Snow gathered at the window as winter’s chill stretched on; he sat upright at the writing desk, reading old volumes.

Pei Shaohuai settled himself diligently in the archive hall, reading through old memorials and official documents. He did not find it dull — on the contrary, he found it thoroughly absorbing, gathering a wealth of insight. The only drawback was the bleak cold of the hall in winter; sitting for long stretches left his hands and feet chilled to the bone.

The old memorials were divided into three parts. The first part contained the remonstrating official’s memorial proper; next came the Emperor’s rescript — most often “Such-and-such to take charge and implement” or “Such-and-such to supervise and execute.” The last part recorded the debates and rebuttals of the various remonstrating officials and grand secretaries during deliberation and implementation — some long, some short.

The remonstrations of the Bureau of Works ranged across every subject and were by no means limited to overseeing Ministry of Works officials and major construction projects.

Governance and administration, taxation and grain, criminal cases, agriculture, customs and morality, the imperial clan — nothing was beyond the scope of remonstration. On one hand, officials put forward their own views; on the other, they rebutted the positions of others.

When a particular remonstration attracted strong imperial attention, it might spark a “grand court debate” — censors, supervising secretaries, and other remonstrating officials assembled en masse, taking turns in a back-and-forth contest of argument. A single such debate could fill seven or eight volumes of records, a thick and weighty bundle.

Reading these old memorials, Pei Shaohuai felt as though he could glimpse the spectacle of scholars in full rhetorical battle.

He read each remonstration word by word, and after reading through the final rescript, he would return to the beginning and read it again, weighing why the author had written it in just that way. For within a mere handful of sentences, hidden schemes often lurked — some even employed a feint in one direction while striking in another: on the surface appearing to support a colleague’s position, while in fact using a clumsy brush to subtly undermine it. In short, in these small memorials, one could see the remonstrating officials each putting their ingenuity on full display.

Pei Shaohuai had expected to be able to identify factional allegiances from the remonstrations, but what he found was that those who held to fixed factions were the minority; those who moved with the wind were the majority. In one memorial, two men were quarreling fiercely; in the next, they were allied — nothing was surprising here.

This was especially true when it came to the court recommendation of high officials.

Pei Shaohuai thought to himself: the Censorate and the Six Bureaus — truly, every one of them had a whole string of hidden calculations in their chests, too many schemes to count.

Beyond remonstrating on the gains and losses of governance and the welfare of soldiers and commoners, there were also a great many memorials impeaching court colleagues — personal conduct, household trifles, wives, concubines, and servants could all become the substance of impeachment. Such memorials were the most difficult to fathom; the true aim was rarely to have the court censure the individual in question, but lay somewhere else entirely, and had to be analyzed in conjunction with the political situation at the time.

Among the more recent impeachment memorials, there were quite a few targeting Pei Shaohuai’s great-grand-uncle Pei Jue — impeaching him for overreach, for a Minister of Personnel reaching his hand into the affairs of the Ministry of Finance. They also impeached his eldest son, Pei Bingsheng, for holding a position as a senior secretary in the Ministry of Finance yet repeatedly claiming illness as an excuse, at this point having been absent from court for nearly a full year.

With the two matters overlapping, Pei Shaohuai could not help but think a layer deeper. A suspicion began to take shape in his mind.

Remonstrating officials who had finished impeaching colleagues could also impeach members of the imperial clan. The most common sight was the remonstrating officials of the Bureau of Rites impeaching some prince or commandery prince for “taking concubines without imperial sanction” or “secretly keeping female entertainers, corrupting the imperial lineage, and gravely shaming the dignity of noble titles” — this sort of “gossip,” Pei Shaohuai tended to skim past.

By the end of a full day’s reading, even the scholarly endurance Pei Shaohuai had built up over more than a decade of study was no match for the physical and mental exhaustion. Leaving the office, he felt his head heavy and dull. On the carriage ride back to the Earl’s household, it always took a good while before he could press down the tangled web of thoughts in his mind and find stillness.

These memorials were considerably harder to read than the Four Books, the Five Classics, or any annotated commentary.

Seen in that light, though Chief Song was strict with him and bore him a certain dislike, his instruction to first read carefully through the old memorials had been an entirely sound arrangement.

……

When he returned home, the sky had already gone fully dark. The family waited for Pei Shaohuai before bringing out the dishes for dinner.

At the dinner table, Yang Shiyue was, for some reason, distracted — she kept glancing at Pei Shaohuai as though wanting to say something, then stopping herself. She ate little and had no appetite to speak of.

