Although the soldiers Captain Ding brought were not particularly numerous, Fuluo County felt psychologically safer for it. After finishing negotiations with Captain Ding, the first thing Zhù Ying did upon returning to the county office was to issue an order transferring the convicts from the county jail into the convict settlement. The settlement now had a considerable number of rooms, so each prisoner could be allocated a private room and permitted their family members to live with them.

Shan Ba and the others were all commoners who had only been exiled because a brawl had resulted in a death. Their daily farming was no different from that of ordinary people, yet when not working they were made to live in a jail cell — a situation that left them thoroughly uncomfortable. Hearing they were to be moved out, everyone was quite pleased: “Finally, we can breathe some fresh air.”

The veterinarian and Master Pang the stonemason were equally delighted: “We can finally be reunited with our families!”

Both men had family who had followed them here. Their families had been renting rooms at the temple, doing odd jobs and paying rent with the earnings. Now the veterinarian’s household could share one room together, and the stonemason and his son could live under the same roof — both families saving a rent payment. They had never owned much in the way of belongings, and what little they had added since arriving in Fuluo County could all be wrapped up in a single bundle cloth and carried away.

The rooms were newly built, reasonably spacious, and well-lit — better, in fact, than some thatched farmhouses. Most importantly, there were no wooden bars or iron locks. Living there felt like living in a real home. For a time, one could almost forget one’s status as a convict.

They were jubilant over here, unaware that the county office was quite pleased as well.

The county office had just trimmed another expenditure.

When exiled persons arrived at their destination, they were typically put to labor — hard, exhausting work. Those with skills fared better; those without endured hardship, and deaths from overwork or illness were not uncommon. Much depended on how the presiding official handled them. Zhù Ying had been rather generous toward the convicts: as long as they worked, the county office provided meals while they were confined in jail — nothing refined, but enough to fill a stomach. The daily food expenses for twenty-odd people were no small sum.

Now that the convicts had been placed in the settlement with a room apiece, where they worked and with whom they ate were no longer entirely the county office’s concern. How well they ate depended on their own abilities. Those who misbehaved could be sent straight to the stone quarry, or put to digging canals, repairing roads, or building granaries — there was no shortage of grueling work.

This batch of convicts had not yet grasped this reality at the time of the transfer. They were all people Zhù Ying had procured through her connections at the Court of Judicial Review, and every one of them possessed some practical skill — the least capable among them could farm, which was precisely what Zhù Ying needed from them.

Both parties were thoroughly satisfied.

The soldiers under Captain Ding’s command were all young men in their prime, currently occupied with constructing barracks, and they had no appreciable impact on Fuluo County’s daily affairs.

Everything appeared perfectly tranquil.

On this particular day, Zhù Ying was at the county office reading the petition Zhao Su had drafted on behalf of his maternal uncle. By the third attempt, Zhao Su had grown considerably more practiced and had grasped many of the conventions — the petition was written with proper official deference. This was a petition to “offer allegiance and request formal recognition,” so a deferential tone was entirely fitting. The memorial stated that since the petitioner and His Majesty enjoyed such close and amicable relations, and since the petitioner had experienced the transformative influence of “royal civilization,” he requested that the petitioner no longer be referred to as a “Lao person” — there were many tribes among the Lao people, after all, and the petitioner had a proper name. Rendered phonetically it was Qi Xia, meaning “beautiful jade.”

Zhù Ying said, “It needs to strike just the right balance. Simply listing what you have done reads as dry and wooden; knowing only how to lavish praise on the sage emperor reads as incompetent.”

Zhao Su recorded everything she said, then revised the two passages she had indicated, intending to take it back and copy it out fresh. Zhù Ying herself also needed to write a memorial, narrating the matter of “offering allegiance and formal recognition” from her own perspective. She, too, would need to praise the Emperor and the court — it was precisely because of their benevolent hearts in permitting the establishment of the trade market that the A-Su clan had been moved to offer allegiance. She also intended to include in this memorial the section on “the mutual exchange of slaves,” to demonstrate that the A-Su clan genuinely harbored good intentions toward reform.

Finally, she would describe how she had handled the returned slaves — those from Fuluo County would remain, while those from other counties and prefectures would be allowed to return home.

Based on her understanding of the court, since this time she was not requesting anything from it, the court was virtually certain to approve. She would now issue official communications to the various prefectures and counties throughout the province regarding the people who had been abducted, and send a separate communication to Prefect Lu reporting the matter.

She placed both memorials before her and reviewed their contents once more. Finding no omissions, she was just about to order them dispatched when Xiao Wu came rushing in breathlessly: “My lord, Zhao Niangzi has arrived.”

