“Since you are determined, We shall grant it.”
“Your servant kowtows in gratitude for this immense grace.”
The capital held vacant residences and older properties. Once the Emperor’s edict was issued, the Office of Works and Construction would of its own accord begin renovations. The repairs to a residence would take some time — a year or half a year at the very least.
“While the Office of Works carries out the repairs, where do you plan to stay?” the Emperor asked with concern.
The Emperor had placed Yan Chengzhao in the position of Chief Commander of the Southern Brocade Guard, responsible for surveillance and intelligence — and naturally understood Yan Chengzhao thoroughly.
“This servant will temporarily reside in the Southern Brocade Guard headquarters.” Yan Chengzhao replied.
Moving to a separate residence was tantamount to announcing that he and his elder brother were at odds — would he still return to the Commandery Prince’s residence to live?
The Emperor seemed to have planned ahead. He said, “Very well then — We have something here that suits you perfectly.”
“Your servant awaits your command.”
“Along the coasts of Zhejiang and Fujian, there are foreign pirates outside and water bandits within. The local people have long suffered under their depredations. If we wish the opening of the sea trade to proceed smoothly, the pirates and water bandits have come to a point where they can no longer be left untreated. After the coming of spring, We intend to appoint you as Admiral of the Sea Patrol, commanding the naval forces of the four guard units — Jiangyin, Guangyang, Henghai, and the Naval Guard — and bestowing upon you a general’s command tablet. The nine coastal guard units of Zhejiang and Fujian will all be placed under your authority to conduct sea patrols and pursue and capture sea bandits.” So spoke the Emperor.
Da Qing had no strict system of sea patrols. Operations of this scale were conducted once every three to five years, with no fixed schedule.
Formerly, coastal Regional Command naval commanders were typically appointed as Admiral, leading the naval forces to sea. Now, breaking with precedent, the head of the Embroidered Uniform Guard was appointed Admiral — which showed the Emperor had something else in mind.
Yan Chengzhao excelled at surveillance and intelligence; it was not necessarily certain that he excelled at commanding a naval force.
The Emperor gave Yan Chengzhao ample time to consider. After a long pause, he asked again, “Do you dare try?”
Yan Chengzhao did not hesitate. “This servant is willing to try.”
“Good.” The Emperor added, “After the spring, We will separately appoint left and right vice-admirals to assist you. As for commanding the naval force — that you need not worry about.”
“Your servant receives the command.” Yan Chengzhao replied. By the time he returned from the sea patrol, the new residence would be fully renovated as well.
He understood the deeper meaning behind the Emperor’s arrangement. On this southward journey, secretly investigating and probing the internal affairs of the Regional Command and guard units was his primary mission.
Yan Chengzhao took his leave, intending to return to the Southern Brocade Guard to select capable and dependable men to bring along. The cold season would give way to spring very soon, and the time remaining was not long — they needed to accustom themselves to life aboard ship in advance.
Yan Chengzhao clasped his hands and retreated in steps, only turning around once he had exited the Imperial Study, then walked out with brisk, vigorous strides. The Emperor glanced at Yan Chengzhao’s retreating figure, then returned to reviewing his memorials.
Once Yan Chengzhao had departed, the senior eunuch entered the Imperial Study again and stood quietly to one side, attending to the Emperor.
The Emperor opened a memorial — it was from the Prefect of Taicang. The Emperor’s expression grew more attentive, and he read through it from beginning to end. Then he asked the senior eunuch, “In the rear palace, is there a lady-in-waiting by the name of Pei Ruozhu? Have you heard of her?”
“In reply to Your Majesty, this servant has heard of her.” The old eunuch replied. “She was originally the companion reader to the Peaceful Princess, known for her diligence and care, and has a fine reputation throughout the rear palace.”
The Emperor gave a slight nod. The Peaceful Princess was one of his daughters — the most untroubling and the most dearly beloved. He asked further, “And after Ping’er was married off?”
“She seems to have gone to the Empress’s palace, handling the simple duties of managing ancient texts, artifacts, and paintings.” The old eunuch replied. “The rear palace has no fewer than nearly a thousand ladies-in-waiting — this servant’s memory has not been able to keep track of them all.”
The Emperor understood. He dipped his brush in ink and wrote on the memorial with a sweeping flourish: “Granted.”
The old eunuch glanced outside. The sky was darkening, and the lamplight inside the Imperial Study was growing thick with shadows. He therefore asked, “Your Majesty, the hour for the evening meal is nearly upon us. To which lady’s palace will you dine this evening?”
The Emperor looked at the memorial he had just finished reviewing, and replied, “Let us go to the Empress’s.”
“As you command.”
