His elder brother-in-law Xu Zhan had served in the Hanlin Academy for several years and had come from the rank of Second Place in the Palace Examination. By this time, he had already begun to take responsibility for drafting some of the simpler imperial stele inscriptions and edicts.

Today he seemed entangled in some matter and came out a full half-hour late.

Upon boarding the carriage and seeing Pei Shaohuai, he was delighted and laughingly asked, “Is my brother-in-law coming back with me?”

Pei Shaohuai nodded. “The hour is not yet late. I’ll go and see the tutor.”

The carriage moved forward, and the two men sat facing each other, conversing casually along the way.

Xu Zhan asked with genuine concern, “It was your first day at the Hanlin Academy — how did it go, brother-in-law? Were you able to get a sense of how the various affairs are arranged?”

“Everything went well. I got acquainted with quite a few seniors in the National History Repository,” Pei Shaohuai replied, and then asked, “Brother-in-law, can you still remember your own first day at the Hanlin Academy all those years ago — what were you assigned to do?”

“How could I forget?” Xu Zhan recalled with relish. “The Lecturer-Reader gave me an old volume that had been waterlogged and then dried — stiff as a plank of wood… After that, every day I used a small knife to separate the pages one by one, and then copied them out by hand. It took a full half-year to complete.”

“And the Zhuangyuan who was your contemporary — Compiler Fan — what about him?”

“He didn’t have it easy either, it seemed. Before he even began helping to compile the Veritable Records, he spent a good deal of effort just poring through the contents of the golden cabinet archives.”

The golden cabinet archives held the Records of Daily Activities and the Imperial Register documenting the words and conduct of the previous Emperor.

Hearing this, Pei Shaohuai’s mind was clear.

When Xu Zhan finished speaking, he paused slightly, then asked with some puzzlement, “Why does my brother-in-law ask about this? Could it be that something particular happened today?”

“Nothing particularly unusual.” And so Pei Shaohuai recounted Lecturer-Reader He’s arrangements for him, one by one, to his brother-in-law.

After mulling it over, Xu Zhan said, “Perhaps my brother-in-law is overthinking it. Since you concurrently hold the post of Supervising Secretary of the Bureau of Works, and will have duties of court deliberation and censure in the future — it would not be unusual for them, knowing you are new to the Hanlin, to show you extra deference in hopes of making a good impression.”

Court deliberation referred to the right to remonstrate to the Emperor and to recommend the appointment of senior officials — a matter intimately tied to the future careers of all the academicians in the Hanlin.

After all, the step from the Hanlin to a substantive post depended on court deliberation, followed by the Emperor’s confirmation.

Pei Shaohuai had not yet responded when Xu Zhan himself realized something was amiss — even he, as close a relation as an elder brother-in-law, had instinctively reasoned in this direction. How much more readily would others within the Hanlin Academy do the same?

“Wait a moment…” Xu Zhan thought more deeply, murmuring, “There is something suspicious about this.”

If everyone reasoned along this line, Lecturer-Reader He would appear to be entirely without fault — giving some face to a subordinate who held an important position, treating him with a little extra consideration. That was perfectly human.

At first, while Pei Shaohuai remained quietly idle in the Hanlin Academy, the others might be able to endure it.

But day after day, as time passed, once a few rumors began to circulate — admiration would turn to envy, then to sarcasm and mockery, and the tide of opinion would shift in an instant.

After all, Pei Shaohuai — eighteen years old, a Sanyuan Jidi, holding two concurrent posts — was already far too brilliant. So brilliant, in fact, that even the faintest whisper of gossip could bring the walls down upon him.

If Pei Shaohuai were a guileless young man, reveling in his own achievements and reputation, he might very well fall into the trap.

In Pei Shaohuai’s estimation, regardless of whether Lecturer-Reader He harbored such intentions — whether for factional purposes or otherwise — today’s conduct was indeed cause for suspicion.

Xu Zhan asked, “What do you intend to do?”

“The very fact that they have gone to such lengths shows that they are far from having an unchallenged say within the Hanlin Academy.”

“Quite right.”

The following day, Pei Shaohuai arrived early at the National History Repository. When he encountered Lecturer-Reader He, Lecturer-Reader He once again gave him no assignment, but instead handed him a few books and told him to remain in his office and read. His manner was warm and unhurried, and he inquired repeatedly whether Pei Shaohuai was experiencing any discomfort or difficulty settling in.

This went on for several days in a row.

Having confirmed that Lecturer-Reader He’s motives were not straightforward, Pei Shaohuai found he had nothing more to worry about.

