Liu Bian at the start, so you're called Dong Zhuo, right?

After emerging from the shed, the eunuchs greeted him respectfully, while Zhao Changshi's face turned ashen with embarrassment.

Emperor Ling of Han took two steps, then, as if remembering something, turned back to look at Liu Bian. His tone remained casual and enthusiastic, yet carried an undeniable air of authority:

"Now that the palace market is in your hands, don't let me hear any more gossip about it being 'unattended'."

"From now on, all matters concerning the palace market—purchasing, exchanging goods, setting up stalls, employing craftsmen, and managing the inflow and outflow of goods—will be at your disposal."

As he spoke, he lifted the puppy in his arms, as if using it as a witness:

"I will come to check on you every few days. If you can keep things fresh for me, I will keep you in constant use of your people."

This sounds like a joke, but those in the know understand that this clearly puts the lucrative "palace market" route into the hands of the Crown Prince.

Liu Bian bowed deeply, his voice steady:

"Your subject will remember this. I will wait for you every two days and will not disappoint Your Majesty."

Standing aside, Zhao Changshi was in turmoil. The Crown Prince was only eight years old, yet he already possessed such wisdom.

Since he had already incurred the wrath of him, if he were to ascend the throne, he would have no chance of survival.

No one could see the gloomy expression on his face when he lowered his head, and no one knew that he already had a plan in mind.

-

Once the palace market was stabilized, Liu Bian also secured the "road to soap".

Upon returning to Chengde Palace, Liu Bian summoned Wang Ming and instructed him:

"From today onwards, all purchases in the palace market shall be made on receipts," Liu Bian said. "The receipts must include three things: the name of the item, its weight, and its price. The person handling the transaction must sign it, and the warehouse clerk must affix their seal. If any one of these items is missing, the item shall not be allowed to enter the warehouse."

Wang Ming's heart skipped a beat: "Yes, sir."

"Then compile a list of 'suppliers'." Liu Bian pointed to the table. "Those who can produce goods and supply the required quantity will be recorded; those who are cunning and opportunistic will be crossed out. The palace market is not the marketplace. Anyone who dares to use the tricks of the Zhu Xingtou to blackmail me—I'll make sure they can never enter the palace gates again."

"And also, the ingredients for the soap."

When Wang Ming went out, his back was straightened a bit.

He'd really chosen the right master. He remembered how apprehensive he was when Zhang Changshi first assigned him to serve the newly crown prince. The struggle for the throne was a recipe for disaster; one wrong move and he'd be dead!

Now it seems that Zhang Changshi is truly a benefactor to me, Wang Ming!

When Wang Ming returned, the car was packed full:

Fatty bits and lard scraps discarded from the palace kitchens are recorded in the inventory under the category of "Consumed for Washing in the Palace";

Fine ash left over from cooking in the imperial kitchen—recorded in the inventory as "cleaning consumables";

Alum, lime, and coarse alkali—record them in the warehouse according to the "Miscellaneous Materials for the Imperial Treasury" category;

Two large iron pots, ten wooden molds, and one engraver—all were directly allocated from the Shaofu workshop, without even needing to negotiate the price.

That night, the door to the east side warehouse was opened once.

Two inconspicuous little carts emerged from the side passage of the palace gate. The carts were covered with coarse cloth, but underneath the cloth was a mixture of oil, ash, alkali, and alum.

The people escorting the cart were not the usual porters used in the palace market, but rather "guild porters" newly selected by Liu Bian—they were registered and their accounts were sealed. Anyone who dared to say a word would be expelled according to the guild rules and then punished according to the palace rules.

The car circled two alleys and entered the backyard of the Tong Sheng Society.

Zhou Wen was already waiting at the gate of the courtyard. When he saw the car arrive, he hurriedly went forward to greet it.

Liu Bian handed him the "outbound slip":

"Look carefully—this is a warehouse release from the palace market, and there's a stamp on the slip. Just record it in the accounts according to the rules: where the goods came from, how many kilograms, which warehouse they went into, and who handled them."

Zhou Wen swallowed hard and quickly reached out to take it.

Upon entering the courtyard, Cao Cao and his men were already waiting there.

Torn burlap, old fishing nets, hemp rope ends, plus the paper mulberry bark and mulberry bark that the Xiahou brothers had peeled, were piled up like a small mountain in the corner of the yard.

Cao Cao cupped his hands in greeting: "My lord, all the materials are ready. But I wonder... how can paper be made even better than Cai Hou's paper?"

Liu Bian glanced at him, his smile faint: "The paper of Marquis Cai is indeed good, but it cannot support the characters."

He called Zhou Wen over and dipped some ink into the paper—it still bled slightly.

"To establish accounts and vouchers, seals must be affixed, and counterfeit goods must be difficult to imitate—this requires ensuring the integrity of the ink and the seal."

Liu Bian said no more, turned around and gave the order:

"Pulp the pulp, mash it, make paper—you do the same things as before."

"The crucial step is yet to come: applying the adhesive."

"Where will the glue come from?" Xiahou Dun scratched his head. "Other times, oil?"

"No oil needed." Liu Bian pointed to the pile of skin and bones that the palace chefs had thrown out. "Boil the skin and bones into glue. Add a little alum water to the glue—alum can 'fix' the paper fibers and the ink."

He had someone start a small pot and slowly simmer the skin and bones into a clear gelatinous substance. He then dissolved alum in water and added it in little by little according to the prescribed amount.

The glue was neither too thick nor too thin, but rather like a thin paste.

When the first batch of paper was dried to about 70% dryness, he personally took a brush and evenly applied glue to the paper surface, then pressed, dried, and burnished it again—rubbing it back and forth with a smooth stone slab.

