The humidity in Shanghai during the late summer of 1989 was a physical weight, a wet wool blanket that clung to the skin and stifled the lungs. At the Red Star Cannery, the atmosphere was even more pressurized. Five hundred crates of "Ghost-Stitch" silk were stacked, sealed, and stamped with the Maison de Lyon crest.
This was the "First Shipment." In the world of international trade, the first shipment is a blood oath. If it arrives on time and in perfect condition, you are a partner. If it fails, you are a footnote.
Lin Xia stood on the loading dock, her eyes tracking every movement of the workers. She hadn't slept in thirty-six hours. Her hair was pulled back into a severe knot, and her face was pale, but her gaze was like a laser.
"Careful with that pallet!" she snapped as a crane arm swung a bit too wide. "If a single crate hits the mud, I'll deduct the loss from your bonus!"
The workers moved with renewed caution. They knew Lin Xia wasn't just a boss; she was a force of nature.
At 4:00 AM, the roar of heavy engines echoed through the Pudong marshes. A fleet of six black trucks, unmarked and formidable, rolled into the factory courtyard. These were the Red Crane's "escorts."
Zhao Kun stepped out of the lead truck, looking rumpled and resentful. He was a man built for comfort and corruption, not for the early morning labor of the docks.
"My mother sent me," Kun grunted, lighting a cigarette. "She said you were worried about 'security.' We have thirty men. Nobody touches this cargo between here and the freighter."
Lin Xia walked down the steps to meet him. She smelled the expensive tobacco and the scent of a man who had never truly worked for a day in his life.
"I'm not worried about 'security,' Kun. I'm worried about you," Lin Xia said. "Does your mother know you were seen at the docks yesterday talking to a man in a grey suit? A man with a limp?"
Kun's hand shook slightly, dropping ash onto his polished shoes. "I... I talk to many people. The docks are my territory."
Lin Xia stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper that only he could hear. "The man with the limp is a middleman for the Zhang family. If you're thinking of diverting these crates to a Zhang warehouse and claiming a 'hijacking,' remember our deal. The audit of the No. 4 Mill is in a safe deposit box at the Bank of China. If I don't check in by noon, it goes to the Ministry."
Kun's face went from pale to a sickly green. "You... you have no trust."
"I have no illusions," Lin Xia countered. "Move the trucks. We're leaving."
The convoy moved through the pre-dawn fog toward the Port of Shanghai. In 1989, the road to the docks was a treacherous stretch of dirt and broken asphalt, lined with shanty towns and illegal checkpoints.
Lin Xia sat in the cab of the lead truck, her hand resting on the leather bag containing the bill of lading. She watched the shadows of the marshland. This was the moment of maximum vulnerability.
Suddenly, the lead truck slammed on its brakes.
Across the narrow road, two heavy timber carts had been overturned, blocking the path. A dozen men emerged from the tall reeds, carrying iron pipes and heavy wrenches. They weren't soldiers or professionals; they were "hired muscle" the kind of men Big-Ear Sun had used to intimidate the village.
In the center of the road stood Zhang Wei. He looked different—desperate. His suit was stained, and his eyes were wild. He had lost his family's prestige, and he was watching the girl he had planned to ruin become a titan.
"Lin Xia!" he screamed over the engine noise. "You think you can just walk away? You think you can take everything from me?"
Lin Xia stepped out of the truck. Behind her, the doors of the Red Crane trucks opened, and Zhao Kun's men spilled out. They were better armed and better fed, but Zhang Wei's men had the desperation of those with nothing left to lose.
"I didn't take anything from you, Zhang Wei," Lin Xia said, her voice steady. "You gambled your future on the idea that I was a weak girl. You lost. Now, move the carts."
"Not until I see those crates burn!" Zhang Wei lunged forward, a bottle of kerosene in his hand.
Lin Xia looked back at Zhao Kun, who was cowering behind his truck door. This was the turning point. In her past life, the Zhaos and the Zhangs had been allies. If Kun sided with Zhang Wei now, she was finished.
"Kun!" Lin Xia shouted. "Decide right now! Do you want to be a partner in a global empire, or do you want to be a criminal in a ditch? If those crates burn, your mother's legacy burns with them. And I will send that ledger to Han Huojin from my grave!"