On one particular morning, Pei Shaohuai arrived early at the main archival room where history was being compiled, and while his colleagues had not yet begun writing for the day, he went around greeting each of them warmly and with proper courtesy. He noticed an empty seat in the main archival room with a desk and chair already in place, stacked with miscellaneous volumes, and asked his colleagues, “May I move here to work?”

Someone, puzzled, replied, “The main archival room has people coming and going at all times, with frequent discussions and debates. Would Compiler Pei not prefer the quiet of his own office?”

“Debating on all sides, reasoning about all under Heaven — there is genuine meaning to be found in such discourse, and it is a fine opportunity to learn,” Pei Shaohuai replied composedly, then added, “Besides, I am new to the Hanlin and ignorant of a great deal. It would serve me well to sit here, listen, observe, and seek guidance from the senior colleagues around me.”

The main archival room was mostly occupied by Editors, whose ranks were lower than Pei Shaohuai’s. Hearing him consistently address them as “seniors,” they felt gratified, and had no reason to object.

Two days later, Pei Shaohuai had a basic grasp of the tasks of the National History Repository, which fell primarily into two categories.

The first was compiling the Veritable Records of the previous Emperor. The materials were piled like mountains: decades’ worth of Records of Daily Activities, Imperial Registers, and Daybooks; local archives sent in from various government offices; and unofficial popular histories from among the common people. The task was to distill all of these into text, piece by piece, and then compile them together into a comprehensive record.

The second was serving on palace duty rotation — sitting in on court proceedings, observing government affairs, and recording the current Emperor’s Records of Daily Activities and Imperial Register.

Since Lecturer-Reader He had assigned him no tasks, he simply counted forward from where others had left off in the sequence and took up a set of more than ten volumes of Records of Daily Activities, announcing: “I’ll practice alongside the senior colleagues for now. If there are any shortcomings, I humbly ask for your corrections.”

Day after day, Pei Shaohuai was the first to arrive and the last to leave. He also took part in the discussions in the main archival room, and became much better acquainted with his colleagues.

Using the daylight coming through the windowsill, Pei Shaohuai read through a volume of materials, then took up his brush and wrote down what he had organized in his mind — narrating events objectively, without mixing in his own views.

When he finished, he set down his brush.

“You’re the new one?” The voice was unhurried and gentle, not startling.

Pei Shaohuai only then noticed someone standing behind him. He rose quickly and bowed in greeting. Recognizing a vaguely familiar face, he observed the man’s official robe and rank insignia and confirmed his identity before saying, “This subordinate pays his respects to Lecturer-Reader Zou.” He then introduced himself.

Seeing Lecturer-Reader Zou pick up his draft and begin reading it, Pei Shaohuai said, “This subordinate is still practicing.”

Lecturer-Reader Zou finished reading, nodded, and said, “Very good. This can be submitted directly as a proper draft.”

“Thank you, Lecturer-Reader Zou.”

A few more days passed. Pei Shaohuai completed his assigned compilation task and, consulting the duty roster, saw that the next three days of palace duty rotation belonged to Compiler Fan.

He sought out Compiler Fan, explained his purpose, and said he wished to accompany him to the palace to observe and practice on the rotation.

Compiler Fan asked in puzzlement, “Has Lecturer-Reader He not yet taken you to the palace for the observation rotation?”

“Lecturer-Reader He has been busy of late — it must have slipped his attention for the moment.”

“Then Compiler Pei, come to the Hanlin Academy before the mao hour tomorrow, and we will enter the palace together.” Compiler Fan agreed.

A senior showing a junior the ropes was standard practice — a small thing entirely, and who would not be happy to do someone a favor in such a manner?

“Thank you, Compiler Fan.”

With these arrangements in place, Pei Shaohuai had nothing further to worry about, no matter how Lecturer-Reader He might neglect to assign him duties. Though Pei Shaohuai fell under Lecturer-Reader He’s purview, he was not subject to his control.

Serving on palace duty rotation was by no means light work. In three days of recording, five or six volumes of written notes accumulated, and upon returning, they still had to be organized into proper text, presented to the Grand Secretariat for review and confirmation, before being sent to the golden cabinet for preservation.

Having completed one full rotation from beginning to end, seven days had passed. Pei Shaohuai returned home with some weariness, looking forward to two days of rest.

As it happened, the gift he had been preparing for Yang Shiyue was finally finished at this very time.

