The cry of wind and horses had come one step too late. When they drew rein and stopped the carriage, Pei Ruoying and her husband Chen Xingchen heard the sound of grief-stricken weeping throughout the residence.

Having rushed all the way, tears flying as they went, they arrived at the old Marchioness’ room to find her already lying with eyes peacefully closed, as though in quiet sleep.

The ginseng case slipped from Pei Ruoying’s hands and fell to the floor with a clatter. She wept until her voice gave out entirely.

Chen Xingchen’s eyes were red as well. He hurried to support and hold his wife, letting her bury her face against his shoulder and cry, and gently patted her back, his own voice catching as he tried to soothe her: “These past few years you have done everything you could. Grandmother knew it. She was already content…”

No matter how much one had done, there would always be a deep sense of regret.

The Marquis residence was blessed with a large and flourishing family. The old Marchioness had lived to a venerable age and passed away of natural causes. Though she had suffered from a cold ailment in her lifetime, she had been spared great pain, and her passing was therefore considered a joyful one.

Since it was a joyful passing, and the twelfth lunar month besides, the funeral rites were conducted with ceremony and then life returned to its usual quiet.

Pei Ruoying had known nothing of the final words the old Marchioness had spoken before she passed — not until after the old Marquis had called the clan together at the ancestral hall for a deliberation. He then sought out Pei Ruoying and Chen Xingchen specifically, and said to her: “Before my lady passed, she left a final wish, hoping you would continue to pursue your chosen learning, doing all within your power to heal the sick and practice medicine for the benefit of others — rather than being confined within the walls of your household. The clan rules of the Chen family have been amended. If your heart holds such a wish, you need not be weighed down by hesitation any longer. The Marquis residence will only support you — it will never hinder you.”

He then conveyed to her the old Marchioness’ last words.

Pei Ruoying recalled all that the old Marchioness had said to her over the years, and only now understood that the old lady had not merely been speaking empty words — she had truly been smoothing a path for her.

Tears of sorrow mingling with joy moved the heart even more deeply.

The old Marquis recalled that his lady’s very last words before she passed had been “Little Ying still lacks some courage,” and so he said: “The ancestors of the Marquis residence built the family upon martial foundations, and by this day it has shifted to a foundation of scholarship — yet the principle of establishing oneself through virtue has never changed. The distinguished standing of the Chen family is not the kind that comes from ignorance of life’s hardships. If we cannot even withstand a few words of gossip, what right have we to call ourselves distinguished? “

He continued: “Your father served his posts in the provinces with integrity and in service of the people. Your younger brother has repeatedly submitted memorials advocating policies beneficial to the common good, and has earned a fine name. Whether it is the Chen family or the Pei family, both stand as your support. If even someone of your standing — with a healer’s heart yet fearing the world would not accept it — were to falter with uncertainty and hesitation, then who else would dare take that step?”

Pei Ruoying listened to the old Marquis’ words and was left in a momentary daze. Whether before or after her marriage, the family members around her had been almost indulgent of her passions and interests — knowing that a woman practicing medicine was viewed with suspicion, yet not only not opposing it, but actively lending her their full support.

And now, they were telling her not merely to study, but to open her hands and do.

Pei Ruoying looked toward her husband, and Chen Xingchen gave her a nod in return.

She answered, tears still brimming in her eyes: “Your granddaughter-in-law understands. I will certainly not disappoint Grandmother’s wholehearted intent — I will not let her down.”

That night, husband and wife discussed plans together. Chen Xingchen would observe mourning rites for a year — this was the perfect time to begin making preparations to open a medical practice.

In the cotton weaving workshop of the Nanping Earl’s residence, the cloud-brocade loom clattered steadily. Though the machine was ordinarily used to weave silk brocade, bundle after bundle of silk thread had been replaced with cotton yarn — and the cotton cloth it produced, though bearing cloud-brocade patterns, was far inferior in fineness to silk brocade.

This was because cotton fiber was not as long and resilient as silk thread — the spun yarn came out much coarser, without the luminous quality of silk, and the resulting cloth was not smooth enough and appeared somewhat rough.

Even when woven with the greatest care, it could not compare to brocade.

A deep blue ground woven with pheasant patterns, interspersed with small wheel-flower motifs. The cotton workshop had attempted to weave pheasant-bird patterns using cotton yarn — and since only the Empress in all the realm was permitted to wear garments bearing the pheasant-bird pattern, it was evident this cloth was being woven for her.

When the two weaving women saw Pei Ruozhu enter, they showed her the finished length of pheasant cloth and looked somewhat downcast. “My lady, though the pheasant birds and wheel-flower patterns are clearly visible in the weave, cloth of this quality — used to make new garments for the Empress — I fear would be too coarse.”

