Directly across from the Immortal Crane Divine Palace was Mirror Lake, its edge ringed with flower fields. Tang Pidi sat amid the flowers gazing out at the lake in a reverie.

Li Chi retrieved the books from Master Li’s place and came running back at a trot, eager to hand Tang Pidi his share.

He sorted the two booklets and held one out. “This one’s yours.”

Tang Pidi started: “This quickly?”

Li Chi said: “Master Li said we’re both quick to grasp things, so he only wrote out the essentials and trusts us to extrapolate from there and think for ourselves.”

Tang Pidi nodded: “That works well enough.”

Li Chi said: “The two books — one is called *On Statecraft*, the other *On Warfare*. I flipped through them on the way back; tightly written, exquisitely precise. Let’s trade off reading them.”

Tang Pidi gave a sound of assent. The two of them settled onto stone benches in the midst of the flower sea and read; and the more they read, the more their hearts stirred.

Both of Master Li’s slim volumes were very thin — scarcely twenty or thirty pages each, with not many characters per page.

Yet every sentence seemed to demand extended reflection.

*Keeping the people ignorant is not the way to govern a nation.*

When Li Chi read this line, the shock that moved through him was profound.

This sentence ran directly counter to the governing principles of Dachu, of Dazhou, of every imperial dynasty through history — spoken aloud in public, it might well get one hauled before the authorities.

Since the earliest recorded history, what dynasty had not practiced a policy of keeping the people ignorant?

The practice was to use a tiny number of educated, clear-thinking individuals to govern the vast majority of the common people — people who could not read, had never heard the great principles, and had no access to broad knowledge.

Tang Pidi, too, furrowed his brow upon hearing this. He looked at Li Chi and, after a long silence, said: “This line… stands very, very high.”

Only someone standing at a very great height could see so far — could think so deep.

Had Master Li heard him say so, he would have thought: *I’m standing at the height of five thousand years of civilizational history — how high is that, would you say?*

“It isn’t that the more ignorant the people are, the easier the nation is to govern.”

Tang Pidi said: “The higher the people’s intelligence, the greater the civilization’s flourishing — whether in culture, in propriety, in the degree of the people’s refinement — the higher all of that stands, the fewer unruly people there actually are.”

He paused, then continued: “If the people came to know more — if every person could read and reckon, if every person understood propriety and principle, knew right from wrong, knew how to discern between them — then the restraints on behavior would no longer rest primarily in legal codes, but in each person’s inner heart. The constraint would be within every individual, knowing what ought not to be done.”

Li Chi nodded: “With this single line, Master articulates the governing truth of a thousand generations.”

Tang Pidi said: “You must remember this. Going forward, you must cultivate the people’s understanding — establish public education, and not only in the great cities. Every prefecture should have its prefectural school, every county its county school, every township its township school. A large part of the costs of enrollment should be drawn from local government funds; students should contribute only a small portion out of their own means. And when the nation is strong and prosperous one day, all costs of learning should be borne by the court in full. As long as people are studying, there should be no charge.”

Li Chi nodded naturally: “Understood. I’ll remember that.”

Tang Pidi smiled and looked at Li Chi with an expression of deep significance.

But Li Chi still had his eyes on the book in his hands and didn’t catch Tang Pidi’s look — that meaningful smile.

Tang Pidi continued to probe, smiling: “Turning from public education to the imperial examinations — how do you make the examinations more genuinely fair?”

Li Chi had just come across Master Li’s thoughts on this very matter — only a few lines, but equally thought-provoking.

“Have a look at this.”

Li Chi passed the book to Tang Pidi, pointing to what Master Li had written.

*At whatever point in history, for the children of common people, a fair examination system is one of very few opportunities in their lives to alter their fate — perhaps the only one.*

Li Chi said: “Master wrote that if one wishes to guarantee fairness as best as possible, a complete set of laws must be established to protect the examinations — so that students feel that at the very least the court’s *intent* is to strive for fairness.”

