Lin Yuchan dazedly pulled out a foreign cloth handkerchief from her bosom and presented it with both hands.

She’d hidden in the corner the whole time, watching like a movie, her thoughts unable to keep up with Su Minguan’s actions. Even after he single-handedly challenged dozens and methodically took down the entire Yixing Shipping, she still felt like dreaming, her mind full of:

…Truly worthy of professional rebel origins—”Jin Lanhe’s successor” wasn’t called that for nothing!

Su Minguan wasn’t as composed as she imagined. He breathed slowly, calming his heartbeat from extreme tension. Strings in his mind remained taut, reviewing each command from moments before. He shouldn’t have overlooked anything…

Unconsciously, sweat gathered at his jaw and dripped into his collar.

He casually took her handkerchief, opening it, about to wipe sweat, when he suddenly saw the chipped jade lock wrapped inside.

Once again stained with blood, once again cleaned by her.

His eyes inexplicably itched. Biting his lip, he turned away, carefully tying the jade lock behind his neck and tucking it into his collar.

“There’s blood on your shoes,” he said gently. “Don’t forget to find clothes to wrap them before leaving, so people won’t see.”

Lin Yuchan nodded blankly, her heart racing wildly, wondering, tremblingly, what posture she should adopt to thank him again for saving her life.

“Young Master…”

Just starting, Su Minguan unceremoniously interrupted.

“You’re overthinking. It wasn’t because of you. I’d been displeased with them for a long time—I should thank you for bringing me the gun.”

Lin Yuchan said “oh” and forced a smile: “Don’t mention it.”

It was somewhat amusing. How could he admit to heroic deeds? Otherwise, with his principle of one good deed per year, the next quota would have to wait until the twentieth century.

Under supervision from Guangdong subordinates, lackeys drew water from Suzhou Creek, methodically washing floors in an orderly fashion. The entire warehouse contained only the brushing sounds of floor scrubbing.

There was also the unlucky fellow with half a shoulder blown off who, after awakening, dragged his mangled flesh across the ground moaning in agony, suddenly crawling to Lin Yuchan’s feet and reaching with his severed hand toward her foot.

She jumped up abruptly, nearly screaming.

Su Minguan immediately pulled her away, bending to look—this man clearly wouldn’t survive.

The moaning ceased abruptly. He gently inserted the knife, sending the man west.

“Afraid?” He glanced at her sideways, his eyes calm as still water.

Lin Yuchan stubbornly shook her head, but her trembling breath couldn’t be hidden. She’d started by landing among corpses, thinking she’d become desensitized. But seeing bodies was one thing—watching executions was another.

“I told you not to think me too kind,” he said. “Cantonese have fought foreigners for twenty years—any man with backbone has wielded blades and seen blood.”

Lin Yuchan handed him another handkerchief to wipe his hands.

Guangdong truly deserved to be China’s revolutionary birthplace, ruthless enough.

“By the way,” she gathered courage to say, “earlier I heard a girl…”

Just then, a subordinate came to request instructions—several captives and girls were still confined in the warehouse, asking how Jin Lanhe wished to handle them.

“Should we keep feeding them?” Su Minguan raised his chin, putting on a slight air. “Blindfold them, walk them two li away before releasing, threaten them according to custom so they won’t dare report to authorities—do I need to teach you?”

The subordinate quickly nodded and complied.

As for those villains who’d abused the girl… he didn’t mention them.

Lin Yuchan hesitated to speak.

Su Minguan didn’t even need to look at her, chuckling coldly.

“Female Bodhisattva, forgive me,” he said. “Right now we need to stabilize morale—this isn’t the time for fairness.”

Strangely, knowing her kindness was inappropriate, he unexpectedly didn’t feel annoyed. After thinking, he patiently added a sentence, speaking in her ear: “There’ll be plenty of time to handle things slowly later—no rush for now.”

Lin Yuchan pressed her lips together and nodded lightly.

