“…I offended Young Master Su, sorry, but there were circumstances—hope you understand.” She actively admitted fault. “I won’t make you take responsibility—I’ll be more careful in the future…”
At the start of transmigration she’d only wanted to lay low, be unremarkable in everything, never standing out.
But perhaps rivers and mountains were easier to change than nature—birds that had flown, how could they endure walking on the ground forever?
She admitted that no matter how tightly strung, occasionally being careless, she’d “float away.”
Of course consequences were severe. Boss Chu Nanyun had targeted her precisely because he saw her trendy behavior and concluded she was easy prey—thus the subsequent series of troubles.
So she considerately stood in ancient people’s position, sincerely reflecting: “You probably think I’m very improper, lacking wifely virtue—it’s fine, I don’t care. But my character in other aspects is still good, we can be friends. Hope you won’t write me off completely…”
Su Minguan nodded noncommittally, picking up the copper basin to splash water, washing blood traces from the floor.
“A’Mei speaks too seriously,” he said slowly. “Western barbarian women are wanton and unrestrained, far more casual than you, yet even the boldest villains dare not provoke them. While China’s boudoir ladies, no matter how chaste, can be humiliated at will without father-brother protection. The problem isn’t whether you’re casual or not, but… whether you have the capital to be casual.”
Lin Yuchan suddenly raised her head, the chaotic thoughts in her mind drawing out a bright thread.
Like enlightenment. In certain moments, “ancient people” were far more perceptive than she.
What nonsense had she just been explaining?
Dealing with others was one thing, but Su Minguan—this kind of ruthless character who dared play gunfights with Eight Banners troops and humiliate someone’s father before their daughter—neither loyal nor filial, by Qing standards social scum. She’d lost her mind to discuss “wifely virtue” with him.
She found her cotton coat, forcefully putting it on, turning back with a smile: “Thank you for the guidance, Young Master.”
Su Minguan was using keys to open drawers one by one, checking the shipping office’s wealth. Suddenly, he found a woman’s cloth bundle, its style completely out of place in the shipping office. Opening it revealed seventy silver dollars—presumably the “earnest money” the lackeys had discussed regarding Lin Yuchan.
Casually tossing it back to her, he asked offhandedly: “What did I guide you about?”
She caught it firmly, saying seriously, “To live uprightly, passive endurance won’t work. I need to earn capital for myself.”
Hearing her opening the door bolt, he finally reacted, slightly stunned and somewhat disappointed.
“Leaving already?”
Lin Yuchan suddenly paled: “Mm… someone’s waiting for me.”
“That Mr. Rong?” he asked casually. “Doesn’t he know about the ten o’clock curfew? Look, even the firecracker setters have returned. He was probably driven away long ago.”
“Is that so…” she frowned. “Then… then I’ll leave quietly.”
Su Minguan also frowned. Had she lost her mind? What nonsense was she babbling?
He dropped the keys, came before her, removed her cotton coat’s hood, and carefully examined her complexion.
He’d always been extremely perceptive about details. She’d shown some sickly appearance when first boarding—he’d thought first-time venture into enemy territory, nervousness was normal. During the killing spree, he’d noticed her complexion was off again—he’d guessed it was fright. After joking with her awhile, the atmosphere normalized, yet she remained pale as paper, her palm-sized face ice cold, clutching her stomach. No brazier in the room, yet she sweated profusely.
He suddenly understood, laughing softly.
“Need the toilet again?—Just speak up, I’ll find you a latrine.”