People often say, “Right or wrong, merit or fault — all is determined when the coffin lid is nailed shut.” And yet for those who serve as the people’s officials, there is no need to wait until that moment. Upon the day of their departure from office, what the people do tells everything about their merits and faults.
Deputy Prefect Li stood on the high bank of Phoenix Tail Gorge and looked down at the scene of ten thousand people sending off their Prefect. He was deeply shaken.
He murmured quietly to himself, “There are those who depart to the mockery of stone monuments carved to outlast ten thousand years, bearing inscriptions such as: ‘One day sooner gone, and Heaven would have eyes again — one day later, and this earth would have no skin left.’ And there are those who depart to ten thousand people weeping farewell, with scholars lining the river banks, chanting in voices full of reluctance.”
“Right or wrong, merit or fault — it all lives in the eyes of the people.”
Deputy Prefect Li kept these words to himself as a personal admonition.
……
The petition of ten thousand names from Shuang’an Prefecture was dispatched by official courier relay post on horseback, and so it arrived at the capital city ahead of Pei Shaohuai and the others.
That day, after court was dismissed, the Chief Minister of the Office of Transmission went to the Qianqing Palace to request an audience with the Emperor.
“Your Majesty, the Silver Platform of the Office of Transmission has received a petition of ten thousand names,” the Chief Minister of the Office of Transmission said, his voice carrying a note of pride.
It was not uncommon for officials returning from posts outside the capital to bring back ten-thousand-household umbrellas — genuine or otherwise, it was difficult to tell. But petitions of ten thousand names were rare. This kind of petition was organized entirely by the people on their own initiative, signed and thumbprinted by local gentry and scholars, and could not be fabricated. It could only be earned by true merit, by a man who had genuinely won the love and devotion of the people.
The Emperor, who had been reviewing memorials, suddenly lifted his head and asked, “Which beloved official has received such an honor?”
“In reply to Your Majesty — it is Pei Shaohuai, the chief official of the imperially administered Shuang’an Prefecture.”
The Emperor was immediately delighted — not merely because the man in question was Boyuan, but also because “We guessed correctly.” He promptly set aside the memorials on his desk and said, “Bring it here for Our reading.”
“As Your Majesty commands.”
A petition of ten thousand names, of course, could not truly represent ten thousand separate individuals. Setting aside the long roll of signatures and thumbprints, the Emperor read straight through to the main text. The language used was plain and appropriately dignified, recounting factually and fully the achievements of Pei Shaohuai during his tenure in Shuang’an Prefecture: “He swept out corrupt officials and powerful magnates, opened maritime trade to relieve the long-suffered hardships of the poor, promoted what was beneficial and removed what was harmful, sparing no effort…” It also described how, upon his departure, “ten thousand people sent him off, tears flowing like fountains, rushing and unceasing…”
At the close, a brief statement of intent — requesting the court to allow Prefect Pei to remain in his post in Shuang’an Prefecture.
“Boyuan has done well,” the Emperor said with a pleased laugh.
He stepped down from the dais and strolled slowly back and forth, hands clasped behind his back, a broad smile on his face. After quite some time, he said to the Chief Minister of the Office of Transmission, “However, what the people of Shuang’an Prefecture are asking for — that, We cannot grant.”
For the sake of Da Qing’s maritime trade opening proceeding smoothly, the Emperor had already sent Pei Boyuan away for three full years. Now that he had finally been able to bring him back to the capital, there was no chance he would let him easily sail south again.
“We have already dispatched a capable official to succeed Boyuan in his post, and sent the Southern Patrol naval fleet to manage the disorder of pirates at sea.” The Emperor offered his reasoning, then added, “As for Boyuan — he has other important duties ahead.”
Still, the people’s heartfelt sincerity could not simply be brushed aside. The Emperor commanded, “Chief Minister, go and find Grand Secretary Xu — discuss carefully together how best to reply to the people’s petition, and take every care not to wound their hearts.”
“Your official obeys.”
The Chief Minister of the Office of Transmission withdrew. He had barely stepped outside the door when the imperial attendant Xiao summoned him back.
The Emperor added further, “At tomorrow’s morning court, bring this petition to the hall and have it read aloud.”
“Your official obeys.”
After all the officials who had come to report matters had withdrawn, the Emperor went to his bookshelf and began searching through the volumes — looking for something, though he was not sure in which book or which volume it might be found, murmuring to himself, “Now, which volume did I tuck it into…”
Xiao Jin stepped forward and asked, “What book does Your Majesty seek? Perhaps this old servant may help Your Majesty find it.”
“Three years ago, We selected several official posts in the capital for Boyuan. But then, because he was determined to go south and open maritime trade, We set the matter aside temporarily — and tucked the note inside one of the volumes. Do you recall such a volume?”
“This old servant does not know,” Xiao Jin replied. “But this old servant can go through the volumes one by one for Your Majesty — after all, Your Majesty’s books never leave the imperial study.”
Half an hour later, the imperial attendant Xiao managed to present the book to the Emperor’s desk. “Your Majesty, please have a look — might this be the paper inside?”
