After hearing Yan Chengzhao’s words, Pei Shaohuai understood — a task personally assigned by the Emperor naturally required a memorial report once it was completed.

Seeing Pei Shaohuai lost in thought, Yan Chengzhao smiled and said, “Pei Zhizhou is the first person I have ever seen troubled by having too much imperial favor.”

“Commander Yan need not be too pleased with himself either.” Pei Shaohuai fired back, then said, “If the Emperor approves the memorial and assembles the naval forces of the four guards — Jiangyin, Guangyang, Henghai, and the Water Army — and further grants command authority over the nine guards in Zhejiang, Fujian, and other regions, with the fleet sailing south on a grand campaign to suppress the pirates, the tiger tally in Commander Yan’s hands will be quite a weighty thing indeed.”

To his surprise, Yan Chengzhao was not annoyed but rather delighted. “Taking men out to sea for some exercise would be just fine,” he replied.

It was already late in the second month, and the fourth month would arrive in the blink of an eye. Pei Shaohuai returned to his residence, packed his belongings simply, and the very next day boarded a boat heading north to Quanzhou Prefecture, where he took up his post at the examination hall to prepare for the prefecture examination.

——

Gold censers and imperial incense bathed the palace halls.

Wispy threads of sandalwood smoke drifted like clouds and mist, curling through the Imperial Study.

First, a confidential memorial arrived from the Embroidered Uniform Guard. Before the Emperor had even broken the seal, he recognized that the character “Confidential” on the hard cover had been written by Pei Bingyuan’s hand.

Yan Chengzhao’s calligraphy was never this composed.

Shortly after, the Assistant Minister of the Office of Transmission requested an audience. The Emperor set the memorial aside for the moment and said, “Summon him.”

After paying his respects, the Assistant Minister reported, “Yesterday, the Silver Registry of the Office of Transmission received a total of fifteen memorials and petitions from officials inside and outside the capital. There are no public appeals or legal complaints. These are presented for Your Majesty’s review.”

He had come to deliver memorials.

The Emperor asked, “Have any of the censors from the Six Bureaus or the Censorate submitted anything?” Officials inside and outside the capital would submit memorials over the most trivial matters just to get their names before the Emperor — this was an old habit, and the Emperor usually only read the important ones.

“The Censor of the Bureau of Military Affairs, Pei Gei-shijong, has submitted one.”

“Oh?” The Emperor’s interest was immediately piqued. “Bring it here for Us to read.” What good day was it of late, that both of the Pei brothers had submitted memorials at the same time?

After the Assistant Minister withdrew, the Emperor began reviewing the memorials. He first read Pei Shaojin’s, which bore the title Memorial Requesting Discussion on Reform of the Horse Administration to Ease the People’s Burdens and Illuminate Imperial Virtue, submitted jointly with the Court of the Imperial Stud.

Pei Shaojin’s wife’s maternal grandfather served as the Director of the Court of the Imperial Stud, and Pei Shaojin himself held responsibility for remonstrance within the Bureau of Military Affairs, so he was naturally well acquainted with the horse administration policies of Da Qing.

As the saying went, “Among national affairs, none is greater than warfare; among military matters, none is more urgent than horses.” To prevail against the Tartars, cavalry and warhorses were indispensable, and so Da Qing placed the utmost importance on warhorses. This much was beyond dispute.

The problem lay in where the horses were raised, and by whom.

Under the Court of the Imperial Stud was the Imperial Pastures Office, which oversaw six supervisorates and twenty-four pasture grounds, supervising official pastures in the Northern Metropolitan Region, Liaodong, Pingliang, Gansu, and other areas.

Dedicated offices had been established, and official horse pastures had been built — this was, in itself, a good arrangement.

Yet at the founding of Da Qing, the founding Emperor had enfeoffed nineteen of his sons in the nine frontier garrison cities, granting them territories to rule over and defend Da Qing’s borders. The six supervisorates and twenty-four pasture grounds established by the court happened to be adjacent to the fiefs of these princes. Year after year, the pasture lands were encroached upon and seized by the princes, gradually shrinking. Throughout successive reigns, emperors had turned a blind eye to this behavior in the name of “harmony among the imperial clan,” allowing it to go unchecked.

Left untreated, this deep-rooted malady had dragged on until now, rendering the official pastures all but useless. The Imperial Pastures Office had gradually drifted from its original purpose — from raising horses to levying horses — shifting the burden of horse-raising onto the common people.

When the imperial clan caused trouble, the trouble fell on the Emperor’s head. When the common people suffered, the suffering fell only on the people’s heads. So long as the horse quotas were met, successive emperors had tacitly condoned this practice.

Year after year, the collecting, inspecting, and transporting of horses depended entirely on the officials’ word, breeding corruption and exploitation throughout the process.

