Boya Trading House lay silent and still, the fireplace burning. Several clerks quietly tidied the shelves, pushing upright the overturned sofas, tables, and chairs.

Boss Chu had indeed given them “face,” showing restraint and not smashing up the shop completely.

As the thugs roared away, they left behind a slip of paper with crooked handwriting scrawled across it—a time and address.

That triumphant tone seemed to still echo through the foreign-style building.

“Two thousand taels, not a penny less. You come alone to deliver it. Otherwise, we’ll have no choice but to serve our country and turn the rebel bandit over to the authorities! Everyone can have a prosperous New Year! Hahaha!”

Rong Hong dusted the tooth powder off himself, looking at Lin Yuchan in disbelief, his face full of question marks.

Lin Yuchan smiled bitterly, helping him tidy up while rapidly organizing her thoughts to explain the “Hongmen” and “Heaven and Earth Society.”

“…But please don’t misunderstand, I’m not a member, and I’ve never participated in overthrowing the Qing to restore the Ming. I just happen to know someone…”

Rong Hong laughed, moving to push the green sofa back to its original position: “Miss Lin, don’t be nervous. I’m not the type to turn pale at the mention of rebellion. The way the Qing Dynasty looks now, it would be strange if no one rebelled. Don’t worry, I won’t tell others about this.”

The overseas-educated student was indeed progressive in his thinking. Lin Yuchan breathed a sigh of relief.

Rong Hong’s next words were earth-shattering.

“For instance, Hong Rengang, the Shield King of the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom, is a good friend I knew in Hong Kong. We had long, intimate conversations about establishing a new government…”

With a clang, Lin Yuchan accidentally knocked over a chair, drowning out Rong Hong’s voice.

“Stop, stop! There are still clerks in this room!”

Rong Hong also realized his slip of tongue, laughing awkwardly for a while before sending the clerks out to clean up the garden.

Fortunately, the clerks understood their master’s temperament and weren’t the type to make a big fuss. Rong Hong could even occasionally remove his queue in the shop without being reported to the authorities.

After all, this was the foreign settlement. It held no nation’s sovereignty, yet was more “free” than territory belonging to any country.

“But Miss Lin, I’m sorry,” Rong Hong continued, “I’ve been spending money freely these years with little savings. This month, I just placed overseas orders, so I can’t produce two thousand taels of silver to lend you right now. Five hundred at most…”

Lin Yuchan was both surprised and amused: “I never said I wanted to borrow money from you.”

Rong Hong asked quietly: “Then, how do you plan to ransom your fellow townsman?”

Now Lin Yuchan couldn’t answer.

In any movie or documentary about modern Shanghai’s underworld, the all-powerful “Green Gang” would appear. But that seemed to be after the Republic era.

Now it appeared that Boss Chu’s jurisdiction—the underworld “Clean Gang” that used Yixing Shipping as a front to bully men and oppress women—was probably the Green Gang’s predecessor.

Not to be trifled with. And they would become increasingly difficult to deal with.

Lin Yuchan irritably reached up to adjust her collar. The new clothes were too stiff, the collar rubbing against her collarbone. She hadn’t noticed it normally, but after the chaos just now, she felt the pain—it was killing her.

She could, of course, pretend none of this had happened. Who told Su Minguan not to check the itinerary before boarding the ship, foolishly walking into a trap? Although his bad luck ultimately stemmed from her, perhaps it was his fate to be beheaded as a rebel bandit—he might escape the first but not the fifteenth.

But her inability to help was one thing; refusing to save someone was another.

Rong Hong, as an outsider who’d just met her by chance, had immediately offered to lend her money upon hearing about this.

She couldn’t let herself be outdone by an ancient person.

She memorized the date on the paper slip. The twenty-ninth day of the twelfth lunar month, New Year’s Eve. Still about two weeks from now.

In these two weeks, she could surely think of some solution.

The wall clock chimed nine in the morning. From her visit to Boya Trading House, to the Clean Gang’s raid, to the current mess—only an hour had passed.

