The winter of 1990 brought more than just frost to Shanghai; it brought a cold, calculated legal siege.
Lin Xia sat in her office at the No. 4 Mill. The heating in the old building was temperamental, and she wore a heavy cashmere coat over her shoulders. On her desk lay a thick stack of documents bound in a red folder—the official seal of the Shanghai People's Court.
Zhao Meifeng had finally struck back.
The lawsuit was a masterpiece of legal sabotage. It claimed that the "transfer" of the No. 4 Mill from the Zhao family to Lin Xia was invalid under the "State-Owned Asset Protection Laws."
The Zhaos were arguing that because the mill had received state subsidies in 1987, it was technically "semi-public" property, and therefore, private individuals—like a girl from a village—could not legally own the controlling stake.
If the court agreed, Lin Xia wouldn't just lose the mill. She would be charged with "Illegal Acquisition of State Assets," a crime that carried a life sentence.
"They aren't looking for a settlement, Xia," Su Bo said, pacing the length of the office. He looked thinner, the stress of the "Yellow House" session still etched into his face. "They want to freeze your accounts. If the court issues an injunction, we can't pay the weavers. We can't buy the raw silk for the spring season. The factory will starve to death before the first hearing."
Lin Xia picked up a fountain pen and turned it over in her hands. The rhythmic thump-thump of the industrial looms below them felt like a heartbeat she was fighting to keep steady.
"Zhao Meifeng is playing the 'State' card," Lin Xia said quietly. "She's banking on the fact that the judges are still scared of the old guard. She wants to make me look like a capitalist thief who is robbing the people's heritage."
"Can Han Huojin help?" Su Bo asked.
"No," Lin Xia snapped. "If Han interferes in a 'State Asset' case, it confirms the rumors that he's my protector. It would ruin him. No, we have to fight this in the open. We need a lawyer."
"In 1990? A lawyer who will go up against the Zhaos?" Su Bo laughed bitterly. "Most lawyers in this city are still trying to figure out if private contracts are even legal."
"I don't need a Shanghai lawyer," Lin Xia said, her eyes flashing with a cold light. "I need Li Tian."
Li Tian was a name that wouldn't be famous for another five years. In 1990, he was a young, brilliant legal mind who had just returned from studying in Shenzhen and Hong Kong. He was obsessed with the "Special Economic Zone" laws and the coming wave of privatization.
Lin Xia knew him from her previous life. He had been the one who tried to warn her about Zhang Wei's contract traps, but back then, she had been too blinded by "love" to listen.
She found him in a cramped, humid office near the docks, surrounded by English law books and half-empty cups of instant coffee.
"The No. 4 Mill?" Li Tian said, leaning back in his creaking chair as Lin Xia explained the case. He was twenty-eight, with sharp features and a restless energy. "You're the one they're calling the 'Indigo Queen.' You've got a lot of nerve, Miss Lin. You're essentially asking me to prove that the 'Old Guard' doesn't own the future."
"I'm asking you to prove that a contract signed in the new era is stronger than a bribe paid in the old one," Lin Xia replied.
Li Tian picked up the Zhao family's complaint. He scanned it, a small, predatory smile forming on his lips. "They're using the 1982 Constitution's clause on 'Public Ownership.' It's a solid wall of iron. How do you plan to break it?"
"We don't break it," Lin Xia said, leaning over his desk. " we use the 1988 Land Management Amendment. The Zhaos are claiming the factory is state-owned. But I don't care about the factory building. I care about the Land Use Rights."
Li Tian froze. He looked at her, his eyes widening. "The 1988 Amendment... the first time the state allowed the 'transfer' of land use for value. You're saying that while the bricks might be public, the earth beneath them is yours by contract?"
"Exactly," Lin Xia said. "And if the earth is mine, the Zhaos are trespassing."
The preliminary hearing was held in a grey, drafty courtroom in the Xuhui District. The air smelled of wet wool and floor wax.
Zhao Meifeng arrived like a dowager empress, flanked by three senior lawyers from the State Legal Bureau. She didn't even look at Lin Xia. She sat in the front row, her hands folded over a jade-topped cane, radiating an aura of absolute certainty.
The Zhaos' lead lawyer, a man named Counselor Wu, stood up. He spoke for an hour about "Socialist Integrity" and the "Protection of National Industry." He painted a picture of Lin Xia as a predatory speculator who had used "coercive tactics" to trick the Zhao family's son into signing over a pillar of Shanghai's history.
