Pei Bingyuan completed his inspection of Taicang Prefecture and formulated a plan for governance before accepting Deputy Prefect Zhu’s welcome banquet — though his purpose had nothing to do with the welcome itself.
Pei Bingyuan had already investigated the financial circumstances of Deputy Prefect Zhu and Assistant Prefect Liu. Both were unremarkable — they drew their government salaries, and their families maintained modest properties in Suzhou Prefecture. It was plain they had not defected to Zhenhai Guard; they were simply protecting themselves. Or perhaps Zhenhai Guard had not deemed them worth bribing.
After several rounds of wine, when everyone was pleasantly flushed and in the mood to speak candidly, Assistant Prefect Liu raised his cup and said with a self-deprecating laugh: “There is a Song dynasty verse that goes: ‘Knowing the shadow-striker’s threat, one learns the sand-spitter’s art of self-preservation.’ Please do not mock us, Prefect. We petty officials are like river clams — hard shells on the outside, a bellyful of sand within, all for the sake of self-preservation… and even so, we are still easily crushed.”
Such was the situation in Taicang Prefecture. They had long since stopped caring about merit or fault; they only wished to pass their days in peace.
Deputy Prefect Zhu was older and more taciturn. Hearing Assistant Prefect Liu’s words, he also lowered his head with a bitter smile.
Pei Bingyuan raised his cup and drank with them. He did not press them with grand declarations about what they ought to do. Instead, he refilled Deputy Prefect Zhu’s cup and asked: “What does Deputy Prefect Zhu make of all this?”
Deputy Prefect Zhu had served many years in his post and had seen several prefects come and go — each arriving with bold ambitions, quickly subdued into submission by Zhenhai Guard, and ultimately departing in quiet disgrace. Every last one of them.
Whenever the prefectural yamen clashed with Zhenhai Guard, Zhenhai Guard would let bandits into the city to “teach the yamen a lesson.” This cycle repeated itself, and it was always the common people who suffered most.
“Since the Prefect already understands Taicang’s situation, this subordinate will be blunt,” Deputy Prefect Zhu advised. “The people may live hard lives, but they can still scrape by. In this subordinate’s humble view, rather than fight a battle we cannot win, it may be better not to fight at all — that way the common people might at least be spared further calamity and live out their bitter days in some semblance of peace.”
Pei Bingyuan shook his head. “You two have misunderstood me. I have not said anything tonight about challenging Zhenhai Guard. What I asked was how Taicang Prefecture ought to be governed.”
He continued: “Taicang is a vast prefecture. Zhenhai Guard’s arrogance is only one of many problems. The yamen runners are negligent and idle, the embankments have gone years without being raised, the tradition of shipbuilding has fallen into ruin… In your eyes, are none of these things worth addressing?”
Deputy Prefect Zhu and Assistant Prefect Liu were taken aback. They exchanged glances, and expressions of shame crossed their faces — they had given up entirely. They could not accomplish the great things, and the small things they had neglected as well.
“We will follow the Prefect’s every instruction,” said Deputy Prefect Zhu and Assistant Prefect Liu.
Some two months later, Situ Yang dispatched several soldiers aboard a sea vessel to Taicang Prefecture to pay their respects to Prefect Pei.
It happened that around this same time, Pei Bingyuan led a group of men on a surprise night inspection of the city watchtowers, only to discover that the yamen runners assigned to the night watch were not guarding the city gates at all. Instead, they had gathered together to play cards, drink, and gamble.
A thorough investigation revealed that fully one third of the yamen’s runners had been involved.
“Since you cannot hold on to this rice bowl, there are plenty of others willing to take your place in the three shifts,” Pei Bingyuan declared.
He dismissed those who had offended, posted notices recruiting replacements, and took the opportunity to thoroughly discipline the yamen runners. From that point on, soldiers drilled the runners morning, noon, and evening, and no one dared to be negligent.
The Grain Rain season arrived, so named because rain nourishes the hundred grains. The Jiangnan region received abundant spring rains — soft and persistent. The soil was moist and rich, the yellow oxen were plowing the fields, and farmers bent over the paddies planting seedlings.