Lin Yuchan took her leave from Rong Hong: “I need to return to the customs office to report for duty. Take care, sir, and be careful.”

Rong Hong waved, saying: “Come find me if you need anything—I’m idle anyway…”

Returning to the customs dormitory and completing her daily tasks, Lin Yuchan feigned boredom and struck up conversations with many people, inquiring about the “Clean Gang.”

But most people, like her, were on assignment from Guangzhou and knew nothing about Shanghai’s underworld ecology.

Asking locals directly would be even less likely to yield truthful answers.

Inquiring about “Shengtong Tobacco Shop,” she found it did indeed exist. Last year, it had “failed to operate successfully” and mysteriously closed down. The owner had vanished with debts, and the authorities were still hunting him.

A bloody precedent. It seemed she could only borrow money after all…

But in the vast customs office, apart from embezzling public funds, from whom could she borrow two thousand taels of silver?

She had no time to think further. Suddenly, someone came running to notify her to hurry back and change into new clothes.

Lin Yuchan was baffled.

Everyone said, “Director Hede has returned! Quick, go welcome him!”

After Hede’s detailed discussion with Li Hongzhang, he was directly picked up by an official boat and taken to Beijing. Thanks to this, the customs employees remaining in Shanghai had enjoyed a publicly-funded vacation, giving Lin Yuchan time to make clothes and shop.

But everyone had estimated that Director Hede would spend New Year in the capital at least. Now he’d returned so quickly—whether this was fortune or misfortune was unclear.

A crowd of customs employees, from foreign assistants to Chinese cooks, all lined up neatly at the dock to welcome him.

Hede’s expression remained unchanged, wearing a heavy blue-green collared dress uniform, disembarking with composure.

The cap-bearing specialist followed behind as usual.

Immediately, someone sharp-eyed noticed—

“Oh, the cap ornament color has changed!”

Everyone’s gaze focused on the lapis lazuli atop the engraved treasure seat of the cap ornament, then erupted in clamor.

“Congratulations on your promotion, sir!”

Though expected, the “Director Hede’s Promotion Story” passed around by everyone was even more swift and decisive than Lin Yuchan had imagined.

He had arrived dusty and travel-worn in Beijing, completely abandoning his previous British arrogance, no longer quarreling with anyone, and unlike other foreigners who only socialized in small circles, he instead mingled closely with Chinese officials like Prince Gong, speaking very humbly and taking a wishy-washy attitude toward Li Taiguo’s unauthorized fleet purchase—”very regrettable but I don’t know what to do about it”—exactly the stance the Qing court favored.

The Qing ministers, having finally encountered a “docile” foreigner, immediately made him a model, praising and commending him in every way, meaning for other foreigners to learn from him.

He coldly watched Li Taiguo act arrogantly and foam at the mouth before the Chinese, until Li had accumulated enough hatred value, then he would add fuel to the fire with a few words, until one day Li Taiguo angrily declared, “If things don’t go my way, I’ll resign immediately.”

Prince Gong, Li Hongzhang, Zeng Guofan—these old foxes were delighted, just waiting for him to take that stance.

Li Taiguo thought the Qing couldn’t function without him. If he left, the Customs General Administration would have to close down.

Who knew they’d take advantage of the situation, immediately announcing the new Inspector General of Customs—the appointment order had been drafted long ago, just waiting for the seal.

Only then did Li Taiguo realize he’d been outmaneuvered by his seemingly low-key subordinate.

He loudly cursed Hede for undermining him and being unworthy of being British, but it was too late. When he returned to his office, his documents and luggage had all been packed, and someone had even booked his ship ticket to London.

The naval matter naturally came to nothing, and that advanced naval fleet was disbanded on the spot.

One stratagem of “besieging Wei to rescue Zhao,” and no one cared anymore about the nationality of the Qing navy commander.