The Emperor opened it and looked. With a pleased expression, he said, “This is exactly the paper.” Written upon it were seven or eight official posts — Bureau Director of the Board of Revenue, Chief Registrar of the Censorate, Left Associate Transmitter of the Office of Transmission, and others.
His pleasure lasted perhaps four or five breaths — then the Emperor’s brow furrowed. He said to himself, “Why are these all posts of the full fifth rank?” Only then did he recall: what had been written three years ago could, naturally, only have been posts of the full fifth rank.
He muttered, “The full fifth rank… that won’t quite do.”
“Ah yes.” The Emperor turned to Xiao Jin and asked, “Yesterday the Southern Embroidered-Uniform Guard reported — where had Chengzhao and Boyuan reached?”
The petitions of ten thousand names had already arrived in the capital, yet the two men themselves were still on the road.
“It was said they had arrived at Jinling City in Yingtian Prefecture, and would be stopping there for a few days before setting out for the capital.”
Upon hearing “Jinling City,” the Emperor seemed to recall something, and gave a slow, understanding nod. “That is as it should be — that is as it should be.”
Old Zou’s mind was no longer as sharp as it once was. It was entirely right for Boyuan to go and see him.
A look of quiet regret passed across the Emperor’s face.
……
City of a thousand emperors through the ages; the robes and crowns of those great courts are now long-buried dust.
Jinling City, having served as the ancient capital of six dynasties and the seat of ten successive courts, drew poets and men of letters to the banks of the Qinhuai River to compose laments on the great changes between past and present.
The official vessel carrying Pei Shaohuai, from the moment it entered Yingtian Prefecture, was stopped every few li by official constables inspecting travel documents and permits — and even with Pei Shaohuai’s status as a fifth-rank Prefect, the checks were not loosened in the slightest.
Jinling City, as the garrison reserve capital, commanded the economically abundant lands of Jiangnan and served as the economic center of the south — its defenses could not be anything less than strict.
Military strategists had long said of this place: “Defending the city is not as good as defending the river; defending the river is not as good as defending the Huai.” This made plain that holding the long expanse of the Yangtze River to the east and west, and the Huai River running north and south, was of the utmost importance.
To guard this region’s waterways, the court maintained three senior officials stationed here: the Supervising Censor of River Operations, the Regional Inspector of Yingtian, and the Regional Inspector of Fengyang — testament to how strategically vital the area was.
Yan Chengzhao’s family, eager to make good time, stayed only one night before continuing upstream along the Yangtze toward Wuchang Prefecture.
The adults exchanged formal bows and bid each other farewell. The children, however, wept with great dramatic grief — they had grown up together over these past years and had never been separated before.
Pei Shaohuai and Yan Chengzhao each coaxed and comforted their children for a long while before finally managing to part the three of them from one another and lead them each onto their respective ships.
……
People often spoke of Jinling City as blessed with the auspicious geography of a “dragon coiling and a tiger crouching.” Zhuge Liang himself had once exclaimed in admiration: “Bell Mountain coils like a dragon; Shitou rises like a crouching tiger — truly the dwelling of emperors.”
Pei Shaohuai understood little of the principles of auspicious geography, only a superficial acquaintance with what he had encountered reading the Book of Changes. But when he truly set foot within Jinling City and took in the sight with his own eyes, he understood at once that the words “dragon coiling and tiger crouching” were no idle boast.
Embracing shade behind and sunlight before, backed by mountains and facing water — this was indeed a fine place worthy of Da Qing’s claim.
Viewed from outside the city walls, the battlements rose tall and imposing, impenetrable and solid. Every single brick in those walls had been cast with the combined effort of the entire country during the reign of Da Qing’s founding emperor, each one fired with painstaking care — and on each brick was inscribed the name of the supervising official and the kiln craftsman, so as to ensure the quality of the stonework.
Walking at leisure within the city, one saw fur-robed figures in fine carriages flowing past in an endless stream; great towers and high-gated mansions lined the streets, blocking out the light of the sun; the sons and daughters of the nobility and great families roamed and played along both banks of the Qinhuai River.
In terms of splendor and wealth, the city surpassed even the capital where the Son of Heaven himself held court — by more than a little.
No wonder that, even a hundred-odd years after Da Qing’s capital had been moved away, officials still occasionally submitted memorials urging the Emperor to move the capital again and return to Jinling City.
The Scholar of the South’s residence had been established near the Mingyuan Tower of the Jiangnan Examination Hall — as though that location had been chosen with deliberate care, to be nourished by the scholarly atmosphere of the examination hall, in a quiet and undisturbed corner of the city.
Pei Shaohuai rested and freshened up briefly at the inn, changed into a fresh set of clothing, and the carriage and horses sent by the Zou household came to receive him.
The one who had come was a young man — a few years younger than Pei Shaohuai — who was the youngest son of Academician Zou. His name was Zou Ningyuan. He said, “My father is occupied with official matters today and could not get away, so he specially instructed me to come and welcome Prefect Pei.” Though he held no official title himself, he was clearly a young man of learning and proper conduct.
“I am much obliged to Young Master Zou,” Pei Shaohuai said.