Zhù Ying asked, “Zhao Niangzi? Not Zhao Feng nor Zhao Su?”

Xiao Wu said, “Zhao Niangzi herself.”

Zhù Ying said, “Show her in.”

Zhao Niangzi rarely came to the county office, and she seldom spent much time in the county seat at all. Zhù Ying suspected that her visit must have a purpose.

Her brother, the A-Su cave chieftain, had sworn brotherhood with Zhù Ying, so Zhù Ying addressed Zhao Niangzi as “A’Jie” without hesitation: “A’Jie, is there something you need? You could have just had Zhao Su bring a message.”

Zhao Niangzi smiled, “That won’t do for this matter — it would put him in an awkward position.”

Zhù Ying asked, “What matter?”

Zhao Niangzi said, “He is my son. He is capable, and I am very glad that you praise him. But I wanted to ask A’Di — in the future, do you intend to keep this child in the county, or might you also be able to send him out to broaden his horizons?”

Zhù Ying said, “He has lofty aspirations, and I am glad to lend him a hand.”

Zhao Niangzi said, “Exactly! I know A’Di is a reliable person. But this child will leave someday. After he leaves, to whom shall his maternal family’s affairs be entrusted? Who will serve as the intermediary between the mountain clan and those below the mountain? He can read and write and draft documents for his uncle. Besides him, which member of the A-Su clan can do these things?”

Zhù Ying said, “Does this represent A’Jie’s own wishes, or Elder Brother’s wishes? Or has some arrangement already been decided upon? Is there something you wish me to do?”

She suspected this must be a decision made by the A-Su clan up on the mountain.

Zhao Niangzi said, “Elder Brother wishes to meet with A’Di in person to discuss the matter. When does A’Di have time?”

Zhù Ying said, “I am going to the prefectural seat at the end of the sixth month, and barring unforeseen circumstances, I will not be leaving this county before then. Is Elder Brother’s health still good? Can he come down the mountain himself? Would you like me to make the trip up instead?”

Zhao Niangzi said, “He is still vigorous and hale. And for such an important matter, how can we keep asking A’Di to make the journey back and forth? If A’Di agrees, I will send word up the mountain, and he will come in a few days. What do you think?”

“Agreed.”

Zhao Niangzi said, “Speaking with A’Di is always refreshing and straightforward! I will go send word right away.”

“A’Jie, please wait.”

“Hmm?”

“Please mention this matter to Da-Lang yourself. Keeping it from him is precisely what would make him uneasy.”

Zhao Niangzi said, “I have no idea where he picked up such a temperament — he can be so prickly.”

Whether or not she ended up telling her son, Zhù Ying made a point of summoning Zhao Su specifically and relaying to him what Zhao Niangzi had come to say.

Zhao Su was silent for a moment, then said, “What they are thinking is reasonable. Who doesn’t look out for their own family? They want to keep the connection to the court in their own hands.”

Zhù Ying said, “No one wants to be at another’s mercy. Even with no selfish intent on your part, it still won’t do. This has nothing to do with trust. Take parents and children — the closest bond there is. Once children grow up, they want to make their own decisions. You are the junior here, yet in this particular matter, your respective positions are reversed. They are still family, after all.”

“Indeed.”

Zhù Ying then asked about his studies, and Zhao Su answered each question in turn. He had memorized his texts more thoroughly, though his understanding showed traces of rote recitation. Zhù Ying said, “You still have too little practical experience. The county is building a granary — go observe it.”

“Yes.”

The granary was being prepared to store oranges in autumn and winter. Zhù Ying was counting on it for a significant purpose, and intended to use it incidentally to collect rent from various households. Zhao Su was a young man from a prominent family in Fuluo County, capable of managing affairs on his parents’ behalf. Assigning him to assist with this project would neither hold things back nor fail to give him further practical training. Managing a particular undertaking for an entire county was on a considerably larger scale than managing his own family’s affairs.

For this reason, when the A-Su chieftain arrived in the county seat, Zhao Su was no longer on hand to serve as interpreter. It was the A-Su chieftain and Zhù Ying who met and spoke directly.

When the A-Su chieftain came to the county seat again, people still gathered to watch him, though now they were not staring out of curiosity at something exotic but wondering what he had come to do. Far fewer street vendors clustered around him looking to fleece a wealthy visitor.

People pointed at his procession and murmured among themselves: “Hey, I’ve seen that young woman before…” “Who is that person?” “One of the attendants from last time?” “No, that’s a different one — I remember the face of the one from last time.”