What was even more absurd was that the northern pasture lands had been seized by the princes, forcing the farmers of the south to raise horses in their stead. With a stroke of the brush in the household registers, they were designated as horse-keeping households, and this obligation was pushed ever further south, all the way into the Jiangnan region.

Though Jiangnan was lush with grass, this was not pasture grass — how could it possibly raise the strong warhorses the army required?

What Pei Shaojin memorialized was precisely this matter. He wrote: “…To ease the suffering of the people and strengthen the horses of our armies, this minister earnestly implores Your Majesty, in accordance with the original intent behind the establishment of the six supervisorates and twenty-four pasture grounds, to re-survey and measure the horse-grazing pastures and return them to the administration of the court.” Without doing so, it would continue to be the horse-keeping households who suffered, and the cavalry in the army who bore the consequences.

The Emperor read it over and over several times. Beyond his admiration and gratification, his expression turned grave.

He then unsealed Pei Shaohuai’s confidential memorial, and said to himself with a smile, “Had your memorial arrived sooner, We would not have issued the decree commanding you to supervise the prefecture examination.”

Reading Pei Shaohuai’s description of the situation in Fujian, the Emperor felt as though the entire Imperial Study had grown bright and joyful — everything was moving in the right direction, and the time had come to deal with the pirates.

He had sent Bingyuan south to open the seas, and the answers Bingyuan had delivered went far beyond the single achievement of opening maritime trade.

Only after everything had been properly settled did he submit this confidential memorial. All the Emperor needed to do was consider the matter briefly and write the two characters “Approved” in vermillion on the memorial.

The Emperor then summoned Grand Secretary Zhang Lingyi, the Minister of War Chen Gongda, and the Director of the Court of the Imperial Stud Lu Yanxue to discuss the matter of the horse administration.

“Director Lu, you have a fine eye — you found yourself an excellent grandson-in-law,” the Emperor said approvingly to begin with.

Everyone naturally understood he was referring to Pei Shaojin.

Zhang Lingyi wore an expression of wistful regret, and slipped in a remark with a smile, “Speaking of which, this minister had already met Pei Zhizhou back when he was still sitting for the prefecture examination, and yet… ah…”

He was referring to Pei Shaohuai. At that time, Zhang Lingyi had been serving as the Prefectural Magistrate of Shuntian Prefecture and was Pei Shaohuai’s examination mentor at the prefecture level.

He continued, “In the matter of choosing a grandson-in-law, one really ought to learn from Director Lu.” He had been well-positioned to act first, yet had let the opportunity slip.

This remark sent the Emperor and his ministers into peals of laughter throughout the Imperial Study.

Turning to the matter at hand, after Zhang Lingyi and Chen Gongda had read Pei Shaojin’s memorial, their expressions turned as grave as the Emperor’s had earlier.

Not because the memorial was poorly written or mistaken — but because the matter would be difficult to handle. Though the memorial spoke of reforming the horse administration, it was in truth aimed squarely at the princes and the Yan imperial clan, implicitly calling them parasites eating away at Da Qing. To reclaim the pasture lands of the six supervisorates and twenty-four grounds was nothing less than snatching food from the jaws of a tiger.

To contend with the princes would be an arduous struggle.

At this point, the Emperor spoke. “The civil and military officials of this court cannot only know how to scramble for soft meat while refusing to gnaw on hard bones. Everyone knows the horse-keeping households suffer, yet everyone avoids the topic. We are greatly gratified that there is a young official as courageous as Pei Shaojin in our court.”

“He is correct — it is not the horse administration itself that is wrong, only the path it has taken. And since it has gone astray, it ought to be corrected.” The Emperor continued, “The more courage he shows in submitting this memorial, the less We can afford to let him come to any harm. For a task as difficult as this…” He looked at the three men before him.

The matter of the imperial clan would require him, the Emperor, along with several senior officials, to handle personally.

“Your servants are willing to share the burden for Your Majesty,” the three replied in unison.

The Emperor laid out his intentions. “First, We shall have a good talk with the Prince of Qing, the Prince of Su, the Prince of Jin, and the others. If they refuse to acknowledge the account… then We shall discuss it further.”

The words “discuss it further” were spoken with deliberate weight, making the Emperor’s resolve clear. When the time came to “discuss it further,” what would be discussed would no longer be merely whether they acknowledged the account or not.

“Your servants understand.”

——

By the time the important matters had been deliberated and Zhang Lingyi and the others had withdrawn, it was close to midday — past the hour for the noon meal.

Eunuch Xiao entered the Imperial Study with small, unhurried steps and said with a smile, “Your Majesty, yesterday you instructed this old servant to pass word to the Crown Prince…”

The Emperor suddenly recalled — he had told the Crown Prince to come to the Imperial Study today, but had become so absorbed in reading the Pei brothers’ memorials that he had entirely forgotten.

