After the Apricot List was posted, the Jingchuan Earl’s Manor was flooded with congratulatory visitors for several days in a row. Following that, Pei Shaojin kept himself busy paying respects to his examiners, meeting with fellow candidates from the same year, having his name engraved in the registry, and preparing his vermilion examination papers — leaving him with not a single moment of leisure.
The wedding date for welcoming the young lady of the Lu Family was drawing near, and the six traditional rites could not be delayed. At this very time, the Earl’s Manor was simultaneously making preparations for Shaojin’s marriage — an auspicious date was chosen, and the betrothal gifts were sent over. Every single person in the household was busy and delighted.
The title of Spring Examination Metropolitan Examination First Place, paired with a weighty one hundred and sixty-six ceremonial trays of betrothal gifts — their lacquered red boxes gleaming and radiant — formed a grand and magnificent procession that filled the entire street in front of the Lu Family’s gate.
There had been those who, earlier on, had mocked the Lu Family openly and in whispers for marrying off their legitimate granddaughter to a son born of a concubine. But now, the more magnificent this betrothal procession appeared, the more those people wished the ground would swallow them whole.
There had also been scholars who had sourly sneered that the celebrated talented lady of the capital, Lu Yi Yao, had poetic gifts but no discernment — that she had been blind enough to willingly wed herself to a mediocre and unremarkable man. Yet when those very scholars stood outside the examination hall and carefully read through Pei Shaojin’s Spring Examination essays, they could only slink away, covering their faces in shame.
It turned out that the mediocre and unremarkable man had been themselves all along.
Day after day, the teahouses were packed to capacity, and not a single word spoken there strayed far from the subject of the Metropolitan Examination First Place. And no wonder — within three years, the two brothers Shaohuai and Shaojin had each in turn claimed the title of Spring Examination First Place. One household, two exceptional talents; naturally, talk of the brothers ran hot and lively everywhere.
Pei Shaojin’s essays and scholarship were more than sufficient to command respect, so beyond admiring him, most of the scholars spoke in jest and self-mockery. One scholar quipped: “There’s simply no point in comparing ourselves. All the likes of us can do is enshrine a ‘Pei Zhuangyuan’ at our study hall and hope to absorb some of his literary spirit — whereas that man has the actual ‘Pei Zhuangyuan’ as his elder brother. Naturally, the younger brother of an immortal would also be an immortal himself. So if there is anyone to blame, one can only blame oneself for not having an elder brother who achieved top honors in all three examinations.”
“I understand now,” someone chimed in, jumping on the joke. “I shall go home right away and ‘demand an explanation’ from my eldest and second brothers — why on earth were they unable to pass along some of their literary spirit to me? The fault lies entirely with them for failing to set a proper example.”
The room erupted in laughter, and the teahouse grew extraordinarily merry, chasing away a good portion of the gloom that had settled over those who had failed to make the list.
Though spoken in jest and self-mockery, it nonetheless illuminated a certain truth — that the scholarly atmosphere and traditions of a household are passed down in a continuous line, each generation inspiring the next.
Someone else remarked: “The way I see it, this year’s young Pei, the Metropolitan Examination First Place, carries within him quite the potential for sweeping all three top honors. I imagine that in three years, we will be enshrining not one but two ‘Pei Zhuangyuans.'”
Someone replied: “Fortunately, there are only two brothers in the family. If they had a few more younger brothers, I fear my desk would be too small to fit that many Zhuangyuan plaques.”
Another round of laughter followed.
During this stretch of time, Pei Shaohuai was no less busy than his younger brother. On his days off, he first went to the Xu household to offer his congratulations to Yancheng, then brought Xiao Nan and Xiao Feng along with Yang Shiyue to return to the Yang household to celebrate his brother-in-law’s achievement of third place in the Spring Examination.
Yang Xiang Quan had been born into a scholarly family in the capital, with generations of examination graduates among his ancestors — the accumulated depth built layer by layer across generations was not to be underestimated. And so, though Yang Xiang Quan had neither traveled south to study nor received the guidance of the Southern Residence Master, his scholarship and breadth of understanding were not in the least inferior to those of Pei Shaojin and Xu Yancheng.
Pei Shaohuai was of the view that had the Metropolitan Examination been set with an entirely different set of questions, it would not have been impossible for Yang Xiang Quan’s answers to come out slightly above those of Shaojin and Yancheng.
Aware that his son had gaps in his understanding of the New Policies, Official Yang deliberately kept Pei Shaohuai behind, asking him to sit with Yang Xiang Quan and give him a thorough explanation of the intricate and interwoven workings of the silver coin issuance, the opening of maritime trade, and the maritime merchant tax system.
Pei Shaohuai laid out a concise and clear account, and Yang Xiang Quan listened with full attention, emerging greatly enriched, having arrived at no small number of insights on his own.
“Thank you, brother-in-law, for resolving my confusion.”
