Chapter 25: The Western-Educated Scholar, Dreaming of the Future

Tie Liang’s gaze swept over Chen Lin’s fine silk attire before settling back on Hu San. His voice held a hint of familiarity. "I remember you, Hu San from Songze Village. How did you end up working as a servant?"

Hu San scratched his head, the bruises on his face still inflamed, yet his tone was filled with gratitude. "It was the young master who saved me. I had been captured by those big-turbaned foreign devils, and it was Young Master Chen who rescued me."

The look in Tie Liang’s eyes toward Chen Lin shifted instantly, the scrutiny replaced by a measure of respect. He patted Chen Lin’s shoulder with a firm but measured force. "Young man, not bad. Even though you work for the foreigners, you haven’t forgotten that you are Chinese."

With the bandits long gone, Tie Liang asked Chen Lin to confirm he was heading to the Liu Family Inn. After offering a few words of caution—"Yangjing Town has been restless lately, avoid traveling at night"—he departed with his men.

"Many thanks, Constable Tie." Chen Lin waved goodbye, though he felt a sharp sting in his arm as he moved. Pulling back his sleeve, he saw dark purple claw marks on his forearm, standing out like a cluster of bruised insects.

As Tie Liang walked away, he looked at Chen Lin’s retreating figure and sighed softly. The boy shared the same surname as a fisherman’s child he once knew in Yangjingbang. But that family had long since vanished, and he doubted there was any connection.

"Young master, you’re hurt!" Hu San rushed over, his voice wavering with anxiety as he stared at the bruising.

"I’m fine. You’re the one who’s worse off." Chen Lin pulled Hu San along, quickening his pace toward the inn. The night grew heavier, and the lanterns along the street flickered uncertainly. He felt an inexplicable sense of unease, as if he could only breathe easy once they reached the safety of the Liu household.

Inside the courtyard of the Liu Family Inn, the aroma of a meal hung in the air. Liu Lihua was busy in the kitchen with Miaomiao, her blue-and-white floral apron dusted with flour, making her look remarkably domestic. At a stone table in the corner of the courtyard, a young man in a long gown sat hunched over a book by the light of an oil lamp; the sound of pages turning was strikingly clear in the quiet yard.

When Chen Lin entered with a battered Hu San, the young man jumped, dropping his book onto the stone table with a *thud*. He scrambled up and ran toward the guest rooms as if he had seen something terrifying.

"Chen Lin?" Hearing the commotion, Liu Lihua poked her head out of the kitchen. Her brow knitted instantly when she saw the injury on his arm. "What happened to you?"

Before she could finish, Miaomiao scrambled out from behind her, her short legs moving fast as she cried out, "Brother!" and threw herself into Chen Lin’s arms. Chen Lin bent to scoop her up, but the movement tugged at his arm, causing him to wince. Miaomiao sensed his rigidity and gently stroked his arm with her small hands, her large eyes filled with worry.

"Lihua, please tend to Hu San’s wounds." Chen Lin set Miaomiao down and gestured toward Hu San.

"Young master, you should be treated first!" Hu San waved his hands in refusal, insisting that Chen Lin get the medicine, even as his own face continued to bleed.

"What exactly happened?" Liu Lihua emerged from the room with a medicine kit, her voice laced with concern.

"Ran into some kidnappers on the road. Fortunately, Constable Tie saved us," Chen Lin said dismissively, as if recounting someone else’s trouble. But Liu Lihua knew that anyone bold enough to kidnap people in broad daylight in Yangjing Town was no ordinary thug. Her brow furrowed even deeper.

"Apply the medicine first." Liu Lihua opened the kit, revealing neatly arranged bottles of medicinal wine and salves commonly used by travelers.

Chen Lin pulled Hu San over to treat him personally. Hu San had proven his worth today—using his body to shield his master, taking several punches, and still managing to fetch the constable, all without losing the items Chen Lin had purchased.

As the medicinal wine stung his wounds, Hu San grimaced but didn't utter a sound, repeating only, "It doesn't hurt."

Once Hu San was cared for, Liu Lihua took the wine and gently rolled up Chen Lin’s sleeve. Her hand paused when she saw the extent of the bruising, a wave of ache crossing her heart. She applied the medicine with delicate movements. "This will sting a bit. Just bear with it."

The wine burned upon contact, followed by the warmth of Liu Lihua’s palm. The sensation of her smooth skin against his forearm made Chen Lin feel uneasy. He averted his gaze to the book left on the stone table—it was an English edition of *The Wealth of Nations*, its cover worn at the edges.

"Do you know the owner of that book?" Chen Lin asked, pointing at it.

"A scholar named Wang Libin. He’s a strange one." Liu Lihua pursed her lips in dissatisfaction. "Doesn't like to talk, spends every day running off to the Bund. He’s been staying here for nearly half a month."

"Right, I brought you all some things." Remembering the bundle on Hu San’s back, Chen Lin had him open it. Inside were bread, ham, butter, and a bottle of foreign spirits—all goods available only at the Bund, which he had bought specifically for them.

"This bread needs butter, otherwise it's too dry," Chen Lin said, handing a piece to Miaomiao. "The spirits are for Brother Lichuan; he should like them."

"My brother is never home," Liu Lihua sighed. "Always meeting this friend or that brother, busy as can be."

