The court had begun by deliberating over tax codes, and now found itself discussing the minting of silver currency — everyone’s thinking had been led along by Pei Shaohuai.

Some officials had little knowledge of monetary affairs and found themselves lost in the clouds. But the officials of the Ministry of Finance, who dealt with tax codes and monetary matters every day, and who, together with the Ministry of Works, oversaw the Baoyuan Bureau responsible for minting copper coins — they understood Pei Shaohuai’s meaning perfectly well: the court was to take charge of minting silver currency and circulate it through the market.

Vice-Minister Wan of the Ministry of Finance stepped forward and rebutted: “The court has already issued paper currency. Why then is there need to mint silver coins as well?” Both served as currency — one paper, one silver.

As for what the paper currency was currently worth — the civil and military officials knew perfectly well, and the Emperor was no exception.

When Da Qing was founded, one string of paper notes could be exchanged for a thousand copper coins. Now, one string was worth less than fifty copper coins; the notes had become nearly impossible to spend, having almost entirely lost their power as a circulating medium.

“Minting currency is not for the purpose of subduing the wealthy — it is for the purpose of controlling power,” Pei Shaohuai replied. He then asked, “Does Vice-Minister Wan understand what it means to labor in the fields? Farming households are bound to their land from one season to the next, toiling through the four seasons; only at year’s end do they harvest their grain. If the Baoyuan Bureau does nothing but print paper notes without ceasing, exchanging them for the grain of the common people — is not such wealth a violation of the natural order? It is precisely because the paper currency has lost the trust of the people and cannot be recovered that commoners have taken to using silver for exchange of their own accord. When the court follows the will of the people and mints silver coins, standardizing weights and measures, it does so precisely to regain the people’s trust — to ensure that exchange of goods throughout the realm can be conducted on fair and equal terms.”

“Therefore, Vice-Minister Wan ought first to reflect on how the Baoyuan Bureau has come to such a state of failure and achieved so little, rather than standing in the way of silver coinage,” Pei Shaohuai concluded.

The Emperor’s gaze shifted slightly, and he looked at Pei Shaohuai’s figure, thinking of a loyal minister who, at the very beginning of his own reign, had spoken earnest and weighty words of remonstrance, saying that the paper currency had already lost the trust of the people and must not be printed in greater quantities. But at that time, the court was unstable and the treasury hollow — what was he to have done?

He had never imagined he would “see that moment again.”

“We… how may silver currency be made to regain the trust of the people?” The Emperor spoke with certainty; he had heard in Pei Shaohuai’s words something beyond merely the young man’s own views.

At these words, the civil and military officials of the court fell suddenly silent. The Emperor had used “We” rather than “the court” — he had placed this failure upon himself.

Seeing that Pei Shaohuai seemed to be choosing his words carefully, the Emperor added, “Speak freely, our beloved minister. We are listening.”

Pei Shaohuai said, “When your servant was studying at Taicang Prefecture, he had occasion to watch merchant vessels returning from the Southern Seas in the summer winds — fully laden, sailing back with their cargoes. Some carried spices and precious stones; others carried glassware and grain. Yet some vessels rode very high in the water despite being heavily guarded — nothing unusual about them, except that they were not fully loaded, carrying instead only a dozen or so baskets of silver.”

Pei Shaohuai seemed again to have strayed from the matter at hand, but the Emperor listened with close attention, and no one dared interrupt him.

Pei Shaohuai reached into his sleeve and produced two fragments of silver, held them up briefly, and continued: “Because silver need only be cut into pieces like these, and it can be used to purchase tea, cloth, and porcelain. The next year, the ships sail home fully loaded again, exchanging goods for silver. Were the court to issue a single decree abolishing grain-tax payment and mandating silver — such merchant vessels would multiply. Ship by ship, goods that can feed and clothe people would be sent out, and crate by crate, silver would come back, accumulating in the hands of the powerful households. As they tighten their hold on silver, its value rises ever higher. Such silver can neither help the people fill their stomachs nor repel an enemy’s soldiers — what benefit does it bring to the court?”

