Chapter 8: Granting Prosperity to the People (This chapter may be skipped)

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In just two months, the tall, long-faced man would return to the capital. I must accelerate the project’s progress and bring him in to increase our influence. One word saint plus a god of wealth—a sure winning combination.

Walking several hundred paces along the Imperial Street, I turned into the Dunyi Lane, where many silk shops attracted the girls naturally. It was only May, yet some were already bare-chested and wearing gauzy skirts—a pleasant sight.

Amid the crowd, I noticed something unusual: a woman with a high nose and deep-set eyes, exuding an exotic charm. She was dressed in Song-style clothes, extravagant and flamboyant, as if she had stepped out of an oil painting.

Lost in a daze, I followed her into an alley. She walked, I walked; she stopped, I stopped. In the middle of the alley, the young lady smiled and whistled with two fingers pressed to her lips. Suddenly, her delicate brows furrowed, and her face turned icy cold.

Suddenly, the sound of hurried footsteps—two foreign men wielding butcher’s curved knives burst out into the alley.

Damn! Broad daylight and here I am, running into Sun Erniang!

Run! I turned around and saw more men blocking the way behind me. Could it be that fate intended for me to die here today?

I took off the money pouch at my waist and tossed coins and bills—gold, silver, copper, and paper—scattering them in the air.

Taking advantage of the chaos, I slipped away, sprinting toward a large open door. Not all shops here are shady; perhaps I could sneak through a back entrance and survive.

The courtyard was peculiar, lacking a feng shui wall at the entrance. A straight avenue ran through it, lined with trees on both sides, leading to a large building ahead.

Looking closely, a huge hexagram was carved above the main door.

With pursuers close behind, I had no time to ponder and circled around the building to find a back door.

Unfortunately, a crowd was holding some event, completely blocking the rear exit.

“Make way! Nature calls, let me through!” I shouted as I ran, hoping to slip into the crowd and escape.

But before I got close, the men behind shouted a signal, and the crowd suddenly turned toward me, surging forward and capturing me.

“Brave man, you’ve got money, money! I’m willing to pay ransom if you don’t have cash on you!”

The young lady caught up and punched me hard in the stomach. The pain was so intense my features contorted, nearly turning me into a dumpling.

“Hey, this scoundrel has been following me all the way here, surely with evil intent. Let’s castrate him!”

Beautiful as she was, her words were venomous and direct to the point.

I quickly begged for mercy, waving my hands so fast they almost created a breeze.

I hadn’t checked the almanac before going out—what kind of people were these? Though I had grown up and visited many upscale places, I was still a virgin.

If later generations found out that the Wealth God of the Song dynasty was a eunuch, wouldn’t they laugh themselves silly?

I looked up and saw a group of white-skinned, big-nosed men all wearing small hats.

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Where was this place?

My mind raced through clues and finally I concluded I had stumbled into the territory of the Church of the Blessed People. That made things simpler.

“Wait, wait! I came... to the church. I want to convert, just came to inquire, and happened to follow the lady’s path,” I hastily fabricated an excuse.

Hmm?

An old man wearing a white cap bent down to scrutinize me. His yellow-black eyes flickered with suspicion, his face a complicated mix of kindness and menace.

“Song people are not allowed to join the church; it is the emperor’s decree. You are not Song, right?”

I grumbled internally—what emperor made that rule? The Western fire worshipers spread freely; why restrict a strictly orthodox Jewish sect?

If I fall victim today, I’ll piss on your grave.

“I am Song, but my identity is special!”

The old man calmly brought over red wine and sipped it slowly in front of me, as if watching a lamb awaiting slaughter.

“Soldiers, farmers, artisans, merchants—the laws of our dynasty do not restrict merchants from religion. I am a merchant!”

Seeing I looked fairly honest, the old man waved, and the burly men behind loosened their grip.

“Do you know our faith?” The old man broke off a piece of bread and handed it to me.

Fortunately, I had studied attentively, read the Cambridge History of China, and followed ancient cultural exchanges between East and West.

At this time, the Middle East was under Arab rule; the Eastern and Western Roman Empires had split; European churches and knightly orders were rising, and the Crusades would begin in a few years.

A group of fundamentalists fled around, while the Gauls and Germans upheld Jerusalem’s orthodoxy.

“Believe in Jesus, gain eternal life! I heard from Persians on the canal that if you believe in Lord Jesus, you go to heaven after death and enjoy everlasting bliss. That’s why I came to inquire about joining.”

As expected, the old man looked disdainful. I knew little about religion—he was practicing orthodox Judaism; Jesus was treated like the Flood King.

The burly men handed me back my money pouch, stuffed it into my chest, and patted me hard three times.

“You Song say Buddha saves those with affinity; so does our faith. You have no affinity with God. Don’t come again!”

I had barely escaped being mistaken for a harassing rogue. If word got out, my “divine” reputation would be ruined.

“Not so fast!” The young lady reached out and blocked me.

“If you say you are a merchant, what business do you run? Where’s your shop? Why are you wandering here?”

Good heavens, so fierce. If you weren’t so beautiful, I wouldn’t spare you a second glance.

“My ancestors’ surname is Qian, given names Wei Ming. Our family deals in grain and cloth. We have workers; I am the owner, so…”

Suddenly, a head appeared from a window in the large building, shouting, “Chang’an, I’m here! Come over and have a chat!”

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Looking up, it was none other than my investor and friend, Qian Weiming.

Oh no, my shining reputation!

After some conversation and reintroductions, I reclaimed my identity and resumed my role as the principal of the “Cookmaid School.”

“That’s right. We are seeking a new form of mortgage—using future tuition income as collateral to secure a large, low-interest loan.”

Though no one was twisting my arm now, I still felt tense, as if exposed, which was embarrassing.

The negotiator with Qian Weiming was the manager of the Church’s brokerage shop—the equivalent of a modern securities firm’s CEO.

This brokerage operated two businesses in Bianjing: wheat futures and foreign trade in porcelain and tea.

It also served financial functions.

They handled corporate accounts with Persians and the Song government, offering loans and bridging guarantees.

The manager had listened to Qian Weiming’s proposal but was unhappy with the 20% interest rate.

Though doctrine forbids usury, the Song’s reality is filled with 40% pawnshop rates—why shouldn’t we profit?

Between secular law and religious law, the manager chose secular law.

Upon hearing I was the real principal of the Cookmaid School, he suddenly had another idea.

“Mr. Chang’an, I think we can cooperate!”

Hmm?

I was surprised—I had come seeking cooperation, after all.

“Please, go on.”

“Our church has over 3,700 members, half of them young. For decades, population growth has made our traditional education inadequate. Since you want to run a school, I want to join forces.”

He then produced a sheepskin book containing various architectural sketches, all in Greco-Roman style.

“The Song government restricts our people from purchasing land. Although we have prepared the school for years, we have yet to find a suitable site. If we cooperate, you and I together—just allow our children to enroll—and all these plans and knowledge will be given to your school. Moreover, we will raise sufficient low-interest loans. What do you say?”

I took the book. What a lost lamb—no matter where he goes, he remembers his roots.

Such a wealth of Western-style blueprints—if I had to gather these myself, who knows when that would be.

See? How thoughtful—they’ve prepared everything for me.

The humiliation we suffered during the Boxer Indemnity—I’ve brought it back eight hundred years in advance!