Letters are sent at dawn from the city by the river, arriving at the ends of the earth with the night wind.
It was a pity that the swiftest water route and boat could never outpace the southern wind. With the capital and Fujian separated by several thousand li, even riding post at full gallop, by the time the Emperor saw Pei Shaohuai’s letter, it would already be more than a month later.
The Emperor wished to use this “longing” to dispel the sorrow at the bottom of his heart — he did not necessarily want to hear Pei Shaohuai report anything. While the “busy” in Pei Shaohuai’s letter was genuine.
The tactics the opposing side was deploying one after another — each was difficult to counter, driving Pei Shaohuai to have no choice but to spend more time reading through the Spring and Autumn Annals and the Three Kingdoms histories, reviewing military stratagems.
……
In the fifth month, the sea winds rise; naval forces cross east over the sea.
Gusts of northeasterly wind blew in from the Satsuma domain of Japan — the ideal time for Japanese raiders to ride the wind and launch their attacks. This had been the pattern for the past several decades without exception.
Yet this year, the military strength of the Jiahe Guard had grown several times over. Dozens of large vessels capable of carrying a thousand shi of cargo took turns in battle, giving the Japanese ships no opportunity whatsoever to approach the shore.
The Japanese raiders’ sekibune warships and kobaya fast vessels looked decidedly “delicate and trim” against Da Qing’s massive hard-sailed dark-stern ships carrying two to three thousand shi of timber.
After the Battle of Fengwei Gorge, the Jiahe Guard had learned that Japanese ship hulls lacked structural internal ribbing for support, making the ship bodies fragile. So whenever naval forces encountered a Japanese fleet at sea, the sailors would unhesitatingly unfurl their sails to full capacity and charge at full speed directly into the Japanese ships.
Like a heavy hammer cracking a walnut — crack — relying purely on the size and solidity of their vessels to ram the enemy into destroyed ships and dead crews.
There was something of a “bullying by size” quality to it all.
If by misfortune a few planks of their own ship were smashed by the Japanese raiders, it was not too serious — the warships built at the Taicang shipyards were all fitted with watertight internal compartments. If one compartment took on seawater, the ship would merely tilt slightly, and could still be sustained for a return journey to port for repairs.
And so, across the vast expanse of southeastern Fujian’s sea waters, the Jiahe Guard’s warships patrolled back and forth. Throughout the entire fifth month, they engaged the Japanese ships in more than a dozen exchanges, and with the advantages of ship size, firearms, and tactics, they suffered not a single defeat.
In total, some twenty to thirty Japanese ships were destroyed.
Reports came back to the Jiahe Guard repeatedly, boosting morale and making them fight with ever-increasing courage and spirit.
The Japanese raiders had taken heavy losses and, seeing no opportunity to come ashore for plunder — combined with their devastating losses from the Battle of Fengwei Gorge the previous year — they dared not recklessly engage the Jiahe Guard in a head-on clash. When the south wind arrived, the raiders simply reversed their sails and rode the wind northward, heading in the direction of the Joseon Kingdom.
Yan Chengzhao submitted a confidential report to the court, informing them of the Japanese ships’ heading. As for how the court would respond, that was no longer his concern.
This year’s Japanese raider threat had been suppressed. To completely eliminate this festering wound, subsequent discussions and a long-term plan would be needed.
……
On the eastern side the sun blazes fiercely, on the western side rain falls — the naval forces were winning battle after battle, yet in the Quanzhou-Zhangzhou area it was “defeat upon defeat” — grain prices throughout the various localities were rising steeply, the common people’s rice jars were reaching the bottom, and there were faint stirrings of unrest beginning to emerge.
The opposing side’s tactics were beginning to show results.
It was not that there was no grain in the cities — rather, the great clans were deliberately withholding their grain and not selling it, causing grain shortages in various areas. The southeastern Fujian region had little farmland to begin with, and nearly half of all common people were not farmers but relied on their crafts for a living, making them highly dependent on grain shops.
Notes that had previously bought one shi of rice could now not even purchase one hu. Rice prices had more than doubled.
……
In the morning hours, Pei Shaohuai had already gone to the prefectural yamen. Xiao Nan and Xiao Feng had woken late and were still having breakfast at the table.
From outside the compound walls came the sounds of hurrying footsteps mixed with the clanging and banging of vessels — it was a noisy commotion of common people scrambling to buy rice.
With grain prices rising day after day, if you didn’t buy today, tomorrow would be even more unaffordable.
Nanny Chen at Yang Shiyue’s side heard the noise and turned her face slightly toward the outside wall. After a long moment, she couldn’t help but let out a soft sigh: “The day before yesterday, ten copper coins could still exchange for half a dou of rough grain — I hear today it’s already risen to twenty coins. This world…”
She then asked Yang Shiyue: “Madam, should we not also stock up on some grain as soon as possible?” Better to be prepared — her intentions were good.