Though the Qing had prepaid the full fleet cost, Old Master Zeng Guofan expressed magnanimously: “A mere 1.7 million for ships and 900,000 annual operating costs is a drop in the bucket for China. Might as well give these ships to various countries—it’ll also disgust that British fellow Li Taiguo and show him up.”

The “various countries” were naturally delighted, watching the show while waiting for warships to fall from heaven.

Hede broke out in a cold sweat. The Qing had money, but couldn’t afford to throw it away like this—it pained even him.

But he suppressed his urge to remonstrate, consulting with his confidants before quietly spreading word that America was currently divided between North and South, with the Southern Confederacy urgently needing warships for their “Northern Expedition” and would soon arrive with silver to buy.

Another move of “diverting trouble eastward”—the American consul panicked first, immediately arranging to auction off this batch of ships quickly, at least recovering some costs.

This “modern navy” farce cost the Qing court nearly 400,000 taels in activity expenses, sailor severance pay, and ship depreciation costs, without gaining even a life preserver.

The only thing the Qing obtained was a god of wealth.

Hede formally assumed the post of Inspector General of Customs, personally nominated by Prince Gong, with the official rank of third grade.

He was no longer that proud, stubborn Robert Hede; now he was Niuhuru De, who had gained initial insight into Chinese official circles.

The entire former Guangdong Maritime Customs staff rose with the tide, each receiving a half-year salary bonus plus three days of paid leave. Everyone was jubilant, already starting to celebrate the New Year early.

Lin Yuchan held a pile of silver dollars, counting them three times front and back, too excited to sleep.

She felt her contribution to this matter had been minimal—indeed, she had spent one evening chatting and provided Hede with some simple ideas. But all the actual letter-writing, mediation, socializing, and relationship-building had been Hede’s doing.

If the official world were compared to a playing field, she had merely passed him a good ball—the subsequent dribbling, maneuvering, and scoring had nothing to do with her.

But she took the money with a clear conscience, completely within regulations.

Hede had just given her an exceptional raise, and now came a six-month salary year-end bonus—over forty silver dollars, equivalent to thirty taels of silver.

Double what her original “selling price” had been.

Truly a god of wealth.

But as she rejoiced, she suddenly couldn’t laugh anymore.

“Still far from two thousand taels,” she thought. “Thirty taels might ransom a finger at most.”

The following days kept her busy to the point of exhaustion. Director Hede had now relocated permanently to Shanghai, and those crates of documents from the Guangdong Maritime Customs, his beloved furniture and books, and the belongings and luggage of his entourage all needed to be shipped over.

The Jianghai Customs needed clearing out, removing traces left by the previous administration, and rearranging everything according to Hede’s preferences.

Though Lin Yuchan had declined Hede’s invitation to be his personal female secretary, her original contract wasn’t finished and she remained a temporary interpreter. Being in the position, she sought to fulfill her duties, carrying out all work as usual without the slightest negligence.

Hede also continued working her to the limit, entrusting her with “important tasks”: organizing and transferring years of archived documents. Of course she couldn’t access core confidential files—what she saw daily was all trivial matters. This was purely physical labor; after several days of working in a daze, she felt she was going nearsighted.

But trivial matters could sometimes be quite entertaining. From these documents, Lin Yuchan glimpsed an entire history of late Qing foreign trade development: how opium quietly flowed in, became unstoppable, bounced back and forth between smuggling and legality, and ultimately swept away how much wealth accumulated by generations of Chinese people; how tea and silk supported half the export revenue, and how Chinese merchants’ survival space was squeezed by foreign merchants; how pirates ran rampant along the southeast coast, committing countless bloody crimes; how dark and corrupt the customs had been in its early days, serving as the Imperial Household Department’s ATM, with massive amounts of silver disappearing without trace…

“None of this will happen again,” Hede declared ambitiously to everyone one day while inspecting work, pointing at those old cases in the ancient documents. “I promised Prince Gong that in China’s future customs, every tael of silver’s destination will be traceable.”