People whispered back and forth, and there was barely any hostility at all.

The A-Su chieftain had not come alone. He had brought Su Yuan and the shaman-healer with him, and they were once again lodging at the travelers’ inn. The innkeeper had now gained enough experience hosting members of the Qi Xia tribe that he was able to make comfortable arrangements for all three of them along with their attendants. The shaman-healer remarked, “It looks as though they intend to cultivate lasting friendship.”

The A-Su chieftain said, “Our luck has been good.” He sent the attendants to put away their luggage, then brought Su Yuan himself to the Zhao household to reassure his nephew.

Zhao Su had played no small role in mediating between the two sides, but the A-Su chieftain could not stake all the clan’s affairs on a single person — and Zhao Su had aspirations of his own. Once he left, would the chieftain have to scramble to find a replacement? That was entirely unacceptable.

Su Yuan said, “At this hour he will still be at that school. Even when he comes home, it won’t be until evening. Aba, you rest first. I’ll write a visiting card, and we can send it to the county office.”

The A-Su chieftain said, “You know how to write now?”

Su Yuan said, “Not very beautifully, but I did write it myself. I have been practicing my characters. Older Cousin helped me write a card before, and I watched how it was done.”

The A-Su chieftain said with delight, “Wonderful!”

Su Yuan went and wrote a visiting card that was, admittedly, not the most elegant in appearance, and had it delivered to the county office, requesting a meeting the following day. Zhù Ying opened the card and looked at the handwriting. Though she could not tell whose hand it was from the characters alone, she could see it was a beginner’s work. The A-Su clan’s intentions were now perfectly clear — they wanted to handle things themselves, without an intermediary.

Zhù Ying let out a soft sigh, accepted the card, and said, “Understood. Tomorrow I will await Elder Brother at the county office.”

The next day, the A-Su chieftain arrived at the county office as appointed with his party. He had also brought gifts on this visit, and let his daughter serve as interpreter for a call to the inner quarters, where they paid their respects to Zhang Xiangu and Zhù Da. After the old couple had gained a surrogate grandson in Zhao Su, they had grown quite unflappable about whatever new relations Zhù Ying brought home for them to acknowledge.

Since there was no common language with the A-Su chieftain, Su Yuan stepped in as interpreter. Her Fuluo dialect was still slightly imperfect. Zhang Xiangu and Zhù Da were actually more at ease for it — if the language had flowed perfectly, they might not have dared speak as freely. As it was, they only needed to convey a general sense of welcome, and any awkward or imprecise wording could be attributed to the language barrier between them.

After the exchange of pleasantries, Zhang Xiangu said, “San-Lang, be a good host to your Elder Brother here.” With Jin Liang as a precedent, adding one more elder brother was nothing remarkable.

Zhù Ying said, “Of course.”

Zhang Xiangu then asked, “And this young lady?” She had no reservations about hosting Su Yuan, since Huajie was there.

Su Yuan said, “I still need to serve as Aba’s interpreter. I will pay my respects to you properly another time.”

Zhang Xiangu let out a long breath and said with a warm smile, “Very well, very well. Next time you come, I’ll braise pig’s trotters for you.”

Su Yuan smiled and readily agreed.

With the visit to the elders concluded, it was at last time for Zhù Ying to discuss proper business with them.

The A-Su chieftain came this time with a considerably more settled manner than before, no longer straining to project an imposing air. He seemed more at ease. After sitting down and taking a sip of tea, he said to Zhù Ying, “Brother, A’Mei has already spoken to you of my affairs, yes?”

Zhù Ying said, “A’Jie has explained. What arrangements does Elder Brother have in mind?”

The A-Su chieftain said, “I want Little Sister to come down the mountain and learn some characters, and more importantly, learn some practical skills. I trust you.”

Zhù Ying was momentarily taken aback — not because the A-Su chieftain intended to send Su Yuan to study, but because of the logistics: “A person cannot be split in two. If she is to study, she cannot go back up the mountain. And the county school has no way of enrolling female students just yet.” She felt a pang of regret — how wonderful it would be if she could enroll girls. Girls are not any less intelligent than anyone else. But there were not even enough male students of adequate caliber; Fuluo County was simply not in a position to open a girls’ school at present.

The A-Su chieftain said, “That is precisely what I have come to discuss. I know that among those below the mountain, it is not considered proper for men and women to be too closely acquainted. She can come down dressed in men’s clothing. I have also heard about that school, and none of them strike me as being stronger than you. I entrust this child to you — half a month here, half a month back up the mountain. Is that workable?”

