Lin Yuchan carefully counted and realized that since her sudden arrival in the Qing Dynasty, she indeed hadn’t encountered any “noble lady” level figures.

She knew quite a few Chinese women, but the most valuable among them was merely the daughter of a tea shop owner. The rest were servant girls, maids, self-combing women, embroiderers, cooks…

All were from the three religions and nine schools, common folk who weren’t ashamed to show their faces in public and dared to flirt with young men on the streets during the Lantern Festival—proletarian women.

This wasn’t surprising. Male officials and nobles could still come out and move about, meet with commoners, and occasionally listen to grievances. But noble ladies were completely caged birds—if outsiders accidentally glimpsed their faces, someone would surely bear heavy responsibility.

The so-called “never stepping out of the main gate or the second gate” wasn’t simply about “not going out.” Women of wealthy households couldn’t leave the mansion after age five, couldn’t pass the middle gate after ten, and after fifteen, it was best not to even leave their bedrooms. Only ladies with such a strict upbringing were considered perfect marriage candidates.

The customs in Lingnan were slightly more open—during festivals, one could still catch distant glimpses of noble ladies traveling together in groups or drinking in private rooms. But in Shanghai, even this scenery was gone.

Hede held a high position and authority, and among Western women was considered a very popular golden bachelor. But since coming to China, the number of Chinese official wives and young ladies he’d encountered was zero.

No wonder he couldn’t manage the “wife offensive” at all. He couldn’t even gather relevant intelligence—no matter how capable his subordinates were, they were all male. Noble families were heavily guarded. Even if they could sneak in to deliver firewood, they could only see the lowest-ranking servant girls and old women. Moreover, they were either foreign devils or fake foreign devils—respectable people would retreat three steps upon smelling that foreign odor, unwilling to exchange even one extra word.

As a result, the only information Lin Yuchan possessed was “Wenxiang’s wife is in Shanghai,” without even a specific address.

She didn’t dare ask around either—inquiring about officials’ female family members for no reason was harboring ill intentions, and by the next day, officials would come calling for tea.

Lin Yuchan took a day off from business to plan all morning. After hastily wolfing down lunch, she set off for Shanghai County.

Officials’ wives shouldn’t be living in the foreign settlements.

This was her starting point of reasoning.

Foreigners rarely went to the county seat. That’s why Hede was completely at a loss.

Lin Yuchan strolled around the small county town and targeted a snack shop. The storefront was fairly clean, run by a woman shopkeeper with azure cloth wrapped around her head, a square face, and a broad forehead—typical northern features. The sign read “Beijing-Style Fine Pastries Halal Imperial Cuisine.”

Busy in the kitchen was a bearded uncle wearing a white cap, very much with the inner flavor of Niujie.

Whether he was truly a master retired from the Imperial Kitchen was unknown. No one would make a special trip to the Forbidden City to ask anyway.

What was even rarer was that below the characters “Imperial Cuisine,” two crossed copper coins were faintly printed.

Lin Yuchan lifted the curtain and entered. Her eyes swept the first line of the menu as she smiled: “A bowl of fermented mung bean milk, please.”

Five minutes later.

“Cough cough… cough cough cough… A bowl of flour tea, thank you so much…”

…

It wasn’t mealtime, so the shopkeeper woman was free. Lin Yuchan invited her to sit together and casually mentioned the “hometown association,” instantly drawing closer through revolutionary camaraderie.

“Surname Ma, first in rank, just call me Big Sister.” The shopkeeper woman said heartily, “Young lady, you’re from Guangdong? Can’t tell at all—your Mandarin is quite smooth.”

Lin Yuchan: “Sister… Ma.”

There were quite a few in Shanghai who could speak northern Mandarin, but their accents weren’t worth complimenting. Suddenly encountering a young girl with such standard Mandarin, Sister Ma’s face glowed red with joy and vigor, finally able to straighten out her tongue properly.

“…Came here before the Taiping Rebellion. At first, we came to rely on relatives, but later the relatives offended someone, and we got dragged into trouble with them, so we had to go it alone. Let me tell you, it’s different from the capital. Foreigners running all over the streets, something new to see every day. Just one thing—there are also many hooligans and scoundrels. This really can’t compare to the capital, who’s going to manage them! But this year, guess what happened—someone’s managing them now!…”

This Sister Ma got more excited as she talked like a machine gun, spending half the time chatting about her entrepreneurial history and the other half praising that “Boss Su” she’d never met, saying the membership fees were incredibly worth it. In recent months, there’d been little harassment from foreign devils, and no one had thrown dead children into her household wastewater anymore.

