To persuade a single person to hang himself, one needed only a firm grip on his vulnerabilities — there were a thousand ways to manage it. But to compel an entire noble clan into something so utterly ruinous as the extinction of their line? That was no easy matter.
Male members sentenced to military exile, female members cast into the pleasure quarters — not even the most “loyally devoted” of noble clans could bear such a charge laid against them.
If persuasion was impossible, then the only recourse was to frame them — to direct all evidence of the crimes squarely onto a single clan’s head, and catch them red-handed with the proof on their persons.
And so, Pei Shaohuai suspected that in the days to come, a great deal of “evidence” would conveniently begin to surface.
Yan Chengzhao listened to Pei Shaohuai’s conjecture, nodded in quiet approval, and said, “Yan understands now what must be done.”
“Then I leave it in Commander Yan’s capable hands.”
“It falls within my duties.”
With the main business concluded, Yan Chengzhao took his leave in haste, apparently anxious to return home. Pei Shaohuai, concerned, asked after him.
Yan Chengzhao replied, “What we have just discussed touches upon matters of great consequence to the Imperial family — it cannot be delayed, nor can it be entrusted to another’s hands.” This was a matter he could only investigate himself, leading the inquiry in secret. He could not rest easy handing it to anyone else.
He appeared somewhat troubled, and faintly guilty, as he added, “At any other time it would have been different, but my wife is with child — I must first return home and see her properly settled.” Only then could he set his mind at ease and attend to his work.
It was only before Pei Shaohuai that the cold and stern Yan Chengzhao would reveal such private matters.
“As you should,” said Pei Shaohuai.
Both men had brought their families along on this journey south, and neither had anticipated encountering so many dangers before setting out. The guilt they felt toward their wives was inevitable.
After Yan Chengzhao’s departure, Pei Shaohuai tidied his office briefly, and by then the second watch of the night had arrived. Earlier that day he had been thinking that, with the situation in southern Fujian gradually improving, perhaps he ought to gather his things and move back into the residence. But sitting quietly in reflection, he felt that the road ahead remained winding, and there would yet be busy days to come, so he abandoned the thought — better to leave his belongings here at the office for now.
The leisurely rumble of wheels rolled toward him, growing near from a distance.
The carriage drew to a stop at the gate of the prefectural office. Steward Zhang had come to escort the master home, but he saw Pei Shaohuai emerge empty-handed.
Steward Zhang set down the stepping stool and guided Pei Shaohuai into the carriage, asking as he did, “Did the master not say he wished to move his sleeping things back to the residence?”
“Leave them for now,” Pei Shaohuai replied. “There will still be use for them.”
He added with a self-deprecating laugh, “This time I go home, consider it merely a few days’ rest.” His tone was light enough.
The night was a deep, tarry black, the shops and upper floors lining both sides of the street long since dark. Steward Zhang could barely see by the two lanterns hanging from the carriage eaves, and so kept the reins loose, not daring to drive fast, for fear of striking a jagged stone in the road and causing a stumble or a fall.
Pei Shaohuai found the carriage stuffy and hooked back the curtain to let in the air.
Master and servant chatted idly as they went.
The carriage moved slowly, and Steward Zhang said with a smile, “Master, this stretch of road has just been freshly laid with bricks and stones. The surface hasn’t yet been pressed with wheel ruts, so the carriage can’t follow any established tracks — it’s easy to veer off course, which is why I dare not go fast.”
Without a thousand carriages having passed to wear it down, the blue stone bricks bore no ruts yet.
Steward Zhang continued, “It’s not like the capital — every road in the capital has its worn grooves to follow. You could find your way home blind, the path so familiar.”
Chang Fan was speaking in jest, but Pei Shaohuai found himself listening with a depth of attention that surprised him.
Deep in the night, it put him in mind of six years past — the evening after he had placed first in the imperial examinations, the night of the Imperial Banquet of Grace. The same sparse, dark night sky, the same Chang Fan coming to escort him home.