Young Master Minguan was called Little White but was actually pitch black. In just one short hour, her bottom line had been continuously lowered. Even if he gave her a knife now, she estimated she’d dare follow suit in killing.

“Later?” But she sensitively noticed his wording. “What do you plan to do later?”

Only then did Su Minguan have to consider this question he’d been avoiding. He ordered everyone to maintain alert positions while he slipped through the hidden door behind the shipping office counter.

The area was now empty, still retaining opium scents, dice, and pai gow scattered on the floor, yet all keys had reached his hands.

He opened drawers, comparing valuables with ledgers one by one, briefly flipping through various documents and records, pressing his forehead with a growing headache.

The “Jin Lanhe” title was too heavy—he’d thought daily about abdication since Guangzhou, but helplessly, no one dared step forward to take over. Today’s emergency had forced him to use this name to intimidate, further binding himself tighter.

He randomly flipped through sailing schedules, muttering: “Yixing is Hongmen property—can’t sell it… Don’t know where to find Jiangsu-Zhejiang branches… Should I send word to Guangzhou to call Uncle Cheng as boss, properly manage these rotten boys—he did canal transport before anyway… Ah, Uncle Cheng is probably in the countryside.”

He suddenly raised his eyes, bright light gleaming as he smiled at Lin Yuchan.

“A’Mei, when did you learn gun disassembly?” He brought out the blood-stained foreign gun, turning the muzzle toward himself and offering the handle to her, asking with a smile: “Want it?”

The Hongmen boss who’d just single-handedly challenged the Clean Gang stronghold, cold sweat still on his nose tip, fingers still bloody, turned around and donned the skin of an elegant young man again—eyes curving with an innocent, seductive smile.

Lin Yuchan nearly sat on the ground, very moved as she refused: “I want to live properly.”

She felt this place couldn’t be lingered in. Suddenly remembering something, she asked urgently: “What time is it now?”

Just as she finished speaking, crackling firecrackers sounded from the street outside.

Moments later, more lively firecrackers erupted. Like pearls falling on jade plates, gunpowder smoke rose skyward, the entire Suzhou Creek waterfront seemingly lit with night illumination, silver flowers dancing wildly, outlining trees and rooftops.

Suzhou Creek remained full of moored boats. That large sand junk’s mast stood tall—behind the mast, suddenly blazed a cluster of fireworks, becoming a celebratory glow stick. The bow rose proudly like a festival dragon boat.

Little New Year’s Eve was nearly over. Tomorrow would be New Year’s Eve—the last day of the lunar year 1861. Impatient people had already begun celebrating early.

Lin Yuchan hurriedly ran outside: “Mr. Rong is still waiting for me!”

Su Minguan stopped her, pointing at her feet: “Shoes.”

She’d nearly forgotten. Frantically finding a stool to sit on, she grabbed a rag from the wall to wrap her feet. Who knew there was more blood on her shoes than imagined—diluted by river water, it wouldn’t coagulate, instead smearing her hands. Looking back, she saw a trail of bloody footprints behind her. Startled into shivering, the rag was smeared messily.

Su Minguan wasn’t so amateur. When walking he’d carefully avoided blood pools, even kicking bricks and planks as bridges, keeping his feet clean.

Who told her to run so urgently? he couldn’t stop her either.

Helplessly, he said: “Don’t move.”

It was his oversight, forgetting to remind her to watch her feet. The entire pair of shoes was unusable.

Using keys, he opened several wooden boxes in the opium room. Since shipping workers wore out shoes quickly, one box indeed contained several pairs of seven-tenths new cotton cloth men’s shoes, probably kept as regular replacements.

“This pair should fit.” He picked the narrowest pair, about to throw it to her. “By the way, who is Mr. Rong?”

Fortunately, he looked before throwing. The little miss sat on the stool with a pair of blood-dripping feet raised, ten blood-stained fingers spread, looking at him helplessly while shaking her head desperately.