Lin Yuchan was so frightened her face went pale, stammering: “Wh-why would they throw dead children at your house…”

“To cover the smell, of course. When you lift the pot later, smell my braised innards and you’ll understand.” Sister Ma downed the fermented mung bean milk on the table in one gulp, her face showing unbearable sorrow. “Thrown elsewhere, they’d be discovered early and traced back to the source family, causing such terrible gossip! And they’d have to pick them back up for burial themselves—mostly newborn girls, umbilical cords still uncut, floating in a basin of rotten kidneys and intestines… Such sin!”

Lin Yuchan felt she couldn’t drink the flour tea anymore, biting the chopstick tip to calm her emotions.

She knew ancient people had various backward customs favoring sons over daughters. But hearing these bloody customs described so matter-of-factly by others still dealt her a heavy blow.

She had an absurd thought: Lin Guangfu wasn’t the worst father. At least he hadn’t thrown her in sewage right after birth.

Sister Ma also felt she’d talked too much, smiled sheepishly, patted her mouth corner, and said softly: “Girl, since you’re also in the Yixing territory and came to recognize kin today, Big Sister knows you have business. Speak up.”

Lin Yuchan nodded and asked her: “Have there been any nobles from the capital recently who came to purchase ingredients from you?”

Nobles had finicky tastes. After long journeys to other provinces, they mostly missed that hometown flavor. Even if they brought their cooks, raw materials, and seasonings still had to be purchased locally.

So Lin Yuchan went directly to Beijing snack shops. Locals didn’t often come here—the business was generally with dispatched capital officials and bannermen. If any wealthy household suddenly increased its purchasing volume, it would cause market fluctuations.

Even if they didn’t buy from this shop, there weren’t many Beijing-style restaurants in Shanghai, the supply chains were narrow, and they all communicated with each other.

Sure enough, Sister Ma smiled: “There is one. Just yesterday, they bought ten steamers of sugar fire-cakes from me for breakfast, then ordered pastries and cream, just two streets over, at the house with stone lions. It’s said to be a capital official’s family…”

Lin Yuchan chatted with Sister Ma for half an hour and learned intelligence that Hede couldn’t find in several months.

Wenxiang’s wife was surnamed Pan, from the Shenyang Han Army Banner. Mrs. Pan had another sister who married a local official. Last year, he was transferred to Shanghai to suppress the Taiping rebels, but unfortunately couldn’t adapt to the climate and died shortly after taking office. Pan’s sister gave birth to a posthumous child, but sadly couldn’t keep it alive either. Suddenly losing both husband and child, she became a lonely widow.

The elder sister, with deep sisterly affection, immediately set out for Shanghai upon hearing the news to accompany her sister. She planned to wait for the menfolk at home to request leave and come, then, after handling affairs there, take the sister back to their natal home together.

People from the capital were generous and loyal. This gossip was also what Sister Ma heard from the Pan family’s cook after becoming familiar with her. If someone else had asked, Sister Ma would have kept her mouth sealed.

Sister Ma finally sighed: “Look at these noble golden treasures—normally living with meals served and clothes handed to them, living like immortals. But money can’t buy longevity. Mrs. Pan lost both husband and son in succession, becoming like a crab without legs. Even with fine clothes and food, doesn’t she wash her face with tears daily? Oh, right, I heard that she’s been mentally disturbed lately, doing religious ceremonies every day. Being unfamiliar with people and places, she was cheated out of quite a bit of money by fake monks and nuns. They say she even wanted to go to church and ask those foreign priests to preach to her, but propriety between men and women made it impossible. Even if it’s the Western foreign god, the book of life and death in his hands is already written—who can he show mercy to?”

Sister Ma had seen much joy and sorrow running a snack shop in a foreign land, so she saw things quite clearly.

Lin Yuchan sighed along with her for a while, settled the bill with an additional fifty percent tip, thanked her, and left.

The Beijing snacks in her stomach hadn’t finished digesting yet, but Lin Yuchan already had a preliminary plan.

Just past noon, she hurried to the Xujiahui Catholic Church.

Next to the tall Catholic church building stood a delicate Western-style building, also topped with a cross. A wooden plaque was nailed by the entrance, indicating this was a British women’s missionary society.