Zhao Kun looked at the kerosene, then at the fierce, unyielding girl in the middle of the road. He saw the future in her eyes—a future of wealth and power that his mother had only dreamed of.
"Stop him!" Kun roared to his men. "Protect the cargo!"
The clash was short and brutal. The Red Crane's professionals made quick work of the village thugs. Zhang Wei was tackled to the ground, the kerosene bottle shattering harmlessly in the mud.
Lin Xia walked over to where Zhang Wei was pinned. He was sobbing, his face pressed into the dirt.
"This is the last time, Zhang Wei," she said, looking down at him without a shred of pity. "Next time, I won't call the police. I'll just buy the prison you're in and forget the key."
She turned back to the trucks. "Clear the road. We have a ship to catch."
The Port of Shanghai was a chaotic symphony of steam whistles, clanking chains, and the shouting of stevedores. The freighter The Lily of Marseille was docked at Pier 4.
As the crates were hoisted into the hold, Lin Xia stood on the pier, watching the crane move. Each crate was a brick in her new life.
A tall figure approached her through the fog. It was Han Huojin. He was wearing a long trench coat, looking like a character from a noir film.
"I heard there was trouble on the road," he said, handing her a thermos of hot tea.
"Just a ghost from the past," Lin Xia replied, taking a sip. The warmth spread through her, grounding her. "Did you ensure the customs clearance?"
"It's done," Han said. "But the Zhaos are already talking. They're impressed with how you handled Kun. They think you've 'tamed' him. They're offering you a seat on the board of the No. 4 Mill."
Lin Xia laughed, a cold, sharp sound. "A seat on the board? They want to keep me close so they can steal my designs. They think they're inviting a lamb to dinner."
"And what are you?" Han asked, his eyes searching hers.
"I'm the one who's going to rewrite the menu," she said.
As the final crate disappeared into the ship, the captain signaled the departure. The Lily of Marseille began to pull away from the pier, heading toward the open sea.
Lin Xia felt a surge of triumph so strong it made her dizzy. In her past life, she had died in a cold hospital room, her dreams stolen. Now, her work was traveling across the world. She was no longer a victim of the "Boom." She was the one driving it.
But then, she saw it.
On the deck of a smaller vessel docked nearby, a man was watching her. He wasn't a thug or a businessman. He was wearing a military-style jacket and holding a camera. He took a photo of her and Han Huojin standing together.
"Han," she whispered. "Who is that?"
Han Huojin followed her gaze, but the man had already disappeared into the cabin. His expression darkened.
"The internal security bureau," Han said quietly. "My rivals in the Ministry are looking for a way to tie me to 'private interests.' They see you as my weakness, Xia."
"Then they're making a mistake," Lin Xia said, turning to him. "I'm not your weakness. I'm your greatest asset. But we need to move faster. The 1990s are coming, and the rules of the game are about to change."
"What do you mean?"
"The stock market," Lin Xia said, her eyes gleaming with a secret knowledge. "The Shanghai Stock Exchange opens next year. We need to be ready to buy the city before the city knows it's for sale."
Lin Xia returned to the factory that evening to find her father waiting for her. He looked older, more tired.
"The shipment is gone, Dad," she told him, trying to sound cheerful. "We're rich. Truly rich."
"At what cost, Xia?" Lin Feng asked, gesturing to the Red Crane guards who were still patrolling the perimeter. "You've traded a small wolf for a pack of tigers. I see the way you look now. Your eyes... they look like your grandfather's when he was lost in the cards."
"I'm not losing, Dad," she insisted. "I'm winning."
"In that game," her father said sadly, "the only way to win is to keep everyone else from playing. Is that the kind of woman you want to be?"
Lin Xia didn't answer. She went to her office and pulled out her secret ledger. She added a new name to the "Acquisition" list: The Zhao Family Holdings.
She knew her father was right. She was becoming something hard, something cold. But she also knew that in the China of 1990, the soft were crushed and the warm were consumed. She would be the steel that survived the fire.
She picked up her pen and began to calculate the exact amount of capital she would need to buy the first-ever "A-Shares" on the Shanghai exchange.
The revenge against Zhang Wei was over. The war against the world was just beginning.