Xianjin twitched the corner of her mouth and took the initiative to greet him, offering a way to smooth things over. She’d met this person before, and it hadn’t gone well. He’d accused her of manipulating the academy’s scholars, setting up schemes to siphon money. She’d turned the tables, tricked him into buying a blind box, and slipped the moon-white card into the safest place in the world.

Her father in the modern world was a nouveau riche, a bricklayer turned contractor who rode the wave of reform from a small-town foreman to a big-city renovation company boss. His business philosophy was always “harmony is precious.” Even if someone cursed him to his face, he’d smile, offer a hand massage, and exclaim, “Wow, your hands are so soft!”

If not for her father’s influence and example, Xianjin might not have adapted so well after her transmigration. Still, at heart, she was a stubborn, proud, scrappy, and assertive second-generation rich kid. So her smile was her greatest show of sincerity.

Qiao Hui received it.

The young man lifted his head and smiled back, tilting his chin to reveal a sharply defined profile and a tall, straight nose. “Bookkeeper He, long time no see.”

Not that long—he’d seen her on the fifth day of the new year, digging metaphorical pits and burying people alive. A few days later, word spread that Sixth Master Chen had died in the old village. His father even sent a condolence gift, though he hadn’t liked Sixth Master Chen, the Chen family’s paper was good, and they’d done business for years. Sending condolences was just proper.

Little Miss Koi Huahua looked at her brother, then at the “Beauty Lantern” shopkeeper she’d instantly bonded with. “…So you two know each other!”

If they were acquaintances, they could become even closer!

Excited, Huahua dragged her brother forward and proudly introduced him:
“This is my brother! He was the top scorer in the last county exam! And my father—he was the third-place winner in the imperial exams! The whole Great Wei dynasty’s third place! And my uncle’s a jinshi, now serving in the capital! And my aunt…”

Qiao Hui expressionlessly pulled his overly enthusiastic sister back. Maybe he should just bring out the family tree—to help this wintergreen girl get up to speed on their lineage.

“Xiao Zhu…” he said softly.

Huahua stopped, looked at her brother, then at Xianjin, and shrank a little. Her thousand words condensed into one: “…I just wanted to say, even if I’m clumsy and can’t make a lantern, my family is really amazing…”

Xianjin smiled. She had a pretty good guess now—Jing County had only produced one third-place imperial exam winner in years. The siblings were the children of Qiao Shanzhang, head of Qingcheng Academy. No wonder Qiao Hui had taken issue with her making money off scholars outside the academy gates. Still, his concern was probably well-meaning—worried that naïve students might be taken advantage of.

Xianjin’s smile grew more genuine. She crouched slightly to meet Huahua’s eyes and introduced herself in the same style: “I’m the stepdaughter of the Chen family’s third master. My mother was his concubine. My family may not be as accomplished as yours, but they’re good people. If you’re interested, after the New Year, come visit our Chen Paper Shop—I’ll show you how to burn paper!”

Qiao Hui’s gaze flickered, lips pressed together.

Huahua blushed and leaned closer to her brother, but her eyes sparkled as she watched Xianjin.

“Baoyu—my name is Qiao Baozhu. Everyone at home calls me Xiao Zhu.”
A round, rosy-cheeked girl of twelve or thirteen, bright-eyed and sincere, like a little gem. “What’s your name?”

Xianjin grinned dramatically. “Then our names are a perfect match! I’m Xianjin—digging for gold in the mountains and waters! Gold and jewels, with names like ours, we’ll never go hungry!”

Qiao Baozhu giggled, covering her mouth with her chubby hand, laughter shining in her eyes.

Chen Zuoniang cleared her throat.

Xianjin looked up, confused.

Qiao Hui tilted his head, pulled his sister closer, glanced at the lantern tower’s clock, and saw the crowd thinning as people headed home. He pressed his sister’s shoulder and said politely: “… It’s getting late. If you two ladies wish to return, you may take the Qingcheng Academy’s sedan.”