Two Chinese maids in black skirts were sweeping in the courtyard. There was also a Western woman in her fifties, bent over picking up fallen chestnuts from the ground.

She had brown curly hair and a tall, thin figure, wearing a flower silk Western dress that covered her entire body. The sleeves were long, covering half her hands. A row of tortoiseshell buttons was meticulously fastened up to below her neck, actually covering more tightly than a Chinese high-collar jacket, making her chin always slightly raised and causing her to look down at people with lowered eyes.

Miss Florence Aldrich was wealthy but unmarried, determined to dedicate herself to God. She had lived here since Shanghai opened its ports.

She was the most old-fashioned type of Victorian spinster, with attention to etiquette that bordered on nitpicking.

So even though Miss Aldrich was right nearby, Lin Yuchan still knocked on the fence gate and greeted the maids first.

“Sisters, I’m looking for Miss Aldrich…”

Indeed, Miss Aldrich was very pleased with this cautious politeness. She straightened up, a loving smile appearing on her face, and said in standard Oxford-accented English: “Oh dear Lucy, here for charitable donations again? Please come in.”

Miss Aldrich had been in China for twenty years, and her prejudices against Chinese people only increased. She considered them all poor little sheep who needed to be shepherded and saved.

She never remembered Chinese people’s names, but was enthusiastic about giving them English names—and often couldn’t remember them, changing one each time.

Lin Yuchan remembered that last time she visited, she seemed to be called Lottie…

Despite this, she couldn’t bring herself to dislike Miss Aldrich.

Because she was truly kind: caring for lepers, taking in refugees, feeding beggars, rescuing orphaned girls and widows persecuted by clans…

She had inherited enormous wealth in Britain and continental Europe, all of which she scattered in China. Now her assets probably only consisted of a dozen or so farms, half of which were still being listed for sale.

“Rather than let those good-for-nothing cousins of mine squander this money,” Miss Aldrich said righteously, “better to return it to God and save the poor people of the world.”

Of course, the various Mr. Aldriches on the European continent gnashed their teeth over this but were helpless. They could only curse those lawmakers for smoking too much opium—why give women limited inheritance rights, letting them waste the family fortune?

Miss Aldrich’s mansion housed no fewer than ten Chinese maids, all thin horses she’d bought from human traffickers. The mansion didn’t have that much work, so after the maids were baptized, they studied the Bible when free, each able to recite it backwards and forwards.

She had also gone to remote mountain areas to preach, where people treated her as a Western demon and nearly beat her to death. Fortunately, local government forces rescued her, and she barely survived. She forgave all the villagers who beat her in court and returned to Shanghai covered in wounds. When friends wrote urging her to return home to recuperate, she refused, saying: “My mission is in the East.”

The North China Herald had run a week-long series on her deeds. So when Lin Yuchan chose to donate her “charity fund,” she still knocked on Miss Aldrich’s door.

She couldn’t speak for others, but Miss Aldrich would use every penny on the blade’s edge.

Moreover, Miss Aldrich had deep roots in Shanghai with extensive social circles. When Lin Yuchan’s lady customers learned that the tea sales proceeds came here, they would all unconditionally approve and trust.

The well-behaved Lucy Lin curtsied to Miss Aldrich and smiled: “Sorry, today isn’t donation day. The first of next month is.”

“Oh, then what are you here for, my dear Lottie?” Miss Aldrich asked with delighted surprise. “Have you finally seen the light? I happen to be free today to baptize you…”

The helpless Lottie Lin quickly declined: “No, no, I’m still waiting for a revelatory dream.”

Charity was charity—she absolutely couldn’t fold herself into it, too.

Otherwise, not only would she feel awkward, but it would be too unfair to Miss Aldrich’s sincere heart. False faith was no different from marriage fraud.

Miss Aldrich was slightly disappointed but not offended. She knew Chinese people were stubborn by nature, enthusiastic about idol worship, and couldn’t be easily converted to God with just a few words. She had patience.

“Then, Lottie, come sit for a while. I’ve just written some new promotional pamphlets. I don’t trust John’s translation skills—you can help me proofread the grammar.”

Lin Yuchan accompanied Miss Aldrich for afternoon tea, tended some potted plants, and read her a Nu Shang – Chapter from Byron’s poetry collection. Finally getting the aunt happy, she imperceptibly shifted to the main topic.

“…A poor, distinguished widow who perhaps wants to chat with you… She may not convert, but at least she needs some spiritual guidance…”