The fat man cracked open a sunflower seed, spat the shell onto the ground by his feet, and continued sizing Ning Nuannuan up with one leg crossed.
“Little sister-in-law, you say you’re the owner—then show me the land deed,” he said impatiently, as if shooing away a fly.
Ning Nuannuan didn’t take out the deed.
She wasn’t here to prove her identity to a shop manager. She was here to check the accounts.
“Where are the account books?”
The fat man tossed the bag of seeds onto the counter and stood up. He was half a head shorter than Ning Nuannuan, but he carried himself with exaggerated authority, puffing out his round belly and tilting his head as he examined her.
“Can’t you understand human speech? I said you’re not the owner. And even if you were, these account books aren’t for outsiders to flip through. This shop is managed by the Dong’e residence. If you want to check accounts, go find Lord Dong’e.”
“Managed by the Dong’e residence?” Ning Nuannuan repeated.
“That’s right!”
“The deed of this shop bears my name—Dong’e Ning Nuan. My dowry property. Since when does it belong under the Dong’e residence’s control?”
The fat man’s brow twitched.
“Second Miss—no, she’s already married out now. She’s never handled this shop. It’s always been Concubine Su’s side that sends people to reconcile the accounts, and the money is handed over to her as well. If you were sent by Concubine Su, fine—show some proof.”
After hearing this, another piece of the puzzle fell into place for Ning Nuannuan.
Concubine Su.
The income from the two shops in the original owner’s dowry had all gone into Concubine Su’s pocket. That explained why the shop manager had written to the original owner saying “income does not cover expenses”—the money had been intercepted, so what was left to submit?
But interception alone wasn’t enough. Judging by the shabby state of this general store, the manager himself had been lining his own pockets as well.
“What’s your name?” Ning Nuannuan asked.
“Surname Wang, name Dafu—Wang Dafu.”
“How many years have you worked here?”
“Six years.”
“Six years.” Ning Nuannuan slowly walked around the shop. The goods on the shelves were sparse, worth at most twenty or thirty taels of silver. A storefront outside Chongwen Gate would rent for at least five or six taels a month. This amount of stock couldn’t even cover the rent.
In the corner, she spotted a half-open wooden crate filled with coarse tea and cheap liquor. She picked up a bag of tea and examined the seal.
The label read “Lu’an Guapian,” but the tea leaves were crushed into powder, yellowish in color, and carried a moldy smell.
“How much do you sell this for per jin?”
Wang Dafu glanced at it. “That’s top-grade Lu’an Guapian—three taels of silver.”
Ning Nuannuan tossed the tea back into the crate.
Authentic Lu’an Guapian had whole leaves, a vibrant green color, and a delicate fragrance. This crushed mess wasn’t even as good as the cheap tea sold at roadside stalls for two coins a bowl. Pricing it at three taels was outright cheating customers.
“So, are you going to let me see the account books or not?” Ning Nuannuan asked one last time.
Wang Dafu didn’t change his attitude. “No.”
He even sat back down on his stool and picked up the bag of seeds again, cracking one open.
Ning Nuannuan walked up to the counter.
The counter was an ordinary pinewood table, stained with grease and chipped at the corners. Behind it, against the wall, stood a locked wooden cabinet. The brass lock wasn’t large, hanging from a latch.
The account books were almost certainly inside.
Wang Dafu noticed her gaze and slapped the table with his fat hand. “Hey, I’m telling you—don’t touch anything! Get out, get out! Leave now! If you don’t, I’ll call someone!”
Ning Nuannuan didn’t move.
She extended her right hand and placed it on the surface of the counter. Her fingers curled downward, digging into the grain of the pine wood.
Then, she lifted.
The entire countertop—two inches thick, with its iron-edged strips nailed on—was flipped up like the lid of a pot.
“Bang—!”
The board overturned and slammed onto the ground behind the counter, kicking up a cloud of dust. Two nails flew loose, clattering into the corner with sharp metallic sounds.
The half-chewed sunflower seed in Wang Dafu’s mouth dropped onto his belly.
He stared at the counter frame in front of him, now missing its surface, then looked at Ning Nuannuan’s hand. That hand was completely fine, her nails clean and intact.
