On the following day, when the officials had their day of rest, the Emperor’s “little fox” — the most cunning one, so he had called him — was carrying one of the “pilfered” imperial decrees on his way to the Nanping Earl’s residence.
That night in the Imperial Study, drinking wine and playing chess with the Emperor, it had been a private, informal conversation between sovereign and minister. Pei Shaohuai had seized on a moment of high spirits to make his requests — and naturally could not have allowed himself to lose all propriety, or to ask for something beyond reason. Otherwise, not only might the bond between sovereign and minister have been damaged after the fact, but it would also have made him easy prey for others to attack as a scheming minister.
Two small jugs of wine, designed to make one appear merry while remaining clear-headed — all of what Pei Shaohuai raised had been private matters.
That night’s discussion of cotton cultivation and cotton cloth weaving meant that one of the two imperial decrees naturally pertained to Third Sister’s cotton weaving workshop. The other decree was something Pei Shaohuai had sought for his mother’s sake —
When Pei Bingyuan resigned from his post in Taicang Prefecture, the court had initially bestowed upon him an honorary promotion to the fourth rank, yet had not issued Lin Shi with a fourth-rank Lady of Honor investiture. This was in fact quite normal — after all, Pei Bingyuan’s achievements had been rendered at the fifth rank rather than the fourth, and when the time came for Pei Bingyuan to inherit the earldom, Lin Shi would naturally receive her investiture then. There was no great urgency.
Yet to Lin Shi, the difference in meaning between the two was considerable.
Over these years, his mother had endured much suffering. As her son, Pei Shaohuai wanted to do for his mother whatever he could. Of all the duties one owed in life, filial piety came first — and the fulfillment of that duty should not be delayed.
That imperial decree was currently tucked away in Pei Shaohuai’s study. He thought to himself: he could wait until the Bureau of Divine Silk and Embroidery at the Ministry of Works had finished weaving the investiture scroll, and until the Ministry of Rites had made all the ceremonial arrangements, and the proclamation came to the residence with due pomp and ceremony — there would still be time to tell his mother then. It would be something to make her truly happy.
Officials of the fourth and fifth rank in the court were by no means few — but official wives who could receive investiture alongside their husbands were not many. It would surely bring Mother a moment of great happiness.
The carriage horse let out a long breath, the reins were drawn, and the carriage gradually came to a stop before the gates of the Nanping Earl’s residence.
Pei Shaohuai drew his thoughts back, concealed the imperial decree within his wide sleeve, and entered the Qiao residence.
In the main hall, the steam from snow-white tea bowls curled warmly through the air. Pei Shaohuai drew out the golden imperial decree and slid it across to where Third Sister and her husband sat. He felt his action was already quite ceremonious — yet when Pei Ruozhu and Qiao Yunsheng looked at each other, both were astonished: their younger brother had simply produced a rolled imperial decree from his sleeve in so casual a manner, as though it were nothing at all.
Never mind what the decree said — that manner alone was enough to startle anyone.
It took them a moment to collect themselves.
“Third Sister, please open it and have a look,” Pei Shaohuai said.
Pei Ruozhu steadied herself, slowly unfurled the scroll, and read the words silently, her lips barely moving. When she reached the passage that read “hereby bestowing the name ‘Northern Metropolitan Cotton Weaving Workshop,’ and selecting women and female weavers from among the common people as workers, to weave cotton cloth for the realm,” she could not continue reading. She looked up at Pei Shaohuai, her face full of delight, momentarily unable to find words.
Her younger brother had secured precisely this imperial decree for her — which showed he clearly understood her mind.
The decree named it a “workshop,” not a “bureau” or a “supervisorate” as the Hangzhou Textile Bureau was styled.
Pei Ruozhu said with gratitude: “Thank you, younger brother, for your help in this. Your thoughtfulness commands deep admiration.”
“What Third Sister has done is what truly commands admiration,” Pei Shaohuai said with sincerity. “Third Sister has poured the family’s resources into establishing the cotton weaving workshop — not to become a ‘money chest,’ but to create for the women of Da Qing a place to belong and a means of supporting their families. Such magnanimity is possessed by very few.”
To run cotton textile production as a business — no matter how large it grew — would make it nothing more than the court’s money chest. Producing cloth in times of peace, contributing silver in times of war.
If Third Sister had wanted to profit from cotton cloth, the means available to her were many — why else would she have entered the palace to offer cloth to the Empress?
Pei Shaohuai said: “The imperial decree has been delivered — please keep it safe, Third Sister.” He rose to his feet and paced slowly with his hands clasped behind his back, turning things over in his mind before speaking in a measured way: “Wait a few more years, until every common household has its women picking cotton and weaving cloth to support the family — until it has become a matter of course — and then things will take on a different character entirely.”