Then, Chang Fan had spoken of following the old stone ruts, and Pei Shaohuai had responded with “All carriages under heaven travel by the rut,” which was indeed the very origin of Su Zhe’s given name.
Those words had perfectly matched the spirit he had carried as he first entered office.
And now, Chang Fan spoke of taking a new road slowly, and the words struck Pei Shaohuai’s heart with the same clarity.
Pei Shaohuai said, “A new road truly must be taken slowly. When those who came before have traveled it enough to wear the ruts deep, those who follow will move faster and with greater ease.”
Where the road appears most smooth, its difficulties run deepest. Where the wheel rut appears most shallow, the effort behind it runs most profound.
There is never any rushing it.
Steward Zhang pondered this for a moment before grasping the deeper meaning. He scratched the back of his head and offered his praise: “The master truly is a man of great learning — whatever comes from your mouth always gives a person something to carry away.”
“You drew it out of me,” Pei Shaohuai said with a laugh. “Half that praise belongs to you.”
Master and servant chatted and laughed all the way home, arriving at the residence after roughly half an hour.
……
Cousin Lin Yuan had turned back toward Yangzhou, busy with the matter of transporting that shipment of tea. The smaller clans of Shuan’an Prefecture, having received their bolts of cloth and secured their tea contracts, were all occupied with preparations for the December sailing.
Two shiploads of silver had entered the prefectural coffers. Bridge-building, road-laying, and dock construction no longer lacked for funds, and the hired workers pressed steadily on.
Chaozhou Prefecture had brought in an autumn harvest, and another consignment of grain arrived in Shuan’an Prefecture. Combined with the fact that several of the major clans had begun selling off their stored grain, the city’s rice prices fell. Pei Shaohuai purchased grain and laid it into the storehouses for future use.
In the span of just a few months, southern Fujian — which had seemed on the very brink of civil unrest — had turned things entirely around and come back to life.
Just as Pei Shaohuai had said, with the situation improving, he at last found the chance to return home and “rest” for a few days, spending proper time with Shi Yue, little Nan, and little Feng.
Consider it making up for all the rest days he had missed before.
……
When it came to raising little Nan and little Feng, Pei Shaohuai had his own convictions. He hoped to impart his knowledge and perspective to the children gradually, by way of example rather than instruction — yet he could not let his own preferences be the only guide. After all, little Nan and little Feng had been born into this world as it was, and it would not do for them to wholly shed the manner that this world expected of them.
To stand entirely apart from the world brought too much suffering. Unless a child chose it themselves, Pei Shaohuai would not deliberately guide them in that direction.
What he could do was give little Nan and little Feng, as best as he was able, the space to choose.
For instance — little Nan and little Feng were nearly three years old. By the common understanding of the day, “the gravity between father and son must admit neither familiarity nor carelessness,” which meant that both children ought to be sleeping in their own rooms now, no longer spending every night curled beside their parents.
Yang Shiyue spent considerable effort each evening settling the two little ones to sleep, and Pei Shaohuai shared in the task. Fortunately, little Nan and little Feng were clever and obedient — they understood what their parents said to them. After several nights apart, they gradually grew accustomed to the new arrangement.
Once little Nan and little Feng were sleeping separately, the deeply canopied step-bed that had occupied the master chamber’s inner room was replaced with a carved moon-lattice post bed — narrower by a measure, yet it gave husband and wife more time alone together.
At night, with the door latched and the bed curtains lowered.
For the first several nights, neither of them had quite grown used to it, and even after climbing into bed together, there was a certain formal, deferential quality between them — making them seem, if anything, more reserved than they had been on their wedding night.
Until tonight, when an autumn gust brought a spell of cold rain and drew out a lingering warmth beneath the covers.
The next morning, the first light of dawn filtered through the window paper, brightening the room. That soft, indistinct morning glow made those who had labored through the night all the more reluctant to wake.
Yang Shiyue rose at her usual hour. Moving with careful lightness, she lifted the corner of the quilt and was just about to slip out from the foot of the bed.