What he had spoken of before — fire-loss, good coin and debased coin — concerned only Da Qing’s internal affairs, the relationship between the court and its people. But what he was describing now — trading goods for silver through maritime commerce — struck at the very foundations of Da Qing itself, drawing a sharp collective intake of breath from the court.

From tax codes to silver, and from silver to maritime trade — truly, pulling one thread moved the entire garment.

The Emperor grasped the deeper meaning, and could not help but look at Pei Shaohuai with new eyes. “Beloved minister, continue.”

“To use silver is to follow the current; to mint currency is to govern its use by authority,” Pei Shaohuai began to lay out the benefits of the court taking unified control of silver coinage. “The court mints good coins and issues them, and decrees that the new coins are to be used — then the people will accept the new coins as the standard. The local offices need only exchange the new coins for existing silver ingots; within three to five years, the old silver fragments will gradually be absorbed into the national treasury, while good coins circulate through the market.” He continued: “One silver coin equals one tael, exchangeable for a thousand copper coins or two shi of grain. Keep the issuance of silver coins controlled and restricted, maintain this exchange rate steadily over time — then the court’s silver coins and copper coins can regain the trust of the people. When that day comes, it can truly be said that exchange of goods is conducted fairly, free from the domination of powerful households. That is the first point.”

“Second,” Pei Shaohuai continued his enumeration, “if merchant vessels carry Da Qing silver coins to trade abroad, then given Da Qing’s national strength, in time the whole world will take Da Qing silver coins as the standard — need one then fear that the people will not prosper, or that the nation will not grow strong?” The world was the whole world — not Da Qing alone.

If the medium were silver ingots, anyone could cast them — so long as one had silver, one could do so.

If the medium were minted coins, the significance was different: the authority to issue them was vested within those coins.

“And it is only when that day arrives that the new policy proposed by the Ministry of Personnel — taxes paid in silver — can be implemented without concern,” Pei Shaohuai concluded.

The counterfeiting of currency in the private sector was difficult to eliminate entirely; what the court could do was mint the coins with sufficient refinement that counterfeiting would be rendered extremely difficult, reducing the emergence of debased coins. On this matter, Pei Shaohuai had already formed a preliminary idea in his mind.

What surprised Pei Shaohuai, once he had finished speaking, was that officials now began stepping forward one after another in support of his position. They did not address the question of coinage directly, but spoke instead of the harm to the people of rashly implementing the new policy — that with the people’s livelihoods in tatters, Da Qing itself would be imperiled. Their remonstrations were concise and well-prepared; it was evident they had come ready.

In that moment, Pei Shaohuai felt an unexpected surge of feeling on behalf of Grand Secretary Zou — though Zou had already retired from the court, his students remained; they, too, held the people’s welfare at the center of their concerns.

The grand deliberation had lasted more than an hour and was drawing to a close. The Emperor looked toward the several grand secretaries and said, “What views do the esteemed gentlemen have?”

Grand Secretary Lou stepped forward and said, “This matter is of the gravest consequence — it is not to be treated lightly. Your servant believes it is best to consider it further over time, and to first conduct a trial in select areas before discussing the broader picture.”

The Hexi faction had not been able to lead the day’s proceedings; how could they allow the outcome to be decided hastily and implementation begun immediately?

“Grand Secretary Lou speaks well. The matter of silver-based taxation does indeed require careful, deliberate handling — it must not be approached rashly,” the Emperor said, first offering a word of praise to Grand Secretary Lou.

Pei Shaohuai noticed that with one light remark, the Emperor had shifted the framing — Grand Secretary Lou had meant to refer to the coinage matter, but the Emperor had defined his words as pertaining only to “silver-based taxation.”

