In the twelfth lunar month, wind, frost, and rain came suddenly. As night fell, Sixth Master Chen and Manager Zhu invited Chen Fu to the Changqiao Guild to watch a southern shadow puppet show and dine at Tianxiang Restaurant. Xianjin accompanied them.

In modern times, Xianjin had seen shadow puppetry before—just fragments, never a full performance. So when a complete play about selling brocade unfolded before her, she was genuinely surprised—it was far more captivating than she’d imagined. Especially the martial scenes: one performer manipulating eight puppets in four simultaneous fights, with all role types—sheng, dan, jing, mo, chou—appearing together. It truly was “one mouth tells all under heaven, two hands command a million troops.”

Xianjin and Chen Fu watched with rapt attention. The girl’s eyes sparkled; the romance-brained boy leaned forward in anticipation. Two very different profiles overlapped in the glow.

Nanny Zhang glanced at them and saw, strangely, a kind of unspoken harmony between this odd “father-daughter” pair. They both had unusually bold hearts.

One had extorted 800 taels of silver and acted as if nothing had happened. The other, with a bruised backside, was perched sideways just to enjoy the show.

Nanny Zhang, a widowed matron, felt vindicated for coming to Jing County—back in the Chen family’s inner courtyard, she’d never have witnessed such drama. She fell silent for a moment, then tilted her head at the same angle to watch the show seriously. Forget it—if you can’t beat them, join them.

Shadow puppetry had a low barrier to entry—three wen for a seat. Rich or poor, everyone could watch, though seating varied. Chen Fu and his group sat in a private box upstairs.

Meanwhile, Zhou Ergou and his crew squeezed into the sardine-packed main hall. Zhou Ergou had spent his last three wen to get in, followed by four or five muscular laborers in short jackets and sun-darkened skin.

“Ergou bro! Three wen could’ve bought a bowl of plain noodles—I haven’t eaten all day!”

“Yeah, couldn’t we just wait outside for Third Master Chen? Why spend money before we even get paid?”

“The Chen family’s all the same—useless!”

“I say we wait till it’s pitch dark and beat that pork-head senseless!”

Grumbling echoed behind him.

Zhou Ergou turned and said coldly, “Anyone who doesn’t want the money can leave! I’ll refund your three wen! But if we get the money, don’t expect an equal share!”

Silence fell.

Zhou Ergou squinted up at the second-floor box, where “Pork Head” was respectfully pouring tea for a fair-faced man.

Target acquired.

He charged forward like a bull, his muscular frame stretching his thin jacket tight. In no time, he was upstairs.

“…Wants to see me?” Chen Fu kept his eyes on the stage. “A worker from the Chen Paper Shop? What for?”

The theater attendant didn’t know. “Said it’s urgent.”

Sixth Uncle Chen gave Manager Zhu a look.

Manager Zhu stood up to shoo them away. “Go, go! Don’t bother our master while he’s watching the show!”

The attendant was about to leave.

Xianjin spoke up. “Third Master, why not meet him? Maybe he just came to greet you.”

After all, this was one of Jing County’s famed “Twin Beauties.”

Chen Fu thought for a moment. “Alright, let him up.”

Zhou Ergou heard the summons, cracked his knuckles, and gestured for his men to follow. Four or five burly men crowded into the box.

Sixth Master Chen’s face darkened as he scanned the group. What was this—an ambush? A protest? He gave Manager Zhu a look: if needed, tie them up and throw them out.

“Master!” Zhou Ergou’s voice boomed.

Chen Fu turned and jumped. “Whoa! So many of you!”

“We’re all workers from the Chen Paper Shop,” Zhou Ergou said awkwardly, bowing. “I’m Zhou Ergou. This is my brother Zhou Xiaogou. The other four are surnamed Zheng—we’re cousins. We’re all from the same village as the Chen family. Your mother helped out her fellow villagers and hired many of us.”

Xianjin’s face remained expressionless. At least he was polite.

Chen Fu smiled. “That’s great. I’ll be visiting the shop soon—let’s have drinks then.”

Zhou Ergou clenched his jaw. “Master, we’re here to resign—collectively.”

Sixth Master Chen chuckled, his face wrinkled. “If you want to quit, just tell Manager Zhu! Why make a scene in front of the master?”

He turned to Chen Fu with a smile. “Young folks don’t know better. They get dazzled by the city. If they want to leave, we can’t stop them. Later, I’ll have Manager Zhu give each of them five taels of silver.” He shot the group a warning look. “That’s all you’ll get.”

The men murmured among themselves. Five taels was tempting. Their monthly wage was only eight qian—barely nine taels a year. The Chen family paid half monthly and withheld the rest, promising to pay the remainder after three years. After the twelfth month, it would be three years.

Manager Zhu hadn’t mentioned that at all. Three years’ withheld wages—fifteen taels each. They hadn’t expected to get it back. Five taels was already a win.

Manager Zhu had told them to sue if they wanted more, but also warned that the Chen family’s patriarch held a government post. They’d never win.

“Commoners don’t fight officials!” Some of the men began to waver.

“No.” Zhou Ergou stood firm. “Three years’ withheld wages—fifteen taels each! Not a single coin less!”

Xianjin leaned back slightly. Just as she suspected, she’d noticed something off in the ledger today. The wages had been marked as fully paid. But the signature was Manager Zhu’s personal seal. Even if the workers couldn’t sign, they could at least leave a fingerprint, but there were none.

She was certain: Sixth Master Chen and Manager Zhu had been skimming wages. She hadn’t expected them to be this bold.

Three years of skimming! Only half the wages are paid each year!

Damn. Even modern capitalist “bloodsuckers” only dared withhold 30% of annual salary as a carrot to keep workers going. This was next-level greed.

Xianjin’s original self had come from a capitalist family—her parents ran a renovation business. But now she was a humble bookkeeper, living on three taels a month. She couldn’t sympathize with the capitalists.

“Words alone aren’t proof,” Sixth Master Chen said coldly. “You’ve worked at the Chen shop for years. If we’d really withheld your wages, would you have stayed? Now you suddenly claim we owe you—why should the master believe you? You think he’s a fool?”

Chen Fu looked around, unsure what to do.

“I believe them,” Xianjin said. She pulled a tightly bound roll of banknotes from her sleeve and slammed it on the table.

“Fifteen taels each. Six men. Ninety taels total.”

“Third Master will give you one hundred taels—to cover three years’ interest.”

“If you’re willing to stay, then stay. Third Master promises monthly wages paid on time—no delays.”

Sixth Master Chen’s pupils dilated sharply. That roll of banknotes looked awfully familiar.