"This is not just a business dispute!" Wu thundered, his voice echoing in the rafters. "This is a test of our city's soul! If we allow this... this girl to strip-mine our state assets, what is left for the workers? What is left for the Party?"
The judge, a man named Justice Zhang who looked as if he had been carved out of ancient oak, nodded slowly. He looked at Lin Xia with deep skepticism.
"Miss Lin," Justice Zhang said. "Your defense?"
Li Tian stood up. He didn't look at the judge. He looked at the window, where the cranes of the new Shanghai were visible in the distance.
"Your Honor," Li Tian began, his voice calm and melodic. "Counselor Wu speaks of the 'soul' of the city. But the soul of Shanghai is not made of bricks and spindles. It is made of Growth."
He pulled out a map—not of the factory, but of the Pudong New Area Development Zone.
"The Zhao family claims the No. 4 Mill is a state asset," Li Tian continued. "But under the 1988 Amendment, my client, Miss Lin, purchased the Land Transfer Rights for this plot. She didn't buy a factory; she bought the right to develop the 'New Frontier.' If this court voids her contract, you aren't just taking a mill away from a girl. You are telling every foreign investor from Paris to New York that Shanghai's 'Open Door' policy is actually a trapdoor."
The courtroom went silent. The mention of "Foreign Investors" was the ultimate trump card in 1990. The city was desperate for the prestige of the coming French contracts.
Zhao Meifeng's grip on her cane tightened.
Justice Zhang leaned forward. "Counselor Li, the land rights are one thing. But the machinery and the debt—"
"The machinery was replaced by Miss Lin using her own foreign currency earnings," Li Tian interrupted, sliding a folder of invoices onto the judge's bench. "And as for the debt... we have a witness."
The doors at the back of the courtroom opened.
Zhao Kun walked in. He looked pale, his suit rumpled. He didn't look at his mother. He looked at the floor.
Zhao Meifeng stood up, her face turning a ghastly shade of grey. "Kun! What are you doing here?"
"Sit down, Madame Zhao!" the judge barked.
Kun took the stand. His voice was a whisper. "I... I signed the papers. I wasn't coerced. The mill was failing. My family... we were using the state subsidies to cover our private losses in the real estate market. Miss Lin saved the workers. She paid the back-wages that my family had 'borrowed'."
A collective gasp went through the room. This wasn't just a contract dispute anymore; it was a confession of embezzlement by the Zhaos.
Justice Zhang stared at Kun, then at the livid Zhao Meifeng. The power dynamic in the room had shifted. The "Old Guard" wasn't protecting the state; they were robbing it.
"The court will recess for forty-eight hours to review the invoices and the 1988 Amendment," Justice Zhang announced, his gavel coming down with a final, echoing thud.
As the room cleared, Lin Xia stood by the defense table. She felt no joy. She saw Zhao Meifeng walking toward her, the matriarch's eyes burning with a cold, murderous light.
"You used my son," Meifeng whispered as she passed. "You turned him against his own blood. You think you've won a factory, Lin Xia. But you've started a war that won't end in a courtroom."
"I didn't turn him, Madame," Lin Xia replied, her voice steady. "I just gave him a choice between a sinking ship and a bridge. He chose to live."
"We will see," Meifeng said, her voice dropping to a terrifying calm. "The court might give you the land. But the land won't give you peace."
Lin Xia walked out into the cold Shanghai afternoon. Li Tian followed her, looking exhilarated.
"We did it, Xia! We've pinned them! The judge can't ignore the embezzlement now."
"He can't ignore it," Lin Xia said, looking at the grey sky. "But the Zhaos won't let it reach a final verdict. They have forty-eight hours to make the problem—and the person holding the invoices—disappear."
She looked at a black car parked across the street. The windows were tinted. It wasn't Han Huojin's car.
"Li Tian, go home," she said. "Take a different route. Don't go to your office tonight."
"Xia, what are you—"
"Go!" she commanded.
As Li Tian hurried away, Lin Xia stood alone on the courthouse steps. She felt the weight of her rebirth. In her past life, she had been a victim of Zhang Wei's greed. In this life, she was a target of an entire dynasty's survival instinct.
She realized then that Part 1 of the battle was over. She had won the "Paper Storm." But Part 2 would be fought with much more than words. It would be fought with the very lives of the people she had brought with her from the village.
She reached into her pocket and gripped her small fabric shears.
"Forty-eight hours," she whispered to the wind. "Let's see who survives the night."