In this way, it could not be said that the Emperor had failed to heed the Cabinet’s counsel.

The other grand secretaries raised no significant objections.

The Emperor spoke: “The tax code revision may be set aside for now, but the matter of coinage and the rectification of official conduct can no longer be delayed.”

Pei Shaohuai observed that throughout the time he had been remonstrating and rebutting the Ministry of Personnel’s new policy, Pei Jue had maintained a natural, composed expression, and had not stepped forward to argue even when facing the rebuttals. But now, as the Emperor was about to hand down assignments, Pei Jue raised his gaze toward the imperial dais, his face showing something of tension and anticipation.

“The rectification of official conduct across all prefectures and counties, the disciplining of arithmetic clerks, the investigation of local powerful households, and the fresh surveying and measurement of all land — this matter…” The Emperor’s gaze moved between the Ministers of Personnel and Finance, pausing for a while, before he said at last, “This matter is to be overseen by Lord Pei. The updated fish-scale registers are to be submitted within two years.”

“Your servant receives the imperial command.”

Only then did Pei Jue let out a breath of relief.

Pei Shaohuai had caught these subtle shifts of expression, and the suspicion forming in his mind grew clearer. If the Emperor had not assigned Pei Jue a task today, his great-grand-uncle would likely have spent the night unable to sleep.

He thought to himself: Pei Jue had laid out this new policy on such a grand scale not because he expected the whole of it to be implemented, but because he needed something to fall to him as an assignment.

Next, the Emperor turned to arranging the matter of minting silver coins.

The Baoyuan Bureau, which was responsible for minting copper coins, fell under the joint administration of the Ministry of Finance and the Ministry of Works. With the Ministry of Finance having lost imperial favor today, Minister Zhou of the Ministry of Works naturally assumed this fine assignment would fall to his ministry.

The fisherman collects his gains.

Minister Zhou adjusted his bearing, squared his shoulders, held his head high, wore a smile, and waited for the Emperor to call him forward.

But before he could, Minister of War Zhang Lingyi stepped forward first and petitioned the Emperor: “Your servant has just heard what Lord Supervising Secretary Pei has said, and feels that silver coinage is of greater consequence even than the casting of weapons — it must be strictly controlled and manufactured in secrecy, to prevent the proliferation of debased counterfeit coins. Your servant presumes to request the honor: let the Ministry of War oversee the minting of silver coinage, and your servant pledges to give full cooperation to Lord Supervising Secretary Pei in conducting trial mintings, to be presented to your Majesty for consideration.”

Zhang Lingyi proved himself a seasoned operator. With a single speech, he provided the grounds for the Ministry of War’s oversight while taking nothing away from Pei Shaohuai’s standing.

After all, the Ministry of War already cast weapons and did not lack for fire-smiths and metal-smiths — it even had foundries ready-made.

That Minister Zhou, who had assumed the assignment was all but in his hands, was caught off guard and hastened forward to speak: “By your Majesty’s leave, the minting of currency has from time immemorial been the responsibility of the Baoyuan Bureau — the distinction of duties must not be set aside. The Ministry of Works will spare no effort in seeing to the minting of silver coins.”

But it was already too late.

The moment Zhang Lingyi spoke, the Emperor had made up his mind. He said, “Minting copper coins and paper currency is not the same as minting silver coins. Lord Zhang speaks correctly: silver coins are being issued for the first time — strict control and secrecy in their production is essential; the details must not leak out. Let the Ministry of War take charge of this matter.”

Then the Emperor turned his gaze to Pei Shaohuai, a trace of apparent difficulty crossing his face, before he broke into a slight smile and said in a light tone: “Lord Pei already holds two concurrent posts. With this coinage matter now at hand, how am I to properly bestow a title?”

“Your servant is overcome with trepidation,” Pei Shaohuai replied. “The Supervising Secretary of Works already holds oversight duties; if your servant can contribute even a small part to the court’s coinage endeavor, it is nothing more than the fulfillment of his responsibilities.”