But Pei Shaohuai’s palm reached out and caught her at the waist, pulled her gently but firmly back, and settled her into the warmth of the bedding once more — pressed squarely against his chest, rising and falling with each slow, quiet breath.
Pei Shaohuai kept his eyes closed, feigning sleep, but he was smiling, teeth showing, rather pleased with himself.
Yang Shiyue pushed at her husband, but Pei Shaohuai’s hand held her firmly at the waist and would not yield a fraction. She said, “I was only trying not to disturb the master’s morning dreams — little did I know the master had already been awake all along. Had I known, I would have thrown the entire quilt off.”
“As long as my eyes aren’t open, I’m not yet awake. I can still sleep.”
With fewer official matters than usual, able to rest at home for a few days, Pei Shaohuai was perfectly happy to be lazy.
Yang Shiyue still wished to rise, and tried to reason with him: “There are many small matters to see to throughout the household early in the morning — please let me get up and wash.”
Pei Shaohuai naturally refused, and reasoned back at her: “Today I am at home. No matter how many small matters there are, I’ll help you see to them together shortly — it won’t take long.”
He continued, “During this time, you’ve often said that I must be exhausted by the work at the office. You at home have not had an easy time of it either. You’ve been telling me to rest properly these few days — you should rest properly as well.”
He even made what amounted to a threat, saying, “If you get up, I’ll get up too.” Which was purely shameless.
Hearing her husband’s words, Yang Shiyue let her whole body soften, settled herself contentedly against his chest, and sure enough, before long, she had drifted peacefully back to sleep.
In the courtyard outside, Nanny Chen noticed that at this hour the room still showed no signs of stirring. She smiled knowingly to herself, and simply fetched a chair to sit guard at the courtyard gate.
A short while later, the wife of Shen’er came walking toward the inner quarters, head bent, comparing two lists of prices — and was stopped by Nanny Chen.
After hearing the reason for her errand, Nanny Chen said, “It’s nothing pressing. Wait until the young mistress rises — you can speak of it in the afternoon.” Nanny Chen had followed Yang Shiyue all these years, and out of habit still called her “young mistress.”
“The mistress hasn’t risen yet?” the wife of Shen’er exclaimed in surprise, and even tilted her head to look doubtfully at the position of the sun.
“It just goes to show you how forbearing the young mistress has always been with you — listen to yourself.” Nanny Chen gave the woman half a correction and half a tease, then added, “Has the master not been resting at home these past few days?”
The wife of Shen’er made several “oh oh” sounds and said, “Thank you for the reminder, Nanny. I was careless in my duties.” She quickly turned and left.
A little while later, Steward Zhang came by and asked, “Nanny, have you seen the master come out? The master said he needed the carriage this morning, and I’ve been waiting and waiting without a sign of him.”
“When Steward Zhang is out on errands, he’s sharp enough — how is it that inside the residence he becomes such a simpleton?” Nanny Chen said. “If the master needs the carriage, naturally he’ll come out through the main gate. You just wait outside — let the master and mistress rest properly for a few days.”
And with that, she talked Steward Zhang out of the courtyard as well.
Just as Nanny Chen had said — for long months on end, he had carried the burden of keeping an entire city’s worth of people fed. How could he not be exhausted?
The household staff could all see it plainly enough.
It was not until the hour of Chen that little Nan and little Feng emerged one after another from their respective rooms, rubbing their faces awake, and todded over toward Nanny in small, unhurried steps.
Little Feng asked, “Nanny, where are Father and Mother?”
Nanny Chen coaxed them gently: “Nanny will take you to wash and dress first. Once you’ve changed into your clothes, you’ll be able to see Father and Mother.”
Only then did Nanny Chen go and knock at the door, calling from outside: “Master, young mistress — little Guan’er and little Ci’er are awake.”
After a moment, the sound of some hurried movement came from within the room. Yang Shiyue called back, “I know.”
Then, lowering her voice, she “blamed” her husband: “This is entirely your fault — look, little Nan and little Feng have woken up before me…”
Nanny Chen smiled and walked away.