Not until they were back in their room did Yang Shiyue say, with reddened eyes, “Husband, roll up your sleeves. Let me see your hands.”

Pei Shaohuai was puzzled. “My wife — what is the matter?” Why would she suddenly want to look at his hands?

Yang Shiyue said nothing, but gently lifted her husband’s wide sleeve herself. His hands, once slender and fair, were now swollen from the cold. Pei Shaohuai had not noticed the frostbite himself — he could be quite careless about his own body, especially when he was absorbed in work.

No wonder his brush had felt so unresponsive that day.

Yang Shiyue silently fetched the frostbite ointment and applied it gently to her husband’s hands.

After a while, once she had calmed herself a little, she asked, “How can your hands have gotten this bad from just a few days of observation duty at court? Is there no brazier in the office?”

Pei Shaohuai explained, “The hall holds nothing but old memorials and documents — no brazier is permitted.” Not even a small hand warmer could be brought in. He added, “It’s nothing serious. Once the sun comes out and things warm up a bit in a few days, it will be fine on its own.”

“It was this wife’s negligence. I had assumed all government offices would have coal braziers.”

And these past few days had been the coldest of winter’s deep chill.

Pei Shaohuai drew his wife into his arms and said soothingly, “How can this be my wife’s fault? I should have paid more attention myself. I promise — tomorrow I’ll wear more layers when I go to the palace.”

The next morning, Yang Shiyue “supervised” Pei Shaohuai as he dressed warmly in thick layers, placed several hot-water warming pouches in the carriage, and only then let him leave. She reminded him, “When the warming pouches cool down, remember to refill them with boiling water. No matter how busy with official duties, do pay more attention to taking care of yourself — a moment taken for that won’t be missed.”

“I understand now.”

So as not to worry his wife, Pei Shaohuai refilled the hot water every hour that day, kept the warming pouches on his lap, and found that reading the memorials was indeed far warmer than the preceding days — the dreary, shivering cold no longer crept in.

Absorbed in reading, one loses track of the hours; before long, another day had passed.

As Pei Shaohuai was leaving the palace, he ran into his brother-in-law Chen Xingchen — who was heading toward the Ministry of War. Chen Xingchen was now a sixth-rank chief secretary there.

“It’s already this hour — why is my brother-in-law still going back?” Pei Shaohuai asked.

“I’m not going back. I just came from home.” Chen Xingchen replied, “I’ve come to keep overnight duty at the Ministry of War.”

At night, within the palace forecourts, in addition to the guards on watch, officials from each ministry were also stationed for overnight duty — either to handle official matters in the night hours, or to be on hand should the Emperor summon someone for a sudden consultation.

“Didn’t my brother-in-law just do overnight duty a few days ago?” Pei Shaohuai asked, puzzled.

“I switched with someone. I’m taking overnight duty at the Ministry of War for these few days.”

Chen Xingchen glanced around to make sure no one was nearby. Remembering that Pei Shaohuai was now married, he lowered his voice to explain: “Grandmother says young men are rash and impulsive, don’t know what’s proper — she had me move to a small side courtyard to sleep alone at night. I can only move back after a year.”

He went on: “I figured, if that’s how it is, I might as well spend the nights here doing overnight duty. When it’s quiet, I can work on mathematics. During the day I can go back and help keep an eye on Yin Yin now and then. It worked out that some colleagues happened to have things at home these past few days, so I switched shifts with them.”

Yin Yin was the pet name of Chen Xingchen’s eldest daughter.

“Brother-in-law should take care of his health — doing overnight duty all the time will wear you down,” Pei Shaohuai cautioned.

“I know what I’m doing,” Chen Xingchen said. “The first half of the night I keep watch by lamplight; after the lamps are put out in the second half, I push the writing boards together and still manage to sleep a fair number of hours.” He glanced at the sky. “It’s getting late — I need to head to the Ministry of War. Let’s catch up properly another day when there’s time.”

……

Before the twelfth month, the tax registers of the Northern and Southern Metropolitan Regions and the various Provincial Administration Offices were forwarded to the Ministry of Finance. After tallying everything up, the ministry recorded the year’s total income and expenditures, submitted them to the Emperor, and by imperial command made copies to be distributed to all court ministries.

The year’s performance records from each prefecture of Da Qing were likewise forwarded to the capital and reported to the court.

Each year at this time was when the censors and supervising secretaries were at their most active —

First, at year’s end, the powerful officials at court would propose new policies, hoping to promulgate new measures at the start of the new year. Whether the proposals came from the Nine Ministers, grand secretaries, or department heads, the remonstrating officials could support or rebut them before the court.