Everyone naturally applauded enthusiastically with various flattering words in Chinese and English—they’d follow Director Hede from now on, Director Hede was the Qing’s blessing and the savior of the Chinese people, and so forth.

Hede frowned, listening to this, saying sternly: “There will be no more flattery in future customs. Everyone will advance based on ability.”

Only then did everyone fall silent.

Hede: “Everyone has worked hard lately. For the approaching Chinese New Year, following European custom, I will host a thanksgiving banquet. Everyone from deputy officers to clerks to cleaning women will be invited. You don’t need to work tomorrow—just bring empty stomachs.”

Everyone: “Long live Director Hede!!”

Lin Yuchan witnessed a foreign reception for the first time, though separated by a layer of glass.

The reception invitees belonged to different social circles. In the ballroom with a fireplace, enjoying beef steaks and lobster, were various national consuls stationed in Shanghai, military officers, prominent foreign merchants, and their beautiful wives. Waiters carried wine glasses and cold dishes back and forth while a small indoor ensemble played light waltzes. At the other end in the Chinese-style banquet hall sat local officials, Chinese merchants, and justices of the peace, with wine tables alternating between toasting and flattery, praising the current emperor and empress dowager, and establishing hometown and family connections—all very harmonious.

As for the lower-level Chinese customs staff, they also had sumptuous banquets, though located in the cafeteria in the building’s side wing. These staff members spontaneously divided into several tables according to rank, drinking and feasting with great harmony. The few female employees were squeezed onto the furthest table, and though their dishes were three degrees cooler than others’, everyone was quite content, enthusiastically discussing the food, complaining about husbands, and calculating how to use their new bonuses to find wives for their sons.

Everyone dressed festively—either half in red or entirely in red, with New Year atmosphere overflowing. Actually there was no need to turn themselves into mobile red lanterns, but foreigners loved watching Chinese folk customs, so everyone catered to their tastes, letting the foreigners enjoy themselves, with the lucky ones even receiving red envelopes.

As a “young widow,” Lin Yuchan fortunately didn’t need to dress so garishly. She wore her newly-made water-blue jacket and skirt with a sleeveless water-red outer garment—already her most formal attire. Afraid of staining it, she carefully spread two layers of napkins after sitting down.

Then she ate freely and soon became drowsy, running to the corridor for fresh air.

A table of red lanterns complained to each other: “You really shouldn’t discuss husbands and sons—look how you’ve upset the young widow. Hey, Mrs. Su Lin, come back, come back, you haven’t had your soup yet!”

…

Lin Yuchan opened her clear eyes, scanning each person at the reception one by one, wondering whose relationship was good enough to borrow money from.

She wasn’t the only one who came out to get air and avoid drinking. Lin Yuchan was surprised to discover that Rong Hong was also among the invitees. But he’d been assigned to the Chinese-style banquet hall, where he was practically superfluous, ranking lowest in birth, achievements, and official position. He endured and endured until finally running out and fiercely smoking several cigars.

But seeing Lin Yuchan, he only briefly greeted her with small talk before straightening his hat and apologetically bidding farewell:

“I need to distribute a few more calling cards. There’s a staff member of Li Xunfu’s at that table—maybe there’s a way to serve the country.”

Through the foggy glass, Lin Yuchan watched him return to the wine table as if facing death, forcing a smile while chatting with those greasy scholar-officials.

Melodious Western string music permeated the entire venue. The ballroom doors opened, releasing an intoxicating fragrant breeze.

The Jianghai Customs building had its banquet hall, decorated with expensive glass and mirrors. Lin Yuchan saw her tiny reflection in the mirror.

Hede was radiant, holding a wine glass and loudly greeting two foreign staff members, kissing the hands of several consuls’ wives, then sweeping through the corridor like a whirlwind. His peripheral vision suddenly caught sight of a thin girl in jacket and skirt, and he stopped.

“Miss Lin looks radiant today,” he handed his remaining wine to a waiter, all smiles. “Come dance with me.”