“Y-you…”
Ning Nuannuan didn’t give him the chance to finish. She walked around the counter to the locked wooden cabinet, grabbed the copper lock with her left hand, and pressed her thumb and index finger together.
The lock’s shackle bent.
With another squeeze, it snapped.
The copper lock fell to the ground, wobbling twice before tilting to one side.
Wang Dafu sprang up from his stool. He tried to shout for help, opening his mouth twice, only to realize that this shop, tucked in a corner of the alley, had no one nearby.
Ning Nuannuan pulled open the cabinet door.
Inside, as expected, were account books. A stack of them—at least a dozen—tied together with hemp rope. Beside them was a small oilcloth-wrapped box, heavy to the touch.
She first pulled out the account books and set them aside. Then she picked up the small box and opened it.
Inside were silver ingots. Five-tael pieces, arranged in two layers, twelve in total—sixty taels of silver.
Ning Nuannuan picked up the top account book and flipped it open.
This Wang Dafu was even sloppier than Zhang Dequan from the Ninth Prince’s residence. At least Zhang Dequan categorized his fake accounts with clear entries. This one just recorded everything like a流水账—a running log.
But the rougher the accounts, the easier it was to find the holes.
“Last month, sold twenty jin of oil, received one tael of silver,” Ning Nuannuan read aloud. “The wholesale price of sesame oil outside Chongwen Gate is forty wen per jin. Twenty jin costs eight hundred wen. Selling for one tael gives a gross profit of two hundred wen. That checks out.”
Wang Dafu let out a breath.
“But below that, you wrote: purchased fifty jin of oil, spent three taels.” Ning Nuannuan flipped a page. “Fifty jin, even at the highest price, wouldn’t exceed two and a half taels. Where did three taels come from?”
Wang Dafu’s lips twitched.
Ning Nuannuan kept flipping.
“July, purchased sauces and vinegar, spent four taels and six qian.” After reading, she turned to the inventory page at the back. “End of July inventory shows three jars less than at the end of June. You spent four taels and six qian buying them, and your stock decreased instead? Did you buy nothing?”
Sweat began to bead on Wang Dafu’s round face.
Ning Nuannuan flipped page after page, faster and faster. The loopholes in these accounts were absurdly large—no advanced auditing techniques were needed. Simple addition and subtraction were enough to expose the problems.
In about the time it took to drink a cup of tea, she roughly reviewed half a year’s worth of accounts.
Closing the last book, she stated a number.
“I don’t have time to go through six years of records one by one. Just in these past six months, you’ve pocketed at least one hundred and twenty taels. Add the sixty taels of working silver hidden in your cabinet—one hundred and eighty taels.”
One hundred and eighty taels didn’t sound like much, but a small general store’s normal half-year profit was only thirty to forty taels. He had taken nearly five times the profit into his own pocket.
Wang Dafu finally couldn’t stand steady. His short legs trembled, but he still struggled to argue.
“Y-you… even if you’re the owner, so what? I was placed here by Concubine Su! What can you do to me? This shop has always been under her control—”
“Concubine Su?” Ning Nuannuan gathered the account books and tied them with the same hemp rope.
“You can go find her,” she said, tucking the bundle under her arm. “Just in time—I also want to have a talk with her. Pass along a message for me: from now on, my dowry shops answer only to me. If she’s not satisfied, she can come to the Ninth Prince’s residence to find me.”
Carrying the account books and the box of silver, Ning Nuannuan walked toward the door.
“You can’t take that! That’s mine—” Wang Dafu rushed forward, reaching out to grab it.
Ning Nuannuan stopped and glanced back at him.
Just that one glance.
Wang Dafu’s hand froze midair, then slowly withdrew. He couldn’t describe what was in that look. It wasn’t anger, nor ruthlessness—just a matter-of-fact superiority, as if she were looking at an ant blocking her path, deciding whether it was worth lifting her foot.
He didn’t dare move again.
Ning Nuannuan stepped out and walked down the alley toward the main street. Behind her, two young maids each carried a stack of account books, stumbling as they followed.
“Your Consortship, are we still going to the silk shop?” one maid asked, panting.
“We are. Just not today.” Ning Nuannuan reached the street corner and found a mule cart. “That Manager Zhou at the silk shop is far more cunning than this one. We’ll need a different approach.”