Tang Pidi read Master Li’s words, then drew a long breath and sighed: “A talent of this magnitude, if he could be brought to govern the nation…”

Li Chi shook his head: “Asking Master Li to come out of retirement one day — I’m afraid that will be exceedingly difficult.”

Tang Pidi said in passing: “Then learn all the more.”

Li Chi said: “Understood.”

And so Tang Pidi laughed again. This time Li Chi did catch the smile, but didn’t fully understand what Tang Pidi was smiling about.

In the distance, Gao Xining sat swinging on a swing set amid the flower sea, looking in Li Chi’s direction — looking, and smiling a foolish smile to herself.

Rather like a young and lovely mother watching her dear little son play in the sandbox far away.

Xiahou Yili looked at her, then looked over at Li Chi, and also began to smile.

“Lovesick fool,” she said with a grin.

Gao Xining said: “How is this being lovesick? He’s so handsome — looking at him a little longer makes me feel like I’ve come out ahead.”

“Him?”

Xiahou Yili asked, with deliberate mischief.

Gao Xining blinked. Then firmly: “Yes. Him.”

Xiahou Yili asked: “And the other one — isn’t he also dashing and suave, handsome and refined?”

Gao Xining’s gaze never moved from Li Chi. She replied offhandedly: “The other one? He’s fine, I suppose. Just ordinary.”

Just at that moment, a few senior sisters from the Immortal Crane Divine Palace passed by not far off, and they were looking at Li Chi and Tang Pidi too.

But those two men weren’t looking at them at all — they were reading and discussing something together, which only made the senior sisters more curious.

“Does that mean we’re not pretty enough?”

One of the senior sisters harrumphed.

Another said: “Well then, they’re not handsome either!”

They looked at each other, and everyone nodded: “Right, they’re not handsome at all.”

The youngest among them, a girl of about sixteen or seventeen, looked conflicted and said: “Then… which one is *slightly* less handsome?”

They looked at each other again. Everyone agreed this was very difficult.

*Ah, what a hard contest this was.*

Hearing them murmur past, Xiahou Yili laughed and asked Gao Xining: “If these senior sisters come back to Jizhou with us, are you worried they’ll also take a liking to that silly boy of yours?”

Gao Xining said: “Why should I worry?”

Xiahou Yili said: “Senior sisters — all young and pretty girls.”

Gao Xining smiled: “So am I.”

Xiahou Yili stared for a moment, then burst into peals of laughter.

Gao Xining said: “If they really do take a liking to that silly boy too, I can serve as their matchmaker — but…”

She shook her little fist: “I’ll charge a fee!”

Xiahou Yili sighed: “Truly, you and he are a perfect match.”

—

Immortal Crane Divine Palace.

Sect Leader Shen Rujun looked at Madam Xiahou and said: “Sister, please stay. Life on Yun-yin Mountain is more peaceful, more settled, and far freer.”

Madam Xiahou shook her head, smiling. “When I was in Jizhou, I would often find myself thinking — how much better it would have been if I’d never left Yun-yin Mountain…”

“But some things — once you’ve chosen them, once they’ve happened — leave no room for regret or non-regret. The things you could have chosen differently were never the things that truly mattered.”

Shen Rujun didn’t understand, and asked: “Why say that? Surely anything can be regretted or not regretted?”

Madam Xiahou answered: “Children.”

Thinking of Xiahou Zuo, thinking of Xiahou Yili — the corners of her mouth curved upward of their own accord.

“About everything else I can have second thoughts. But about my children, never, not once. Those two matter more to me than my own life.”

Shen Rujun fell silent.

She was only thirty herself, had never left Yun-yin Mountain, and had no experience of complicated matters or complicated emotions.

“I don’t understand what Sister says, but what Sister holds dear — that must be right.”

Shen Rujun said: “Sister… should we leave Yun-yin Mountain?”