“I dare not answer to ‘Young Master,'” Zou Ningyuan replied. “If Prefect Pei regards me as a junior, ‘nephew by family connection’ would suit me well.” He placed himself on the same footing as his grandfather’s students, treating Pei Shaohuai as a senior peer of that generation.
After a few pleasantries, Pei Shaohuai brought his wife and children aboard the carriage and set off toward the Zou residence.
The residence was not large, but had been decorated and arranged with great refinement and elegance — the rocks, flowers, and trees all chosen with care. Pei Shaohuai learned from Zou Ningyuan that the property had been purchased and renovated in advance by the Scholar of the South’s former students — a testament to their thoughtfulness and devoted attention.
The one who came out to the main hall to receive Pei Shaohuai was not the Scholar of the South himself, but Old Madam Zou. Her hair had gone silver-white, like autumn frost, and she had aged considerably from ten years ago — yet her grace and bearing remained very much intact.
Pei Shaohuai stepped quickly forward to pay his respects.
“Just as in those days beneath the spring willows and beside the lotus pavilion — though the years have passed, the young northern gentleman has grown into a man of great talent, and still comes walking in on the wind.” Old Madam Zou recalled with feeling, and then added, “The old fellow has been in a childish temper these past few days, and has shut himself out in the back courtyard tending to his small plot of field — he refuses to come out no matter what.”
The phrase “childish temper” indicated that the Scholar of the South had been having a spell of confusion lately.
With this illness, there were times of clarity and times of confusion — and one could never predict which it would be.
“I will take you all to see him,” Old Madam Zou said.
In the back courtyard, what had once been a shallow ornamental pond had been reworked into a small plot of farmland, planted with rice. It was now autumn, and the rice had formed heavy, full ears that bowed and bent under their own weight, waiting only for the grain to ripen to gold.
“Old man, come and see who has come to visit.”
The white-haired old figure by the edge of the “field” heard her call and turned around with slow, measured deliberateness. Even if his mind had grown muddled with age, how could the bearing of a scholar — one who had looked out across the boundless world from a place apart from it — ever truly fade?
He said, quietly: “Northern Traveler.”
And then he walked several steps forward toward the group — his body still strong and steady on its feet.
Just as Pei Shaohuai, moved by a rush of complex and mingled emotions, placed his hands together before him and began to bow in formal greeting, he saw the Scholar of the South suddenly crouch down. The old man rested a hand on Pei Yunci’s shoulder, a face full of warm and gentle smiles, and said, “Little Northern Traveler — it has been so long since we have seen each other. How is it that you have grown smaller as you’ve grown older?”
Young Pei Yunci, faced with this unfamiliar yet kind and gentle old grandfather, was not in the least afraid. In his childish voice he said, “Grandfather, I am ‘Xiao Nan,’ not ‘Xiao Bei.’ You may have gotten things mixed up.”
“I have read a great many books — how could I get things mixed up? Look at your brow and eyes, that spirit of brilliance — you are clearly Little Northern Traveler,” the Scholar of the South insisted.
His grandson Zou Ningyuan quickly explained to Pei Shaohuai, “When Grandfather has a confused spell, he often muddles up different periods of time — events from different eras become tangled together in his mind, and he can no longer tell people apart.”
As they were speaking, the Scholar of the South looked up at his grandson and said, “Ru’an — why have you not hurried to tell someone to bring tea for Little Northern Traveler?” Then he turned to Pei Yunci and asked, “Shall I have them put sugar in the tea for you?”
“Ru’an” was not Zou Ningyuan’s courtesy name — it was the courtesy name of Academician Zou, Zou Xianjing.
The Scholar of the South had mistaken his grandson for his son.
Pei Yunci did not argue any further about the difference between “Xiao Nan” and “Xiao Bei.” He glanced at his father, then nodded and said, “That would be lovely, Grandfather.”
Xiao Feng also took the initiative to introduce herself: “Grandfather, do you know who I am? I am Yunci — my nickname is Xiao Feng.”
The Scholar of the South looked Xiao Feng up and down with an appraising eye and said, pleased, “This little girl is quite something too — quite something indeed.” But then he looked over at Old Madam Zou with a puzzled expression and asked, “Old woman, have we ever known a little girl named ‘Xiao Feng’?”
Old Madam Zou, in a gentle, indulgent tone, replied, “We never did before — but don’t we know one now?”
“Quite right, quite right,” the Scholar of the South murmured.
Xiao Feng pointed toward the rice field and said, “Grandfather, I love growing flowers and plants too — I have just never grown rice.”
As she was still speaking, a bright, easy laugh rang out from the front courtyard.
The laughter grew closer. Then a voice called out: “Teacher’s wife! Brother Ru’an! Look what good things I’ve brought for Teacher today!” The person had not yet arrived, but his voice had — it was clearly a man of uninhibited and carefree temperament.
“That is Old Huang coming,” Zou Ningyuan said to Pei Shaohuai. “He is one of my grandfather’s former students.”
Pei Shaohuai understood at once. The Scholar of the South had moved to Jinling City — this residence, and all the arrangements that had been made, must have been largely organized through the efforts of this Mr. Huang.