Su Minguan’s actions followed logic. If Lin Yuchan weren’t a member, his rash move to lend her clothes with embroidered symbols, letting the shopkeeper misunderstand, would violate the rules.

Only after she joined—even temporarily—could she enjoy this “member treatment.”

So that one dime was essentially her temporary rental of Heaven and Earth Society membership, not unfairly charged.

And she could get a limited-time refund! The user-friendliness was incredibly high.

Lin Yuchan thought randomly that Young Master Su, with such exceptional talent, would have at least rung the NASDAQ bell if he’d been born a hundred years later, right?

Through the white steam from the dumplings in front of her, Lin Yuchan carefully observed the young master across from her.

His facial lines were soft, his eyes and brows concealing their sharpness. When he lowered his gaze and focused on something, he appeared quite innocent and gentle, making one reluctant to interrupt his solitary concentration.

Occasionally, only occasionally, when he raised his eyebrows, he became shrewd and piercing, chilling observers.

Lin Yuchan was grateful she belonged to his “friendly camp”—if she were an enemy, she couldn’t imagine what tactics he might use against her.

But Su Minguan had his troubles, too. He suddenly put down his chopsticks and looked at her steadily, his expression delicate.

“A’mei, there’s something I don’t understand.”

Su Minguan gathered his cloak from the chair back and slowly rolled it up.

His voice was extremely low, almost inaudible amid the snack stall’s clamor.

“A’mei, I’d like to ask—you’re not afraid of me, don’t think I’m a rebel scoundrel, and have no reservations about various insurgents. But every time I invite you to join, you make excuses, as if you’re afraid of any connection with the Heaven and Earth Society.”

Lin Yuchan’s breathing quickened slightly, not knowing how to answer.

His observation was very keen. She indeed was… somewhat afraid of getting involved with the Heaven and Earth Society.

What was she afraid of?

Getting to the root of it, it was probably because the first thing she saw upon arriving in this world was the severed head of the previous Jin Lanhe, with the words “Heaven and Earth Society Rebel” beside that head. Around her were countless rotting corpses. Heaven knows if poor Eighth Sister had been scared to death by that scene.

That bloody scene had shocked her too deeply. If Rong Hong had psychological trauma regarding Yixing, she probably had trauma regarding the three words “Heaven and Earth Society.”

Rationally, she knew these people were simple revolutionaries whom she should sympathize with and support.

But in reality? Life in the Qing Dynasty was full of landmines everywhere. She only wanted to survive well and didn’t dare have any thoughts of actively courting death.

Su Minguan was still waiting for her answer. She smiled bitterly: “I’m afraid I’m not the only one who fears those three words ‘Heaven and Earth Society’?”

He also smiled and nodded frankly: “A hundred years ago, the Heaven and Earth Society was quite popular. Now? It’s a finished play on an empty stage, with no one caring.”

Lin Yuchan suddenly had a wild idea. Using a dumpling as cover, she leaned closer and said in a low voice: “Actually, have you ever thought—if the ‘Heaven and Earth Society’ changed its name to something less conspicuous, your speed in developing members would skyrocket.”

Su Minguan nearly choked, coughing once: “You’re asking our founding master to strike me with lightning.”

Lin Yuchan thought she wasn’t the first to have this idea.

Hadn’t Chu Nanyun started his organization? The first time she saw the Green Gang, it looked quite thriving.

But thinking again, Boss Chu’s fate wasn’t much better than being struck by lightning. It seemed fate had its just rewards and punishments.

She changed tack: “You don’t have to completely change the name. For example, one name in public, but privately still the Heaven and Earth Society core, the revolutionary spark unchanged, just that everyone doesn’t mention it casually…”

Su Minguan frowned slightly: “You mean like the Elder Brother Society, Pan Gate, Small Sword Society, Hong Kong Triads…”

Hearing these familiar names from street martial arts magazines, Lin Yuchan nearly fainted: “They’re all the same family as you…”

He took it for granted: “What else?”

“That’s still too conspicuous—you can tell they’re Water Margin types just by hearing the names.” Lin Yuchan, relying on her temporary membership status, seriously offered nonsensical advice: “It should be something particularly harmless that the authorities wouldn’t even notice, or would even encourage…”

Three days later, Yixing Shipping Company opened in the early morning. Below the storefront sign, a small custom pine board was nailed up.