“We must not,” Yang Shiyue replied with great decisiveness.
At such a time, buying grain in large quantities would be equivalent to fanning the opposing side’s flames — it would only add to her husband’s troubles.
Yang Shiyue instructed: “Pass my words along — anyone in the household who dares to purchase grain and engage in speculation at this time will be sold off without exception.” Noticing that Xiao Nan and Xiao Feng were tilting their heads, listening intently, she lowered her voice and said to Nanny Chen: “In the future, do not speak of such matters in front of Xiao Nan and Xiao Feng.”
Nanny Chen grew flustered and quickly bowed her head in contrition, saying: “This old servant was thoughtless.”
Yang Shiyue quickly redirected the two children’s attention. She used a handkerchief to wipe the traces of congee from the corners of Xiao Nan’s and Xiao Feng’s mouths, and asked gently: “The breakfast we eat — how does it come to us?”
Xiao Nan and Xiao Feng competed to answer: “It comes from Father’s earned salary.” Their mother had told them this before.
“Being an official is not easy for Father — you must both be good and finish your congee.”
The two little ones nodded very solemnly, and Xiao Feng murmured: “Father always stays up so late…”
……
Out on the streets, common people were frantically buying grain — the scene was very chaotic and noisy.
Some people even came to blows over it.
What the common people did not know was that the more they behaved this way, the more frequently the price boards at the rice shops changed — rare goods are worth hoarding; wait and watch for the highest price.
And sure enough, with the sun still tilted to the east, well before noon, many rice shops began one by one to turn customers away, saying the grain in the shop was already sold out, and that those wanting to buy grain should come back the next day.
The next day, the price had changed again.
Unable to buy grain with their money house notes, the common people poured in front of the Taide money house to “make trouble,” demanding that the proprietor return their silver. By this point, anyone with eyes could see that real gold and silver were the only things of worth.
A money house note was nothing but a piece of paper.
The money house proprietor had everyone quiet down, and with a smiling face welcomed customers in, saying: “For those wishing to exchange for silver, please queue and enter the shop in an orderly fashion — all will be properly handled one by one.” He put on the appearance of a fair and non-cheating dealer.
But the board posted outside read: “Five liang silver for ten liang and five qian in notes” — the exchange rate had risen again, just like grain, multiplying many times over.
In truth, whether one exchanged for silver or not had already become pointless. Behind the money house were the great clans; behind the rice shops were also the great clans. No matter how one exchanged, one could not escape the great clans’ grasp.
The common people naturally refused to accept this, yet had no recourse.
When the eyes of the common people were filled with expressions of utter despair, the money house proprietor chose his moment to let slip some information, letting the common people rekindle a spark of hope. He said: “Standing around the Taide money house like this, all of you, is entirely pointless. Taide has been operating all these years, and everyone knows we’ve relied on one word: ‘trust.’ The changes in this exchange rate depend on whether grain market prices are high or low — it was only after the grain price rose that Taide raised the exchange rate.”
A mouthful of deceptive nonsense to fool the common people, pushing the blame onto “grain prices.”
He then suggested: “Rather than wasting your time here, why not go to the Shuang’an Prefecture yamen and beat the drum to lodge a complaint? Ask that capable young Prefect to come out and manage these unlawful grain merchants, and suppress the rising grain prices. As long as the grain price doesn’t rise, your silver will naturally come back to you. I’ve heard this Prefect was dispatched by imperial order, carrying the Imperial Sword.” He used both hands to mime a beheading gesture, and stared wide-eyed as he asked: “The Imperial Sword can execute even royalty and nobility — I’m sure all of you good customers are aware of its power?”
In this remote region of Fujian far from the court, how would a small money house proprietor have known about the “Imperial Sword”? It was clearly the person behind him instructing him to say so.
The common people had only heard of the “Imperial Sword” from storytellers, thinking of it as an all-powerful treasure. Their eyes immediately lit up — it seemed they had found a savior.
As if, so long as the Shuang’an Prefecture Prefect took the field, all problems would be resolved.
Word spread quickly from one person to ten, from ten to a hundred. Throughout the Quanzhou-Zhangzhou area, a large crowd of common people poured into Shuang’an Prefecture, gathering outside the yamen, kneeling and refusing to leave, crying out repeatedly for the Prefect to execute the treacherous merchants with his Imperial Sword and suppress the rising grain prices.
None of them had thought to question: they were citizens of Zhangzhou and Quanzhou — why were they going not to their own prefectural yamen to seek redress, but instead to Shuang’an Prefecture? In itself, this was unreasonable.
They had fallen into the scheme of treacherous villains.
……
Inside the Shuang’an Prefecture yamen.
