Lin Yuchan thought it over—prejudice stemmed from ignorance. Beijing had few foreigners and heavy imperial authority. The two ladies having no contact with foreigners and harboring some misconceptions, were perfectly normal.

Lin Yuchan considered, then smiled: “I originally had the same concern, but after going there, I learned it wasn’t true…”

But Mrs. Guo, the nanny, interrupted: “It’s not true at all!”

Having served long at the orphanage and often facing discrimination, this wasn’t the first time Mrs. Guo heard such questions. She already had practiced responses.

She immediately described the daily life at the orphanage in vivid detail, concluding: “Madam, look how well this little one is raised. Don’t listen to big-mouths gossiping—those are mostly human traffickers trying to scare people from sending children to foreigners so they can grab them to sell. That’s the real sin! Think about it—if foreigners used children for medicine, their home countries and villages also have births, aging, sickness, and death, and also need medical clinics and pharmacies. Wouldn’t foreign children have been eaten to extinction long ago?”

Mrs. Guo spoke convincingly, shaking her head excitedly as she got animated, powder quietly falling from her face.

The little octagonal pavilion was filled with sweet fragrance—not flowers, but various ripe fruits piled in corners. Several female musicians in the residence gently plucked instruments, creating barely audible background music.

The musicians had been invisible before, but sound knew no barriers. Hearing Mrs. Guo’s novel description, they couldn’t help cocking their ears, and the music rhythm slowed.

Mrs. Pan said wonderingly, “So foreigners are bodhisattvas, only doing good deeds?”

Elder Mrs. Pan suddenly lifted her eyelids, saying coolly: “Not necessarily. Foreigners are like Chinese people—some good, some bad. You encountered good people doing charitable works this time—that’s fortune. But bad ones plot daily to strip us to the bone and shake our Qing foundation—we can’t help being on guard.”

Lin Yuchan remained silent, accepting tea from a maid with quiet thanks, studying Elder Mrs. Pan’s features in the tea’s reflection.

Indeed a rarely clear-minded woman. But having rarely left the residence, naturally she couldn’t be familiar with people’s livelihood. She’d never seen half a foreigner. Her attitude toward foreigners mostly came from her husband Wenxiang.

—Must be on guard.

Hede said he got along well with Wenxiang.

But he didn’t know that even amid harmonious warmth and toasting, when Wenxiang looked at him, he always wore “must be on guard” black-tinted glasses, wouldn’t hand over Tongwen Academy’s power to him.

This led to the other extreme—employing an all-Chinese staff, about to strangle “Beijing Tongwen Academy” in its cradle.

Lin Yuchan’s thoughts raced. She immediately smiled and picked up the conversation: “Not to make you ladies laugh, but I’m from Guangdong, where there are many foreigners, so I’ve heard various rumors. I heard foreigners speak very differently from Chinese. Without reliable interpreters, it’s truly like chickens talking to ducks, calling deer horses—minor cases cause jokes, serious ones cause deaths. Many Chinese-foreign conflicts stem from interpreters causing trouble with wild mistranslations. If Chinese and foreigners could communicate—that naturally couldn’t prevent bad people, but would at least reduce half the conflicts, saving the court much trouble.”

Elder Mrs. Pan said: “How could it be so easy? To speak good foreign language takes at least three to five years. By then the day lilies would be cold.”

Lin Yuchan laughed exaggeratedly: “Three to five years? So slow? Madam, you’ve been deceived. Let me teach you—guarantee you can write poetry in foreign language within a month!”

Elder Mrs. Pan’s expression froze.

She was a talented woman. Talented women couldn’t tolerate low intelligence running rampant.

To stimulate dialogue, just throwing out one’s own opinion wasn’t enough. The most effective method was stating an incorrect viewpoint—then others, especially those intellectually qualified, would have strong impulses to correct it.

Indeed, Elder Mrs. Pan seriously refuted her, enlightening her: “You little woman don’t understand. We’ve learned Manchu since childhood, getting up before dawn to recite texts. Learning foreign language isn’t that easy. You don’t know—the court is establishing a school called Tongwen Academy, selecting clever young people to study foreign languages. I’ve seen that curriculum—all courses of at least three years. Give up that quick-success notion.”