Second, with year-end performance assessments complete, if any official positions fell vacant, it was an opportune time for court recommendations.

During this period, whether after court was dismissed or in private settings, officials frequently gathered in groups to exchange information and feel out each other’s positions. Pei Shaohuai kept his father-in-law’s advice in mind: unless a good opportunity and a well-formed view presented themselves, he had no intention of rushing to remonstrate and wasting the occasion. If someone sent an invitation, he declined on the pretext of family matters at home.

On a certain day, Pei Shaohuai was in the Bureau of Works archive hall as usual, reading through old memorials, when Deputy Official Gou came in — one could already hear his cheerful laugh from a distance: “Lord Pei, a fine opportunity — a fine opportunity indeed! The Ministry of Personnel, together with the Ministry of Finance, has proposed a new policy. You really ought to have a careful look at it.”

Pei Shaohuai set down his brush and rose to look out the window, just in time to see Deputy Official Gou approaching with a copied document.

After tea was served, Gou Shengchang had not even lifted his cup for a sip before he was already urging Pei Shaohuai to read the document. “Lord Pei,” he said, “lesser matters you can afford to miss, but this new policy submitted by the Ministry of Personnel has drawn great attention at court right now. Every official is calling it practical and workable, with voices of approval from all sides. It’s been many years since I’ve seen such unanimity.”

He added, “Even our colleagues in the Bureau of Personnel Affairs and the Bureau of Finance within the Six Bureaus have raised no objections.”

The Bureau of Personnel Affairs and the Bureau of Finance were specifically charged with overseeing and rebutting the ministries of personnel and finance.

Gou Shengchang pressed on: “Since it’s a new policy that everyone is praising, there can surely be nothing wrong with it. Why shouldn’t Lord Pei add his voice, offer a word of support, add a little luster to what is already bright? I’ve been thinking — Lord Pei’s first time speaking up at court should be steady and safe: you make your presence known, you speak a word, and you keep on good terms with others. Won’t that make your future in office that much smoother? What do you say?”

A man of less discernment might well have been deceived by Gou Shengchang’s apparent goodwill and ended up as nothing more than someone adding to another’s tally. Pei Shaohuai was about to find some pretext and decline outright — but his eye happened to catch the words written on the document: “simplify the tax code, consolidate levies, assess by acreage, collect in silver to replenish the national treasury.” The refusal that had reached the tip of his tongue was swallowed back.

Those words had piqued his curiosity.

So Pei Shaohuai replied, “Deputy Official, why not allow your subordinate to study this new policy carefully first, and then give you a reply once I’ve formed some views?”

“But of course.”

After Gou Shengchang left, Pei Shaohuai had no interest in the old memorials any longer. He began to read the document carefully, thinking as he went: what Gou Shengchang had said about the Bureau of Personnel Affairs and the Bureau of Finance both agreeing was probably true, because this policy did indeed have a good deal to recommend it.

The policy had been submitted by the Ministry of Personnel, which revealed that Pei Jue did possess a measure of real ability — he understood what the Emperor wished for, and also understood the ways in which petty local officials and clerks deceived their superiors.

If implemented, this policy would, whatever else it might achieve, certainly fill the national treasury.

The document stated that Da Qing’s current taxation system operated on a principle of “pay what you grow” — taxes paid in kind. It was overly cumbersome: the distinctions between official and private land, between fertile and poor soil, between grain grades and quality, between the distances of transport — every variable was weighted differently in calculating the tax rate, making collection extremely complex, such that only the arithmetic clerks of each prefecture and county office could work through the calculations properly.

County magistrates, who had advanced through the examination system on the strength of their literary composition, often could not make head or tail of these intricacies, and could only serve in a supervisory capacity.

This gave the arithmetic clerks their opportunity to act as accomplices to wrongdoing — colluding with the wealthy and powerful to accept bribes and reduce their tax assessments, or shifting their tax burdens onto other commoners. They deceived ordinary people into overpaying, and pocketed the excess or used it to bribe their superiors.

The wealthy bought their way to exemptions; the poor grew ever more destitute. This entrenched problem had existed for a long time.

To remedy this problem and replenish the national treasury, the new policy proposed: “Simplify the tax code by consolidating categories and collecting in silver, with official collection and official remittance.”

The most significant point: taxes to be paid in silver, rather than in grain directly.

This was a good thing, without question — but it was not quite so simple. That was what Pei Shaohuai thought.