Zhù Ying said, “What does she want to study? To what level? Some people study for a lifetime and never master all there is to know. With your half-month-on, half-month-off arrangement, she will learn slowly.”

Su Yuan spoke up: “Uncle, I also made rubbings of the literacy stele and have managed to recognize all the characters on it. I don’t need to become some impressive ‘scholar.’ I just need to be able to read documents myself, and be able to read and write petitions on my own. My writing doesn’t have to be exceptional, and I don’t need to write everything personally, but I need to be capable of it myself.”

Zhù Ying said, “That will be quite demanding.”

Su Yuan said, “Uncle is really quite amusing. I’ve heard that people below the mountain love to ‘civilize the barbarians’ — your Prefect is apparently very fond of doing that.”

Zhù Ying said, “To hell with ‘civilizing.’ A shoe can’t just look good; it has to fit the foot and actually let you walk.”

The A-Su chieftain and Su Yuan exchanged a glance. The A-Su chieftain said, “That is exactly it! That is exactly it! Brother, that is the skill I want my child to learn from you! Teach her as much or as little as you are willing — even a little would be enough.”

Zhù Ying said, “Agreed.”

The A-Su chieftain’s face lit up with joy. Zhù Ying herself was quite indifferent about it — she had no objection to taking on a grown niece as a student.

Su Yuan and the A-Su chieftain had discussed the matter before coming down the mountain and agreed that dressing as a man would make movement more convenient and make it easier to cultivate connections with capable people. So Su Yuan was insistent on adopting male attire. She wanted to bring a few “study companions” — three male and three female, all children of wealthy families in the village who were close to her in age.

Zhù Ying agreed to this as well.

The merit of “civilizing barbarians” was not something one could achieve simply by wanting to — the other party had to be willing, and one had to actually be able to produce results. Zhù Ying had never treated this as a mandatory goal in her plans. Now that this windfall, which others could beg for in vain, had been delivered to her door by her own dear sworn Elder Brother, how could she possibly decline?

The one small remaining issue was that with Su Yuan disguising herself as a man, the name “Su Yuan” was no longer quite appropriate. Su Yuan herself felt the name was too soft and feminine, and asked Zhù Ying to give her an alias.

Zhù Ying said, “Mingluan — would that work?”

Su Mingluan. Call it a man’s name and it would pass; call it a woman’s name and it would also pass. The meaning aligned with her original name, Su Yuan. The only question was whether it carried any taboos.

Su Yuan heard it and said, “This should be my name!” Then she said to Zhù Ying, “Hmm — sharing one’s true name with people makes it easy to be cursed. But I see that people below the mountain all call each other by their true names, so it probably doesn’t matter?”

Zhù Ying nodded.

The A-Su chieftain said, “Then it is settled!”

Having visited the county seat several times and chatted with his nephew, the A-Su chieftain was aware that among those below the mountain, the bond between teacher and student was held in high regard. He therefore made careful preparations for a formal gift and arranged a discipleship ceremony for “Su Mingluan.” Following the customs of those below the mountain, he prepared strips of dried meat and the like, had Zhù Ying take her seat, and had his daughter perform the rite of bowing as a disciple.

Su Yuan, now dressed in male attire, was presented to the outside world as a child of the A-Su chieftain. People who saw someone in men’s clothing naturally assumed she was one of the chieftain’s sons. With four sons, ordinary people below the mountain could not tell one from another. If someone asked, they would say she was Su Yuan’s twin brother, so those who had met “Su Yuan” and then encountered “Su Mingluan” would not feel there was too great an inconsistency.

The A-Su chieftain arranged a house for his daughter near the county office, where she would stay with her study companions and attendants. She would return every half month and stay for half a month at a time. With his daughter settled, the A-Su chieftain did not even stay to observe a single lesson and see how the teacher actually taught. He slapped the dust off his backside and went straight home, leaving an entire household of youngsters to manage on their own.

Su Mingluan’s residence was considerably smaller than her mountain stronghold — two courtyards. She converted the front courtyard into a large study hall where everyone would learn together.

On the day after the discipleship ceremony, she brought her study companions to the county office to request instruction from Zhù Ying.

Zhù Ying said, “First I need to know what you have all learned so far.”

Su Mingluan said, “I can speak the language used below the mountain, and I can recognize almost all the characters on the literacy stele. They are still learning to speak.”

Zhù Ying spoke with each of the study companions and learned that they were all related to one another. The villages under the A-Su clan’s governance were of limited number, and much like the prominent clans below the mountain, upper-class families of comparable standing tended to intermarry among themselves. Of these six people, three were Su Mingluan’s cousins on her mother’s side, two were cousins on her father’s side, and one was a kinsman of the shaman-healer’s family — the shaman-healer’s clan also intermarried with the wealthy and powerful families in the village, though the blood ties to Su Mingluan’s family were somewhat more distant.

