Hua Zhi bowed her head in a deep, formal gesture of thanks to her grandfather. When she raised it again, Zhu Haocheng looked on with quiet satisfaction — the fire that had clung to her had settled, and she herself had not noticed it, but his old wife had likely spotted the temper running through Hua Zhi from the moment she arrived.

They resumed their seats, and Hua Zhi brought up the most critical matter: “Grandfather, would you be able to tell me how much salt revenue the court collects in a year?”

“Somewhere between five hundred and fifty thousand to seven hundred thousand taels, depending on the year.”

“Would you believe that a single large salt merchant earns more than that figure in a single year?”

“I would — but there is nothing to be done about it.” Zhu Haocheng shook his head and sighed. “Every dynasty has banned private salt. Not a single one has ever succeeded. When the court’s power weakens, it finds itself subject to the salt merchants’ manipulation. Even the Great Qing has made attempts — all have come to nothing in the end. Hua Zhi, the reach of the salt trade far exceeds what you can imagine. One misstep and it could cost you your life. Don’t be rash. Let’s find another way from a different direction.”

“I have a new method of producing salt.”

Zhu Haocheng was startled. A new method?

“Several times more efficient than the boiling method.”

Several times more?!

“There is already an entrenched interest group — so we create a new one. For the sake of profit, they will do everything in their power to protect it.”

Watching his granddaughter produce one advantageous card after another, Zhu Haocheng felt, rising against his will, the sense that this might actually be achievable. He pressed down on his quickening heartbeat and asked: “And how do you know that this new interest group, once it has secured its enormous profits, won’t simply become the very thing you’re dismantling?”

Hua Zhi lowered her head and smiled softly. “Official salt — of course it would be returned to state management. What salt merchants would there be then?”

Zhu Haocheng frowned. “That will be difficult to accomplish.”

“Not necessarily.” Hua Zhi moved to the writing desk, unrolled a large sheet of paper, poured a little water into the inkstone, and ground the ink at a leisurely pace. She tucked back her sleeves, picked up her brush, and spoke as she wrote: “Establish the Salt Revenue as a seventh ministry, charged solely with affairs of salt. Set up bureaus at the regional level, with offices beneath the bureaus. Grandfather — count how many officials would be needed to construct this apparatus. Compared to the interests they currently divide among themselves — which by now have grown quite thin — I believe they would far rather push as many of their own people inside as they can. And any ministry needs people to function. Once the apparatus is built, you tell them that the Salt Revenue ministry will have no permanent head and will be placed under the Emperor’s direct authority. What do you think?”

Zhu Haocheng could no longer stay seated. He stared at the clearly structured chart taking shape on the paper, and a surge of excitement rose in his chest. He himself had no interest in placing people inside — but after decades in officialdom, he understood very well that compared to profit, what truly drew people was the security of their own position. Once a man’s position was secure, what could he not obtain? And if the Emperor truly sanctioned this, private salt could be suppressed — genuinely suppressed.

Yet he was not a rash young man given to impulse. He could see clearly where the benefits lay, but he understood the pitfalls just as well.

Hua Zhi did not press her grandfather as he paced back and forth. She was thinking through the problem herself — how to manage it in a way that kept all parties balanced, preventing things from spiraling beyond control. Once this new chain of interests was formed, the first order of business would be to use its momentum to dismantle the massive old salt merchant networks. Two factions tearing at each other’s throats would inevitably shake something loose, and she could simply watch from a distance and wait.

When the moment was right, she would seize on it to confiscate the salt merchants’ assets and fill the state treasury with a great windfall. Once the salt revenue system was running properly, the annual income it generated would be considerable. She recalled that in ancient times salt revenues had accounted for nearly half of the state treasury. Her price reductions would likely bring it short of that figure — yet with lower prices, consumption would rise in proportion. Common people who could actually afford salt would naturally buy more than before, and since this was a monopoly with no competitors anywhere in the country, the final accounting might not be smaller at all.

The old master finally stilled. He settled back into his seat and drained his entire cup of tea before asking: “In all of this, what role do you intend to play?”