Pei Ruozhu ran her hand gently across the pheasant cloth. Indeed it was not smooth enough, and somewhat heavy and dull in color — yet she knew it was the finest length produced in these several months of effort.

“It is sufficient,” Pei Ruozhu said with finality. “If beauty and splendor were the goal, why bother with cotton yarn at all? Cotton’s strength was never in its fineness.” She then instructed them to select several lengths of quality plain cloth and pack them together with this length of pheasant cloth.

She intended to bring the cloth into the palace for an audience with the Empress.

The Empress was not a person concerned only with competing in brilliance and finery. Pei Ruozhu believed the Empress would accept the cotton cloth and would wear garments made of it at the year-end imperial banquet.

To persuade the common people of the Northern Metropolitan Region to adopt cotton cloth and cultivate cotton plants, relying on the strength of a single household alone would be far too slow.

To persuade women to step outside the inner courtyard and willingly take up work at the cotton weaving workshop without being attacked by remonstrance officials would be far too risky relying on enthusiasm alone.

What she feared most was an imperial decree coming down from the court that would undo everything the cotton weaving workshop had worked to achieve.

On the eve of the Spring Festival, the Ministry of Rites, the Court of State Ceremonial, and the Court of Imperial Entertainments received orders to prepare the evening banquet, and the Emperor, as in years past, hosted a year-end imperial banquet for the civil and military officials of the court and the noble households of the capital.

At sunset, the lamps inside the palace halls all blazed to life at once, flooding the space with brilliant light. The sound of strings and woodwinds rose, a dance came to its end, and the Emperor raised his cup to drink with the assembled officials.

The banquet of sovereign and ministers was by nature a joyful occasion — yet when night fell, the north wind began to howl and a soft snow suddenly started to fall, sweeping in at an angle with the wind, and a few flakes drifted into the great hall.

The officials had already made one full round of toasts, and the Emperor was past the midpoint of his wine’s effect — that moment when the mind is clearest yet most prone to melancholy. Gazing at the white snow drifting beyond the hall, he sighed: “In such bitter cold, the winter armor must be cold as the snow itself. In cold of this magnitude, the snow at the nine frontier passes must be deeper than in past years. How must the soldiers guarding the borders endure this long winter?”

With that single question, every official at the banquet lost the heart to drink further.

The Emperor continued: “The coldest time is not winter itself — it is spring’s thaw, when the snow melts, that truly bites to the bone.”

The Empress had been quietly waiting for the right moment, but hearing the Emperor’s words, she immediately leaned in close to his ear and murmured several sentences.

The Emperor showed a flicker of surprise and looked her over carefully — only upon close inspection did he notice that what the Empress wore was indeed different from her usual dress. He nodded repeatedly, a look of approval crossing his face.

The shadow of worry that had clouded his expression a moment before lightened somewhat.

The officials, seeing this exchange, were at a loss to understand it — but there were always some bold enough to step forward, and one did so now: “This minister is bold enough to ask: we do not know what the Empress has said to ease Your Majesty’s concerns. Might we be permitted to hear even a small portion, so we may share in your delight?”

As it was not appropriate for the Empress to involve herself in affairs of the outer court, she naturally made no reply. The Emperor set down his wine cup and said cheerfully: “In recent times, the wives of officials have offered the Empress instruction in the cultivation of cotton and the weaving of cloth — at several times the speed of ordinary weaving. The Empress intends to teach this method to all the women of the realm, so that one day no one within Da Qing need ever fear the cold of winter.”

The Emperor naturally omitted certain details — such as which official wives were involved, and the fact that the Nanping and Jingchuan Earl residences had jointly offered ten thousand lengths of plain cotton cloth for the frontier soldiers to ward off the spring cold.

Though the numbers fell far short of what was needed, it was something concrete done to ease the Emperor’s burdens — rather than the empty posturing of those who merely advocate policies without acting on them.

“The Empress is virtuous and benevolent,” the assembled officials said in unison, raising their cups in tribute.

Pei Shaohuai, as a close minister to the Son of Heaven, was naturally present at the banquet. He was very much in approval of the step Third Sister had taken. The Empress wanted prestige, and Third Sister wanted to expand the cultivation of cotton — it was simply a mutual exchange.

If cotton textile production were held tightly in one pair of hands, even if the enterprise grew very large, it would be nothing more than the court’s money purse — producing cloth in times of peace, contributing silver in times of war.

If Third Sister had wanted to profit from cotton cloth, the methods available to her were countless. Why would she have needed to enter the palace and offer the cloth to the Empress?

By placing the teaching of cotton textile production into the Empress’ hands and spreading it to women throughout the realm, Third Sister had in effect enlisted the power of the court itself. In doing so, she had earned a measure of merit in creating livelihoods for women across the realm — and on top of that, the cotton weaving workshop could stand on firm ground, for it had the favor of the people and the acceptance of the court.