Lin Yuchan acted like an innocent little woman, laughing: “Really! I don’t believe it!”

As she spoke and gestured animatedly, a paper suddenly fluttered from her sleeve, swaying down to the ground among fallen leaves.

The paper was densely covered with writing. Lin Yuchan hastily apologized and crouched down, frantically rummaging through the leaf pile to find it.

Mrs. Pan’s attention was entirely on the child, asking Mrs. Guo how many meals she ate daily. Elder Mrs. Pan was somewhat interested in this quirky little widow. Seeing her panic, she said sternly, “What are you looking for? Show me.”

Lin Yuchan mumbled: “Nothing… nothing.”

Elder Mrs. Pan raised her voice: “Bring it here.”

She had to comply, presenting the paper with both hands.

Elder Mrs. Pan was literate. At first glance, seeing dense Chinese characters she couldn’t immediately understand, she turned it around and over, couldn’t help asking puzzled: “What is this?”

Lin Yuchan smiled: “This is the secret to learning a foreign language in one month—everyone on the Shanghai Bund has a copy, exclusive Pidgin secrets. If madam doesn’t mind, let me recite it for you.”

She carefully gauged proportions, bouncing between “performing tricks” and “reasoning.” Seeing Elder Mrs. Pan’s face showing definite interest, she took the paper and began reciting with dramatic inflection.

“Come is ‘kang-mu’ (come), go is ‘gu’ (go), yes is ‘ye-si’ (yes), no is ‘nuo’ (no). ‘Qiao-ti qiao-ti’ (tea tea) means drink tea, ‘xue-tang xue-tang’ (sit down, sit down) means please sit. ‘Mai-ke mai-ke’ (mark mark) means lots of money; twenty-four silver dollars is ‘tun-de-fu’ (twenty-four). Really good stuff is ‘fo-li-gu’ (very good), so-so is ‘sha-xian-yu-sha’ (so and so)…”

Her Shanghai dialect wasn’t very standard, thoughtfully carrying some Beijing flavor. Before finishing, the surrounding maids and matrons couldn’t hold back, laughing until they bent over. One matron holding tea turned away with a “puff” sound, coughing and repeatedly apologizing, curtsying.

The female musicians completely lost composure, loosened their fingering, and covered their mouths snickering.

Only one didn’t laugh—little Feilun was startled by the laughter, her little mouth pouting, ready to cry.

Mrs. Guo quickly carried her away, humming to soothe her.

Mrs. Pan immediately followed, helping to comfort while complaining: “Performing comedy? Why no advance notice?”

Elder Mrs. Pan’s mouth curved up as she forcefully kept a straight face, asking: “Where did you learn this jingle?”

Lin Yuchan: “Everyone in Shanghai’s foreign settlements can say a few lines.”

So-called “Pidgin English” spread this way by word of mouth, starting from open-air docks, forming a linguistic phenomenon. Lin Yuchan had spent half a day collecting on the streets, selecting the most ridiculous lines to compose into rhymes. The effect was indeed outstanding, instantly defeating over ten women in the residence.

Of course, Guangzhou had similar “Pigeon English” jingles. But she’d rarely gone out before and had no chance to witness them, otherwise she’d have brought those out too for jokes.

Lin Yuchan continued chanting, holding up the paper like memorizing for IELTS: “Foreign trading comprador is ‘jiang-bai-du’ (comprador), street-running sir is ‘sha-lao-fu’ (shroff), own brother is ‘bo-la-cha’ (brother), father is ‘fa-cha’ (father), mother is ‘mai-cha’ (mother), father-in-law uncle is ‘fa-yin-luo’ (father-in-law)…”

Elder Mrs. Pan lay on the small table, shoulders shaking.

Lin Yuchan waited for her to finish laughing, then said indignantly: “I think this is quite good. But that day on the Bund I met a foreign gentleman who laughed at me thoroughly, saying these Chinese-made rhymes were garbage, if he taught, students would learn even faster… then I retorted that foreigners aren’t allowed to establish schools in Shanghai…”

Elder Mrs. Pan wiped tears of laughter, suddenly saying: “I return to Beijing the day after tomorrow. The journey will be boring—whatever other jingles like this you have, give them all to me to relieve boredom.”