It read: “Guangdong Fellow Townsmen Association.”

No signature. The writing was plain and solid, looking like it was written by a stubborn old man.

Su Minguan put down his hammer and looked up and down suspiciously.

“It’s a bit strange.”

Lin Yuchan, as the only one cheering him on, smiled encouragingly: “It looks particularly law-abiding. I apply to join and enjoy fellow townsmen. Keep that dime.”

Although it was putting up a sheep’s head to sell dog meat, she felt much safer inside.

From now on, entering and leaving Yixing wouldn’t require sneaking around, making others wonder: why does a lonely little widow keep running to shipping docks full of burly men?

Moreover, Helmsman Su’s Heaven and Earth Society branch had quietly transformed, with “business” that was indeed quite legal—ordinary people paying dues helped each other, looked after each other’s business, and when anyone had conflicts, the organization sent people to mediate…

Lin Yuchan summarized these activities—wasn’t this just a fellow townsman’s association?

Although members weren’t necessarily all from Guangdong, the helmsman was Cantonese, so she’d let him have this small advantage.

Of course, the core was still anti-Qing. When members from other provinces fled to the concessions, they provided lodging, bribed officials, and helped with revenge without hesitation.

But this was no longer the main business, just occasional activities. Most ordinary members of the “Fellow Townsmen Association” only needed to avoid close relations with the authorities and didn’t need detailed knowledge of this.

The backbone anti-Qing forces had all died, and surviving successors could only engage in small-scale activities, doing minor business to make ends meet.

The Qing Dynasty couldn’t collapse immediately, so they could only quietly recover and rebuild strength.

This was Lin Yuchan’s thinking.

But Su Minguan still felt somewhat guilty, saying with a bitter smile: “If this were in Guangdong, the seniors would want to recite ‘Overthrow Qing, Restore Ming’ every night before bed. How could they tolerate my lack of ambition?”

He looked left and right at this “Fellow Townsmen Association” sign, then seemed to mutter to himself: “If I could earn fifteen hundred taels of silver, I’d hire a lion dance troupe and grandly promote it throughout the city.”

Still obsessing over it. Lin Yuchan reminded him: “The Yixing sign can’t be changed. Heaven and Earth Society comrades nationwide recognize these two copper coins. Oh, right, Mr. Rong is inquiring about other armed shipping companies—each name sounds better than the last. Give up hope.”

Su Minguan, squeezed by her comment, wasn’t offended. He smiled slightly and asked her, “How’s Xuhui Tea Company performing? They didn’t burn your tea, did they?”

His reminder made her realize the time. She ran off: “I’m leaving, goodbye!”

Xuhui Tea Company, as a professional processor, provided comprehensive door-to-door service. From early morning, specialized porters came to collect goods. Lin Yuchan didn’t need to find her own.

“Layered outsourcing” did increase costs, but it was certainly convenient.

Lin Yuchan rushed to Boya Trading House. Rong Hong wasn’t up yet. She hadn’t exchanged pleasantries with Manager Chang for two sentences when the porters arrived with their cart.

Shopkeeper Mau had repeatedly instructed that this client was a young lady, so everyone shouldn’t make a fuss—even if she was a young lady, they couldn’t neglect her, as she was an expert.

Although the porters were mentally prepared, when they first saw Lin Yuchan—her slight build, delicate features, plain and clean jacket, and skirt—they still felt uncomfortable.

Listen to her give orders? She didn’t even have as loud a voice as their wives.

But the porters were used to obeying. Besides, there was money to earn, and nobody had a grudge against money.

They still loaded the tea crates onto carts as required. Just doing it carelessly, with distrust flashing in their eyes.

Lin Yuchan didn’t mind their attitude too much. Changing mindsets couldn’t be accomplished overnight. Being able to command these big brothers was already worth thanking heaven for.

However, she still had to strictly state her requirements.

“These tea crates came by ship from far away and aren’t very sturdy. When loading, tie them with three ropes, take the road around the county seat, and avoid bumps.”

For several days, she tirelessly reminded them.

The porters were lazy and listless, giving her sideways glances and getting by. Just like the cheap coolies used by Defeng Trading back then.

