Sixth Master Chen stiffly turned toward Xianjin, eyes locked on the roll of banknotes on the table. This was outrageous. She’d tricked him out of silver, then used it in Chen Fu’s name to pay wages to his shop workers—making them grateful to Chen Fu. How did this woman have the nerve?

Chen Fu was also stunned by Xianjin’s bold gesture. He looked at the money on the table, lips twitching. “This money…”

Where did it come from? He’d barely spoken two words before Xianjin cut him off.

Her face was expressionless, but her tone carried a hint of pride. “This money is from Third Master’s private stash—he’s using personal funds to cover public expenses. As the bookkeeper, I don’t recommend this approach, but since Third Master insists, I must comply.”

Chen Fu’s sentence took nine turns before it reached his mouth. His wide eyes were full of confusion. “I… have…?”

He met Xianjin’s calm but firm gaze. A gaze that clearly said: “Don’t argue.”

Chen Fu shrank his neck and swallowed the rest of his words. Fine. He had it.

Zhou Ergou’s eyes flicked between the banknotes on the table and the girl beside it.

The money was real. The red seals were vivid and crisp—very pleasing to the eye. The girl, though—he’d never seen her before. Tall and slender, pale as the wall behind her, like a white cucumber.

“You’re the bookkeeper?” Zhou Ergou asked. Then realized he didn’t really care. Who the bookkeeper was meant nothing to him—what mattered was the cold, hard cash in hand. “There are six of us. We won’t take more than we’re owed. Ninety taels is ninety taels. I’ll take two notes and work another year. After that, we’re square.”

Xianjin nodded. “Anyone still willing to work at the Chen Paper Shop should report for duty tomorrow morning. Monthly wages remain at eight qian of silver, with food, lodging, and return travel covered. Two days off every ten-day cycle. Three-day holidays for the New Year, Winter Solstice, and Cold Food Festival; two-day holidays for the Holy Festival, Lantern Festival, Ghost Festival, Summer Solstice, and Twelfth Month Mid-Festival. Everyone here has worked for over three years, so you’ll also receive three days of paid leave annually.”

She pulled out white-edged paper, a reed pen, red ink paste, and a cloth for wiping hands. With a few swift strokes, she wrote two slips and pushed them toward Zhou Ergou. “This one’s the receipt for your wages. This one’s the work agreement. Please leave your fingerprint.”

Not a single wasted word. Efficient and crisp.

Zhou Ergou said nothing, pressed two fingerprints without hesitation, then looked at the girl again. Though she was pale as a white cucumber, she was sharp and sweet—easy to work with.

Xianjin took the papers and turned to Chen Fu. “Third Master, please stamp your seal next to Mr. Zhou’s fingerprint.”

Chen Fu blinked. “Huh?”

Xianjin was blunt. “A contract requires mutual agreement. Once signed, it must not be broken. Breaking it marks one as faithless and dishonorable—despised by all, cursed by many, shunned by society, and condemned for generations.”

Chen Fu:? Isn’t this just hiring a worker? Why so intense?

He hadn’t even sworn vows this heavy when he got married. But he didn’t dare refuse.

Xianjin’s gaze sent a clear signal: stamp it—or die.

Chen Fu stamped it.

Xianjin handed the contract to Zhou Ergou. “Mr. Zhou, the agreement is sealed. You provide labor, and Chen Paper Shop guarantees your wages and well-being. If we break our word, may the heavens strike us down and our business never prosper!”

During the intermission of the shadow puppet show, the drums and gongs faded, and the Changqiao Guild fell into a brief silence.

The girl’s voice rang out, sharp and clear.

Xianjin raised her voice. “Whatever Chen Paper Shop was before, today we start fresh! Third Master Chen Fu came to Jing County to restore the shop’s reputation, reshape its image, and strengthen its future! Work hard with Third Master—if he eats meat, you eat meat! If he has no soup, he’ll carve flesh from his bones to share a spoonful of porridge! Third Master thanks you all!”

The men behind Zhou Ergou suddenly felt their noses sting. This boss was something else.

After Zhou Ergou, no one mentioned quitting. The youngest worker from the Zheng family, eyes red, pressed his fingerprint and carefully folded the contract into his sleeve. He bowed deeply to Chen Fu. “Thank you, Third Master! Thank you for the silver! I’ll work hard!”

Chen Fu felt like he was floating—his backside didn’t hurt anymore.

Once the contracts were signed, the shadow puppetry downstairs resumed with a new backdrop. Everyone in the main hall was now watching the upstairs box.

Xianjin whispered something to Zhou Ergou, who leaned over the railing and shouted in a booming voice: “Third Master Chen Fu of Chen Paper Shop is here!”

“Anyone with outstanding payments, business disputes, or procurement issues—bring your proof to the Changqiao Guild within five days. Third Master will settle all accounts!”

Xianjin clapped her hands.

Nanny Zhang brought out a tray stacked high with silver ingots. She slammed it onto the table with a proud thud. The main hall erupted in cheers and applause.

Chen Fu swallowed hard. “This… this is my private stash too?”

Xianjin smiled. “If it’s not your private stash, should I take it from the public account?”

Manager Zhu was already panicking. Just moments ago, when they paid Zhou Ergou’s group, he’d been sweating from his back, palms, and even the soles of his feet. Now, seeing this she-devil bring out a tray of silver to settle all debts, he was trembling.

—She didn’t even need to look at the ledgers!

The unbalanced accounts! The hidden accounts! The ones he and Sixth Master Chen had swallowed without reporting to the Old Madam! All of it would surface with that tray of silver!

She didn’t need to chase the ledgers. The ledgers would come to her. And when she held the evidence and matched it against the books—would he still be alive? Heaven knew how much silver he and Sixth Master Chen had skimmed over the years! At least three to four hundred taels annually.

Not to mention swapping out first-grade goods made by Li Sanshun for second-grade ones, selling the first-grade paper outside Jing County at high prices, and pocketing the difference. Sure, the Jing County workshop wasn’t profitable—but even the fullest granary can’t survive two greedy rats. Now, the cat had arrived.

Manager Zhu looked desperately at Sixth Master Chen—save me!

Sixth Master Chen stared darkly at the tray of silver. That silver looked suspiciously like the four hundred taels he’d handed over earlier.

“Third Brother, what’s the meaning of this?” Sixth Master Chen’s face turned ashen. “The Jing County workshop isn’t profitable. Do you think Manager Zhu and I are sabotaging it? What disputes? What debts? Are you trying to humiliate your Sixth Uncle with this performance?”

Chen Fu instinctively looked at Xianjin. She calmly pulled out a square wooden tray from her cloth satchel. In the center was a hollow frame strung with oval wooden beads. She shook it gently—click clack—and the abacus gods returned to their seats.

“Now, now… who’s humiliating whom? Manager Zhu runs the workshop. He stamps the ledgers. He negotiates the procurement contracts.”

She didn’t smile, just flicked the abacus beads to get a feel for it.

“If there’s wrongdoing, it’s Manager Zhu’s fault. At most, you’re guilty of poor oversight—not a big deal.”

Manager Zhu stared at her in disbelief. The money was stolen yesterday. The blame landed today. Why him?

He turned to Sixth Master Chen—only to see him pause, then quietly look away. What did that mean?? What did it mean?!

It meant: if we throw Zhu under the bus, let’s not dig any deeper. Is that what it meant?