Several days later, Bamboo received special permission to leave the palace. An imperial edict was delivered, and the Earl of Jingchuan received the decree.
“Congratulations, my lord. The family will be reunited.” The old eunuch offered his congratulations after reading out the edict.
“You have troubled yourself, Senior Official Xiao.”
Concubine Shen had been looking forward to this day, day after day. When the news finally reached her, she — who might have been expected to burst with joy — now forced herself to remain as composed as possible. Joy showed on her face, but she went about each of the matters she had mentally rehearsed a thousand times in an orderly fashion.
From the moment she learned that Bamboo might leave the palace, she had lain awake in the still of many late nights, resting against the hard pillow, quietly thinking and planning — what should she do when her daughter left the palace?
Over and over she had thought it through.
She needed to plan everything carefully.
Concubine Shen told her son, “Write a letter quickly, dispatch it by urgent courier, and have it reach Taicang before the twelfth month — tell the master and his wife this wonderful news… Make sure to write clearly what day Bamboo will come out, through which city gate, and what rewards she has been given.” Let the master and his wife ring in the new year in joy and celebration.
“Your child understands.” Pei Shaojin replied.
Concubine Shen then hurried to the old mistress’s courtyard to thank the Old Ancestress for thinking of her granddaughter, allowing Bamboo to leave the palace so smoothly. Through the old mistress’s word, Concubine Shen instructed the nannies to send word to the Marquis Jinjing household, the Situ General’s household, and the Xu Minister’s household — so that the in-laws would know — and also asked them to invite Lian Jie’er and Ying Jie’er to come home, so that the whole family could discuss welcoming Bamboo home together.
With the whole family working to help Bamboo, anything that needed deciding was best decided together as a family.
The following day, Shaojin would also need to visit the Xu Minister’s household on his father’s behalf to offer thanks in advance, for Bamboo had received much assistance from the Ministry of Rites during her years in the palace.
Pei Shaojin bent over the desk writing the letter, barely able to contain his elation — the characters he wrote seemed to carry an extra sweep of joy.
Partway through writing, with the letter still unfinished, Pei Shaojin suddenly set down his brush and rose to his feet, as though he had just remembered something important. He walked into the side room and shifted a folding screen aside, revealing the bare wall beneath.
He opened the window and let the light stream in. There, on the wall, he saw a series of marks made with small stones — half in black stone, half in red stone, rising in increments like a grid — marks left by him and his sister when they measured each other’s heights as children.
The red marks were always a good stretch taller than the black ones. His sister was several years older than him, so naturally she had been quite a bit taller.
The last marks were from five years ago — the year his sister entered the palace. Only he, then a boy of ten or so, remained in Fengyu Studio. Pei Shaojin had no more heart to measure his height and leave new marks, nor dared he look at these old ones for fear they would make him think of his sister. And yet he could not bring himself to erase them, so he had a servant move in a folding screen to cover them.
He pulled his thoughts back to the present. From outside the courtyard he casually picked up a small stone and, holding it level with the top of his head, pressed a new mark into the wall.
It was much, much higher than the old marks.
Meaning he was now much, much taller than his sister had ever been — no longer the little round-faced boy who used to hide behind her.
From now on, he could be the one protecting her.
Pei Shaojin returned to the desk, continued writing the letter, and finished it.
He also wrote a separate letter to his elder brother. In it he wrote: “…Elder Brother was right — one who has never beheld the vast expanse of the stars would think nothing of reaching out to grasp the faint light of a single firefly…”
“…What the poet sage sang was no falsehood: the tower stands a hundred feet tall, and from its height one may pluck the stars. To scale such a hundred-foot tower without fear, I only hope that one day elder brother and I shall stand together upon that height, to grasp the light of stars that shall burn on without end…”
Inside the palace, Bamboo had already packed everything up. She would leave the palace the next day.
She sat in calm stillness, waiting for the Empress’s summons. She knew the Empress’s temperament well, after all these years together.
“Lady-in-Waiting Pei, the Empress summons you.”
Bamboo followed the familiar corridors and courtyards she knew so well to the Empress’s sleeping chambers.
“This servant pays her respects to the Empress.”
“Rise quickly.” The Empress said with a warm smile. “A few days ago, had the Emperor not mentioned it while taking his meal, I had almost forgotten that you have been in the palace a full five years now — I nearly let the time slip by on you. Now that Ping’er has been married, it is time for you to go home as well… You have done much over these years. You have worked hard.”
“It was this servant’s duty.”
“Your leaving the palace now and reuniting with your family brings this Palace great joy on your behalf.” The Empress spoke, then had attendants bring forward the gifts. “Master Pei is a good father, and your marriage, I imagine, will have your family taking care to find you a fine young man — I shall not interfere. Thinking it over, it is most fitting to give you something practical…” She continued, “These are hairpins and a headpiece commissioned by this Palace’s craftsmen, along with several dozen mu of irrigated fields outside the capital — a small token of this Palace’s sincerity.”
