Manager Zhu froze in place, his mechanical smile still half-stuck on his face.

Xianjin’s tone was sharp. “Let’s go. Manager Zhu, lead the way.”

Her voice brooked no argument. It landed like a nail—straight and hard—aimed at piercing what little courage Manager Zhu had.

Nanny Zhang had never seen Xianjin this forceful before. She instinctively held her breath.

Manager Zhu tried to smile, tugging at the corners of his mouth only to realize he was already smiling—he couldn’t stretch it any further, and the result looked awkward. “Th-this might not be appropriate. The Third Master hasn’t gone yet. Is it really your place to go?”

“Then let’s ask Third Master if he wants to come along.”

Xianjin turned toward the main house.

“No, no, no!” Manager Zhu rushed to block her. His mind raced through a thousand thoughts before he made a snap decision. “If Bookkeeper He wants to go, then go. You were sent by the Old Madam, which makes you what? Like an imperial inspector! Of course, you should review the ledgers. No need to trouble Third Master—he’s not feeling well and needs rest. Yes, rest!”

By the end, Manager Zhu had clearly backed down.

Xianjin gave him a sidelong glance, hands clasped behind her back, chin lifted. “Then let’s go.” Her tone remained firm.

She had to be firm. First, she was a woman. Second, she was new here. Third, she didn’t bear the Chen surname. If she showed even a hint of weakness, she’d be trampled immediately.

The shop was just around the corner from the Chen residence—out the gate, turn left, walk about a hundred meters.

It sat in the heart of Shuixi Street, backed by the Tianhuang Creek. Under the arched bridge, black-canopied boats lowered their masts to pass beneath. Next to the “Chen Paper Shop” was a courier station for official documents. Across the street were a flatbread stall and a pharmacy. The area bustled with people—it was clearly Jing County’s commercial hub.

Manager Zhu wiped the sweat from his forehead as he watched Xianjin stride into the shop. He turned away and whispered to an apprentice, “Quick, go fetch your Sixth Uncle! Tell him to come to the shop!”

As soon as he entered, he saw Xianjin roughly measuring the floor tiles with her feet. He heard her mutter, “Each tile is eighteen inches square. Twelve tiles across, nine and a half down…”

She looked up. “Three feet per tile. The shop is twenty-one feet long, seventeen feet wide—just over forty square meters.”

Not very big.

Manager Zhu suppressed a tremble in his hands. She calculated that fast?

How did she do it? She practically blurted it out! If she’s this fast with ledgers, maybe she should calculate how long he has left to live.

Xianjin clasped her hands behind her back and scanned the shop.

Twenty-some stacks of paper were arranged haphazardly. The scent of grass and alkali was stronger than in Old Madam Qu’s Castor Hall. Several chests were shoved into corners without order. Their hinged doors hung ajar—likely holding more valuable paper. On top sat bronze incense burners shaped like auspicious beasts, smoke curling upward.

Xianjin’s gaze landed on the burners.

Manager Zhu rushed forward. “These bronze incense burners—I bought them myself! They make the shop elegant and refined. If you like them, I’ll buy you a new one. No—I’ll get you a silver one! How about that?”

Xianjin withdrew her gaze. “Burning incense near paper? Are you trying to die?”

One stray spark and it’s a bonfire. Others might enjoy the show. They’d be the firewood.

Manager Zhu froze, then quickly shifted blame. “I warned Sixth Uncle not to do such foolish things. But he insisted—stubborn and reckless!”

Throwing your teammates under the bus—classic survival instinct.

Xianjin gave him a sideways glance, then waved him aside. “Inside is the Chen family’s paper workshop, run by Manager Li. His mother fell and broke her leg a few days ago, so he’s on leave. He’ll be back the day after tomorrow. You’re welcome to take a look.”

As he spoke, he kicked aside a stool blocking the hallway and muttered, “Old Li never tidies up…”

Then smiled warmly at Xianjin. “Old Li’s a rough man. Papermaking is rough work. Our workshop’s profits lag behind the others—I personally think it’s because Old Li’s skills aren’t up to par. Good paper sells itself, right?”

Not only did he throw his teammate under the bus—he backed it up and ran over him twice. Poor Old Li. Sitting at home, his mother injured, and now he’s being blamed for everything.

Xianjin waved him off. “Let’s look at the ledgers first. When Manager Li returns, he can help Third Master get acquainted.”

Manager Zhu nodded eagerly. “Yes, yes! Let’s get down to business.” He raised a hand and ordered two attendants to bring the ledgers.

“Not those.” Xianjin bypassed the counter, bent down, and pulled out two brand-new books from the second shelf—one labeled “Zhaode Year 13, Twelfth Month Income,” the other “Zhaode Year 13, Twelfth Month Expenses.”

She raised her reed pen and gestured toward the ledgers. “I’ll start with the current month’s books before reviewing the old ones.”

Two sets of books were common in business.

Old Madam Qu had run the Chen family for half a lifetime. If she hadn’t noticed anything wrong with the Jing County accounts, it meant the fake ledgers were well-made—everything looked perfect except the profits.

Manager Zhu had surely handed her that set. If even Old Madam Qu couldn’t spot the flaws, how could Xianjin in such a short time?

She didn’t overestimate herself. Better to start with the recent books. They wouldn’t have had time to fake those. She might not catch major fraud, but she could get a glimpse of the shop’s real condition.

Manager Zhu broke into a sweat. Was there a deficit in the twelfth month?

Probably not… a big one?

Year-end books were usually under scrutiny. Even Sixth Uncle wouldn’t dare fudge them too much—let alone him. He wiped his forehead and exhaled.

The girl wore a single wooden hairpin, her face bare of makeup, dressed in a deep maroon cotton jacket with frayed cuffs—clearly worn for a long time. Looking at her now, she didn’t seem like a she-devil.

Last night, he must’ve been blind to think she was delicate and fragile. He didn’t know how long he stared before the she-devil set down her pen and frowned.

Manager Zhu rushed forward. “Is there an error?”

She nodded.

His heart clenched. “Is it a big one?”

Xianjin shook her head. “Three wen off.”

Whew— Even the hallway breeze could hear Manager Zhu’s sigh of relief.

“Just three wen?” He visibly relaxed. “Here, I’ll make it up. Once I add those three wen, the twelfth month’s books are balanced, right?”

Xianjin’s expression turned unreadable. Accountants don’t fear being off by ten thousand—they fear being off by one. Balancing books requires every cent of capital source to match capital usage. Only then are the accounts clear and correct. A one-wen discrepancy is harder to find than a thousand-wen one—it requires checking every entry from start to finish.

This principle should never change, no matter the era. And this shop manager didn’t even know that? He wanted to patch the books with his own money?

Xianjin’s face darkened. She could already imagine how messy the previous books were—and the deficit wouldn’t be small.

“Make up three wen?” Sixth Master Chen arrived, panting, and glared at Manager Zhu. “You fool!”

He pulled a roll of banknotes from his sleeve.

“Bookkeeper He came all this way to work in Jing County, and you’re talking about three wen?”

He placed the roll beside Xianjin with a kindly smile. “Bookkeeper He, will this silver be enough to balance the books?”