Snow fell thick and sweeping, and the snow on the palace corridor crunched underfoot with every step.

Chen Baoxiang walked on and on, then felt the snow on her head suddenly stop.

She raised her eyes.

Zhang Zhixu had come with a large umbrella and drawn her in beneath it.

He was looking down at her, his gaze traveling from her calm eyes to her bright red nose tip, where it paused: “Here, take this.”

A warm hand warmer, carrying something of his own warmth, rolled into her arms.

Chen Baoxiang pressed it to herself and narrowed her eyes in comfort. “What are you doing here?”

“Passing by by chance.”

Passing by — as if. Every other official had dispersed and gone home, yet he had been standing guard at the gate the entire time.

Chen Baoxiang reached out to rummage in his sleeve pocket. Zhang Zhixu had no time to evade, and she pulled out all the little bottles and vials within.

Looking at these familiar injury medicines, she suddenly burst out laughing: “That certain I’d be beaten?”

“With your behavior, there was truly no reason why you shouldn’t have been beaten.” He looked away, somewhat ill at ease. “To serve beside the sovereign is to walk beside a tiger — others move with cautious, deliberate steps, while you spend every day yanking the tiger’s whiskers.”

As he spoke, he gently squeezed her hand, confirming once more that she bore no injuries.

Chen Baoxiang obediently held out her hand for his inspection, her eyes brightening with amusement. “I’m His Majesty’s number-one enforcer — I handle all the troublesome work and absorb all the resentment the other officials would otherwise direct at the throne. No private army, no accumulated wealth, loyal to the bone. As long as I don’t make any catastrophic errors, for the time being my life ought to be harder to end than stone.”

“More like bitter as gall.” He shook his head. “Your expenses were already substantial, and now you’ve lost a year’s salary on top of it.”

Chen Baoxiang could handle hearing about almost anything else with relative calm — she had prepared herself, expected it, and could endure it.

But the moment it came to salary, she was instantly crushed under the weight of it.

“What am I going to do?” She sighed again and again. “I’m going to starve.”

It wasn’t just her own mouth to feed anymore — she had so many people depending on her now. The accounts were already running at a deficit, and losing three hundred taels of annual salary on top of that would only add frost upon the snow.

“Don’t you still have a few shops?” he reminded her.

“The monthly earnings from those shops can no longer cover the current expenses. Money — everything in Shangjing costs money.” She muttered. “I have to figure out another way.”

No salary, and running a business was still an option — but judging from those few shops before, running an honest business simply couldn’t make her rich.

Chen Baoxiang had decided that poor people’s money wasn’t worth going after — if she was going to earn, she’d earn from the wealthy. That way the money came in fast, and it sat lightly on the conscience.

Her eyes rolled busily around, and she suddenly grinned wide. “Fengqing, do you know — among the disciples I’ve newly taken in, there are many who can be put to use.”

Take, for instance, Xue Hengyu, who had trained on Emei Mountain — in addition to her outstanding martial arts, she also had a talent for carving wood.

Then there was Qian Laifu, who had taught herself the Classics and Mathematics examinations — before pledging herself to Chen Baoxiang, she had made her living doing accounts for others.

And there was Lin Manyue, who could craft all manner of weapons — her creations were extravagant and impractical, but what if she were given designs to fashion into hairpins instead?

After turning it all over in her mind, Chen Baoxiang’s gaze finally settled on the person standing beside her.

Zhang Zhixu had a not-entirely-good feeling about this: “I’ve been very busy lately.”

“Even someone as busy as you must have time for a cup of tea, surely?”

“What scheme are you cooking up now?”

“A scheme to make a great fortune, of course.” She laughed gleefully. “Give me one month, and I’ll show you what the most profitable shop in Shangjing looks like.”

·

Everyone in Shangjing wanted to make money, but commerce was a matter of skill on one side and luck on the other — you couldn’t succeed without both. Those who went into business were many; those who reliably turned a profit were few.

Zhang Zhixu felt that Chen Baoxiang putting all her remaining money into this single shop was rather a gamble.

But he didn’t want to throw cold water on her, and after much consideration, he quietly slipped Han Xiao a sum of money.

“Zhang-gege, what is this money for?” Han Xiao asked, puzzled.

Zhang Zhixu chose his words carefully: “Think of it as a remedy for regret. If your Chen-jiejie ever regrets it, take this out and give it to her.”

Han Xiao gave a small, quiet sound of amazement.

Earlier, Ningsu had said she was dim and couldn’t understand the nature of the relationship between Chen-jiejie and Zhang-gege — she had been indignant about that, saying they were just dining companions.

But now, with such a thick stack of banknotes in her hands, Han Xiao finally grasped it.

What kind of “dining companion” thinks of someone this deeply?

She couldn’t help smiling: “If Chen-jiejie asks where the money came from, what should I say?”

“Tell her an immortal conjured it.” He gazed out the window with an unhurried air.

The snow had stopped today. The courtyard had already been swept clean.

Chen Baoxiang had gathered a crowd of people and was working away in the courtyard with tremendous energy.

The forge nearby was being used for something — smelting gold or iron, it was hard to say — while several people hammered away beside it. Others were studying designs, pressing stamps, figures coming and going in a blur.

He saw her standing there, directing with a pointed finger, murmuring instructions, her eyes bright and clear, her whole person giving off a faint luminescence.

“What’s the most important thing? The goods themselves? No — the most important thing is identity!” Chen Baoxiang said with great seriousness to Xue Hengyu. “Out in the world, it might be ordinary clothing or everyday objects, but in our shop — these must be symbols of status.”

“You want people to look at anything from our store and know immediately that its owner is either wealthy or noble.”

Xue Hengyu understood, but having never engaged in such a brazen enterprise before, she still felt a twinge of unease: “This really isn’t swindling people?”

“Ah — when it comes to business matters, can you call it swindling? This is the way of commerce.” Chen Baoxiang patted her shoulder. “Work without worry. Whatever we earn, you all get your share according to the agreement — if we take a loss, it all falls on me.”

With those words, the energy in the courtyard instantly grew even more spirited.

Zhang Zhixu found himself smiling without quite realizing it.

He thought that a person like Chen Baoxiang — even without an official post, whatever she chose to do — would be remarkable at it.

·

Outsiders imagined that General Chen, confined for a month, must be eaten up with gloom, bowed down and shamefaced.

But Chen Baoxiang had used that one month to lay in enough stock and train enough people — the moment her confinement lifted, she immediately charged toward Zhuque Street, the most bustling thoroughfare in Shangjing.

The shop that Biqing had leased for her earlier stood before her now, its signboard still covered and its doors still shut, like a sleeping lion.

Chen Baoxiang grinned, slung an arm around Zhang Zhixu’s shoulder, and said: “The time has come for you to showcase your talents.”

Zhang Zhixu had assumed she would have him compose an inscription or write couplets for the entrance.

But Chen Baoxiang pulled him inside, up to the third floor piled with boxes of goods, and drew out an armful of accessories for him.

“One item each day.” She held up an oddly-shaped waist ornament and held it against him to gauge the fit. “Wear them yourself.”

Zhang Zhixu: “……”

So that was her scheme.

He poked at the waist ornament with mild displeasure: “Using me as a living advertisement?”

Yes — but she couldn’t very well say so.

Chen Baoxiang blinked her eyes again and again: “I personally drew the designs for all of these and made them with my own hands. This one is called Qingqing, this one is called Baofeng, and this one is called Youxu.”

Then, looking deeply wounded, she asked: “Are they not lovely?”