Chen Zuoniang bowed gracefully, thanked him, and declined, saying she needed to find an old maidservant before heading home. The Qiao siblings took their leave. Baozhu wanted to chat more with Xianjin, but was tugged away by her brother. “Brother!” she protested, nearly in tears.

Qiao Hui looked back. The Chen girls had already walked off. He Xianjin’s upright posture showed none of the pampered softness typical of noble daughters—just crisp, decisive strength. He turned back to his sister, whose round face was puffed in protest, and spoke more sternly than usual: “Everyone knows you’re Qiao Baozhu, the treasured daughter of the Qiao family.”

“But many girls live hard lives. Up north, some can’t go out without veils and hats.”

He hadn’t expected this wintergreen girl to have such an awkward status in the Chen household. He’d assumed she was a legitimate daughter, managing the Chen family’s shop and workshop with full authority. But now…

The current imperial cabinet had three ministers—two staunch Confucians, one a follower of liberal heart philosophy. The emperor himself had been influenced by both in his youth, open-minded and curious. But after forty, he leaned toward Confucianism, emphasizing hierarchy, rules, clan ties, and propriety.

Jing County, in Southern Zhili, hadn’t yet felt the full force of this shift. But in the northern capital, girls were already studying Lessons for Women, weaving their own cages, erecting their own chastity memorials, and embracing the Three Obediences and Four Virtues.

It was all nonsense. Qiao Hui wanted to spit and debate those self-righteous moralists for three hundred rounds. But for women in difficult positions—like Bookkeeper He—it was better to avoid trouble.

Revealing her given name to a strange man could be dangerous if the wrong person found out. But even these thoughts were too old-fashioned for him to say aloud—even to his sister.

He frowned and sighed. “If you want to visit her, you must be considerate. Don’t act like you do at home.”

Baozhu felt slighted. “I didn’t! I couldn’t make a lantern today and I didn’t even cry!”

Qiao Hui looked at his little sister. Such a silly child.

Everyone in the family was clever—except her. She spent her days eating, playing, and lounging like an old noblewoman. Faced with problems, she’d think of one solution, never two—preferably none at all. Everyone had to bend over backward to accommodate her.

The siblings didn’t take the sedan. Qiao Hui walked ahead, and Baozhu clung to his sleeve, dragging her feet. After a while, he asked: “Do you really like Accountant He from Chen Paper?”

Baozhu nodded vigorously. “She’s great! She really thinks my lantern is good! Well, maybe not good, but she definitely doesn’t think it’s bad! And she doesn’t think I’m dumb or fat!”

She tilted her head, searching for words. “Some people smile at me, but inside they think I’m stupid and pig-like, embarrassing the Qiao family and my father. But Boss He doesn’t! I can feel it—she really likes me!”

Her words were roundabout, but Qiao Hui understood.

Accountant He genuinely treated everyone equally. Lanterns could shine—or not. Girls could be sharp—or simple. Bodies could be slim or soft. Though she lived in the inner courtyard, she embraced all kinds of difference. That alone was…

Qiao Hui thought for a moment.

That alone was worthy of respect. Oh, and one more thing—this Miss He also emptied everyone’s wallets with equal enthusiasm.

Rich scholars? She sold blind boxes for three taels.

Ladies living off pocket money? She sold paper and bamboo strips for thirty wen.

Corrupt officials like Sixth Master Chen and Steward Zhu? She set traps and took their lives.

Qiao Hui chuckled and shook his head. His resentment over being tricked into buying a blind box for three taels had faded.

After all, his classmates Bo’er and Shun’er had spent the New Year chasing color cards. Shun’er collected four colors. Bo’er only had three, but through sheer persistence, he bought the fourth—indigo blue—for 88 taels and eight qian.

“If Zhang Wenbo studied with that kind of determination, he’d be top scorer by now!” his father lamented.