“Oh my, that would be mortifying.” Lin Yuchan smiled while pulling out more small cards from her sleeve. “Later, when your lady friends ask what local customs you saw in Shanghai, if you bring these out, finished, Shanghai people’s faces will be completely lost! But anyway, I’m Guangdong-registered, Shanghai people losing face doesn’t concern me, ha…”

…

Thanks to little Feilun, Lin Yuchan, and nanny Mrs. Guo stayed in the residence for a full hour and a half. Mrs. Pan kept playing with the baby, leaving Lin Yuchan ample time for persuasion.

Lin Feilun was especially cooperative today. Usually getting sleepy on schedule, today seeing novelty, she actually persisted an extra hour before getting fussy, amazing the nanny.

Only when the baby fell asleep again did Mrs. Pan reluctantly let them go.

Before leaving, Mrs. Pan indeed showed adoption intentions. But her sister and all the matrons and maids opposed it, saying a respectable widow could adopt a clan heir, but what did raising an unknown girl mean? Keep her in the residence to work? They weren’t lacking well-mannered maids.

The matron even glanced at Lin Yuchan, saying quietly: “Besides, this girl carries ailments. If raised well that’s fine, but if…”

If she died young again, wouldn’t that just add to Madam’s troubles?

Lin Yuchan immediately understood the matron’s meaning and quickly helped persuade, dispelling Mrs. Pan’s notion.

She thought, if choosing between “becoming a nun” and “becoming a maid” for little Feilun, the former was freer.

So this matter ended. Mrs. Pan reluctantly held the little baby’s tender hand, instructing like an old mother: “After I return to Beijing, keep in regular contact, tell me how this child grows. When she comes of age, I’ll arrange a good marriage, not wasting this connection.”

Then she had someone put a gold bracelet on the child and wrapped twenty taels of silver as a red envelope, rewarding Lin Yuchan’s righteous rescue deed.

Lin Yuchan thanked her sincerely. Leaving the residence, she hugged little Feilun and kissed her repeatedly.

“Dear daughter, little lucky charm, how much loss you’ve saved for your mom—oh no, your sister! This week of fever was worth it!”

Then she thought, twenty taels red envelope was the same as Sister Feng gave Granny Liu, so she felt triumphant.

But immediately realizing current Qing circumstances were several hundred years after “Dream of Red Mansions” was written, accounting for inflation, she was worse off than Granny Liu…

Never mind. Anyway she accepted these twenty taels with clear conscience.

The small gold bracelet was finely openwork, worth only a few taels of silver—probably something noble residences kept ready for rewards. Lin Yuchan hesitated briefly, then removed it from Feilun’s hand and kept it herself.

Not that she coveted the thing. If Feilun wore it, it would be tacitly allowing the orphanage wet nurses and matrons to exchange it for side income.

After all, it was bestowed by a noble residence—couldn’t be too careless. If it entered the market and was seen again by their residence staff, she’d be guilty of great disrespect.

She’d just give the orphanage people some red envelope gifts later.

Lin Yuchan reviewed her verbal performance today, feeling there were no major flaws.

If nothing went wrong, when Elder Mrs. Pan returned to Beijing the day after tomorrow, these fresh anecdotes she heard today would become amusement to share with family.

That was enough.

Lin Yuchan sent off the nanny and called a carriage straight to the Imperial Maritime Customs.

“You again.” The guard finally recognized her but still took her for a gold-digging girl desperately clinging to high branches, dutifully blocking her. “Looking for the Inspector General again? Do you have an appointment card?”

“No, I’ll fill one out now.”

Lin Yuchan entered the guardroom familiarly, picked a fountain pen from the pen holder, then under the guard’s astonished gaze, began writing an English essay.

She patiently waited for the ink to dry, pulled an envelope from the shelf, and put it in.