Lin Yuchan suddenly hazily recalled that when she first arrived last year, she had also mixed among the coolie teams moving tea, risking breaking her back, closing her eyes, gritting her teeth, gradually testing her limits, willingly being exploited completely, just to avoid being immediately sold off.

Now, empty-handed, following alongside the convoy as an “escort,” she had become the exploiter.

Lin Yuchan had a sudden thought and came to the empty lot where tea was piled.

“Do I need to demonstrate? This way of moving doesn’t damage crates and doesn’t waste effort.”

She bent her knees slightly, took a deep breath, using her thighs and heels for strength, and steadily lifted a crate, carrying it as if weightless to the cart.

Not having done coolie work for a while, she was somewhat breathless, her small face flushed red, her shoulder blades chafed raw by her clothes.

But the porters had no time to notice her complexion. They all gaped as if seeing a deity, immediately showing solemn respect.

“In-incredible…”

They’d never seen a woman with such strength!

Could she have some martial arts skills?

Actually, strong women weren’t rare. On the streets, one often saw poor women carrying two children front and back while busily working. But goods weren’t children—they wouldn’t grow hands and feet to wrap around their mother’s body, making transport much more difficult than children.

Lin Yuchan: “Don’t just stand there, I’ll move with you.”

Of course, considering her spine, she later picked lighter crates to move, using effort but not damaging her bones.

But compared to her small frame, it was already disproportionate.

The porters all shut up and obediently began working according to her requirements.

At this moment, Rong Hong got up, opened the third-floor window of his small mansion, breathed in fresh air, looked down, and was so startled he sat back on his bed.

“…Super strength pills?”

At Xuhui Tea Company’s roasting workshop, Lin Yuchan hastily drank some water and began supervising.

Although Shopkeeper Mau occasionally came to inspect the workshop, most of the time the tea masters worked on their own.

With only deadlines and wages specified, the masters naturally relied on experience and worked according to their habitual methods.

Even though Lin Yuchan had explained her requirements to everyone, humans naturally loved to slack off. Without her supervision, the masters wouldn’t follow through one hundred percent.

“Master Zhang, is the raw pot hot enough?” she asked.

Master Zhang buried his head stoking the fire, mumbling: “Hot enough, hot enough, miss, don’t worry.”

He thought, what could a little girl understand? Even with family heritage, it was just armchair theorizing. He, Master Zhang, had been roasting tea for thirty years—he’d roasted more tea than she’d eaten fried rice.

Lin Yuchan pulled a thermometer from her sleeve and quietly probed it down—

“Only 280 degrees. Didn’t I say it needs to be 300 degrees?”

The thermometer was borrowed from Rong Hong’s shop, one of his eternally unsold items—Chinese people emphasized “moderation” and “appropriate amounts,” showing no interest in such precise instruments. When Western missionaries once presented this gadget to Emperor Qianlong, his evaluation was “ingenious but impractical tricks, good-looking but useless.”

Rong Hong didn’t believe it and imported a batch of mercury thermometers at high cost, using the Fahrenheit scale Americans commonly used—Europeans were used to Celsius and wouldn’t buy from him either. For years, he’d barely sold any, gathering three inches of dust.

But Lin Yuchan knew that “temperature control” was key to roasting quality tea. In the past, without precise measuring instruments, they could only rely on masters’ experience and intuition. Now that technology has advanced, they should naturally embrace high tech.

One of Defeng Trading’s “secret techniques” was skillful use of thermometers. Guangzhou had opened earlier, so merchants weren’t resistant to “ingenious tricks.”

Of course, the specific temperatures were something Defeng Trading would never publicize, and Lin Yuchan didn’t know them either.

But this time, using the excuse of inspecting workshops, she measured pot temperatures at over ten tea companies with her thermometer. Combined with her previous scattered experience, she concluded: for cooked pots after kill-green processing, pot temperature around 150 degrees Celsius was most suitable—about 300 degrees Fahrenheit.

The tea masters naturally didn’t buy her account, all politely smiling: “Miss is overthinking. We can’t understand these foreign gadgets. Tea roasting relies on experience—skillful hands are enough.”

Lin Yuchan almost laughed out loud. Grown men shamelessly claiming they couldn’t understand or learn a few Arabic numerals?