……
A few days of rest had been enough. Pei Shaohuai returned to the prefectural office to attend to official business.
Out early, back late.
One evening as the office was closing, Steward Zhang drove the carriage to bring Pei Shaohuai home. Pei Shaohuai had already noticed that morning when he left that Chang Fan seemed to have something on his mind, so he spoke up of his own accord: “Steward Zhang, is there something you’d like to say?”
Seeing he’d been found out, Steward Zhang looked a little sheepish. “The master might as well just call me ‘Chang Fan’ — it sounds more refined, and it makes a person feel a bit younger too.”
He had followed Pei Shaohuai from his youth, serving as a page and attendant. After all these years, the two characters of “Chang Fan” had long since ceased to sound like any servant’s nickname to Steward Zhang’s ears.
Every time Pei Shaohuai called him Chang Fan, it brought to mind those years when he had still been learning his way in the world.
“There is indeed one matter I wished to ask the master’s help with…” Steward Zhang was a little embarrassed to bring it up, saying, “The master has so many official duties, and I feared I would be adding to the trouble.”
Pei Shaohuai said, “Chang Fan, between the two of us, speak plainly — no need for formality.”
Only then did Steward Zhang explain his reason: “The elder one at home is nearly six now, old enough for the schoolroom. I wanted to ask the master to lend a hand and perform his enlightenment ceremony.”
So it was the elder son’s ceremony of first learning — and he was inviting Pei Shaohuai to serve as the honored guest.
Steward Zhang’s family had followed Pei Shaohuai south, and of course the children had come along.
To have a man who had placed first in all three imperial examinations mark the child’s brow to open his learning — what an honor that was, not easily come by. With this experience to his name, the child’s future studies would go considerably more smoothly.
One thought of how, in their own time, Pei Bingyuan had invited an aged scholar from the Imperial Academy to perform the ceremony for little Shaohuai and little Shaojin, pressing the vermillion mark to their brows. Now, all these years later, with both Shaohuai and Shaojin having each claimed the top rank of the examinations, that old scholar’s own standing had risen with the tide — the capital’s great families all competed to engage him for their enlightenment ceremonies, and he had even been appointed to the rank of Academy Erudite. In the realm of reverence for one’s teachers, even a single encounter that bore the name of “master and student” carried a significance all its own.
The gesture carried a certain presumption, which was why Steward Zhang had hesitated.
Pei Shaohuai did not pause to deliberate. He replied, “I thought it might be some weighty matter — all this air of secrecy.” He continued, “Just let me know a day or two in advance once you’ve set the date.” Pei Shaohuai had met the child before — he had inherited his father’s sharpness, and had a certain natural cleverness to him.
“Yes, wonderful!” Steward Zhang was overjoyed.
Pei Shaohuai asked, “Which schoolroom in Tong’an City do you plan to send him to?”
“Thanks to the master’s good grace,” Steward Zhang replied, “the Qi clan elder has already given his word and will allow the child to attend their clan school and study alongside the others.”
“That’s good. Once we return to the capital, we’ll find him a proper tutor. I can see he’s the sort of child born to study.”
That single word of praise from Pei Shaohuai moved Steward Zhang more than a little. The master had wide experience and a discerning eye — if he said the boy showed promise, there was a seven or eight in ten chance of it being true.
Steward Zhang said, “If the child can learn even one part in a hundred of what the master has, and grow up to do a thing or two of real good for the people, I would count that enough.”
Pei Shaohuai added, “Whether a person takes to studying depends in part on fortune — don’t put too much pressure on him.”
“I understand, I understand.”
Three days later, Pei Shaohuai went at the invitation to Steward Zhang’s home, which stood not far from the Pei family residence — a modest two-courtyard house.
Pei Shaohuai had dressed in a fresh new blue robe, looking altogether proper and solemn, and showed not the least condescension owing to the eyes of the world.
Chang Fan bustled about attending to his guests. The household had few hands, yet everything was managed with care and propriety.
