Just as Xianjin finished encouraging Bo’er, someone else urgently called her away. Leaving behind a gaze—clear, foolish, and unusually determined.

Zhang Wenbo clutched his two color slips, eyes blazing. “…Give me thirty more bags!”

He already had two color slips! To give up now would be a total waste!

No! Never! A landlord’s son never gives up!

If this were an anime, Zhang Wenbo’s back would be ablaze with fighting spirit! His dormant chūnibyō soul would be sounding the horn of awakening! A strange thirst for victory had taken over his brain!

For seven or eight days straight, Bo’er came to the stall without exchanging pleasantries. Left hand handed over coins, right hand took the cowhide bags—silent transactions, clearly driven by sheer stubbornness.

Xianjin whispered to Manager Dong, “…What’s Zhang Wenbo’s background?” She was worried he might get fleeced bald.

Manager Dong replied, head down, “…Eldest son of a major landlord in Qingling Town, Huai’an Prefecture. The family owns two to three thousand mu of farmland, six or seven hills, and runs a tea business in Huai’an. Don’t worry.”

Plenty of wool left to shear.

Xianjin relaxed and resumed fleecing.

Few scholars burned as brightly as Bo’er, but many were just as generous. Some wealthy patrons bought twenty or thirty bags in one go.

These patrons ranged in age—some as young as seven or eight, others fourteen or fifteen. Tall, short, fat, thin—they varied in every way except one: they were all rich and academically underwhelming.

Ahem. After all, which top student has time to play collectible card games?

---

As the New Year approached, students were already distracted. Now, with this fresh novelty, the cowhide bags from Chen Paper Shop and the elegant, varied xuan paper inside became the talk of Qingcheng Academy—during breaks, naps, and meals.

Headmaster Qiao Fangzhi sipped silver needle tea in the courtyard, overhearing two students debate the difference between Coral Note and Tribute Blend. He felt deeply gratified. “Scholars discussing paper—it’s like monks discussing the Dao, or generals cherishing their weapons… Our academy students finally have their minds on scholarly pursuits!”

Behind him, Qiao Hui: …

He didn’t know how to respond without hurting his father’s feelings. Love of paper? Academic discussion? It was clearly a clever math trap!

At its core, they were addicted—and gambling! Oh, Father! Your students are spiraling!

Qiao Hui sighed and explained the whole blind bag and color slip scheme at the stall. “…The design is clever. First, they’re lured by the prize. Then, their competitive instincts are triggered. Now, several students are chasing all five color slips—Zhang Wenbo from Huai’an, Sun Shun from Chuzhou, and Wu Dalang from Jiangxi. They’re all determined to win…”

Qiao Fangzhi paused, then burst into laughter. “Interesting! Truly interesting!”

“In ancient times, Fan Li of Dingtao became a merchant sage, scattering his wealth three times. Lü Buwei of Qin saw rare goods as treasures, buying low and selling high. And now, little Jing County has such a merchant—clever, resourceful, able to make money flow. A blessing for our small town.”

What is ‘live money’? Money that circulates in the market is live money. Simply put, money that’s being spent is live. If most of the wealth is hoarded by a few, it becomes dead money.

Thriving economies have more live money and less dead money. Only then can there be prosperity, peace, and flourishing scholarship. Without financial support, even the best seeds yield barren fruit.

The previous dynasty collapsed largely because a few were too rich and refused to let others prosper. They oppressed merchants, drained silver and goods, and left the treasury empty.

Qiao Fangzhi returned to his thoughts and decided on next year’s exam topic: “To gather the people’s goods, to trade and retreat, so all may find their rightful place.”

“Did you buy one?” he asked, sipping tea, beard twitching. “My son, having seen through this scheme, surely knows that merchants seek profit above all. Ordinary buyers rarely win. You must have watched coldly, pride intact, secretly calling buyers fools…”

“I bought one,” Qiao Hui interrupted flatly. “That girl was infuriating. She tricked me with just a few words.”

His supposedly brilliant son had been conned!

Qiao Fangzhi froze, then burst into laughter. The laughter wasn’t painful—but it was deeply insulting.

Qiao Hui turned away.

Qiao Fangzhi laughed until his face turned red. Seeing his son’s sour expression, he pinched his own arm and swallowed the laughter. “Then… what paper did you get? If you’re lucky and drew the Six-Zhang Xuan, you must honor your father first!”

“I didn’t look!” Qiao Hui turned away again. “Statistically, it’s probably just Jade Plate or Tribute Blend…”

Opening it wouldn’t change anything. Truthfully, that bag represented the entire humiliating experience of being tricked by that girl. A disgrace!

He’d shoved it to the bottom of his trunk the moment he got home. Opening it? Never. Not in this lifetime.

Qiao Fangzhi shrugged, amused, and handed his son the tea. “You’ve always been proud—and rightly so. A scholar at seven, a provincial graduate at thirteen, smooth sailing all the way. But let me repeat myself: beyond the mountains, beyond the people—there’s always someone better. If one girl can use math to make the brightest scholars in Southern Zhili spend their money, imagine what others across the land could do.”

Qiao Hui lowered his head and mouthed the words:

“Humility—”

“Tolerance—”

“Compassion—”

Qiao Fangzhi, seeing his son unmoved, tapped him on the back of the head. “You! You’ll only learn after a big loss! A deep pit! Then you’ll know I was right!”

When Qiao Hui will suffer that loss remains to be seen.

Meanwhile, Manager Dong was trembling with worry, convinced someone would flip their stall.

Thanks to the color slip scheme, business had boomed. They packed 800 bags, and in just eight days, sold every one. Even the shop’s regular sales improved. Last night, he roughly calculated: from the 20th to the 28th of the twelfth month, blind bag sales brought in 96 taels, and daily paper sales added another 20 taels.

Eight days of revenue nearly matched four to five months of the workshop’s usual income.

The better the sales, the more anxious he became.

Why? Because the top prize—the Six-Zhang Xuan—they didn’t have it!

Not just them—no one in Jing County did! Not a single craftsman could make it. Not a single sheet was available for sale!

All 800 bags were gone. Sooner or later, someone would collect all five color slips.

Then what? Smile and say “Congratulations”?

Manager Dong nervously shared his fears with Xianjin. “I remember we really did put all five color slips in the bags, right?”

Xianjin nodded calmly. “Of course we did. We’re running a business, not a scam.”

Manager Dong scratched his head. At forty, he was already balding—and these days, stress had thinned it even more. “But if someone comes to redeem it… what do we do?”

Xianjin set down the abacus and thought for a moment. “For now, no one will redeem it.”

“Why not?” Manager Dong asked.

Xianjin flipped the abacus and calculated the total. “The only person who drew the rare Moon White slip worth 80 wen hasn’t opened his bag yet.”

Once he opens it—after the New Year, when students return to the academy—she’ll have found the Six-Zhang Xuan.