She called out, “Little girl, you teach these uncles.”

Shopkeeper Mau’s eldest daughter, Miss Mau, whose given name Shunniang was naturally not public—everyone in the shop called her “little girl,” and Lin Yuchan followed suit.

Mau Shunniang had true family heritage, rolling around in fragrant tea leaves since childhood. It’s just that her old father had taken on several apprentices but wouldn’t properly teach her, thinking girls couldn’t inherit his craft anyway, so learning was useless.

Mau Shunniang herself wasn’t ambitious either. Previously, she stayed home daily, weaving and embroidering handkerchiefs. Due to recent family changes, she had to come to work with her father daily, hiding in the back hall, still embroidering handkerchiefs and passing time, occasionally sneaking out to relieve herself.

Until a Guangdong sister arrived at the shop.

Lin Yuchan noticed that when she supervised tea roasting and gave orders, curious eyes often watched her through door cracks.

She immediately invited little Shunniang out, very politely asking: “Want to help?”

Since the deposit was paid, she could use the tea company’s masters as she pleased, and the contract didn’t say she couldn’t boss around the shopkeeper’s daughter.

Shunniang was shy for a while, then became attracted by Lin Yuchan’s erudition. So much knowledge in tea leaves!

Lin Yuchan didn’t keep secrets. Old rules like “generational exclusive secrets not passed down” and “crafts passed to sons, not daughters” would eventually be abandoned in history’s current. Information sharing was the progress of the times.

She shared interesting parts of her experiences at the Guangzhou tea companies with Mau Shunniang. With her good memory, three to five anecdotes daily, she had abundant reserves, making the little girl yearn with fascination.

Mau Shunniang finally found something more interesting than embroidering handkerchiefs to pass the time. Arabic numerals and such—she mastered them in one afternoon.

So now, a roomful of old masters stared at a fourteen-year-old girl, listening respectfully and seriously as she explained: “This is 1, 2, 3… This is 100, 200, 300… Don’t look at the curves and twists—it’s quite easy…”

The master’s forced smiles, nodding repeatedly: “Little girl is bright. We old bones are truly useless, ha ha ha.”

The shopkeeper’s daughter—they had to give face.

Lin Yuchan used the fox’s authority, teaching Shunniang first, then asking her to supervise.

Only then did the tea masters behave, fearing the little girl would complain to the shopkeeper, so they had no choice but to adjust their habits according to Lin Yuchan’s requirements.

Lin Yuchan finally caught her breath.

During lunch break, the tea company kitchen served meals. As usual, coarse rice was unlimited, with one small dish of vegetables.

Lin Yuchan never got used to the Qing people’s starch-heavy diet, and since she was still growing, she ran across the street to buy a steamer of fresh meat dumplings for oil and protein supplementation.

Incidentally, bringing one for Mau Shunniang.

She reflected with emotion that after nearly a year in the Qing Dynasty, she had finally achieved meat-eating freedom…

After a full day, Lin Yuchan was drenched in sweat. Constantly bending over to inspect made her back and legs ache.

Having to outwit the masters, argue persuasively, and often demonstrate personally, working non-stop all day was no easier than moving tea as a coolie.

Fortunately, there were initial results. Watching the finished tea pile up bit by bit, her heart felt like she’d completed a stack of difficult exam papers—immensely fulfilled.

She washed her face, finished work, wrapped up the first can of sample tea she’d roasted, and delivered it to Boya Trading House for Rong Hong’s inspection.

Incidentally, checking whether his clerks had prepared for tea sales.

Boya Trading House was characteristically quiet and idle. Rong Hong had just finished translating an English poetry collection, with sample books filling a shelf. Though no one inquired, it was pleasing to the eye—much better looking than a shelf of Colgate toothpaste.

The clerks were unexpectedly not idle, perhaps spurred by Rong Hong’s previous “not having a grudge against money.”

When Lin Yuchan arrived, she saw everyone gathered around a small table in heated discussion:

“Dacheng Shipping’s quote is good, but I see their boats are nearly leaking…”

“What about Nanyang Ferry? I met their boat captain today—bulging temples, clearly trained in authentic Shaolin…”

“Yongchang is still most economical, they handle their food and lodging…”

“How dare we use anything too cheap? Aren’t we afraid of another Boss Chu?”

