The morning Lin Wan'er opened the first women's bank in Tang history dawned clear and cold.
She stood beneath the gilded eaves of the Yanzhi Bank, watching as her female employees—former courtesans and merchants' daughters—arranged cosmetics on silk-draped counters. The scent of rosewater and sandalwood filled the air, mingling with the crisp tang of newly minted bronze coins.
"Your Highness, the nuxu are here," a maid announced, bowing.
Nuxu—female scholars. Wan'er had handpicked them from the recently disbanded Xue Shi Guan, the imperial academy for women. Their presence was both a statement and a necessity; only they could navigate the complex financial calculations required for her latest innovation.
"Show them the ledgers," Wan'er instructed. "Teach them how to calculate yanzhi dai."
Yanzhi dai—"Carmine Installments"—was her answer to Tang's rigid gender roles. Women could now purchase cosmetics, perfumes, and even wedding dowries on a 12-month payment plan, secured by their future labor or family assets.
But as the sun climbed higher, the first customer arrived—not a noblewoman, but a delegation of Confucian scholars led by the Minister of Rites.
"Princess Mingyue," the minister intoned, his voice dripping with disdain. "This… establishment violates the Li Ji—the Book of Rites. Women have no place in finance!"
Wan'er smiled serenely. "On the contrary, the Li Ji states, 'Women hold the keys to the household.' What better way to honor that than by empowering them with financial autonomy?"
Before he could retort, a commotion erupted outside. A veiled woman pushed through the crowd, her silk qipao torn at the hem. "Help me!" she cried. "My husband gambled away our dowry!"
Wan'er stepped forward. "What's your name?"
"Liu Yulan, daughter of the late magistrate of Henan." The woman knelt, pressing a jade hairpin into Wan'er's hand. "This is all I have left."
Wan'er examined the hairpin—a Ming Dynasty relic worth at least 500 guan. "I'll advance you 300 guan against its value," she said. "Repay in monthly installments, and it's yours. Default, and we'll sell it at auction."
The crowd gasped. Pawnshops were common, but this was credit—a revolutionary concept for women.
Yulan wept. "Thank you, Your Highness. You've given me a second chance."
As the minister stormed off, Wan'er caught sight of a familiar figure watching from the shadows—Captain Pei Ji, his scarred face expressionless. He nodded once before melting into the crowd.
That afternoon, Princess Taiping arrived with a retinue of 50 women, each carrying lacquered boxes of jewelry. "I've brought collateral," she announced, her voice carrying through the bank. "For my yanzhi dai."
Wan'er suppressed a smirk. The princess was signaling her support—publicly and lavishly. "Of course, Your Highness. What item would you like to finance?"
Taiping leaned closer, her breath warm against Wan'er's ear. "Not an item, niece. A crown."
Before Wan'er could react, the princess withdrew a diamond-encrusted hairpin—the symbol of the Tian Xian order, a secret society of powerful women. "This guarantees my loan. And your silence."
That evening, as Wan'er reviewed the day's transactions, a shadow slipped into her office. She reached for the dagger hidden in her sleeve, but relaxed when she saw Pei Ji.
"Captain," she said, "to what do I owe this pleasure?"
He placed a scroll on her desk. "Evidence of Princess Taiping's ties to the Tian Xian," he said. "They're planning something—something involving your bank."
Wan'er's blood chilled. The Tian Xian were said to control half the empire's wealth through secret loans and blackmail. If Taiping was merging their network with her own…
"Why help me?" she asked.
Pei Ji met her gaze steadily. "Because you're not the only one who wants to bring down the princess." He hesitated. "And because I believe in your vision. Women should have financial power."
Their eyes held for a moment, charged with unspoken tension. Then Pei Ji bowed and left, leaving Wan'er with more questions than answers.
The next morning, disaster struck.
A fire broke out in the bank's vault, destroying half its records. Wan'er rushed to the scene, only to find Wang Yuanbao smirking outside.
"Accidents happen, Your Highness," he said. "Especially when inexperienced hands meddle with finance."
Wan'er's eyes narrowed. This wasn't an accident. The fire had started in the yanzhi dai ledgers—targeting the most vulnerable customers.
She turned to her employees. "We'll reconstruct the records from memory," she declared. "And introduce a new policy: yanzhi fen—Carmine Points. Customers who repay on time earn privileges like access to imperial salons."
The women nodded resolutely. As they began the tedious work of rebuilding, Wan'er caught sight of a figure in the crowd—a veiled woman with a familiar jade hairpin.
Liu Yulan. But when she approached, the woman vanished into the shadows.
That night, Wan'er visited the imperial tombs. She needed answers about Mingyue's past, and the hu fu's glow led her to a hidden chamber beneath her ancestor's mausoleum.
Inside, she found walls covered in star charts and financial ledgers—the records of the Mi Zhen Si's secret economic warfare. At their center lay a portrait of a woman who looked strikingly like her—Mingyue's mother, who'd died in mysterious circumstances.
As she pored over the ledgers, a voice echoed through the chamber. "You've inherited her brilliance, child."
Wan'er spun to face an old woman in a tattered qipao, her face lined with scars. "Who are you?"
The woman smiled. "I was your mother's bodyguard. And your predecessor in the Mi Zhen Si." She pressed a scroll into Wan'er's hand. "This contains the truth about your 'accident.' Princess Taiping didn't act alone."
Before Wan'er could question her, the woman dissolved into the shadows.
The scroll revealed a list of names—powerful figures who'd conspired to kill Mingyue. At the top was Pei Ji.
Wan'er's heart raced. He's been lying to me. But why?
The next morning, she confronted Pei Ji in the West Market. "You were part of the plot to assassinate Mingyue," she accused.
He paled. "It's not what you think. I—"
Before he could finish, a crossbow bolt whistled past Wan'er's ear. Pei Ji shoved her to the ground, drawing his sword. "Run!" he shouted.
They fled through the crowded streets, pursued by masked assassins. As they ducked into an alley, Pei Ji pressed a vial into her hand. "Drink this—it will slow your heart, make you appear dead."
Wan'er hesitated. "Why save me?"
"Because I love you," he said, his voice raw. "And because you're the only one who can stop the Tian Xian."
He kissed her hard, then pushed her into a hidden passage. "Go to the Yanzhi Bank. The women there will protect you."
As Wan'er ran, she heard the clash of swords and Pei Ji's cry of pain. Tears blurred her vision as she clutched the vial. This isn't just about finance anymore. It was about survival, love, and the dangerous secrets buried in Mingyue's past.
That evening, the Yanzhi Bank reopened, stronger than ever. Wan'er stood at its helm, her resolve steeled by the day's revelations.
"From now on," she declared, "we'll offer yanzhi bao—Carmine Insurance. For a small fee, your loans will be repaid even if you fall ill or lose your job."
The crowd erupted in cheers. But Wan'er's eyes were on the horizon, where Princess Taiping's palace loomed like a dark shadow.
The game has just begun.