At the enlightenment ceremony, the boy was dressed in a small straight-collared robe, a square headcloth upon his head. He knelt and bowed three times before Pei Shaohuai with complete decorum. A scent of pine and cypress drifted forward, and it brought to Pei Shaohuai’s mind his own ceremony years ago — his mother having him scrubbed from head to toe with pine-and-cypress-branch water, once and then again, before it was light.
People held firmly to the belief that a scholar’s bearing ought to be like the pine and cypress — unbending and unyielding.
Pei Shaohuai took up the brush, dipped it in vermillion, and pressed it lightly to the center of the child’s forehead, leaving behind a “red mark” — a symbol that wisdom was born upon the brow.
He said, “Is it not pleasant to learn and practice what one has learned? May you in days to come master the true meaning of what you read, hold firm to a purpose of service to the people, and walk a long road onward — never retreating, never shrinking.”
It was a wish and a blessing both.
Only by setting one’s purpose and pressing forward without turning back was there any possibility of arriving at the end.
The child’s mother stood to one side, tears brimming at her eyes, clearly moved, and in the dialect of the capital she urged the child in a low voice: “Quickly now — say your thanks to the master.”
Pei Shaohuai watched as the child opened his mouth, then swallowed it back, gathered his courage, and said, “This student thanks the teacher for his guidance.”
“Very good,” said Pei Shaohuai, smiling.
The ceremony complete, Pei Shaohuai accepted the customary gift of money from Chang Fan — not that the amount mattered, but had he refused it, Chang Fan would likely have been left unsettled in his heart for a long time to come.
……
Meanwhile, an account of Pei Shaohuai’s accomplishments in Shuan’an Prefecture was conveyed by secret letter back to the capital, laid upon the Emperor’s desk.
The sealed dispatches of the Southern Embroidered Uniform Guard were for the Emperor’s eyes alone.
The Emperor read it and was greatly pleased. In those several thousand characters, one could read plainly the dangers Pei Shaohuai had encountered along the way, and the interlocking stratagems he had employed — each surprising at first glance, yet on closer reflection utterly sensible, inevitable, the only way it could have unfolded.
Coming up with any single link in the chain was not so difficult. But to respond correctly to each link in turn — that was no small thing.
Fail in one move, and every move after it would fail.
The Emperor nodded as he read, saying with satisfaction, “He truly has been busy. What Boyuan said in his letter is true — he has not been glossing things over or deceiving Us.”
He continued, “With resistance of this magnitude to contend against, Boyuan has not had an easy time of it. We ought to lend him Our support as well.”
He could not leave the man toiling away alone.
The Emperor said to Imperial Attendant Xiao, “Summon Bureau of Military Affairs Supervising Secretary Pei for an audience.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Before long, Pei Shaojin arrived at the Imperial summons. That sealed dispatch — the one no eyes but the Emperor’s were permitted to see — was placed, in this seemingly casual manner, directly into Pei Shaojin’s hands. It spoke volumes of the Emperor’s trust.
Pei Shaojin had an excellent memory, and read quickly. When he had finished, the Emperor asked, “Having read it, Beloved Official Pei, has it given you any inspiration? What are your thoughts?” There was a teasing edge to the question — the Emperor wished to use elder brother Boyuan to spur on this younger brother before him.
But Pei Shaojin nodded with great seriousness and said, “The matters described in this letter are indeed things my elder brother would do… and indeed, only my elder brother could do them.” With perfect composure, he offered his elder brother lavish praise.
And his gaze was, moreover, entirely sincere.
Coming from between brothers, such praise bore not the least resemblance to empty self-promotion — it was simply a true account of fact.
The Emperor was momentarily taken aback. He had not asked the question in order to have Pei Shaojin praise his own elder brother.
The Emperor quickly turned to the matter at hand, fearful that Shaojin might continue his praises: “We summoned you here to discuss what you proposed last time — the establishment of a sailing permit system to regulate maritime trade.”
“Your Majesty has remembered only part of it,” Pei Shaojin replied. “Although the proposal was this official’s, this official also said that it was only under my elder brother’s guidance that I was able to arrive at it.”