The Golden Sparrow in the House

Qianfan Theater

The last heavy snow of February had just fallen in Peiping, covering the streets in a blanket of white snow.

People who had risen early for work left footprints in the snow, one after another.

As the sun fully rose, the pristine snow was trampled into black mud, mixed with dust, and swept to the sides of the road by street sweepers.

At this time in Peiping, a sleek black Buick was a luxury only the rich and powerful could afford. Passersby couldn't help but glance at the person sitting in the backseat. Unfortunately, the dark tint on the windows only allowed a vague outline to be seen.

"Who’s in the car?" asked a rickshaw driver squatting by the roadside, sipping a soy milk while dipping fried dough sticks. Her eyes were fixed on the car, though no one was nearby for him to direct his question to.

The snow sweeper, Cricket, urged the rickshaw driver to move aside. With a few strokes of her broad wooden broom, she swept the snow into a ditch. Wiping the sweat from his forehead with a white towel hanging around her neck, she said, "You think anyone can drive that car? Who else would? Don't you see the number on the license plate?"

"036." The rickshaw driver squinted and then turned to ask, "Can you tell who it is?"

"What do you know? The license plate means this car is from Peking," Cricket replied. "Those thirty-six registered cars belong to the sixth lady of the Bai family. Don’t be fooled by the number—036. It’s the first among the merchants."

The rickshaw driver only understood that owning a car required both knowledge and money—buying and maintaining such a car was expensive. Few people knew about it, but when Cricket mentioned the sixth lady of the Bai family, she immediately grasped the car's significance.

Who is the sixth Miss of the Bai family? She is the head of the Bai family, the leader of the Peking Chamber of Commerce. This century-old family has dominated countless industries, and no one dares to claim they haven't bought something under the Bai family's name.

The lower-class folk, in their free time, are curious about the lives of the wealthy. When a customer approached seeking a ride, the rickshaw driver stopped drinking her soy milk and eagerly grabbed the opportunity to transport them.

In the back seat of the car, Bai Yunxi sat with her eyes closed, resting against the leather seat. Her skin was so pale it appeared almost translucent, with only her slightly pursed lips as red as fire. She glanced at the people around her, who chattered incessantly. Her eyes, as black as ink, conveyed a natural aloofness, silencing their conversation.

Undeterred, the other party leaned in with a playful smile. "I haven't seen you in so long, and you're as talkative as ever. Who would have thought you'd be at the Bai family branch for a year? If not for your monthly visits, I would have thought you’d died out there."

"You did run into some trouble," came the response.

After waiting a while, Shang Wengong, crossing her legs and curling her lips, seemed disinterested in prying into Bai Yunxi’s affairs.

"In the year since you left, Qianfan Theater has produced a major Qingyi performance. Thanks to my connections, I was able to book a prime room. I brought you here to broaden your horizons."

Shang Wen Gong spoke with complete ease, not worried about speaking so openly in front of Bai Yunxi—something few would dare to do.

The Bai and Shang families had been conducting business together since their grandmothers' generation. Miss Shang, was more discerning than most, had been a close associate of Bai Yunxi since childhood, so their relationship had always been distinct.