While the people were busy with the spring planting, Pei Bingyuan was already worrying about summer flooding. There were two months between the end of spring planting and the flood season — time enough, if used well, to raise the embankments. On that day, he traveled to Changshu County to confer with County Magistrate Zhan about the embankment works.
County Magistrate Zhan, being of lower rank, was naturally deferential to his superior. But the moment the embankment repairs were mentioned, Magistrate Zhan’s face fell. He made excuses, claiming that Changshu County was already committed to building irrigation channels this year and feared it could not spare the corvée labor needed for the embankments.
The reasoning was plain enough: every flood season, the overflowing river waters spilled into Taicang Prefecture, not into Changshu County. With no benefit to be gained, why would Magistrate Zhan volunteer his manpower for nothing?
Pei Bingyuan had come prepared. “Is Deputy Magistrate Zhan’s term not ending next year?” he asked.
“What does the Prefect mean by that?”
“This official was dispatched by His Majesty himself. Should Taicang Prefecture achieve results in flood management, this matter will certainly be reported to the capital and presented before the court.” Pei Bingyuan spoke with careful suggestion. “Deputy Magistrate Zhan ought to reconsider — such opportunities are rare.”
Magistrate Zhan fell into thought.
Pei Bingyuan saw no need to press further. He rose and said: “This official will take his leave. Deputy Magistrate Zhan may give his answer after careful consideration.”
Pei Bingyuan returned home. Not even half a day had passed when a manservant dispatched by Magistrate Zhan arrived to relay a message: “Reporting to the Prefect, Magistrate Zhan has sent this servant to convey that since Madam Pei has only recently arrived in these parts, she must find many things unfamiliar and inconvenient. Magistrate Zhan has a younger sister, and he would like to send her to keep Madam company for a few days.”
This had nothing to do with keeping Lin Shi company, of course. It was transparently obvious — Magistrate Zhan had his eye on Pei Bingyuan’s station and hoped to have his sister taken as a concubine, forging a matrimonial alliance with the Pei family. It was an unspoken condition attached to Changshu County’s cooperation in raising the embankments.
Pei Bingyuan’s throat bobbed, his face flushing crimson with barely suppressed fury. He was on the verge of sending the manservant away with a sharp rebuke when Lin Shi gently held him back. She said quietly: “Leave matters of women to women. My lord need not worry — the flood works must come first.”
Lin Shi smiled graciously at the manservant and said: “How kind of your master to think of me. With their father and son in the front courtyard attending to official business and studies, I am left rather idle in the rear courtyard with no one to talk to. I do welcome the company.”
The young woman arrived shortly afterward. Her name was Zhan Yinqian, and she was twenty-four or twenty-five years of age — pleasant-looking, with a refined upbringing.
After some casual conversation, Lin Shi learned the full story: the Zhan family had intended to keep her at home a few more years before arranging her marriage, but as misfortune would have it, both parents passed away in succession just as the match-making was to begin. Six years were lost in mourning, and she had remained unmarried all this time, now quite an old maid.
“Sister has had such a difficult time of it,” said Lin Shi with a sigh. She then asked: “What sort of husband would Sister wish to find?”
Zhan Yinqian lowered her eyes and replied: “With my parents gone, naturally I defer to my elder brother’s arrangements.”
The following morning, Lin Shi was still at her dressing table when the sound of argument reached the courtyard. She hurried out to look.
She found Zhan Yinqian holding a basin of washing, apparently on her way to fetch water from the ancient well outside the yamen — where washerwomen most commonly gathered. The problem was that the basin contained Pei Bingyuan’s garments.
Fortunately, Lin Shi had instructed Shen Er’s wife to keep a close watch, and she had intercepted Zhan Yinqian in time.
Zhan Yinqian’s face burned red. “I only wanted to wash a few garments for the master…”
Shen Er’s wife said: “Miss Zhan, please mind how you address him. He is our master. If you must address him, call him the Official Lord, or Master Pei.” She added: “There is a well right here in the courtyard. Why would Miss Zhan need to go outside?”
Caught in the act, Zhan Yinqian hung her head even lower and murmured faintly: “The water from the ancient well rinses things cleaner…”
By then, Lin Shi had come forward. “You are a guest here. Such rough work is hardly something you should be doing,” she said, deftly taking the basin and handing it off to Shen Er’s wife with a look that told her to withdraw.