Madam Xiahou answered: “Whether you should — I can’t decide that. The fates of so many young women hang in the balance; you must ask each one of them carefully, and you must explain clearly what the outside world is like.”

She continued: “Every ten years, the sect sends out three worldly emissaries — they go out into the world and bring back orphaned girls who have no one to care for them. They return once a year, but never enter the mountain gate — they leave the children outside the gate and go. When the ten years are up, every worldly emissary without exception chooses to leave the Immortal Crane Divine Palace — some to seclude themselves elsewhere, some to return to the mortal world.”

She asked Shen Rujun: “You must know why the founding patriarch established this rule.”

“I know.”

Shen Rujun said: “After ten years of wandering the mortal world, they are no longer suited to remain in the Immortal Crane Divine Palace. But that’s not fair to them.”

Madam Xiahou said: “It isn’t fair. Yet every generation of worldly emissaries has faithfully honored the founder’s legacy. Their sacrifice — it is their way of refusing to let the children of Yun-yin Mountain be tainted by worldly things.”

She looked Shen Rujun in the eyes and said earnestly: “So whether they should go out into the world — think carefully. Think again.”

“Sister.”

Shen Rujun rose, stepped back, and bowed with great solemnity.

“If they are willing to return to the mortal world, please care for them, Sister. They are all far too innocent — they came here because of the world’s hardships, and now no longer understand the world’s hardships.”

Madam Xiahou quickly rose and returned the bow. “If they are willing, I will care for them as I would Zuo’er and Yili.”

Shen Rujun said: “Thirty li away…”

Before she could finish, Madam Xiahou completed the sentence: “There are still a number of worldly emissaries living in seclusion out there.”

Shen Rujun said: “Sister, let’s go together to ask them.”

“Very well.”

—

More than half an hour later, thirty li from the Immortal Crane Divine Palace, there was a place called Peach Blossom Cove. Along the foot of the mountain, a row of wooden houses stood sheltered beneath wild peach trees.

Not far off was a small river, and at the river’s edge a dock. Peach trees grew along the bank as well — which was why they had named this place Peach Blossom Cove.

Every year in the third and fourth months, the wild peach blossoms opened across the whole mountain. Peach blossoms in the trees, and they were lovelier than the blossoms.

Shen Rujun and Madam Xiahou stopped outside the fence gate. Both smoothed their clothes, then bowed together.

“Immortal Crane Divine Palace disciple Shen Rujun — disciple Xiahou Qing — humbly requesting an audience with the honored patrons.”

The Immortal Crane Divine Palace’s worldly emissaries, after ten years of travel, upon their return neither entered the mountain gate nor rejoined the sect — but they were honored as patron saints. Their standing was even higher than the sect leader.

All disciples of the Immortal Crane Divine Palace, the sect leader included, were required to observe the etiquette of a junior toward these women whenever seeking an audience.

Strictly speaking, the sect leader too was supposed to undertake one period of entering the mortal world; only upon return could she formally inherit the title. It had been for the sake of this rule that Xiahou Qing had once walked out from Yun-yin Mountain all those years ago.

But she had not returned. Her master had already passed away, and so Shen Rujun was put forward as sect leader — with no worldly experience of her own.

People came out from each of the wooden houses, seemingly curious, all smiling as they came to welcome them.

Among them was a woman who appeared to be about thirty — by generation, a peer of Shen Rujun. This was a woman who, in every aspect of bearing, carried an irresistible air of seasoned maturity.

She was not seductive. Yet if she merely walked past you, you would find her impossible to forget for a long, long time.

You might feel you had forgotten her — and then in some stray moment the thought would come, and her face would still be deeply carved in memory.

She wore her hair short, not even reaching her shoulders — because she found long hair troublesome.

She wore a coarsely woven outfit, not a long gown but wide hemp trousers, and yet she appeared in no way shapeless.

Both hands tucked into her trouser pockets, she walked out with a slightly languid gait that felt entirely at ease.

Her name was Shen Ruzan. She was Shen Rujun’s younger sister.

—