Wails of lamentation sounded like funeral cries, rattling even the roof tiles.
Common people knelt outside the gate pleading, and Pei Shaohuai could neither go out to meet them at the gate nor leave — he could only lock himself in the yamen chamber, struggling to press down the fury in his heart and calm himself as best he could.
Knowing full well it was a trap dug by the opposing side, how could he jump in? It was not that he was putting on airs or had no empathy for the people’s suffering. Rather, once he agreed to satisfy the common people’s demands, this “grain crisis” would only escalate further, and more people would die.
The countermeasures he had planned earlier had accounted for how long the common people’s reserves of grain could hold out, when the merchant ships of the Qi, Chen, and Bao families would return with grain, and how to distribute the grain and gradually suppress grain prices — all seemed sound. Yet there was one point he had overlooked: even a small gust of wind could drive common people into panic, and panic was the easiest thing of all to inflame.
Panic had emerged ahead of his plans.
Pei Shaohuai was increasingly convinced that the mastermind behind this upheaval was no simple figure — one who was not only deeply versed in financial manipulation, but also in the art of governing and the art of reading the human heart. One who could precisely calculate his every weakness and cut into each one, blade by blade.
For five consecutive days, Pei Shaohuai remained inside the yamen, steeling his heart and refusing to come out. The common people outside the yamen drifted away one by one, their steps forlorn, their eyes filled with despair — a sight too heartbreaking to bear witness to.
At last, about a dozen people still remained, keeping their vigil.
That day, Bao Bantou led the Twenty-Seventh Elder in quietly through the side gate to see Pei Shaohuai.
“Prefect,” the Twenty-Seventh Elder said, old as he was, still giving a respectful bow. His eyes also held a complex expression. He advised: “If the Prefect truly has an Imperial Sword, should he not go out and try it?”
Pei Shaohuai was taken aback.
It was as if even the dust motes floating in the light in the room had frozen still.
After a long silence, Pei Shaohuai finally sighed and said: “Twenty-Seventh Elder, it is not that this official is unwilling to act — it is that once the grain price is suppressed, more people will die.”
Compared to genuine droughts or insect blights, this man-made grain crisis was not terribly severe. Grain prices were rising sharply, and buying and selling grain was highly profitable — within half a month, grain merchants from Chaozhou Prefecture would find ways to transport grain here, alleviating the local grain shortage. Who could resist profit when it presented itself?
Holding on until the merchant ships returned in summer and the autumn harvest came in, this grain crisis would be over.
But if Pei Shaohuai were to intervene and suppress prices, grain merchants would find no profit in it and the rice merchants of Jiangnan and Chaozhou would not bother to transport grain here.
This operated on the same principle as the salt permits.
Under such circumstances, even with silver in hand, the common people would be unable to buy grain — they simply could not hold on until the merchant ships from Tong’an City returned.
“The old man understands — where there is no profit, there will be no movement. My Lord is truly thinking of the people’s welfare.” Tears moistened the wrinkles at the corners of the Twenty-Seventh Elder’s eyes. He said with concern: “But for the sake of those people out there, sacrificing my Lord’s reputation — this old man feels deeply indignant on my Lord’s behalf.”
A truly benevolent upright official should not receive such treatment, and even less so should he bear the burden of blame and infamy.
What the Twenty-Seventh Elder said was not untrue. Clearly possessing the Imperial Sword yet refusing to appear — those outside would surely be filled with condemnation, and at court there would be a wave of attacks.
“If my neighbors fall into chaos, Shuang’an Prefecture will find it difficult to remain unaffected… Elder, do not see it that way.” Knowing the Twenty-Seventh Elder was thinking of him, Pei Shaohuai turned the tables and offered comfort instead, saying: “If I can exchange a temporary loss of reputation for the lives of ten thousand people, what does it matter if people curse me a little? I will not lose any flesh over it…. As long as we get through this difficult period, there will always come a time when my reputation is restored.”
One could not expect from the common people — who were occupied with the everyday concerns of firewood, rice, oil, and salt — the same level of perspective as one’s own.
“Shuang’an Prefecture is so fortunate to have such a person…” The Twenty-Seventh Elder choked up, his voice trembling.
He then made a pledge: “Since my Lord has such breadth of spirit, once this matter has passed, even if I have to shout until my throat is raw, even if I have to put these old bones on the line, I will preserve this reputation for my Lord.”
“This elder’s good intentions, I, your younger generation, fully understand and receive with gratitude.”
Whatever the circumstances, the Twenty-Seventh Elder’s visit had dispersed some of the gloom weighing on Pei Shaohuai’s heart. At the very least, someone had told him that what he was doing was worthwhile and right.
……
Deep in the night, atop the walls of Tong’an City.
Layers of dark clouds dimmed the starlight; sparse lantern flames drifted in the night.