“Elder brother-in-law is too courteous.”
By then, evening was approaching. Pei Shaohuai and his wife stayed for the evening meal before heading home with Xiao Nan and Xiao Feng. The carriage swayed gently, and the two little bundles fell fast asleep in their parents’ arms.
Back in the Yang household, Official Yang reclined comfortably in his grand chair, taking a leisurely sip of hot tea, and said to Lady Yang: “My lady truly has an excellent eye — not only did she choose a wonderful family for our Yue’er, she also found a fine son-in-law for the Yang household.”
When it came to rejoicing over Shaojin’s achievement of Metropolitan Examination First Place, no one — save Shaojin himself — was happier than Concubine Shen.
During the day, Pei Ruozhu brought the young little lord back to Fengyu Pavilion, accompanying Concubine Shen for the entire day, with mother and daughter exchanging much in the way of everyday talk. In high spirits, Concubine Shen found herself in the mood during the evening meal, and so drank two extra cups of wine.
By the time Shaojin came to visit, Concubine Shen had already rummaged through her trunks and pulled out the clothes that Pei Ruozhu and Shaojin had worn as children, laying them out across the bed.
With each garment she took out, a flood of memories came rushing back. In that moment, her lips wore a smile, yet her eyes had grown faintly red and glistened with unshed tears.
Shaojin did not try to stop her. He simply sat to one side, quietly listening as his mother chattered and rambled on through memory after memory.
When at last she trailed off, Concubine Shen glanced outside to make sure no servants were about. She and Shaojin sat down together beside the tea table. Her lips parted as if to speak, then hesitated, faltering again and again. After a long, long pause, she looked at her son through tear-blurred eyes and said, in a voice so faint it could only reach Shaojin’s ears: “Jin’er, could you… could you call me ‘Mother’ just once?” There was guilt and uncertainty threaded through her voice, and she added immediately: “You do not need to say it aloud — just mouth the word, that will be enough.”
Though it overstepped propriety, it was only between mother and son in private — how could Shaojin possibly refuse his mother’s request? He opened his mouth at once and called out: “Mother.”
The tears in Concubine Shen’s eyes broke free and streamed down, impossible to wipe away fast enough. Though her heart felt whole and complete, the guilt still lingered, and she said: “Having heard this one word tonight, that is enough — more than enough. From this day forward, your mother is and shall only be the Madam. Over all these years, the things Madam has done for you and your elder sister are no fewer than what this birth mother of yours has done. We must repay kindness with gratitude.”
With this one word spoken tonight, it would not matter when Shaojin passed the final imperial examinations, nor when he married and had children of his own — she would not allow herself to crave anything more.
As though afraid Shaojin might misunderstand, Concubine Shen hastily explained: “Your little mother drank too much tonight and overstepped herself. I made you say that word not to stake any claim, nor to ask for anything — but simply because…”
Before she could finish, Shaojin interrupted and spoke the words for her: “Simply because this child was born of his mother, and nothing more. No other reason.”
Concubine Shen nodded vigorously, her eyes filling once more with tears.
After another half hour, Concubine Shen gradually regained her composure, and gave voice to one more thing that had long been in her heart: “Your little mother was born of humble origins, and I know well that my understanding must have its shortcomings. Back when you and Zhu’er were young children, whenever I wanted to say something to you, I would always think it over and weigh my words at length before daring to open my mouth — for I feared that any selfish bias or narrow-mindedness in my words might lead you astray as well, and narrow the road ahead of you.”
Now that Pei Ruozhu had married into a good family, and Shaojin’s path through the examinations shone bright ahead of him, Concubine Shen felt deeply at ease. She continued: “Fortunately, you and Zhu’er have grown into people whose bearing and conduct far surpass your little mother.” She paused, then added: “I know nothing of scholarly matters, but I do understand this much — to walk a righteous path steadily and without mishap is rarer and more precious than almost anything else.”
Pei Shaojin reflected on this thoughtfully. Looking back over the past, he had indeed walked a rather smooth and steady road.
After leaving Fengyu Pavilion and returning to his own courtyard, Pei Shaojin went to his study.
Candlelight flickered and danced, the writing desk piled high with scrolls and books. Pei Shaojin opened the bookcase, and after shifting aside stack upon stack of old volumes, he finally found, at the very bottom, a small notebook.
The notebook had gone so long without repair that the binding threads had already come loose in places. The moment Shaojin first opened it, it came apart entirely, and passages of writing in short sections appeared before his eyes — the strokes unsteady and uneven, the characters now large and now small.
In the beginning, his elder brother had simply suggested he record every grievance he suffered in the notebook, as a spur to study harder. But as time went on, Shaojin found himself, without quite realizing it, writing down all manner of large and small happenings from his daily life.
And so this notebook came to be.
