The next day, beside Tianzi Wharf outside Yongqing Gate of Guangzhou City, a foreign steamship quietly moored.

The steamship still had British emblems on its sides, but they had been scraped off and replaced with a Qing dragon flag, creating quite a jarring sight.

Lin Yuchan was surprised to discover she recognized this wharf. In twenty-first-century Guangzhou, it was still in normal use for projects like “Pearl River night cruises.”

But at this time, Tianzi Wharf was exclusively for welcoming and seeing off officials. Along the route stood a row of kapok trees and an exquisite little pavilion for passing officials to rest and cool themselves.

Years ago, Imperial Commissioner Lin Zexu had landed here when he came to Guangdong to ban opium, and had even drunk a welcoming banquet in this very pavilion.

Now the stone bench where he had sat was cordoned off with rope, locals calling it the “Imperial Commissioner’s Chair,” with a circle of copper coins thrown around it.

Lin Yuchan also wanted to offer a few coins in tribute. However, given her status, she couldn’t enter this pavilion.

Her current identity was a temporary translator for Guangdong Maritime Customs, paid weekly with wages of four silver dollars and fifty cents after deducting board and lodging. The name on her files was Widow Su Lin.

Who told the young master to repeatedly point that dark gun barrel at her? Lin Yuchan quite enjoyed this new codename full of patriarchal oppression—every time someone called her by it, she felt inexplicably vindicated.

It was only because customs operations weren’t connected to Qing court administration, making procedures relatively convenient without needing to report to government offices, and because Hede was about to travel on business and urgently pushed things through, that she could exploit this loophole.

But the green light Hede gave her was limited in effectiveness. She couldn’t possibly become a permanent employee because customs employment of Chinese people involved complex procedures requiring layer-by-layer background checks and standardized examinations—all modern regulations established by Hede himself, and he couldn’t very well lead by example in breaking them. Additionally, Guangzhou Prefecture regulations stipulated that if women were employed by customs, consent forms signed by fathers, brothers, or husbands were required.

Lin Yuchan naturally couldn’t produce these, and generously said Never mind, temporary work was temporary work—at least there was money.

Being a widow was quite good, too—at least the authorities wouldn’t demand her “dead husband” crawl out of his coffin to sign papers.

She didn’t plan to work long-term for foreigners. If someday history’s wheels rolled over and she accidentally participated in drafting some treaty or other, that would leave an eternal stench.

…

Lin Yuchan was still gazing at the “Imperial Commissioner’s Chair” when she suddenly heard someone beside her exclaim “Eh!” and call out: “Little girl! Hey, servant girl! Come here!”

Lin Yuchan’s heart leaped as she stepped back two paces, smelling tobacco in her nose.

A bailiff with a big cigarette in his mouth, his face dark, beckoned to her. His clothes bore a nameplate reading “Guangzhou Prefecture”—who knew what wind had blown him here today.

She was startled momentarily, recognized the person, and immediately felt quite annoyed.

This was the very bailiff who, when she first arrived, had taken her silver, let Su Minguan go, then conspired with Lin Guangfu to trick her away.

“Little girl, don’t hide, I remember—you came to Guangzhou Prefecture to ransom someone! Come here!”

The bailiff’s attitude was unfriendly. Lin Yuchan had no choice but to approach, holding her breath to avoid his secondhand smoke as much as possible.

“Sir Bailiff, what is it?”

Lin Yuchan was somewhat nervous but didn’t panic. Though the bailiff knew she’d been sold to Wang Quan by her father, information traveled slowly these days, and this low-ranking bailiff probably didn’t yet know she’d become a runaway slave with the Qi family searching for her.

The bailiff gave her a cold look and pulled a portrait from his jacket: “Recognize this person?”

The portrait showed a young man with clear, bright features and a somewhat languid expression. Even though the artist had deliberately made him ugly—painting him dark and grimy, dressed in rags, and inexplicably adding a rope-like queue—one could still see his refined features and extraordinary bearing.

Paint flakes from the deteriorating algae-patterned ceiling of the pavilion’s layered roof swayed in the breeze before finally floating down to cover half the portrait subject’s face, turning him into a masked hero.

Lin Yuchan’s heartbeat quickened. She adjusted her expression, pointed at the word “Reward” below the portrait, and asked knowingly: “A… wanted criminal?”

The bailiff squinted with an “I’ve seen right through you” expression.

“What, don’t recognize your fiancé, Su Minguan? Do you know what crime it is to lie to officials?”

Lin Yuchan said nothing. It seemed that during the battle at Haizhuang Temple, Su Minguan had still been recognized by government troops and matched with that unlucky fellow who’d been “mistakenly arrested” in the files.

While she’d been hiding in customs for this day and night, he was being hunted citywide. Who knew how many bailiffs like this had been sent out, searching street by street, alley by alley.

This meant he hadn’t been caught yet… or hadn’t survived.