His father, upon hearing the news, was heartbroken and exclaimed: “Well… It’s not that bad. To become the top scholar, one still needs a clever mind…”

At this point, Sun Shun and Zhang Wenbo were evenly matched, neck and neck. Since the New Year, they had been hunting for the final color card. Sun Shun even publicly declared he was willing to pay a hundred taels of silver to acquire it—price negotiable, as long as the holder of the moon-white card was willing to show themselves.

When it comes to spending money, how could Bo’er lose? He immediately entered the bidding ring and called out a price of one hundred and twenty taels.

All that remained was for the moon-white card to appear.

Qiao Hui strode forward boldly, not without a touch of schadenfreude in his heart: all the blind bags released by Chen Ji had sold out, yet the moon-white card remained elusive. Given that the Accountant He had a habit of fleecing everyone equally—

Could it be that she drew that card herself?

Well then, this was about to get interesting!

Bo’er might be a playboy, with money to burn and a fondness for using it to make a splash, but he was fundamentally decent. Sun Shun, on the other hand, was not. His family ran a teahouse, raking in profits thanks to a dozen attractive tea masters. If he realized he’d been played, things could get ugly.

Thinking of that slender, clear-eyed Accountant He—who, despite often wearing that dung beetle-colored short jacket, still couldn’t hide her graceful elegance—and then picturing the chubby, thick-lipped Sun Shun, whose mouth looked like it could be sliced off and stir-fried into a dish, Qiao Hui’s glee inexplicably faded a little.

It was time to tighten the rules on student outings from the mountain academy.

So Qiao Hui thought to himself.

…

On the other side, after bidding farewell to the lively little koi girl Qiao Baozhu, Xianjin and the Chen sisters headed to the makeshift stage built by the opera troupe to look for Suo’er and Madam Zhang.

Xianjin munched on the white jade jelly Suo’er handed her, watching the performers leap, tumble, wave flags, and twirl umbrellas. She couldn’t help but join the crowd in cheerful applause.

Nanny Zhang grew tired, so the group headed back to the old residence.

The Chen sisters lived in a two-courtyard house next to the Chen family’s ancestral home, so Xianjin said her goodbyes and turned to enter—only to be softly called back by Chen Zuoniang, who pulled her to a quiet spot by the wall.

Chen Zuoniang spoke in a low voice, “…When we’re outside, don’t mention your given name… We’re young ladies. Just now, the eldest son of Headmaster Qiao was nearby. Even if Miss Qiao asks first, we only need to state our family ranking.” Her expression was genuinely worried.

Xianjin’s mother had been a concubine, which already placed her a step lower. Now that her birth mother had passed, there was no one left to teach her these rules.

Chen Zuoniang tugged at Xianjin’s sleeve. “This is the rule. Have you remembered it?”

Xianjin fell silent.

Just as Chen Zuoniang thought she’d taken the lesson to heart and was about to leave, she heard Xianjin speak in a low, steady voice: “In the business world, if I need to sign and stamp documents in the future, what should I do? Should I write ‘Chen Wuniang’? Or press the seal as ‘He Daniu’?”

Xianjin curved her lips into a faint smile. “Third Master doesn’t manage things. Purchasing, sourcing, shipping, sales—I handle it all myself. When I negotiate with men, they call me ‘Wuniang.’ The condescension in that is plain as day.”

“Moreover, when I represent the workshop in signing contracts, if I use a name that doesn’t match the household registry, is that contract valid or invalid?”

Chen Zuoniang was momentarily stunned. She hadn’t considered that.

Xianjin gently hooked her finger around Chen Zuoniang’s hand. Her voice was soft, but her tone was unwavering:

“I, He Xianjin, dare to compete with men in the marketplace. That means I’m prepared never to change my name or hide my surname.”

“If men can write the name on their registry, then so can I.”

“That—now that is the real rule.”