Lin Shi led Zhan Yinqian into the side room, where both women sat down.
“I already understand what is on your mind,” said Lin Shi, affecting an air of generosity, with a light smile.
Zhan Yinqian twisted the handkerchief in her hands and said nothing.
Lin Shi took Zhan Yinqian’s hands in hers and continued: “You are a girl raised in a proper household — you know propriety, you have refinement. To have someone like you as a younger sister, I would be ten thousand parts willing.”
“There is no one else in this room, so I will speak plainly with you, Sister. In my view, if this matter is to be done, it should be done while my lord is still in his prime years.”
“My lord and I have always treated our household kindly. Here in Suzhou Prefecture, my lord and your elder brother are colleagues — your brother will certainly look out for you. When the time comes, two or three years hence, and my lord’s term ends and he is recalled to the capital, you need not worry about anything. In the Earl’s residence, I will treat you just as always, and my lord is a man of deep feeling.”
“There is only one thing — once you leave and wish to return home to see your elder brother, it will not be so easy to manage, and that longing you must learn to endure.”
“The Earl’s residence is a household of standing in the capital, well known for treating its children of concubines well. Should you bear a son, he will have two elder brothers above him — both diligent and accomplished, fully capable of upholding the Earl’s household. They would not mistreat a younger brother. Should he take to his studies, so much the better; should he not, it matters little — even if the family divides, the elder brothers would arrange a proper household and a good match for their younger brother.”
“Should you bear a daughter, given the Earl’s household’s current standing, there would be no shortage of noble families seeking to make a match. Setting aside those sons who are firstborns of legitimate wives, or scholars of the scholarly class, there would still be no small number of choices available. Her father and brothers would handle those arrangements on her behalf — you need not trouble yourself.”
“You would simply follow us back to the capital and live a life of comfort and wealth.”
Hearing Lin Shi speak at such length, Zhan Yinqian’s complexion gradually shifted from flushed red to a deep, still pallor. Had she been a girl of twelve or thirteen, she might not have grasped the full weight of those words. But she was already twenty-four or twenty-five, and how could she fail to understand the hardships that came with entering a household as a concubine?
She pulled her hands free, drew them back to her lap, bit down, and said: “This young woman does not understand what Madam Pei means.”
Lin Shi feigned surprise and pressed: “Is Sister not wishing to enter the Earl’s household as a concubine?”
Zhan Yinqian recoiled and shook her head again and again. “Madam Pei has misunderstood. This young woman came at her elder brother’s request simply to keep Madam company. She would never dare entertain any other intention.”
“It seems I have misread the situation,” said Lin Shi, affecting embarrassed sheepishness. “Fortunately there is no one else in this room — otherwise Miss Zhan’s reputation might truly have been damaged.”
Not much later, Zhan Yinqian made her excuses, claiming she felt unwell and must take her leave. She would come again to keep the Prefect’s wife company when the opportunity arose.
That evening, Pei Bingyuan was at last able to move back from the front courtyard into the rear quarters. He praised his wife’s competence effusively — she had resolved everything so quickly — and then asked with curious amusement: “What did my lady say to her?”
“Does my lord truly wish to know?”
Pei Bingyuan nodded.
“Nothing much,” said Lin Shi, removing her hairpins with a playful smile. “I merely told her that if she wished to marry, she ought to do so while my lord is still in his prime — and the young woman promptly thought better of the whole idea.” This left Pei Bingyuan not knowing whether to laugh or despair.
The couple teased each other for a while before turning to the matter at hand. Lin Shi said: “I have already sent an invitation card to Deputy Magistrate Zhan’s wife, asking her to come for tea and conversation the day after tomorrow. My lord may set his mind at ease.”
The young woman had been sent back — but there was still some tidying up to be done.
Taicang Prefecture bordered the vast sea to the east and the great river to the north. In the fifth month, there was none of the usual sweltering heat; the air was exceptionally cool and fresh. Pei Shaohuai’s spirits were equally at ease.
In the two months since his arrival in Taicang, there had been no shortage of domestic matters and yamen affairs to attend to. Nevertheless, Pei Shaohuai kept a fixed portion of each day devoted to studying essays, primarily to practice the policy examination style.
