll have to make another trip back to your hometown.”

Aunt Hong’s suspicions grew, but she still nodded in agreement.

When the boat reached shore, Lin Yuchan realized that the so-called “Henan Island” was on the south bank of the Pearl River—what would later become Haizhu District in Guangzhou, where the Canton Tower and Sun Yat-sen University were located.

But now Haizhu District was sparsely populated, mostly farmland and ponds, dotted with ancestral halls and residences. A temple by the shore glowed with eternal lamps in the mist. Waves rolled over the ship’s rail, bringing the sound of midnight bells.

Aunt Hong wiped her sweat and laughed: “This is Haizhuang Temple? I always see its lights from across the river, but never went to worship—I hear it’s rather strange inside.”

Su Minguan just smiled, “I’ve been having bad luck lately, so I’m going to pray. Aunt Hong, farewell.”

Aunt Hong’s smile froze. Leaving just like that—Young Master Minguan was quite heartless.

Lin Yuchan quickly went to console her: “He’s delirious from pain. When we have time, I’ll bring him to thank you.”

As soon as she finished speaking, something hard was pressed into her palm—Su Minguan had slipped her a bloodstained silver dollar.

She understood, both crying and laughing. This man wasn’t delirious at all.

Knowing Aunt Hong would refuse, she wiped the silver dollar clean and quietly left it in the box at the bow.