His fingers were long and slender, but they seemed to have been devoted entirely to writing, and he had never mastered any other particular manual skill. By his own honest assessment, the only thing he could say he did adequately with his hands was holding a brush to paint — his brushwork was quite steady.

And so Pei Shaohuai had designed a pattern, drawn out the motifs to be carved, and entrusted Steward Zhang to deliver the drawings along with a piece of blue mist jade to a shop, where a jade comb was custom-made.

Blue mist jade — white jade shot through with a few wisps of blue, like smoke upon water.

Pei Shaohuai took the sandalwood box from Steward Zhang’s hands and opened it. The jade comb before him was even more exquisite than his own drawings had rendered it: the tines were of white jade, each one smooth and evenly rounded. The artistry lay in the handle — Pei Shaohuai had designed the wisps of blue as the Huai River cliff-and-water pattern, which brought a subtle sense of movement to what was otherwise still.

A newly dressed beauty again takes up the water-blue comb; they say the autumn wind leaves nothing unstately in its wake.

In giving the comb, Pei Shaohuai’s intention was precisely the meaning behind it — to comb through to the very end, to grow old together with white hair side by side.

And it was only through that layer of meaning, and the fact that he had designed it himself, that he could convey something of his heart and his feelings.

He sent his visiting card to Yang Xiangyuan, and the Yang household quickly sent a reply. The following day, Pei Shaohuai took the gift and went to the Yang residence.

Both families had already exchanged betrothal cards and settled the engagement. At the thought of seeing Yang Shiyue, Pei Shaohuai still felt a measure of nervousness.

Quite different from the composed ease he had felt during the Lantern Festival.

When a person has no desires, they can naturally remain at ease, brushing aside all worldly concerns. But once a person has formed yearnings, even the attempt to brush them aside becomes difficult — for the sleeve has already been touched by fragrance.

Inside the Yang residence, they sat facing each other.

“Drink some tea first.”

Yang Shiyue was about to push the teacup forward, but just at that moment Pei Shaohuai reached out to take it, and the tips of their fingers touched.

In the fifth month of the year, both their fingers were lightly cool.

“I’ve prepared a small thing for you… Have a look and see if you like it.” Pei Shaohuai planned to set the small box on the tea table and slide it over.

But Yang Shiyue had already extended her hands toward him.

Pei Shaohuai lifted the jade comb from the box and placed it in the palm of her hand — for a moment he was uncertain whether the jade was cooler, or the warmth of her palm.

“Do you have a good hold on it?”

“Mm, mm.”

Only then did he release his hand. That faint coolness lingered for a long while and would not disperse.

“You gave me a comb — are you saying my hair knot that evening was too disheveled?”

“Of course not.” Pei Shaohuai quickly denied it, for fear of being misunderstood, and then opened his mouth to explain: “I gave the comb for its meaning…”

Before he could finish, Pei Shaohuai caught himself — Yang Shiyue would certainly understand the meaning of a comb. It was the most common token of romantic devotion in the Da Qing dynasty.

He looked over, and found that Yang Shiyue was wearing an expression of quiet contentment, yet asking with complete seriousness: “What meaning?”

Pei Shaohuai was momentarily at a loss for words.

“Compiler Pei writes with such skill and eloquence — how is it that when explaining the meaning of a jade comb, you hesitate? And what do these wisps of smoke-on-water patterns signify?”

The gift was already in her hands — there was no swallowing the words back now. Pei Shaohuai gathered his courage and spoke plainly: “It means to be your lifelong companion by your side, comb by comb through your hair in quiet devotion, also clear waters running through the years with you ever-present…”

At those words, Yang Shiyue sat quietly, lowering her gaze, her cheeks flushed red. Her hands clasped the jade comb, and she traced the wave patterns of the Huai River carved along it, over and over.

Pei Shaohuai’s ears had been red the entire time, but he thought to himself — just barely, he had finally turned the tables this once.

Otherwise, he truly would have been at Yang Shiyue’s mercy, being “teased” along indefinitely.

Knowing when to stop, Pei Shaohuai rose to take his leave. He was afraid that if he stayed any longer, the ground he had recovered would be taken back again.

He had just reached the doorway.

“Wait.”

Pei Shaohuai stilled. No further words came from behind him, only the soft sound of light footsteps. After a few moments, he slowly turned and looked back.

He saw Yang Shiyue standing before him. Slowly, she reached up and removed her jade hairpin, and her dark hair cascaded down like a waterfall. She asked, “How does one use this comb? Could you teach me?”

As he had expected — Pei Shaohuai had lost again.