Chen Lin wasn't surprised. Liu Lichuan had broad connections among the lower classes—porters, sailors, and the like—though Chen Lin wondered what exactly he was busy with lately.

"Come inside with me, I have something to tell you." Lowering her voice, Liu Lihua left Miaomiao to her bread in the courtyard and pulled Chen Lin into the main room. She relayed everything she had learned from Pan Qiliang: Chen Gen was likely in the hands of the Cantonese Gang.

At the mention of the "Cantonese Gang," Chen Lin’s face darkened, his fingers tightening unconsciously on his sleeve. "What kind of gang is that? Does Brother Lichuan know them?"

"It’s not so much a gang as a loose organization formed by Cantonese people," Liu Lihua whispered, sitting across from him. "Ever since the port opened, many Cantonese have arrived. They’re familiar with the foreigners, work as compradors, and run pawnshops. But their most profitable business is running opium dens, selling the drug for the foreigners."

She paused, then continued, "The foreigners protect them, and the Songjiang Prefect, Lian Tinghuang, is also Cantonese, providing them with many favors. Those opium dens are their strongholds, housing thugs and weapons; even the local bailiffs dare not go near them."

Chen Lin felt the pieces of the puzzle clicking into place, yet his mind remained in turmoil. Why would the Cantonese Gang target Chen Gen? Was it because of him, or for some other reason?

"Don't worry," Liu Lihua said, seeing his silence. "My brother has already asked friends from Panyu to help look. At least we know Chen Gen is still alive."

Chen Lin managed a faint smile. "Thank you. And please thank Brother Lichuan for me."

"I’ll go fix you something to eat." Liu Lihua started to rise, but Chen Lin stopped her.

"No need for trouble, just heat up the bread I brought." He waved his hand. "I’ll eat something simple; I have to return to the Concession tonight."

As Liu Lihua went to heat the bread, Chen Lin picked up *The Wealth of Nations* and walked to the guest room, knocking softly. *Knock, knock, knock.*

No response. He knocked again, still nothing. Hesitating, he gently pushed the door open. The young man was sitting at the table, pen in hand, writing intently.

"Who told you to come in?" Wang Libin looked up, his face darkening upon seeing Chen Lin, his tone full of displeasure. He was a recluse who disliked speaking to strangers.

"Mr. Libin?" Chen Lin held up the book, his tone gentle. "I am merely returning the book you left outside. It might rain tonight, and it would be a pity if it got ruined. This edition of *The Wealth of Nations* is quite rare in this country."

He spoke in fluent English, his pronunciation standard with a slight London lilt.

Wang Libin froze. His pen fell onto the paper with a *plop*, and he stared at Chen Lin in astonishment. This boy, even younger than himself, could speak English and knew of *The Wealth of Nations*?

Wang Libin was a native of Suzhou who had passed the *xiucai* exams at seventeen. This year, he had traveled to Jiangning for the provincial exams but failed. In a fit of pique, he had run away to Shanghai without telling his family. Years ago, he had learned English from missionaries and was exposed to Western thought, which he found far more practical than the rigid eight-legged essays. Especially after the Opium War, when the Qing Dynasty was defeated by the British, he became convinced that only by studying Western knowledge could the nation be saved.

He had come to Shanghai seeking more books and like-minded individuals. But after half a month, he had only encountered greedy merchants or conservative scholars—not a single person worth talking to.

"You study Western knowledge as well?" Wang Libin’s tone softened, his eyes gleaming as if he had found a kindred spirit.

"I know a little," Chen Lin said, walking to the table and sitting down. "I primarily study chemistry."

"Chemistry?" Wang Libin frowned, having never heard the term.

"It is the science of studying the changes in matter," Chen Lin explained, his gaze shifting to the manuscript on the table. "Though it seems you are more interested in the humanities, Mr. Libin."

Once the topic of Western learning was broached, the floodgates opened. Wang Libin spoke of Adam Smith’s "invisible hand" and Montesquieu’s "separation of powers," his eyes growing brighter, the reclusive air completely gone. It wasn't that he didn't like to talk; he simply hadn't met anyone who could keep up.

"Mr. Libin, since you love Western learning so much, why not abandon the civil service exams?" Chen Lin asked suddenly. "The court is flooded with purchased titles now; even if you pass, it is hard to get a real position."

Wang Libin was stunned, looking at Chen Lin with surprise. How could such a young boy understand the workings of the court? He had always believed age equated to wisdom, but Chen Lin was shattering his perceptions.

"Young Brother Chen is right." Wang Libin sighed, a look of confusion crossing his face. "I lost interest in the exams long ago. But my family has high expectations, and besides... a man must support his family. If not the exams, what can I do?"

His eyes dimmed as he spoke. In his half-month in Shanghai, his confusion had only grown. What could one actually do with Western knowledge? Was he destined to hide in an inn, reading books and dreaming impossible dreams?

Chen Lin watched him in silence. He knew how difficult it was for a scholar like Wang Libin in this era to break free from the shackles of old thought and find a new path. And perhaps, he could help Wang Libin find his direction—and in doing so, secure an ally for himself.

Outside the window, the night deepened, punctuated by the occasional bark of a dog. Inside, the candlelight flickered, illuminating the faces of two young men—one lost in uncertainty, the other resolute. A conversation about the future had only just begun.