The bailiff looked at her contemptuously, sneering repeatedly: “Do you know what your man does? Come with me!”

Lin Yuchan’s mind raced as she called out: “My man is dead!”

The bailiff roared angrily: “Do you take me for a fool? Just because you say he’s dead, he’s dead? I say he’s hiding around here somewhere! Confess quickly! If you don’t speak now, the masters have plenty of ways to make you talk!”

Several customs staff had already noticed the commotion and cast questioning glances their way.

A big-mouthed fellow called to her: “Little widow, who are you talking to?”

The bailiff: “…”

His face hurt a bit.

Lin Yuchan wanted to give that brother a bear hug, but had to look grief-stricken as she replied: “I… I’m coming.”

The bailiff looked incredulous and chased after several customs staff to ask around, getting consistent answers: Su Lin, widow. With customs employment contract as proof.

For file investigation, they’d need to register with a foreign assistant on the ship.

The bailiff’s heart struggled for a while. According to Qing law, relatives and friends of serious criminals should be implicated, so he should still arrest this little widow for interrogation.

But the foreign master’s departure was quite grand, with half the wharf full of foreign faces—walking sticks, top hats, full of vigor, making the Chinese guards beside them with lowered heads and hunched shoulders seem particularly small and weak, like malnourished youths.

The bailiff couldn’t help feeling intimidated, chewing his cigarette, and standing with the wanted poster for quite a while.

Better to avoid trouble—anyway, the “bribery for release” incident hadn’t been recorded, no one else had seen this “little widow,” and Su Minguan had already stated in his confession that he had no relatives or friends. Why should he create complications and increase his workload?

A little woman—what waves could she make? How could she “rebel”? She wasn’t some demon empress from opera!

The bailiff made up his mind, executed a smooth 180-degree turn, pretended not to see the steamship, and left.

Lin Yuchan breathed a sigh of relief and jogged to catch up with the other attendants, boarding the ship.

A wooden board hanging on the pavilion pillar marked this special ship’s destination.

Shanghai.

In those days, foreigners of status traveling made quite a spectacle, somewhat like celebrities in later eras, usually bringing entire personal teams—bodyguards, cooks, barbers, pastry chefs, clergy, attendant officials, secretaries and clerks…

These people normally performed their separate duties, some meeting each other for the first time today, chatting at the wharf.

Among them were three or four civilian staff specifically responsible for “doing homework” for Hede’s group: collecting background materials, bureaucratic information, drafting and organizing various documents, brainstorming policy arguments, comprehensively and multi-dimensionally proving why the Qing Navy couldn’t be commanded by British people, how that Li Taiguo harbored sinister intentions, attempting to rule China and become the Bismarck of the East, absolutely not to be allowed to succeed…

Lin Yuchan was one of them.

“Temporary translator” sounded quite modern, much higher status than “servant girl,” but was still an exploited position.

Probably because Hede was very satisfied with her “interview” performance, he used her without mercy, not only assigning her heavy writing tasks but being meticulous and fault-finding, sending anything slightly unsatisfactory back for rewrites, and not hesitating to have her dragged from bed even when he suddenly wanted to change a word in the middle of the night.

Like returning to the senior year of high school, doing several practice test sets daily.

“Contributing to national liberation,” Lin Yuchan consoled herself, “and there’s money to be made. Plus full meals.”

Of course, those “profound discussions” she wrote about sovereignty, diplomacy, national independence, and such, though she’d tried hard to imitate classical Chinese, looked like grammatical nonsense to scholars and had to be revised several times by professional secretaries.

Fortunately, everyone knew she was a young widow and was quite tolerant—after all, she was young, her husband probably hadn’t died long ago, grieving while having to show her face publicly to earn money, how difficult that must be.

Chinese people willing to work at customs were somewhat more enlightened in thinking, knowing that in foreigners’ eyes, “widows” weren’t unlucky. Some foreign widows were even quite popular, not wearing mourning clothes but tight black skirts to attract attention, with groups of suitors prostrating themselves at their big feet—truly strange and wondrous.

Everyone followed suit, at least superficially treating Lin Yuchan courteously.

The ship sailed north, quickly leaving Guangzhou City behind.

Along the route, transport was busy with Chinese junks flying official flags, heavily loaded and sailing in formation, slow as sea turtles. The foreign steamship spewed black smoke and flashed past that formation, quick as a fleeing rabbit.

Lin Yuchan occasionally worried about how the Qi family and Defeng Trading were doing—whether they’d raised enough money, how many household slaves they’d sold, how they’d resolved the destroyed indenture contract.

But even if they mobilized all personnel to dig three feet deep searching for the missing Lin Ba’mei, they’d never find a hair of hers.

The steamship docked every few days to replenish food and water. Hede would go ashore to personally dispatch the letters his team had written around the clock to relevant officials’ residences.