The envelope was directly addressed to “Mr. Inspector General” in English script capitals, ensuring even the most snobbish subordinate would deliver it accurately.

Then she strolled home for a good sleep.

“So… this is the result of your month’s busy work for me?”

In the Imperial Maritime Customs office, clocks ticked. The colorful Qing map on the wall bore various markings.

Hede held a fountain pen in his mouth, scanning letters and documents rapidly, tossing pending items to one side, unimportant ones into the trash.

During his busy intervals, he looked up at the Chinese girl sitting diagonally across, delivering this comment.

Lin Yuchan answered unhurriedly: “We didn’t sign any military order. You also agreed to let me improvise. I don’t think this result is particularly disappointing.”

Hede: “Then please explain, Miss Lin, why in your letter you suggest I yield gracefully and automatically abandon jurisdiction over Beijing Tongwen Academy?”

“Modesty is a virtue, sir. The Osborn Fleet incident already told you that aggressive pressure only backfires.”

“I don’t need you lecturing me on this.”

“Then did you follow my letter’s suggestions?”

Hede was multitasking, holding a document in his hand, suddenly forgetting where to toss it. He simply stood up and looked at scenery by the window.

Cargo ships bustled on the Huangpu River, flying various national flags, pushing through waves in orderly fashion toward Wusong’s sea exit.

This was the result of his painstaking efforts. This was his life’s aspiration. Whenever he saw this, his heart would calm.

Hede turned around, asking amiably: “Miss Lin, last time I didn’t have the honor of speaking with you face-to-face. Please explain the logic behind your letter’s suggestions.”

Unspoken was that he had indeed followed her suggestions, though with considerable puzzlement, unable to call her over to ask.

Having this girl handle affairs gave him inexplicable peace of mind.

And… it was just idle business anyway.

He’d written another letter to Wenxiang, having his trusted aide deliver it by fast ship to Beijing. It should have been opened and read long ago. Wenxiang’s reply should also be en route.

Lin Yuchan nodded.

“First, I collected many Pidgin English jingles. Mrs. Wenxiang was indeed interested, actively asking me for them, likely taking them back as conversation topics and jokes for family viewing. Then Wenxiang would discover that English vocabulary summarized by Shanghai common people had striking similarities to the garbage written in Tongwen Academy textbooks, even more catchy—if so, what were the editorial committees he’d hired at great expense doing?”

Hede imagined that scene, his mouth curving.

He’d repeatedly tried proving to officials who didn’t understand English that those textbooks were indeed garbage. But people had natural defenses against things they didn’t understand, plus they felt he was “not of our race” with suspicious motives, so they completely wouldn’t believe him.

They’d rather trust a young widow holding a baby, simply because she was a native Chinese speaker with black hair and black eyes.

How ironic.

“Then what?” he asked. “I guess you used provocation?”

Lin Yuchan smiled: “I mentioned that some foreign teachers have their own methods for teaching English, much better than Chinese teaching—if this reached Wenxiang’s ears, having met few foreigners, he’d definitely think of you first.”

Hede: “But you didn’t strike while the iron was hot, proposing my most urgent need—letting me take over Tongwen Academy, even as advisor, even joining the editorial committee, getting my name on textbooks…”

“Mr. Hede, regrettably, given Wenxiang’s position, I don’t think his trust in you runs deep enough to hand control of Tongwen Academy to a foreigner.”

Hede angrily drained his desktop tea, forgetting to add sugar, bitterly frowning.

“So you still did nothing!”

Lin Yuchan also felt wronged: “I just said Tongwen Academy—who said it specifically meant Beijing Tongwen Academy?”

She stood up, tiptoed, pointing at the large China map on the wall, imitating Hede’s previous menu-reciting tone: “How could one language school of this caliber only be established in Beijing? Don’t you want to see future Shanghai, Guangzhou, Tianjin, Hankou… all having Tongwen Academy branches? Like Shanghai International Studies University, Tianjin Foreign Studies University, Wuhan Foreign Language School… um, Guangdong University of Foreign Studies and Foreign Trade… Dear, this is what language education should look like!”