Only then did Eunuch Xiao continue, “When the Crown Prince saw that Your Majesty was in the midst of an important discussion, he did not dare to cause a disturbance and would not allow this old servant to come and announce him. He has been waiting outside in the covered walkway the whole time.”

The Emperor checked the hour, then said, “Have the meal brought in, and let Zheng’er come eat with Us.”

Over their noon meal, this imperial father and son were both in fine spirits. Though they were father and son, there were few occasions when they could eat together.

When the Crown Prince was young, the Emperor had just ascended the throne and found himself beset by difficulties on every side — he could only devote himself tirelessly to affairs of state and address each challenge one by one, leaving little time to attend to the upbringing of his children. By the time the court’s officials had gradually fallen in line and the situation had begun to stabilize, it seemed that in the blink of an eye, the time had already come to establish the Eastern Palace and select a principal consort for the Crown Prince.

The Emperor had a taste for sweets, and the chefs of the imperial kitchens leaned toward sweetness in their preparations.

“We remember that you do not care for sweet dishes. We had Xiao Jin instruct the imperial kitchen to omit the sugar glaze — try it and see if it suits you.”

“It is all very good, all very good.”

Toward the end of the meal, the Emperor said, “Next time, bring Chen’er along. We have not seen him for some time.” Yan Chen — the Emperor’s eldest grandson, the eldest son of Yan Youzheng.

“Your son will have him come and pay his respects tomorrow.”

The Emperor waved his hand in disapproval. “At that age, his studies are what matter most. There is no need to make a special trip just for a visit.”

“Yes.”

Father and son returned together to the Imperial Study, but the relaxed and pleasant atmosphere did not last, for the Emperor asked the Crown Prince how he would handle the matter of displaced Shanxi migrants who had no fixed place to live.

The Crown Prince answered, “If the migrants were gathered and settled together, it would be possible to build the greatest number of dwellings with the least amount of timber and stone.”

What the Crown Prince said was not wrong, but it was not what the Emperor had asked. The Emperor was on the verge of losing his temper, but then paused and suppressed his irritation, swallowing back the sharp reproach that had been about to escape him.

The Emperor thought of Bingyuan’s confidential memorial from earlier that morning, and of the matter of opening the seas — Bingyuan approached every task as one would plant a tree: always first finding a patch of fertile ground, digging the hole, loosening the soil, channeling in water, and only when everything was in readiness would he uproot the tree and transplant it into place.

Step by step, each linked to the next.

The Crown Prince, by contrast, had begun the very first sentence by “uprooting the tree.”

“Are displaced migrants without a fixed place to live merely in want of dwellings?” The Emperor did his best to keep his voice measured, then guided him further. “Even if we are speaking of building residences, it is not as simple as deciding to build and then building. Where to choose the site, where the timber is to come from, who is to oversee the construction schedule — these are matters you need not manage personally, but you must at least know the difference between truth and pretense, so that you are not taken in by a few smooth words from those below you.”

The Crown Prince was past twenty years old. Even with the Emperor making every effort to restrain his displeasure and frustration, how could he fail to hear the reproach beneath those words?

He had wanted to say that he understood all of this perfectly well — it was simply that what he had spoken was the first thought that came to his lips without careful consideration. But as that thought reached the edge of expression, he felt he had already failed his father. He said only, “Your son will go and reflect on this. Next time I will give Father a proper answer.”

Though the Crown Prince’s words acknowledged his own fault, they also brought the exchange to a close, leaving the Emperor with no opening to either reprimand him or continue asking and teaching.

After the Crown Prince departed, the Emperor had no desire for his afternoon rest. Eunuch Xiao Jin brought a cup of tea to help dispel the Emperor’s irritation. Xiao Jin had heard the entire exchange between father and son.

“This old servant begs Your Majesty’s forgiveness — I inadvertently overheard a few words just now.”

The Emperor set down the teacup and looked at Xiao Jin, gesturing for him to continue.

Only then did Xiao Jin speak. “Though the Crown Prince’s answer could not satisfy Your Majesty, he was at least thinking of the welfare of the people.” Having followed the Emperor for so many years, Xiao Jin naturally understood His Majesty’s temperament, and added, “In the past, when the princesses tended silkworms and mulberry trees, pickled mulberry wine, Your Majesty would reward them with a word of praise. And yet, when it comes to the Crown Prince…”

Eunuch Xiao had intended to ease the relationship between this father and son, but had said something rather overstepping.

The Emperor understood Xiao Jin’s good intentions, but he shook his head and interrupted him, saying, “Because he is the Crown Prince of our great Da Qing.”

That title meant he could not be compared to his brothers and sisters, nor to children of ordinary households.