"This is called burnishing," Liu explained. "It makes the paper surface flat, so the ink lines are straight and the prints are clear."

Once the paper was completely dry, he asked Zhou Wen to write a line of text.

As the brush touched the paper, the ink no longer bled, and the lines were as clean as if they had been carved with a knife.

Everyone present gasped in shock.

Cao Ren stepped forward and picked up the paper: "Use this paper for the seal; it's hard for counterfeiters to imitate."

Liu Bian nodded: "It's not just the seal."

He raised his hand, gesturing for Zhou Wen to press the seal—the seal was clear and the edges were neither blurred nor scattered.

"From this day forward, all receipts, seals, and invoices issued by the Tong Sheng Society shall be on this paper."

"Once the paper evidence is established—if you try to cause trouble with fake soap again, I'll make sure he can't produce a single 'real ticket'."

Once the paper is made, the soap can be made too.

After the materials were put into storage, Liu Bian was no longer in a hurry to ship them out.

He wrote down the "batch" clearly, following the rules he had previously established:

Each batch is numbered, a copy is kept for each batch, and the batch is stored in the warehouse for aging; each seal is stamped; and the two copies of the receipt are matched.

Cao Ren guarded the treasury, Wang Ming managed the documents, Zhou Wen kept the accounts, and Cao Cao kept the tail down.

-

Three days later, the Tong Sheng Association will reopen its doors.

This time, the store will not display the sign "Big Sales".

Only one document was hung:

"Tong Sheng Hui soap, shipped in batches. Limited quantity per day. Ticket required. No sale without a ticket."

Another small note was pasted next to it:

"Shipping today: Batch 7. Numbers: 7A1 to 8A80. While supplies last."

As soon as the crowd gathered in the early morning, they were momentarily stunned by the two tablets.

One woman muttered, "What's a number?"

Zhou Wenli stood at the entrance, his voice clear and bright: "Every piece has a number. Which piece you take will match the account; if something happens to you, you can be held accountable. What you want isn't cheapness, it's peace of mind."

Some people understood and became even more eager: "Then I'll take two pieces first!"

"No." Cao Ren braced his hand against the door frame: "One yuan per household. Let more people use it first."

Although the crowd was unwilling, they dared not force their way in.

Because there was a wooden box next to the entrance.

Inside the box were "leftover soaps"—one bar left over from each batch, with the seal still intact, the imprint clear, the paper smooth, and the ink clean. Even a layman could tell that they were "difficult to imitate."

Wang Ming stood to one side, reciting the rules of the meeting as if they were palace rules:

"Only by opening the package, verifying the seal, and checking the serial number can the product be considered genuine."

"Anything without a seal or serial number is fake."

This time, the soap sold even faster than before, with everyone wanting to get one because of the limited quantity.

In less than half an hour, Zhou Wen crossed out "eighty Jia" on the document and replaced it with two characters:

"sold out."

As soon as the curtain fell, people outside remained, calling out through the door, "Which batch tomorrow? What number tomorrow?"

Zhou Wen replied with only one sentence: "Read the document."

Meanwhile, in the house in the north of the city, where the lights never went out, a cup and saucer fell to the ground.

Zhu Xingtou held the newly bought bar of soap in his hand. When he tore open the seal, the paper made a "rip" sound, as if it had been cut by a knife.

He stared at the seal on the label, then at the small engraving on the bottom of the soap—Seven Jia Thirty-Seven.

My eye twitched.

"Impossible." His voice was hoarse. "I've taken care of the lard residue, I've set rules for the ash dealers, I've scheduled the iron pots, I've even controlled the deliverymen—how could they still open the pots?"

Manager Fang took a sip of tea under the lamp, his face even more unpleasant than Zhu Xingtou's.

"They can produce goods without following our path."

Upon hearing this, Zhu Xingtou felt a chill run down his spine: "You mean—someone is supplying them with information behind the scenes?"

Manager Fang did not answer, but slowly uttered a sentence:

"Being able to bypass the two cities and get the ingredients into the pot overnight—this is something that can't be done by foot."

He looked up at Zhu Xingtou: "You've cut off the path of the common people, but they're probably going to the palace."

Zhu Xingtou's face turned deathly pale instantly.

Inside the palace.

These two words are so oppressive they make it hard to breathe.

What made them even more uneasy was that if it really was someone from inside the sect holding the fort, they hadn't received a single word about it.

With so many ingredients purchased at once, the two cities of Luoyang should have been in an uproar long ago.

The result was as if it appeared out of thin air.

Manager Fang held the seal between his fingers; the paper was unusually smooth, the ink didn't bleed, and the print didn't smudge.

"This paper..." His eyes were cold. "I've never seen it before."

"Like that soap, it's a novelty."

He then gently set down the teacup, his voice even colder:

"We are Tonglixing, and we make our living from the road. If the road is torn apart from the root, it's not something we can withstand."

He paused, as if making a decision:

"We must ask the host."

Zhu Xingtou's Adam's apple bobbed: "The Yuan family?"

Manager Fang nodded, as if uttering a name that even he himself respected:

"The Yuan family of Runan".

"If this Tongsheng Society really has someone backing it, no matter who it is, they will eventually run into the Yuan family's path."

-

That night, Tonglihang sent out a very secure private letter.

When the letter was delivered to the Yuan family's villa in Luoyang, it was nearly midnight.

Upon seeing the Tonglihang seal, the gatekeeper of the Yuan residence dared not delay and led him into the inner courtyard.

Under the lamplight, the steward of the Yuan residence finished reading and simply smiled:

"interesting."

"There's probably a hidden hand behind this Tongsheng Society."

"Let me see whose hand this is. How dare they oppose the Yuan family."