The school names were ones she’d noticed when applying for universities, not knowing if they had connections to Tongwen Academy, but they all sounded very prestigious, bringing an advanced atmosphere spanning two centuries.

Hede’s expression shifted slightly, his gaze following her finger.

“You mean…”

Knock knock knock, someone rapped three times. The secretary delivered a stack of new letters.

“Mr. Hede,” the new secretary was British, named Jindenggan, a former dynasty survivor Hede had poached from his predecessor, wearing a tan suit, feet together, very British butler-like. “I’ve suggested several times—you needn’t personally read all letters. My job responsibilities include helping you screen…”

“Bring them here.” Hede brooked no argument, channeling Emperor Yongzheng as he commanded, “I said I want to see them all personally.”

The letter mountain on the desk grew another layer. Hede quickly scanned once, suddenly extracting a thick official letter bearing a huge seal.

He breathed deeply, concealing unusual emotions in his eyes.

“It’s Wenxiang’s reply. Quite timely this time.” His facial muscles trembled slightly as he smiled, eyes flashing with urgency. “Miss Lin, let’s see how much use your little schemes served.”

He extracted the letter paper, quickly scanned it, then went to the window for ten minutes.

Lin Yuchan held her breath.

Hede turned around, slowly recounting the letter’s contents.

“Wenxiang says he appreciates my talent, orders me to pay from my pocket, starting next year, to establish a Tongwen Academy branch in Shanghai, called… Shanghai Guangfangyan Academy. Select talented students, write textbooks myself, and hire Western and domestic teachers simultaneously.

“After one year of classes, he’ll send people to examine. If Shanghai students’ grades exceed Beijing students’, he’ll consider entrusting me with more responsibility.

“Miss Lin, why do I feel this differs from what you originally promised me?”

His tone was stern, yet his eyes already showed emerging smiles, light flowing in deep sockets.

“I never said ‘Beijing’, those two words!” Lin Yuchan smiled with pursed lips. “Branches also bear Tongwen Academy signs!”

Ridiculous—directly letting Hede take over Beijing Tongwen Academy, handing the Qing Dynasty’s foreign language education startup responsibility to a foreigner, even a relatively China-friendly foreigner—if she were a court minister, she definitely wouldn’t do this.

Especially after experiencing the naval fleet farce, the Qing court should have had basic sovereignty consciousness.

Hede’s original wish was already wishful thinking. How could she fulfill it for him?

Therefore her initially designed strategy was settling for second best, hinting to Mrs. Wenxiang: could foreigners establish schools in Shanghai?

Beyond the two options of “letting Hede interfere with Beijing Tongwen Academy” and “not letting him manage,” she found another path, providing a completely new route.

Even if botched, it wouldn’t be worse than “Pidgin jingles,” right?

Indeed, since Wenxiang realized textbooks were unreliable, yet wouldn’t let Hede interfere with Beijing Tongwen Academy, yet was bombarded by Hede’s repeated enthusiastic urgings, finally gently hinted by his own wife…

Then, according to an excellent Qing official’s cultivation—muddling through without causing trouble—his most likely response was letting Hede try the waters first in distant Shanghai.

Only Wenxiang’s proposal to “compete student grades after one year” exceeded Lin Yuchan’s expectations.

This provocation was perfectly timed. Officials were indeed all old foxes.

Indeed, Hede was instantly energized, laughing: “Beijing versus Shanghai, who wins? I believe even taking this to the racetrack for betting, no one would participate because the outcome has no suspense. Miss Lin…”

He smiled and glanced at his new secretary standing aside, saying softly in Chinese: “I find him increasingly displeasing.”

Lin Yuchan also smiled: “Regrettably, I can now earn twelve taels of silver monthly myself.”

She pointed at the map: “May I receive my order now?”

“You know this result isn’t entirely what I wanted. For fairness, I’d very much like to discuss the order amount with you again.” Hede sighed lightly, rubbing his brow. “But… too troublesome. This official is very busy.”

He sat back in his leather chair, burying himself among piles of letters and documents.

Ten seconds later, a handwritten note flew out from the paper pile.

“Go find Cui Yinmei.”