There is an inconspicuous small teahouse on the West Street of Beijing. The proprietress Shen Qingci is good at making good tea, but few people know that she was once the daughter of the richest man in the south of the Yangtze River. After her family was ruined, she kept her name anonymous. The guests who come to drink tea every day are from all walks of life, and the bits and pieces of information leaked in the chat can be spelled out by her fingers the undercurrents of the court. Until the accountant, who always sat in the corner and kept silent notes on the accounts, was taken away in the street by a group of black cavalry.