The conversation would switch back to the Qi Xia language after only a few exchanges — the others had only just begun learning the Fuluo dialect, their progress lagged behind Su Mingluan’s, and they had no choice but to work even harder. The Qi Xia tribe had no written language, and they even had to learn from scratch how to hold a brush.

Zhù Ying said, “Let us start with the literacy song. Learn the melody first, and I will translate those texts into the Qi Xia language one by one. Once you understand the meaning thoroughly, learning the characters will come more quickly. Mingluan, you first teach them the rhymes, but change the order. Learn the first section last.” The section of praise for the sage emperor was exceedingly hollow and far less memorable than the practical knowledge sections that followed. Better to master those first, and the praise section would then be easier to memorize.

Although Su Mingluan wished she could learn everything in a single day and knew this was impossible, she also needed helpers, so she agreed immediately.

Zhù Ying was not particularly busy at the moment, but she could only set aside one period of the day to instruct them. Each day she would translate one section — without demanding perfect accuracy, just close enough in overall meaning. Su Mingluan would hear the meaning first, then explain it to her study companions, and found that in doing so she gained an additional layer of understanding beyond what she had learned on her own.

After the office hours ended, Zhù Ying would set aside a bit more time to check their work. The students studied with extraordinary diligence, needing no prompting, studying until the second watch of the night, then rising before dawn to recite their lessons.

Su Mingluan did not let her faster progress make her proud. When making decisions, she was decisive; when consulting Zhù Ying, she was humble and earnest. While the study companions labored through the literacy song and their writing practice, Su Mingluan sought out Zhù Ying on her own.

Zhù Ying was calculating when her memorials would arrive in the capital. Seeing Su Mingluan come, she thought to herself: how opportune — this relates to her, in fact.

Su Mingluan waited to one side like a proper and courteous young student. When Xiao Wu announced her, Zhù Ying said, “Come in.”

She walked in and asked, “Has the student disturbed Uncle?”

Zhù Ying said, “You coming is not a disturbance. What is it?”

Su Mingluan said, “While teaching the others to speak, I have gained some new insights of my own, yet I still wish to ask Uncle to assign me additional work.”

Zhù Ying said, “How opportune — I was just thinking of you. Xiao Wu, please invite Xiao Jiang over. I will find you another teacher.”

Su Mingluan asked with interest, “What kind of teacher?”

“When you meet her, you will know.” Even so, Zhù Ying gave Su Mingluan the answer — learning to speak standard Mandarin. Was she not eager to learn? Formal Mandarin was far more suited to court affairs than the Fuluo dialect.

Su Mingluan smiled, “I will follow Uncle’s guidance!”

Xiao Jiang arrived at the main office shortly thereafter. Zhù Ying took one look at her face and said, “In a temper again?”

Xiao Jiang said, “Not at all.”

Zhù Ying said, “There have been no bodies for you to dissect in the county these past few days, and you have been spending your time every day with people who like to alter song lyrics, getting annoyed three times daily. I have a good student for you — Mingluan.”

Su Mingluan studied this woman with a limp with some curiosity. She had been wandering around the county seat since her arrival and knew of Huajie’s existence and of Xiao Jiang’s as well, and had even wondered whether Xiao Jiang might have some private relationship with Zhù Ying. Looking at them now, the two of them did not seem to have any sort of romantic attachment.

Xiao Jiang also looked Su Mingluan over and thought to herself: this one is a woman.

Su Mingluan’s male disguise only required that she keep her voice slightly lower and refrain from the coquettish mannerisms of a young lady — ordinarily, people would not scrutinize her closely enough to look for inconsistencies or question whether she was male or female. But Xiao Jiang’s life experiences had given her a discerning eye. Su Mingluan was different from Zhù Ying: Zhù Ying had been raised as a boy from the very beginning, and her movements naturally carried a careless ease and freedom. Su Mingluan had grown up as a girl, and she could not manufacture that unaffected, natural quality on short notice.

Zhù Ying said, “Mingluan will certainly be an excellent student.” Su Mingluan’s mind was agile, but her approach to learning was measured and purposeful — unlike the local villagers learning the songs who sometimes drifted into a haze and altered a word here or there. When Su Mingluan was meant to memorize something, she was precise and exacting, and when she had her own thoughts, she would note them first and discuss them with others afterward.