Moreover, with the Empress wearing garments of cotton cloth, the wives of officials would follow; and with the wives of officials wearing cotton cloth, the common people would follow — Da Qing would quickly see cotton cloth flourish throughout the land.

It was a move that accomplished several goals at once.

As the banquet continued, the Empress went on murmuring to the Emperor, causing him to smile repeatedly, and from time to time he glanced in Pei Shaohuai’s direction.

Sure enough, after the banquet, Pei Shaohuai was kept behind by the Emperor.

Inside the Imperial Study, the Emperor was somewhat flushed from the wine and absolutely insisted on playing a game of chess with Pei Shaohuai. His chess skill, never particularly high to begin with, had deteriorated completely on account of the drink.

The Emperor sat holding a chess piece and taking his time before playing it, uncertain whether he was thinking about his next move or thinking about how to bring up what was on his mind.

Pei Shaohuai had no choice but to take the initiative. “Does Your Majesty have something to say to this minister?”

The Emperor began by praising the Pei family at length: “The Jingchuan Earl’s residence — all loyal and virtuous, both in the outer court and the inner palace, presenting good counsel from every quarter…”

“This minister believes Your Majesty should speak plainly,” Pei Shaohuai said.

Only then did the Emperor turn to look at Pei Shaohuai, asking with a slightly sheepish expression: “Boyuan, the ten thousand lengths of cotton cloth must have cost your household quite a great deal of silver… If only the imperial treasury were not so strained, I would…”

Pei Shaohuai did not dare claim to be wealthy. He held up his own chess piece and replied: “Household expenditures have indeed been considerably strained.” Then added immediately: “All that the Nanping and Jingchuan residences possess has been bestowed by Your Majesty. If we can ease Your Majesty’s concerns even a little, it is only right.”

The Emperor was pleased and kept Pei Shaohuai for two more games, and beyond that, had Eunuch Xiao bring out two jugs of wine to drink over the board as they played.

When the snow stopped late at night, Pei Shaohuai finally made his way out of the palace with unsteady steps, two rolls of golden imperial decrees tucked at his waist.

This year’s Spring Festival, the Earl’s residence was at its fullest — on the second day of the new year, all of the sisters and their husbands came, with only Lan Jie’er and the second Situ unable to return.

It was a warm and lively celebration.

Though the Spring Festival had not yet concluded, the north remained frozen under a blanket of ice and snow. Yet the capital had grown noticeably more crowded — scholars and examination candidates came and went in the streets, and the taverns burned bright with lights through the night, as though the cold itself had been driven back a few degrees.

There was no other reason: the Spring Imperial Examination, held once every three years, had arrived — with the examination commencing at the beginning of the second month.

Once the Spring Festival had passed, Pei Shaohuai returned to court and settled into “hiding” at the Hanlin Academy, working on the compilation of official records. He no longer went to the Six Bureaus. As for attending court sessions and going on duty, he avoided them whenever he could, and on the occasions when he could not avoid court, he took great care not to offer remonstrations.

In short, he was determined not to draw attention to himself.

This afforded him considerably more leisure, and he was able to spend much more time in the company of Xiao Nan and Xiao Feng. Such days were quite comfortable indeed.

On one of these days, the Emperor was sitting alone in the Imperial Study eating pastries. After chewing one carefully, he set down the half-eaten piece and asked Eunuch Xiao: “Xiao Jin — has the imperial kitchen changed its pastry cook? These last few days the pastries have seemed somehow lacking in flavor.”

“In reply to Your Majesty — no change has been made,” Eunuch Xiao replied, and then ventured a guess: “Perhaps this old servant should go and summon Lord Pei?”

Only then did the Emperor realize that since the evening of the imperial banquet, Pei Shaohuai had not once come to the Imperial Study.

He was somewhat inclined to sulk and have Xiao Jin fetch the man for a word — but then something else occurred to him, and he said: “Bring me the memorial the Ministry of Rites sent over yesterday.” He wanted to see which officials had sons or grandsons sitting for this year’s spring examination.

“As you command.”

Exactly as suspected — the Emperor found in the memorial the characters “Pei Shaojin, courtesy name Zhongyai.” He thought to himself that it was no wonder Boyuan had not been “showing his face” in court these days — it was out of consideration for his younger brother.

Then he noticed the names “Xu Yancheng” and “Yang Xianquan” as well, and only then recalled it had been some time since he had seen Senior Grand Secretary Xu and Yang Aiqing.

The Emperor set down the memorial and laughed. “They’re all a pack of old foxes.”

Eunuch Xiao chimed in helpfully: “Your Majesty — Lord Pei is still young.”

“He’s more cunning than any old fox,” the Emperor said. “We agreed to play chess and drink wine — yet he walked off with two of my imperial decrees.”