This imperial decree would serve its purpose for a number of years. But emperors and their ministers changed with the times, and an imperial decree was after all only a temporary edict — it was not without the possibility of change.
When the common people had drawn benefit from it and all had come to regard it as ordinary — that was the most secure foundation of all.
Pei Shaohuai trusted that Third Sister could grasp the meaning of his words.
Pei Ruozhu answered: “I understand. Thank you for your guidance, younger brother.”
The sky outside the window had brightened somewhat; by estimation it was near the end of the ninth hour of the morning. Pei Shaohuai took his leave: “The hour is not early — I shall head back.”
Qiao Yunsheng urged him to stay for the noon meal before leaving. Pei Shaohuai made no pretense and simply smiled and said what was true: “It is a rare day of rest — I want to go back and spend time with Xiao Nan and Xiao Feng.”
“As you should.” Qiao Yunsheng replied. “I will see my brother-in-law out.”
In the last ten-day period of the first month, a memorial arrived by swift courier from Fujian. At morning court, the Emperor had it read aloud before the assembled officials.
It emerged that Grand Preceptor Pei, inspecting affairs in Fujian’s Provincial Administration Commission from afar, had sent back “good news”: together with the deputy head of the Southern Garrison Office, he had searched the provincial administrator’s private mountain estate and uncovered more than two hundred thousand taels of silver, all implicated officials had been apprehended, and the silver would shortly be transported back to the capital to replenish the imperial treasury.
The Emperor’s decision to have this read aloud before the full court carried a clear intention of making an example of one to warn the rest.
The merit had arrived before the man himself. Though it was indeed a great achievement, it had also involved great risk — who could say what dangers might arise on the journey home? Pei Shaohuai reflected that Pei Jue, a man given to careful calculation, had shown something of an iron-hearted recklessness in order to ensure his youngest grandson could sit for this year’s spring examination, throwing caution to the wind.
It gave one pause.
On the third day of the second month, the Emperor appointed the current Senior Grand Secretary, Elder Hu, as chief examiner for this year’s spring examination. Such an appointment was entirely expected — with both the Grand Preceptor and the Deputy Grand Preceptor having stepped down in succession, Elder Hu had risen from among the supporting cabinet ministers to become Senior Grand Secretary. Having not yet established any merit in selecting talent for the court, he would naturally be appointed chief examiner for the spring examination this year.
Following this, eighteen examination room officials were selected from the Hanlin Academy, the Six Ministries, and the Nine Courts.
In the days that followed, throughout not just the capital but the court itself, all conversation revolved around the spring examination — speculating which province and which prefecture the top candidate would come from.
On the eve of the examination, Pei Shaohuai’s reputation in the capital rose once again. First, as a candidate who had achieved First Place in all three rounds of the imperial examination, he was venerated by examination candidates at every provincial lodge. Second, the essays he had written under the pen name “Northern Guest” had been printed and sold by bookshops and had become model works for policy essays — with every copy sold out as soon as it appeared.
Pei Shaohuai had never imagined that, after months of keeping a low profile, he would find himself attacked two or three days before the examination began.
A bureau official from the Ministry of Rites submitted a memorial reading: “…Examination candidates have come to revere Lord Pei of the Six Bureaus as a reincarnation of the Star of Literature, lighting incense and praying to him in hopes of placing at the top of the rankings. Such a perverse and unwholesome atmosphere must not be allowed to grow.”
As for this sort of memorial that went looking for trouble where there was none, the Emperor had been ready to simply set it aside and ignore it — but thinking of how Pei Shaohuai had been going out of his way to avoid him these days, he found it amusing and had Pei Shaohuai summoned, then tossed the memorial over to him.
“Boyuan, read this yourself.”
The Emperor had expected Pei Shaohuai to give some kind of “explanation.” Instead he saw Pei Shaohuai read it through with an expression of undisguised contempt, as though he could barely restrain himself from flinging the memorial straight back onto the desk. The Emperor asked: “Boyuan, do you have anything to say?”
“This minister finds it inauspicious,” Pei Shaohuai said. “Who would wish to receive incense offerings while still living? Lord Huang is impeaching this minister — surely he does not believe this minister had any intention of encouraging such behavior?”
He was well aware the Emperor was using the situation to tease him.
Such a habit of manufacturing trouble where none existed could not be allowed to grow. Pei Shaohuai decided to file a counter-impeachment, and said immediately: “These examination candidates behave in such a foolish manner for no other reason than wanting to feel reassured and to secure a good omen. There is truly no need to call them harshly to account. Furthermore, if this minister were to be reprimanded for it, would that not mean a man with learning has committed a fault for his learning? Lord Huang is not impeaching this minister — he is impeaching learning itself.”
Then he added: “Lord Huang holds the post of bureau official for the Ministry of Rites’ remonstrance function. If he has nothing of substance to remonstrate, there are capable men who would gladly take on that responsibility.”