Xiao Jiang looked at Zhù Ying again, saw no lingering or tender glances pass between her and Su Mingluan, and thought: this is a noble girl from among the Lao people. Good — she’s a woman. I will teach her with all my heart, and see how far she can go.

Xiao Jiang said, “Good! I will give it my full dedication!”

Su Mingluan said, “I will not disappoint you.”

One agreed swiftly, the other accepted readily. Zhù Ying said, “Remember to maintain propriety. Keep the door open when you speak.”

Both of them thought inwardly: We are talking to another woman — what propriety is there to maintain?

Grumble as they might, both acknowledged that this was exactly the sort of thing Zhù Ying would say. So they filed out of the main office one after the other and went off to teach and learn from each other with great “propriety.”

Zhù Ying raised an eyebrow, counted on her fingers — the memorials should have reached the capital by now.

The capital had been receiving official communications from Zhù Ying with some frequency of late. The upside was that they all brought good news.

On this day, Chen Yuan paid particular attention, and seeing there was good news, he picked it up with a smile, opened it, and said with delight, “Just in time!”

Shi Kun asked, “In time for what?” He was actually more puzzled by Chen Yuan, who had recently shown signs of wanting to retire — why had he suddenly taken such an interest in affairs of state today?

Chen Yuan said, “Good news. Seeing the four corners of the realm submit themselves, I can retire in peace!”

Shi Kun was too occupied wondering what “the four corners of the realm submitting” meant to attend to the matter of retirement. He first asked, “You want to retire?”

Chen Yuan’s heart was filled with reluctance, but having blurted it out, he could not easily take it back. Under Shi Kun’s intent gaze, he said with great heartache, “I have served as Chancellor for these many years. It is time to yield the position to one more worthy. Retiring at this moment would allow me to properly guide my two grandsons, so they do not squander their years the way their father did.”

Shi Kun said, “This cannot be!”

Wang Yunhe, nearby, was drawn over by the exclamation: “What is the matter?”

Shi Kun said, “He wants to retire — how can this be permitted?”

Chen Yuan had already said the words, and while his heart ached, it would not do to retract them. With a show of nonchalance, he said, “How can it not be permitted? When I serve as Chancellor, others call me ‘Chancellor Chen.’ Once I stop, I am simply an old man. The title of ‘Chancellor’ does not grow on my body. As for you two — ahem.”

He quickly stopped himself, afraid he might slip into the manner of a senior figure and say something unsuitable. This notion of “retiring at the right moment” was not uniquely his insight — many people understood it. The trouble was that most people simply could not bring themselves to act on it. Bringing it up as a talking point, directing it at two Chancellors who were in the prime of their tenure — essentially saying “someday you will need to do this too” — was obviously inappropriate. Especially with Wang Yunhe, who had ambitions and had only recently taken up his post. It would not do to say such things to him.

Shi Kun said, “Your son is still on an external posting.”

Many Chancellors who retired chose to return to their home counties, and those who retired voluntarily rather than being forced out generally had plans of their own — they would be feted by the local authorities, and their families would have their honor restored. But before departing, one really ought to first arrange things properly for one’s only remaining son. Chen Meng had spent the first half of his life as something of a dissolute idler; it was only in recent years that he had shaped up. Shi Kun urged Chen Yuan to at the very least wait until Chen Meng completed his three-year term as prefect and could be transferred to a capital post before stepping down.

But Chen Yuan said, “That was my original thought. Looking at what he has accomplished these past two years, he appears to have found his footing. Let him earn his own advancement on his own merits!”

Good news was a rare and opportune thing. Using a piece of good news as the occasion to request retirement was far more dignified than submitting a memorial in the middle of a crisis when affairs were in disarray, and would invite far fewer critical opinions.

Chen Yuan waved the memorial in his hand and said, “I have already drafted my own petition! Gentlemen — this particular matter must be mine to present.”

Wang Yunhe and Shi Kun both asked, “What matter?”

It was only now that the two of them turned their attention to what the good news actually was. Opening the memorial and reading it, both men smiled.

Shi Kun said, “I had expected he would reach this stage by now — very good. The next steps will be more difficult; it will take some more time.” The A-Su chieftain submitting to the court was one thing, but the next step would require presenting a map and census register to the court, or at the very least requesting an official enfeoffment from the court — and that was where it would get difficult. Chen Yuan might not live to see it.

Both Shi Kun and Wang Yunhe said, “You present it, you present it.”

Chen Yuan could not wait for what was to come; the two of them would eventually be able to wait for the even greater good news that followed.