Most Chinese attendants couldn’t get used to the floating life on water and would also go ashore to rest when possible. Lin Yuchan was no exception.

But more than ten days later, when she wanted to go ashore for tea again, Cook Sun stopped her.

“Su Lin, don’t go ashore,” Sun said. She was over forty, having served in a Macanese Portuguese household in her youth, and could make beautiful egg tarts. “Haven’t you heard the north is troubled by Taipings? You’re young and have no man—don’t wander around carelessly, lest you be captured by Taiping bandits! Even if you don’t meet Taipings, those bandit-suppressing troops will also arrest civilians for false credit! Don’t disbelieve me! Mr. Hede has military protection, but you don’t!”

Lin Yuchan: “Taipings?”

Indeed, while Guangzhou’s wealthy sang and danced in prosperity, daily pondering how to extract profits from foreigners, other parts of China remained shrouded in clouds of war.

The Taiping Heavenly Kingdom was now at its last gasp, yet its remaining prestige in people’s hearts was formidable, causing ordinary people to pale at the mention.

Seeing her solemn expression, Cook Sun thought she was still unwilling to stay behind and pulled her hand, laughing: “Anyway, you have nothing to do—come help me.”

This was to make her stay properly on the ship. Lin Yuchan had to agree.

“These past days, the ship’s been troubled by rats. My cheese and cream stored in the ice house often go missing. Yesterday, Mr. Hede’s afternoon tea was nearly unavailable.” Cook Sun laughingly pointed to the ladder leading to the ship’s hold. “Why don’t you help me take a look?”

The ice house was located at the bottom of the ship’s hold, accessible by a narrow ladder from the kitchen. Cook Sun had bound feet, and climbing up and down was indeed inconvenient.

Lin Yuchan looked down and said softly, “The crew and sailors’ quarters are also on the lower level. Are you sure it’s rats stealing food?”

Cook Sun was startled and smiled embarrassedly: “How can I conveniently ask about that? Su Lin, you’re young and bold—why not help me sound things out while you’re at it?”

In others’ eyes, Lin Yuchan—this young widow who didn’t bind her feet, understood foreign languages, and still went about publicly after her husband’s death—naturally had shamelessness thick as city walls. Ordinary women wouldn’t dare chat with rough crew members, but Cook Sun figured she definitely would.

Lin Yuchan didn’t mind, though. Being gentle and shy couldn’t put food on the table. Besides, Cook Sun meant no harm and would even invite her to eat leftover bits from making Western pastries.

So she enthusiastically helped the disabled and climbed down the ladder.

The ice house was cramped, with ingredients arranged neatly by Cook Sun—not even an ant visible, unlike a place visited by rats.

Moreover, maritime custom dictated keeping cats on deck precisely to prevent rat problems. This ship’s several cats were especially dedicated, patrolling and pouncing everywhere daily.

So it seemed that a crew member was stealing food. Lin Yuchan thought this kind of matter shouldn’t alarm too many people—best to resolve it quietly herself.

Initially, Lin Yuchan didn’t understand why in the Qing Dynasty, “servants stealing food” was such a serious problem that when Xiao Feng disliked her, the first reaction was to frame her with this charge.

It was just eating an extra bite of food, wasn’t it?

Now she gradually understood. This society had enormous wealth gaps—”eating one extra bite” was a luxury for many people. Even wealthy households like the Qi family had house rules, including “no leftover food.” Truly inedible scraps, cold dishes, and hard bones had to be fed to dogs or given to servants, not casually thrown away.

As for customs, that was an even more profitable place. A foreigner’s casual afternoon tea costs enough for an ordinary Chinese person’s monthly food expenses.

So she didn’t plan to make things difficult for proletarian comrades. Whoever was stealing food, a little warning to make them more restrained would suffice.

She knocked on the crew quarters door. Unsurprisingly, no one answered.

With the steamship docked, the crew should all be ashore, resting.

Cook Sun’s voice called from above: “Su Lin, discover anything?”

Lin Yuchan replied: “Wait a moment!”

Privacy wasn’t a concern in those days anyway, so she casually pushed open the quarters door.

She carried paper and pen, planning to write a simple note to hint indirectly.

The crew quarters had rows of double-decker wooden beds with bedding and clothes simply piled on them—indeed, silent and empty.

Wait…

What was this fragrant egg tart aroma?

Following the scent, she walked a few steps inside and suddenly saw an upright figure sitting on a small stool in the farthest corner, a small tray on his knees holding a cup of black tea and two egg tarts, eating leisurely.

Hearing footsteps, the person calmly turned around.

Clatter—the paper and pen in Lin Yuchan’s hands fell to the floor.

Su Minguan’s complexion was haggard, but his eyes retained their former luster, his whole person gaining three parts decadent unruliness.

“Su Lin, little widow…” He coldly faced her with a half-smile. “Tsk tsk, how pitiful.”