Though the River West faction had collapsed, this tendency of remonstrance officials to impeach indiscriminately was not something that could be rooted out in a single morning.
Pei Shaohuai’s counter-attack came with such fluid ease that the Emperor could no longer simply let the matter rest with the memorial set aside — he declared he would see justice done on Pei Shaohuai’s behalf.
As they talked on, sovereign and minister both burst out laughing.
On the eighth day of the second month, Elder Hu led the examination officials — both inside and outside the examination hall — to offer rites to the Sage Confucius, before entering the examination grounds to take up their respective duties.
The spring examination was about to begin.
Pei Shaohuai had applied for a day’s leave specifically to see the candidates off.
Compared to three years prior, the weather this time was considerably better: though cold and frozen, at least it had not rained, and the candidates would be spared the suffering of damp cold.
When evening came, after several rounds of verification had been completed without error, the two brothers boarded the carriage and set off for the examination grounds.
When Pei Shaohuai had sat the spring examination in his day, he had received a quilt sent by Yang Shiyue to accompany him through the nine days in the small examination cell. For Pei Shaojin’s turn now, the young lady of the Lu family had sent him an array of foodstuffs — each item carefully prepared, compact and filling yet delicious, clearly the product of much thoughtful planning.
Pei Shaojin was well-prepared and full of energy, occasionally lifting the carriage curtain to see how far they had come.
He was fully composed.
Everything that needed to be said had already been said, yet Pei Shaohuai could not help offering one final reminder: “The spring examination spans nine full days. Confined to a small cell, with hunger, cold, pain, and fatigue — these begin to show on the third day and are at their worst by the sixth. Endure the first six days and the final three can be pushed through in one burst of effort. Given your learning, you will surely be able to handle all the examination questions with ease — what you must guard is your health. If your health falters, your learning will have no means of expression.”
“Elder Brother, I understand,” Pei Shaojin replied. “I will certainly follow what you’ve told me — rest well at night, not rush for momentary speed, and answer each question in a steady, orderly way.”
“Good, so long as you remember.”
The carriage stopped before the outer gate of the examination grounds. Not long after, the Xu family’s carriage arrived as well. Xu Yancheng climbed down with his bundle on his back and his examination basket in hand — just like Pei Shaojin, he had the bearing of someone entirely at ease with himself.
Ten-odd years of devoted study; two years of travel south; the Four Books and Five Classics committed to heart; true insights and considered views all perfectly clear — sitting for the examination today was nothing more than committing to paper what was already known and already thought.
“Boyuan, Zhongyai.” Xu Yancheng called a greeting and came rushing over.
Pei Shaohuai, in his long-winded way, repeated to Xu Yancheng everything he had just said to Pei Shaojin, and then added — already feeling the cold himself despite wearing a great cloak: “This year there is no rain, but the cold is unusually severe. Once you enter the examination grounds and settle into your cells, do not forget to light a fire to warm yourselves first.”
Pei Shaojin and Xu Yancheng nodded in acknowledgment.
The words had barely left his mouth when Pei Shaohuai felt a gaze upon him. He turned to look, and his eyes fell on a somewhat familiar carriage.
Pei Shaofeng had lifted the curtain and was looking in his direction — their eyes met for a moment. Pei Shaofeng’s hair was somewhat disheveled, and in eye sockets that had grown sunken from thinness, his gaze had lost its former obsessive intensity, replaced by a cold, sharp edge.
The curtain dropped. Pei Shaofeng did not step down from the carriage.
The carriage moved again, turning westward — it appeared that, having encountered the Pei brothers, Pei Shaofeng had chosen to enter the examination grounds by a different gate.
“Elder Brother, what is it?” Pei Shaojin asked.
“Nothing.” Pei Shaohuai turned back, not wishing to disturb his brother’s composure. He made up a quick excuse and said with a smile: “I just thought I spotted the Yang family’s carriage for a moment — it seems I was mistaken.” Yang Xianquan was also sitting for this year’s spring examination.
Everyone checked through their supplies one more time — all was in order, and the hour had nearly come.
Pei Shaohuai offered his final farewell: “Borrowing a verse from Master Mengde, the great poet of the prosperous Tang — ‘The day will come when the crouching dragon at last receives rain; today, let the soaring crane take wing to the sky.’ Both of you — give bold expression to your talents, compete against all others with your brushes, and I shall wait outside these walls for good tidings.”
Pei Shaojin and Xu Yancheng bowed solemnly, exchanged a glance and a smile, and then said in perfect unison, as though they had rehearsed it: “We accept the Zhuangyuan Lang’s auspicious words. The honor of our master’s legacy — we dare not fail to uphold.”
They turned, and walked together toward the Eastern Gate of the examination grounds.