The three agreed that Chen Yuan would present the matter to the Emperor. The Emperor had recently developed a great fondness for good news, and no Emperor could fail to delight in “the four corners of the realm submitting themselves” and “all under heaven turning toward the throne.” A conquest could not hold a candle to a willing submission of the barbarians! What was the Kingly Way? This was the Kingly Way!

The Emperor commanded them to select one character with which to formally name the Qi Xia tribe — a character with the jade radical on the left, but not one whose meaning was too grandiose.

Chen Yuan put in an especially kind word for his fellow countryman Zhù Ying, requesting that a commendation be awarded to her.

The Emperor smiled, “Granted!”

Without Zhù Ying’s knowledge, she had received an additional reward by virtue of having her affairs mentioned in the same breath as Chen Yuan’s retirement.

After Chen Yuan had presented the good news to the Emperor, the following day he produced a memorial he had spent the entire night copying out more than ten times over, and formally requested retirement before the Emperor.

Those at court had sensed for the past year that he harbored such an intention, but had not imagined he would actually steel himself to submit the resignation. The Emperor spoke words of retention: “You are a statesman of the realm — why would you abandon Us in this way?”

Chen Yuan replied, “All land beneath the heavens belongs to the King; all people within the seas are the King’s subjects. This humble subject was born between heaven and earth — how would I dare speak of ‘abandoning’? I beg Your Majesty to retract that word.”

The Emperor’s eyes also grew moist: “You are yet in the prime of your years, Minister!”

Chen Yuan said, “This subject is without talent, and it is only through the Emperor’s profound grace that I have risen to the chancellorship. Now that the court is filled with people of virtue and ability, this subject may rest easy.”

The sovereign and minister performed the full ritual of dignified parting, after which the Emperor accepted Chen Yuan’s memorial, granted him retirement with full salary, and asked him to remain in the capital for the time being to serve as a resource for consultations.

Chen Yuan had never intended to set out immediately anyway. He still needed to wrap up his affairs in the capital, and to have the old family residence back home tidied up before moving. He replied at the time, “How would this subject dare not comply?”

Not until he had passed through the palace gates did Chen Yuan find his footing still somewhat unsteady beneath him, his heart hollow and empty. He had even forgotten to collect his belongings from the Secretariat. Leaning on a servant’s shoulder, he climbed into his carriage and sat in a daze through the entire swaying journey home. Only when he saw the tender young faces of his two grandsons did Chen Yuan let out a long breath, and the trace of a smile came to his face at last.

Students, junior colleagues, fellow provincials, and those from the same examination cohort all came to see him. Some came seeking guidance. Chen Yuan said, “In the future, you will need to consult Ministers Shi and Wang. They are both broad-minded and accommodating.” In the hall, some wept, some were moved with emotion. Everyone cried together before dispersing. Some, no sooner had they dried their tears, were already asking whether Shi Kun was at home today — but that is a separate matter.

Shi Kun and Wang Yunhe had no time to spare for such things. Chen Yuan had recently been less involved in affairs, but losing even one person meant that the two of them had considerably more to manage.

The next day, the two met at the Secretariat. Mid-discussion, Wang Yunhe absentmindedly asked, “What is Chancellor Chen’s view on this?” The moment he finished speaking, both men could not help but look at each other with a rueful smile.

Shi Kun said, “Remember next year to bring Chen Meng back to the capital. These past two years his work as prefect has been quite creditable — it seems he is willing to get down to real business.”

Wang Yunhe said, “Very well.”

External postings were more lucrative, but anyone who wished to advance further in an official career still had to return to the capital. The two men therefore went through the various posts and offices in the capital once more. Wang Yunhe said, “The position of Director of the Court of Judicial Review has been vacant for some time, and having Pei Qing serve as acting director indefinitely is not ideal. It is already summer, and autumn is not far off. There ought to be a proper Director of the Court of Judicial Review by now.”

Shi Kun said, “Indeed. Pei Qing has managed the Court of Judicial Review without error during his acting tenure, but his rank is what it is — there are matters that create trouble when handled by someone of his standing. Let us both submit a memorial requesting that His Majesty appoint a Director of the Court of Judicial Review.”

Neither man raised the possibility of directly promoting Pei Qing to Director. Pei Qing had served at the Court of Judicial Review even longer than Zheng Xi had; it would be inappropriate to continue promoting him straight into the directorship. However, if the Emperor ultimately chose to use him, the two men would not move to oppose it.

After much careful deliberation, they spent several days quietly discussing a number of candidates, preparing to recommend them when the Emperor inquired. Whichever one the Emperor preferred to appoint, all were creditable in terms of record and ability, and both men had their own assessments. Should the Emperor have other arrangements in mind, the two would not press their nominations.

