Nanyang 1936

Cross-border payment product manager Chen Shouxin died suddenly in front of the clearing screen at three o'clock in the morning. When he opened his eyes again, he had become a new customer from Southeast Asia who had traveled across the ocean in 1936. The steerage was fishy and hot, and he was burdened with credit bills. Before his death, the fellow villagers on the ship only entrusted him with a letter from home with bloody fingerprints and three silver dollars. In this world, a penny can bend someone's back, but a letter of approval can hang the lives of a whole family in Tangshan. He has no system, no gold, only the ability to calculate accounts, understand risk control, and be literate in writing reviews. From the Ketou Hotel to the Tin Mine Farm, from the five-legged and half desk to the signboard of Nanyang Batch Bureau, he wants to unravel the black account of compound interest rates, chase the swallowed hard-earned money, and deliver the last letter home to the deceased. While others fought for their lives with swords and guns, he relied on account books, seals, and sea routes to turn the poor overseas workers scattered in Southeast Asia into his own credit. In troubled times, sea routes will be cut off, and the war will eventually reach Zhaonan. When silver coins, bills of exchange, and family letters were all involved in the turmoil of the times, Chen Shouxin only made one rule: when people are there, criticism will be there, and when people are gone, criticism will not be destroyed.