Chapter 4

Chapter 4

When Chuntai was first starting out, I was often cornered at the docks by peers who spoke to me with biting sarcasm.

“Junzhu, no matter how well you calculate the accounts, you still need someone to back you up.”

I replied, “My own spine is all the backing I need.”

They burst into laughter.

Three months later, after the first fleet of ships to breach their contracts was squeezed into bankruptcy by my penalties, the laughter stopped.

Rules aren’t just words written on paper; they are forged through repeated, hard-hitting confrontations.

The three months I spent at the Imperial Mausoleum were the quietest days of my life.

There were no court struggles, no emotional entanglements, and no one used the phrase “for the greater good” to force me to swallow knives.

I spent my days copying scriptures and my nights reviewing ledgers. Along the way, I mapped out every grain and salt route across the three counties surrounding the mausoleum area.

I discovered something: It wasn’t that the imperial treasury lacked money; it was that the money was being devoured by greedy mouths along the way.

Upon returning to the capital, I did not petition for an official post.

Instead, I took the revenue from the fief my mother had left me and established the Spring Terrace Trading Company, starting with river transport and salt warehouses.

At first, the whole city mocked me.

“Qinghe Junzhu has been driven mad by heartbreak. Instead of being a noble lady, she’s running off to settle accounts with boatmen.”

“A woman in business? She’ll be eaten alive, bones and all, sooner or later.”

“She fell out with the Regent and has no one behind her. She won’t last six months.”

Half a year later, thirty percent of the salt routes in the capital region belonged to me.

A year later, forty percent of the Northwest Army’s supplies were provided by the Spring Terrace Trading Company.

Two years later, the Minister of Revenue personally came to my teahouse to ask if I would be willing to accept the “outsourcing of official transport.”

I smiled as I refilled his tea.

“Minister, the way you put it makes it sound like I’m hauling sacks at the docks.”

His old face flushed red.

I said leisurely, “I can take the job, but the accounts must be transparent and the rules must be set. Whoever dares to reach out a greedy hand will have their fingers chopped off. If you cannot guarantee that, Minister, I would rather not earn this money.”

He fell silent for a long time before nodding.

And so, a strange sight appeared in the imperial court.

The high-and-mighty lords of prestigious families, who once looked down on everyone, began to line up to beg me to sign their shipping orders.

The noblewomen who had once mocked me as a “jealous wife” at banquets now asked in roundabout ways if their daughters could enter Chuntai to learn accounting.

I was so busy my feet hardly touched the ground.

Occasionally, late at night when rain fell outside the window, I would still think of Yin Xianshan.

I wasn’t thinking of the man himself.

I was thinking of that snowy night years ago, and how much I once believed that “sincerity can overcome all difficulties.”

Later, I learned my lesson.

Sincerity isn’t something you can give to just anyone.

I met Yin Xianshan again during a discussion on salt taxes in the Emperor’s presence.

He was still the Regent, his power even greater than before, and his expression even colder.

I bowed, and he returned the gesture, as formal as if we had never kissed.

After the session adjourned, he intercepted me under the corridor.

“You’ve grown thin.”

“Your Highness’s eyesight must be failing. I’ve clearly gained a bit of weight.”

“Zhiwei,” he said in a low voice, “don’t speak to me like that.”

“Then how should I speak?” I tilted my head to look at him. “Like I used to? Waiting for you to climb over the wall at midnight, leaving the door unlocked for you, pouring my heart out to you?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed, and his eyes grew red at the rims.

“I am investigating what happened back then.”

“Tell me when you find something,” I said, stepping away. “So I can prepare a congratulatory gift for you-one that’s seven years late.”