The two Chancellors conferred, then submitted a joint memorial laying out the situation at the Court of Judicial Review and requesting that the Emperor appoint a new Director.

The following day, after the morning court concluded, the Emperor detained the Chancellors and others to discuss the matter, and raised the question of appointing a Director of the Court of Judicial Review.

The Emperor said, “I recall that Dou Peng was quite capable.”

Dou Peng was the Prefect who had previously uncovered the case of Li Cang’s murder, having investigated and resolved that case with clarity. His record as a prefect was competent across the board, with a particularly outstanding performance in criminal justice matters. This man happened to appear on the list the two Chancellors had prepared to recommend — though not at the top, he was acceptable.

Sovereign and ministers were of one mind. A decree was drafted and swiftly issued to Dou Peng, summoning him to serve as the new Director of the Court of Judicial Review.

When the news spread, the Court of Judicial Review erupted. The time under Zheng Xi had truly been a golden era for them; Pei Qing’s acting tenure had also carried something of the flavor of continuing established practices. Many had assumed the Court of Judicial Review would go on like this indefinitely — and then all at once, a new Director was coming. Most people’s faces wore an expression of bewilderment: what were they to do now?

Leng Yun and Pei Qing received the news before their subordinates and were also somewhat caught off guard. Leng Yun took it more carelessly, saying, “If he’s easy to get along with, we’ll get along. If he isn’t, can’t we just find somewhere else to go?”

Pei Qing glanced at him, thinking to himself: I am not like you.

Leng Yun was a hands-off manager wherever he went. Pei Qing had real aspirations — during the period he had been acting Director of the Court of Judicial Review, he had only just managed to bring the affairs under proper order and establish his authority. And now they were not letting him continue.

Pei Qing said with some self-mockery, “Like a head concubine suddenly finding that her husband has taken a proper wife.”

Leng Yun burst out laughing, “That is not like something you would say! Listen to me — take it one day at a time. What’s there to fear? We are all subjects of the Son of Heaven. What is all this business about wives and concubines? The more you behave like a shrinking woman, the more others will think you can be pushed around. Look at me — I am perfectly at ease.”

Pei Qing regretted the words as soon as he said them and endured another lecture from Leng Yun before hastily saying, “Of course, of course!”

But then Leng Yun suddenly sighed, “Familiar faces have gone. Unfamiliar faces are coming.”

Pei Qing said, “The new appointment will arrive soon. It would be best if you and I went through the case files on hand and had them ready for review.”

Leng Yun said, “I have no case files. You see to yours.”

Pei Qing watched his easy, carefree departing figure and felt an unexpected twinge of envy. He himself had an enormous amount of business to attend to, and had not gotten very far with it when he suddenly glanced toward the Eastern Palace and thought: I wonder how Zheng the Seventh is faring. Back when he was here…

He allowed himself a moment of nostalgia, then bowed his head and returned to sorting through everything. Opening a case file, he saw it concerned another exiled convict. Pei Qing thought for a moment, then hurriedly flipped through several more files, selected a few convicts “of skilled trades,” and while the new superior had not yet arrived, processed and dispatched them to Fuluo County.

Zhù Ying was not yet aware of the changes at the Court of Judicial Review. She had received the commendation, and while the recognition for herself was certainly gratifying, the approval of the A-Su chieftain’s petition was even better news.

She handed the official response documents to Su Mingluan and said, “The court has approved it. From now on, all official communications will address the clan as ‘Ying.'”

Su Mingluan was quite delighted at the sight of it: “Wonderful! Thank you, Teacher!”

Zhù Ying said, “It has been nearly half a month. When you go back, you can bring this good news to your father.” The official documents should have arrived two days earlier, but the selection of the character had caused a few extra days of delay. A character with the jade radical, but not too grand in meaning — after much deliberation, this particular character had finally been settled upon.

“What a pity to be away from Uncle for half a month…”

Zhù Ying said, “I will not be in the county either — I also need to go to the prefectural seat to meet with the Prefect.”

Su Mingluan said, “Him? All pomp and pretense, loves making people bow and scrape before him, heh heh — does he think he’s a temple deity?”

“So you know about temple deities now?”

“Indeed!”

At this time, Zhù Ying was still unaware that the capital had already appointed a new Director of the Court of Judicial Review. When she arrived at the prefectural seat at the end of the sixth month to see Prefect Lu, she was met with the question point-blank: “You came from the Court of Judicial Review — what kind of person is the new Director of the Court of Judicial Review? Do you have any news?”