“No, no, no, don’t give them to me yet…”

Su Minguan laughed aloud, the bloody, heavy tension in his chest dissolving by three parts.

He ordered subordinates to bring a basin of water, personally carrying it before her. Seeing her anxious expression, his childish heart suddenly emerged, imitating opera tones: “Your Majesty, please use.”

Lin Yuchan felt slightly embarrassed, then unconvincingly thought: You ancient person, you’re mocking me.

She calmly washed her hands, laughing: “Little White-zi, no need for ceremony.”

The gang boss whose childhood name was Little White: “…”

Having given away her handkerchief, Lin Yuchan casually dried her hands on her sleeve. About to remove her shoes, Su Minguan’s low voice stopped her.

“Don’t let your hands touch blood.”

A simple, casual remark, yet Lin Yuchan couldn’t help extrapolating deeper meaning, momentarily lost in thought.

Su Minguan deftly removed her shoes, washed his hands in the basin, confirmed her sock ties weren’t dirty, and smiled: “Lucky you’re a Hakka girl, otherwise you couldn’t return tonight—come, try this pair.”

Lin Yuchan initially didn’t understand his meaning at all, stunned for quite a while before slowly comprehending, her ear tips growing somewhat hot.

Hakka women didn’t bind their feet. Poor Hakka girls even worked barefoot daily—Cantonese found this unremarkable.

But ordinary Han women had three-inch bound feet as standard. Even in sweltering heat they wrapped them thickly, not exposing a trace of skin even on wedding nights. The golden lilies beneath skirts carried ambiguous, even perverted implications—men seeing them once was considered improper.

In this era of judging women by feet, these two types weren’t even the same species.

Su Minguan had assumed she was Hakka, so felt fortunate for her: lucky she had natural feet and could barely wear men’s shoes; otherwise where could he find bound-foot shoes, naturally leaving her unable to move.

Furthermore, even with suitable shoes, bound feet, he dared not touch: if he did, either imprisonment and beatings or lifelong responsibility for her livelihood, truly one misstep causing eternal regret.

For him this was instinctive thinking; for her it was over a century’s generation gap, wasting much mental effort to successfully synchronize with him.

Su Minguan helped her put on shoes—still too loose. He carelessly found some cloth: “Padding should work…”

His fingertip touched her toe. Lin Yuchan suddenly felt uncomfortable, her heart scratching like a cat.

Of course, by her moral standards, naturally it wasn’t shyness or finding him improper. But thinking that in Su Minguan’s eyes, she belonged to “not the same type so feet can be casually touched,” that feeling… had a subtle discomfort.

After much consideration, she seriously clarified: “I’m not Hakka. I just never bound them.”

Su Minguan absent-mindedly said “oh.” Two seconds later, he suddenly startled like being scalded, withdrawing his hand as his face flushed red.

“I… you… I didn’t… I thought…”

Lin Yuchan hadn’t expected such a big reaction, immediately feeling apologetic and half-jokingly smoothing things over: “What’s wrong? I’m a child, not particular about such things.”

Su Minguan glared at her resentfully. A child—was there such a child?

He asked: “How old are you?”

Lin Yuchan recalled the birth date on her indenture contract: “Sixteen after New Year… oh no, seventeen.”

Counting nominal age—when in Rome, do as Romans do.

Su Minguan expressionlessly told her, “When my mother was your age, I could already count.”

Lin Yuchan’s brain cells died another patch: “…”

This damn Qing Dynasty! Simply unbearable!

She quickly put on the other shoe and sat up straight.

“Um… Minguan.”

Before leaving, she decided to speak openly, lest this unlucky child lose sleep tonight. After considering her wording, she began: “You also see that my family had few rules since childhood, and I don’t understand worldly etiquette…”

Su Minguan still couldn’t quite recover emotionally, his gaze touching her foot surface, asking somewhat disbelievingly: “Then… you don’t mind?”