“This servant thanks the Empress for this generous gift.”
This was no light gift — it would allow Bamboo to leave in glory and splendor when she married, and would also earn the Empress the praise of being deeply gracious and righteous. By accepting this gift, the bond of mistress and servant had come to a proper close.
The next day, Bamboo took only the Empress’s gifts and two volumes of the Book of Songs, on whose covers were written the lines: “The flowers of the cherry tree — how brilliant their petals. Among all people of today, none compare to brothers.” Everything else she distributed and gave away. Under the management of the Ministry of Rites, she was escorted out of the palace.
The hour had not yet arrived, but the Pei family was already waiting outside the city gate, necks craned in anticipation.
A palanquin of pale green swayed and bobbed as it was carried out from the palace, coming to a stop outside the palace gates. The curtain was lifted, and a woman stepped gracefully down — it was Bamboo herself.
In the winter snow, before the soaring palace walls, Bamboo in her pale green attire quickened her steps toward her family. This was her “triumphant homecoming,” yet she had exchanged her sixth-rank lady-in-waiting’s official uniform for the outfit she had worn when she first entered the palace: a bamboo-green gauze blouse on top, and a pale willow-colored long skirt below.
The garments were still lustrous and had not aged in the slightest, which showed that Bamboo had not only kept these clothes all along, but had tended to them with great care.
She had entered the palace in the seventh month, wearing summer dress, and now it was deep winter, with last night’s heavy snow just fallen and the north wind howling.
When Pei Shaojin caught sight of his sister, he broke into a run toward her. As he ran, he unwound the white ermine cloak from his own shoulders and, with a flourish carried by the wind, draped it over her.
At this point the others came forward as well.
Concubine Shen pressed the small hand warmer into Bamboo’s palms and stepped into Shaojin’s place, helping Bamboo fasten the cloak and tie it securely. She said not a single word. Tears rolled down her cheeks one after another, falling into the snow and leaving no trace.
No one asked Bamboo why she had come out wearing nothing but a thin summer dress in this bitter cold. Five long years — Bamboo’s entry into the palace felt like yesterday to all of them. Who could forget the image of her leaving home?
Bamboo reached out and wiped the tears from Concubine Shen’s face. She said, “Little mother, your daughter has come home.”
Concubine Shen nodded, her voice thick with emotion. “Your grandparents, your father and mother, your brother and sisters — all of them have been thinking of you, all of them waiting for you to come home.”
“Bamboo sister…” Ying Jie’er’s eyes were red, and a belly full of words dissolved into a single line: “I missed you…”
“Am I not here now?” Bamboo’s hand gently passed over Ying Jie’er’s forehead and hair. Where once there had been the loose strands of a young girl, now her hair was pinned up in a married woman’s style. “Younger Sister Ying has married into a good family, and is free to pursue what she loves — your sister was happy for you in the palace.”
She wiped away Ying Jie’er’s tears as well, then added, “Though you’ve grown older in years, your nature hasn’t changed one bit — always so warm and spirited, and when it’s time to cry, you cry without hesitation.”
Bamboo turned around. She tilted her head slightly to look up at the eight-chi-tall young man standing beside her — upright in bearing, polished and refined as jade — a man who bore almost no resemblance to the younger brother she remembered.
From the age of eleven to sixteen — the very years when Shaojin had grown fastest and changed the most.
“Elder Sister.”
“You’ve grown up. Your sister almost didn’t recognize you…” Even Bamboo, who had always kept herself composed and collected, found a catch creeping into her voice. She knew she had missed a great deal. But when she truly saw what she had missed — her little mother’s proud black hair threaded with white, her brother grown tall, elegant and refined, her younger sister married with her hair swept up, her father posted far away to earn merit in service…
And so much more that she could not see.
All of it moved her deeply.
Elder sister Lian Jie’er tipped the palace ladies who had escorted Bamboo out, dabbed at the corner of her eye, and stepped forward with a cheerful air. “Today is a joyful day — third younger sister is home. Let us all stop crying now.”
She stepped forward and took Bamboo by the hand, guiding her toward the carriage as she spoke. “It is so cold — let us get into the carriage first. However much you want to say from the heart, let us go home, and we will say it all together as a family with joy.”
She also quickly called to Shaojin to hurry into the other carriage and get out of the wind. “You’ve taken off your cloak too — mind you don’t catch a chill.”
Several carriages set off into the north wind, away from the towering city walls, making their way home. Behind them in the snow, they left a few tracks from carriage wheels.