Take today, for instance. He had heard from his father that the granaries of Guangshun Prefecture had been found completely empty for three consecutive years — not a single grain inside. The provincial inspector reported the matter to the court, and the prefect, prefectural deputy, and a large number of other officials were stripped of their posts.
Guangshun Prefecture had flat terrain and abundant fertile land; it had suffered no disasters and enjoyed good harvests year after year. Why, then, could it not collect sufficient tax grain to fill its granaries?
Pei Shaohuai used this question as the basis for a policy essay. He wrote:
“That a prosperous region has long gone without stores is not because it produces no grain, but because control of military garrison land has been lost.”
Guangshun Prefecture bore a resemblance to Taicang Prefecture: vast tracts of fertile land were controlled by military garrisons, while commoners held less than a tenth of the farmland in their hands. The tax grain collected from military households went to the garrison; the powerful military men and descendants of the nobility who had seized fertile land paid no tax grain at all. With only the thin sliver of land in commoners’ hands, how could the granaries under the prefectural yamen’s jurisdiction ever be filled?
Pei Shaohuai concluded: “To enrich the granaries, garrison lands must be audited, and the lands seized by the powerful and noble returned to common farmers for cultivation.”
This essay was not written in a moment of rashness or righteous indignation. The court had repeatedly raised the problem of land enclosure; a hundred officials had memorialized for weakening the privileges of the powerful and noble, limiting the landholdings permitted to royal kinsmen, military strongmen, and their ilk, returning fertile land to the common people so that the court might have an uninterrupted flow of tax grain. His essay followed the current of the times.
He signed it “Northern Traveler.” Pei Shaohuai read it through once, found it satisfactory, folded it, placed it in an envelope, and called over his young manservant, Chang Fan. “Chang Fan, same as last time — take this to Donglin Academy and slip it into the Chongwen Literary Society’s submission box. Be careful not to let anyone see you.”
“Understood, young master.”
Chang Fan was Pei Shaohuai’s new manservant, fifteen years old, clever in the same way as Chang Zhou, and literate as well.
Pei Shaohuai added: “On your way back, stop by the academy’s main gate and see whether the list of accepted students for this year has been posted yet.”
“Yes, young master.”
Late in the afternoon, as the sun began to slope westward, Chang Fan returned and reported to Pei Shaohuai: “Young master, the list has been posted, and your name is on it.” His face, however, was anything but pleased — he looked as though he had suffered some great injustice.
“What is the matter?” Pei Shaohuai asked.
Chang Fan said indignantly: “Young master may not know, but that Donglin Academy is thoroughly unreasonable. They listed the young master’s name on a separate notice, with the words written above: ‘Top Graduate of the Northern Metropolitan Region Provincial Examination, journeying south with his father, whose father is the Prefect of Taicang — admitted without examination.’ “
Pei Shaohuai roughly gathered what had happened. He was not particularly bothered. “It is simply the truth,” he said.
Chang Fan’s face was red with anger. He continued: “Beneath the notice, students were pointing and whispering, saying things like — if he truly sat an examination, this son of a prefect might not have made it in at all, and claiming that the provincial examinations in the Northern Metropolitan Region are child’s play, and its top graduate is equivalent to someone ranked fiftieth in the Southern Metropolitan Region. When this servant heard those words on the walk home, the more I thought about it, the angrier I became.”
Pei Shaohuai thought to himself that Chang Fan was still too young — compared to Chang Zhou, he was not yet steady enough, nor did he yet understand the ways of people’s hearts. He would grow in time.
Chang Fan had a degree of admiration for Pei Shaohuai and went on: “If only the young master had sat the examination, then they would have seen how capable he is, and they would not have dared speak so wildly. Hmph.”
Pei Shaohuai replied unhurriedly: “Since I was eligible for admission without examination, naturally I would not sit one.”
He explained further: “If some teacher were to mark my papers knowing my identity, and chose to mark me down out of spite, everyone would say the top graduate of the Northern Metropolitan Region provincial examination is nothing compared to Jiangnan students. If on the other hand the marking were fair and impartial and I placed near the top, they would say the academy’s teachers had given me face out of consideration for my father.”