“Of course I don’t mind.”

After finishing with a smile, seeing his apparent relief, she suddenly thought of a dangerous possibility and quickly warned: “But my not minding doesn’t mean you can act inappropriately! Understand what I mean…”

He looked confused briefly, then quite aggrieved: “Wasn’t it me who got taken advantage of on the boat earlier? Only officials can set fires while common people can’t light lamps? How are you so domineering?”

Lin Yuchan was speechless, her face stinging.

“…I offended Young Master Su, sorry, but there were circumstances—hope you understand.” She actively admitted fault. “I won’t make you take responsibility—I’ll be more careful in the future…”

At the start of transmigration she’d only wanted to lay low, be unremarkable in everything, never standing out.

But perhaps rivers and mountains were easier to change than nature—birds that had flown, how could they endure walking on the ground forever?

She admitted that no matter how tightly strung, occasionally being careless, she’d “float away.”

Of course consequences were severe. Boss Chu Nanyun had targeted her precisely because he saw her trendy behavior and concluded she was easy prey—thus the subsequent series of troubles.

So she considerately stood in ancient people’s position, sincerely reflecting: “You probably think I’m very improper, lacking wifely virtue—it’s fine, I don’t care. But my character in other aspects is still good, we can be friends. Hope you won’t write me off completely…”

Su Minguan nodded noncommittally, picking up the copper basin to splash water, washing blood traces from the floor.

“A’Mei speaks too seriously,” he said slowly. “Western barbarian women are wanton and unrestrained, far more casual than you, yet even the boldest villains dare not provoke them. While China’s boudoir ladies, no matter how chaste, can be humiliated at will without father-brother protection. The problem isn’t whether you’re casual or not, but… whether you have the capital to be casual.”

Lin Yuchan suddenly raised her head, the chaotic thoughts in her mind drawing out a bright thread.

Like enlightenment. In certain moments, “ancient people” were far more perceptive than she.

What nonsense had she just been explaining?

Dealing with others was one thing, but Su Minguan—this kind of ruthless character who dared play gunfights with Eight Banners troops and humiliate someone’s father before their daughter—neither loyal nor filial, by Qing standards social scum. She’d lost her mind to discuss “wifely virtue” with him.

She found her cotton coat, forcefully putting it on, turning back with a smile: “Thank you for the guidance, Young Master.”

Su Minguan was using keys to open drawers one by one, checking the shipping office’s wealth. Suddenly, he found a woman’s cloth bundle, its style completely out of place in the shipping office. Opening it revealed seventy silver dollars—presumably the “earnest money” the lackeys had discussed regarding Lin Yuchan.

Casually tossing it back to her, he asked offhandedly: “What did I guide you about?”

She caught it firmly, saying seriously, “To live uprightly, passive endurance won’t work. I need to earn capital for myself.”

Hearing her opening the door bolt, he finally reacted, slightly stunned and somewhat disappointed.

“Leaving already?”

Lin Yuchan suddenly paled: “Mm… someone’s waiting for me.”

“That Mr. Rong?” he asked casually. “Doesn’t he know about the ten o’clock curfew? Look, even the firecracker setters have returned. He was probably driven away long ago.”

“Is that so…” she frowned. “Then… then I’ll leave quietly.”

Su Minguan also frowned. Had she lost her mind? What nonsense was she babbling?

He dropped the keys, came before her, removed her cotton coat’s hood, and carefully examined her complexion.

He’d always been extremely perceptive about details. She’d shown some sickly appearance when first boarding—he’d thought first-time venture into enemy territory, nervousness was normal. During the killing spree, he’d noticed her complexion was off again—he’d guessed it was fright. After joking with her awhile, the atmosphere normalized, yet she remained pale as paper, her palm-sized face ice cold, clutching her stomach. No brazier in the room, yet she sweated profusely.

He suddenly understood, laughing softly.

“Need the toilet again?—Just speak up, I’ll find you a latrine.”