“Well said.” The Emperor issued his decree: “Supervising Secretary of Works Pei Shaohuai is to join with the Ministry of War in establishing a new Baoquan Bureau, dedicated to the minting of silver coins.”

“Your servant obeys the imperial command.”

After court was dismissed, many officials came forward to congratulate and converse with Pei Shaohuai; he responded with polite, minimal courtesy and nothing more.

Zhang Lingyi walked over with a broad smile and said, “The Ministry of War will first spend a few days getting the premises, equipment, and craftsmen in order. Once everything is ready, we’ll invite Lord Pei to come over.”

Pei Shaohuai had intended to address him as “Teacher,” but they were within the palace grounds, so he amended it: “I will await Minister Zhang’s summons at any time.”

Pei Shaohuai prepared to return to the Six Bureaus office to continue reading old memorials, and to let himself settle down — his first remonstration had produced no nervousness, but had left him rather overwrought with elation.

He had barely descended the steps from the great hall when Gou Shengchang came rushing after him. Gone entirely was his usual warmth; his words carried an edge of malice, and he said with pointed sarcasm: “Lord Pei is young in years, yet what deep and calculating schemes he harbors. I showed you goodwill and goodwill alone — analyzed the situation for you, helped you identify your opportunity — and yet Lord Pei went back on his word at the last moment, making me look a complete fool before everyone.”

“I promised Deputy Official Gou I would remonstrate — and remonstrate I did. Where exactly is the going back on one’s word?” Pei Shaohuai asked. He then added, “Besides, why would Deputy Official Gou be made to look a fool before everyone? Could it be that you received some advantage from another party and failed to deliver on it?”

Since the pretense had already been stripped away, the words he had long wished to say no longer needed to be concealed.

“Deputy Official Gou need not speak again of doing things for my benefit. That particular kindness, your subordinate finds rather distasteful,” said Pei Shaohuai. He flicked his sleeve and strode away.

Gou Shengchang was still Deputy Official Gou now — but not for much longer, Pei Shaohuai thought to himself.

The remonstrating official’s “brush” was most safely kept in one’s own hands.

……

The setting sun sank slowly; its last light filtered through the windows into the archive hall. Pei Shaohuai tidied his desk and prepared to return home.

Today’s grand court deliberation had seen too many events unfold. He needed to go home and work through it all carefully again, lest he overlook some detail.

The more eventful things were, the more things were yet to come.

Pei Shaohuai had barely stepped out of the palace gate when he came face-to-face with Yan Chengzhao — expression as cold as ever — who said he had something to discuss with Pei Shaohuai.

He had clearly been waiting here on purpose.

Pei Shaohuai invited Yan Chengzhao to board his carriage together and speak at leisure.

“Lord Yan, Chief of the Brocade Guards, you are once again…” Pei Shaohuai had been about to say “on duty,” then, remembering that Yan Chengzhao had once mentioned the Southern Office of the Brocade Guards had no rest days, changed it to: “…still on duty, I see.”

A useless thing to say.

But Yan Chengzhao went directly to the point, wasting not a moment, and said straightforwardly: “The affair at the Zhenhai Guard post at Taicang Prefecture — the investigation has produced results.”

He was prepared to share a portion of the true findings with Pei Shaohuai.

“Connected to the household of Minister Pei?”

Yan Chengzhao turned his sharp gaze on him and asked, “You knew?”

“No,” Pei Shaohuai shook his head. “I guessed.”

“I’ll show myself out.” Yan Chengzhao moved to leave — if Pei Shaohuai had already guessed, there was nothing left for him to come and say.

Pei Shaohuai raised a hand to stop him. “Having guessed doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear the details. Please, Lord Yan — speak.”

“Pei Bingsheng tampered with the Ministry of Finance’s fish-scale registers.”