“Behind the scenes, naturally. You needn’t worry I’ll try to take a share of the profits. If I want to make money, I have any number of ways to do it. This kind of money — I don’t want it.”

“It is your grandfather who thought too little of you.”

“You were worried I might get pulled in too deep. I know.” Hua Zhi settled back into her seat below her grandfather, her expression one of quiet attentiveness. Were it not for the enormity of the subject they were discussing, Zhu Haocheng might almost have believed she was simply that gentle and obedient.

He was about to speak when the steward knocked outside. “Old master, a man calling himself Teacher Lu from the Hua household requests an audience.”

Zhu Haocheng looked at his granddaughter. Hua Zhi’s eyes warmed with a smile, and she gave a nod.

“Show him to the study.”

While they waited, neither returned to the subject of salt. The old master said lightly, with a hint of teasing: “From the look of things, I should be asking your grandmother to start putting together a dowry.”

“As long as the Emperor reigns, it will not be possible.”

Zhu Haocheng’s smile faded. “If you accomplish all of this, it will be an achievement of staggering consequence. The Emperor should agree.”

“A project of this scale — if it can be done in three to five years, it will already be a rare blessing.” Hua Zhi said it lightly, but within her thoughts ran deeper. If the Emperor lived three to five more years, then perhaps seven or eight. If the achievement of this age was recorded in the histories, it should not be credited to that particular Emperor’s reign — and if she truly completed it while he still lived, it might well be she who ended up dead.

“You’re already seventeen. You cannot put this off that long. Hua Zhi — you’ve always had your own mind about things. In this matter, allow yourself to be a little selfish. Nothing matters more than your own life going well.”

Hua Zhi’s smile became genuinely warm. “Yes. I’ll remember that.”

Zhu Haocheng did not ask why the Emperor’s continued reign made it impossible. If he truly wanted to make use of her, giving her an imperial standing would only make things more convenient — so why not? Following that thread further, the Emperor likely held a thorough dislike for Hua Zhi. And indeed — anyone with even a trace of goodwill toward her would not have forced such an enormous undertaking upon her by exploiting her vulnerabilities.

He sighed quietly to himself. The Hua family had served with loyal hearts across generations, and in the end this was how it turned out. If that old man Hua had known that even after the Emperor’s punishment of his family, Hua Zhi would still have to shoulder something of this magnitude, could he have held onto his loyalty?

Footsteps sounded outside the door, and very shortly Gu Yanxi’s voice carried through: “Yanxi, the younger generation, begs an audience with Old Master Zhu.”

Zhu Haocheng set aside those thoughts and called out: “Please come in.”

The steward opened the door and showed Gu Yanxi inside, then slipped off to the small side room to prepare tea.

“I pay my respects to Old Master Zhu.” Gu Yanxi bowed in the manner of a junior addressing an elder.

The men of the Zhu family all stood tall; the old master himself stood head and shoulders above the cluster of civil ministers at court — and yet even he was slightly outmatched in height by this man. Then again, it made sense. The founding Emperor of this dynasty would not have survived those darkest early years without a formidable physical build, and his descendants would naturally have inherited it.

Now that the old master knew who Gu Yanxi truly was, there was no pretending otherwise. He returned the bow and said: “This old official pays respects to the General.”

Gu Yanxi held him with both hands, preventing him from completing it. “Here, in this house, I am merely a junior come to pay a visit. There is no superior and subordinate between us. There is no need for this.”

Zhu Haocheng glanced at his granddaughter. Hua Zhi, who had already risen to her feet, gave a quiet nod.

“Very well, then. This old man will dispense with the formalities.”

They took their seats, guest and host in order. The steward brought a fresh round of tea and withdrew again, closing the door behind him, and stood guard at the threshold.

Hua Zhi looked at Yanxi. “Is there something that brought you here?”

Coming at this particular hour, there must have been something — and something not small. But whatever had happened could not be undone now, and so he had let it settle. He shook his head. “I came to hear how you have arranged things, so my side can cooperate accordingly.”