…

Boss Rong of Boya Trading House, who “had no grudge against money,” repeatedly encouraged by Lin Yuchan, finally couldn’t resist the temptation of collecting tea in war zones and began seeking escort fleets.

The clerks joined in the excitement. After all, their previous laziness was because they couldn’t earn money. Now with windfall opportunities before them, when the boss ate meat, they’d drink soup—everyone’s enthusiasm was unprecedentedly high.

Currently, three or four shipping companies are bidding, each with advantages and disadvantages.

No matter who was chosen, it would be a fat contract, enough to feed the shipping company for months.

Lin Yuchan mentally lit a candle for Young Master Su and coughed.

“Mr. Rong…”

Rong Hong looked up from his newspaper, greeting her with a smile: “Is the tea ready?”

Lin Yuchan nodded, briefly explaining her roasting style and approach while pulling out a small tea can from her bosom. She washed hands, boiled water, warmed cups, and brewed tea in one fluid motion.

“Please try it.”

She was ninety percent confident that this first can of tea she’d spent days of effort roasting would earn an A grade even at Guangzhou’s Defeng Trading, leaving Wang Quan with no complaints.

Rong Hong was slightly surprised, put down his newspaper and stood up, holding the teacup with both hands, solemnly blowing on it, then devoutly taking a sip—

“Jesus, so hot.”

Lin Yuchan: “…”

This person didn’t understand tea. She was casting pearls before swine.

She suppressed her laughter and explained: “I used Guangdong roasting methods—the finished tea clears the mind and refreshes the eye, with no dry heat sensation, and the temperature…”

But Rong Hong waved his hand: “Miss Lin, I trust you. Even if you explained, I wouldn’t remember. By the way…”

He suddenly put down the teacup, moved two steps closer, and asked quietly: “By the way, that Guangzhou Yixing Shipping you mentioned to me last time…”

Lin Yuchan was stunned. The Yixing PTSD patient voluntarily mentioned it—what did this mean?

“…What was the quote again?”

She was dazed for a long time before suspiciously answering: “Fifteen hundred taels. Why, sir…”

Rong Hong seemed somewhat embarrassed, saying: “I’d like to include it among the alternatives. Since you and Boss Su are fellow townsmen, could you help me ask if he accepts bargaining?”

“Not accepted.”

Su Minguan stood with hands behind his back, studying the almanac hanging on the wall while casually throwing out his response.

“Next month on the fifteenth, with spring warmth and flowers blooming, suitable time for travel.” He used a charcoal pencil to circle a certain date, lips curling up. “Please inform him. Mr. Rong can start preparing. Bring plenty of warm clothes.”

Lin Yuchan lifted her skirt, propped herself against the counter to jump up and sit on his large counter, swinging her feet while seriously admiring his posturing.

His slender fingers held the charcoal pencil, distinct in black and white, fingertips stained slightly black.

When receiving fellow merchants and clients, he usually maintained a gentle demeanor, not showing sharp edges unless necessary. Today, he rarely sheds that layer of gentlemanly skin, his eyes revealing unruly arrogance, as if determined to win this matter.

“Mr. Rong isn’t yet a ‘Guangdong Fellow Townsmen Association’ member—I haven’t seen the mark at his door.” Lin Yuchan asked seriously, “When and how did you make him change his mind?”

She knew he must have pulled some trick and would never easily give up such a large contract.

Lin Yuchan thought that if Su Minguan dared use Chu Nanyun’s underhanded methods, she’d have to thoroughly scold this well-dressed rebel.

…Forget it, she lacked the ability.

A stern rebuke would suffice. Then end the friendship.

Not knowing how to fight was truly disadvantageous.

Su Minguan saw her little face tense and laughed out loud, mysteriously touching his nose.

“I don’t know. Why he relented, I’m also baffled.”

“Liar.”

“Want to know?”

Lin Yuchan immediately nodded but quickly hesitated, freezing herself like a puppet.

There was no such thing as a free lunch. Don’t let him make her trade something again.

Su Minguan saw her guarded expression and couldn’t help laughing, his eyes crinkling with cunning.

“Could it be you want to learn? A’mei, I thought you were a good person.”