Pei Shaohuai stood on the city wall, looking out over the city. Compared to last year, the scene was much the same, yet he could no longer sense that calm and peaceful feeling.
The opposing side had played out their cards — it was now Pei Shaohuai’s turn to play his.
No matter what powerful backing these great clans had, how many descendants and protégés they had planted at court, whether they were scheming for power or for wealth — since they had dared to use the common people as their stakes, Pei Shaohuai would try his hand at a gamble: making them lose everything they had wagered.
……
The south wind had not yet arrived, the merchant ships had not yet returned.
The rice merchants from Chaozhou Prefecture were still on their way, and the various prefectures and counties of southeastern Fujian were still in turmoil over grain prices.
Cotton cloth, silver coins, and maritime trade were Pei Shaohuai’s trump cards. Before the right moment arrived, there was no harm in first deploying some minor techniques to sow discord.
Pei Shaohuai first disclosed news of “opening maritime trade” to the pirates, having it carried by their mouths to Qun Island and into the ears of Xu Wu. He said that the court was not only going to open maritime trade, but also intended to assign military escort warships to protect the merchant vessels, ensuring a safe journey all the way.
He then had the news that Wang Chu, for killing pirates and earning merit, had received a reward of over ten thousand liang of silver from the Quanzhou prefectural government passed along.
After learning the approximate location of Qun Island from Wang Chu, Yan Chengzhao dispatched a dark-stern warship every other day to patrol in the waters near Qun Island, as though preparing at any moment to surround the island and annihilate its inhabitants.
Just like that, he kept Xu Wu dangling in a state of terror and anxiety.
The following day, Pei Shaohuai paid an uninvited visit to the Wangjiang Tower in Quanzhou Prefecture and took the initiative to arrange a meeting with Prefect Xie.
Prefect Xie was in excellent spirits and arrived full of excitement, thinking Pei Shaohuai had come to submit. Little did he know that when he pushed open the door and entered, Pei Shaohuai not only showed no sign of rising to welcome him but did not even stir from his seat. He simply occupied himself with toying with his wine cup, occasionally sipping his warm tea.
It was only when Prefect Xie stood before him that Pei Shaohuai raised one eyelid and gave him a brief glance — a glance brimming with contempt and disdain.
The perfect posture of a pampered young lord of the capital’s high society.
Before Pei Shaohuai had said a single word, he had already driven Prefect Xie into barely suppressed fury — anger that had been accumulating for a long time.
Prefect Xie said: “Is this the expression with which Lord Pei comes to make peace? Does he not know that at this moment he is the one in the disadvantaged position?” He was reminding Pei Shaohuai to lower his attitude.
Pei Shaohuai gave a contemptuous smile and said: “Only you regard this matter as a contest.” His eyes still carried a trace of pity.
“No matter how events unfold, I, Pei Shaohuai, am still Pei Shaohuai — close confidant of the Emperor, student of the Grand Secretary, legitimate grandson of a prestigious family. How could I possibly fall to your level of disadvantage? Prefect Xie has perhaps an overly high opinion of himself.” Pei Shaohuai continued: “And the same applies to the master behind you — this standing will not change.”
Pei Shaohuai was giving a performance.
What infuriated Prefect Xie was not Pei Shaohuai himself, but the long years of serving under a master from a high-ranking family.
The door of the private room had not been closed tightly. A yellow-coated stray dog had somehow wandered in and now sat just outside the private room’s doorway, panting and wagging its tail.
Pei Shaohuai reached down with his chopsticks, picked up a piece of meat, and tossed it out — it rolled and came to rest right in front of the stray dog.
He continued: “Prefect Xie’s expression was full of joy when he entered just now — you thought I was coming to negotiate a settlement, and that you could claim credit before your master, didn’t you?” Pei Shaohuai sighed with mock regret: “Better than thinking about claiming credit, you would do well to consider whether your master has any protégés whose term of office is nearing completion, and whether your own position might be vacated to make way for someone else.”
“Speak no such nonsense.” The master had apparently drilled enough rules into Prefect Xie — despite being clearly furious beyond measure, he dared not lay a hand on Pei Shaohuai. He could only bully with words: “This official is a fully ranked fourth-rank officer, prefect of a prefecture — why would I acknowledge anyone as my master? What you speak of is merely mutual cooperation, each taking what benefits him.”
“Is that so?” Pei Shaohuai watched the stray dog waiting for a second piece of meat, and his look of contempt deepened several shades further. He said: “If that were the case, why would your ‘mutual cooperation’ include having you take a bandit’s sister as concubine, and raising a child in a bandit’s lair? I am quite curious — how would the Xie family genealogy be written to accommodate this?”
He continued to sow discord: “If Prefect Xie, as a fourth-rank officer of full standing, did this entirely of his own free will, one could barely call it acceptable.”