“Today, someone from the Second Branch of the family came by, and it frightened Elder Sister into falling ill. Though I did not understand what had happened, I knew Elder Sister had been wronged. Elder Brother told me to write it down in the notebook.”
“Today, Yin Wu came looking for me again, saying he wanted to take me to experience something new. Elder Brother said his intentions were not good, and told me to be on my guard whenever I am alone.”
“What terrible luck — I even ran into Li Shuisheng at the temple while burning incense. It truly infuriated me.”
“I want to sit for the Prefectural Examination early, the same as Elder Brother, but the more anxious I become, the worse my essays turn out. It is truly vexing. The tutor said the time for my flowers to bloom has not yet arrived.”
“The young lord of Anping was so treacherous in his scheming — he chose precisely this moment to block the carriage. Fortunately, Elder Brother managed to attend the Prefectural Examination without incident.” The characters in this particular entry, likely written in a state of extreme agitation, were missing many of their strokes.
He turned all the way to the very last entry, which contained only a single line — “Elder Brother has gone south to study.”
Reading through the events recorded one by one in the notebook, Shaojin understood the meaning behind his mother’s words — that to walk a righteous path steadily and without mishap was indeed a rare and precious thing.
Though what was written between the lines concerned his own life, the words “Elder Brother” ran through every page without exception.
After the Spring Examination concluded in the second month, the court would generally hold the Palace Examination in the third month — though sometimes it was postponed to the fourth or fifth month, depending entirely on whether any urgent matters arose at court.
After all, the Palace Examination was the final stage of the imperial examinations, conducted at the highest level of ceremony, with the great majority of civil administrative offices in the capital taking part — the Grand Secretariat overseeing the proceedings, the heads of the Six Ministries and the Nine Courts of Justice reading the examination papers, the Censorate monitoring the examination, the Hanlin Academy receiving and sealing the papers…
After repeated deliberations, on this day’s morning court session, the Ministry of Rites reported to the Emperor, provisionally setting the date of the Palace Examination for the twenty-eighth day of the third month.
Unexpectedly, that very same Supervising Secretary of the Ministry of Rites who had once submitted a memorial impeaching Pei Shaohuai chose on this day to remonstrate directly before the full court, leveling an impeachment against the Grand Secretary Hu. His grounds were that during the second examination session of the Metropolitan Examination, a question on the rhapsodic essay “Climbing the Mountain in Search of the Pearl” had appeared — a form that had not been tested in over a decade. Supervising Secretary Huang spoke in a forthright and resonant voice: “For more than ten years, the Metropolitan Examination has not tested the rhapsodic essay. Grand Secretary Hu, on a sudden whim, set a rhapsodic essay question — one whose subject matter was absurd and far-fetched — causing a great many scholars to falter and fail at this hurdle. Whether this was truly done in the spirit of selecting and enrolling talent, or whether there were other intentions concealed behind it, this official finds cause for suspicion. If this matter cannot be thoroughly investigated and a proper account given to the scholars of the empire, how can the Palace Examination proceed in haste? I implore Your Majesty to issue an edict and order a full investigation.”
It seemed that having submitted a memorial last time only to be left utterly ignored, Supervising Secretary Huang had this time chosen to make his grievances heard openly at court.
Grand Secretary Hu remained entirely unmoved.
The Emperor’s expression darkened, and he spoke: “This question was set by Us. What exactly do you find suspicious?”
Supervising Secretary Huang fell to his knees in alarm, and the court below fell instantly silent. Just as Pei Shaohuai had surmised — this somewhat unconventional question, so easily targeted for impeachment, had indeed come from the Emperor’s own hand.
The Emperor spoke again: “Let the Palace Examination be set for the twenty-eighth day of the third month. We shall set the questions personally.”
Pei Shaohuai reflected on this. The Emperor had gone out of his way to emphasize this particular point, which indicated that he truly intended to set the questions himself — and not merely select one from the questions already presented by the Grand Secretariat. It also indicated that the Emperor placed great importance on this year’s selection of officials.
From the day court adjourned, Pei Shaohuai never again saw Supervising Secretary Huang at the offices of the Six Supervising Secretariats. Word had it he had been dispatched outward to serve as a county magistrate.
A few days later, another memorial arrived from the Ministry of Personnel’s southern inspection tour, reporting that on his way back to the capital, Pei Jue had worked together with the Southern Embroidered Uniform Guard to set a trap, putting himself in danger as bait, luring out the remaining conspirators of the Fujian Administration Commission. The Southern Embroidered Uniform Guard had surrounded and captured them all in one fell swoop.
Pei Jue had sustained minor injuries and had achieved yet another meritorious deed.
From the looks of it, once Pei Jue returned to the capital, using his injury as the occasion, he would likely resign from office and retire. Having already fulfilled his grandson’s wishes, with entry into the Grand Secretariat no longer a possibility, he could not go on indefinitely serving as a blade used in the shadows.