All things flourish and wither in their season; the sun and moon revolve in endless cycles. When one thing falls, another rises — and for the reformist officials, the present moment was indeed a favorable one.

Pei Shaohuai understood the Emperor’s mind well. His Majesty wished to employ Xu Zhannian, yet could not help but proceed with great caution. With the Grand Preceptor and the Deputy Grand Preceptor having stepped down in succession, the Emperor needed to reestablish a balance of power among the court officials.

It was not suspicion — it was prudence.

Pei Shaohuai, faithful to his duties as a remonstrance official, offered further counsel: “My father-in-law once instructed this humble official that the nine-rank system has been abolished for hundreds of years. Talented men of humble birth are like grass growing in marshland — though their origins may be lowly, they harbor the ambitions of great swans. Therefore, when associating with others, one ought to judge by talent and principle alone, never by birth. This humble official believes that if imperial grace falls like rain upon the land, the grass of the marshes will surely flourish.”

He had not spoken a word of direct support for Xu Zhannian, yet had made his own position perfectly clear.

“Did Yang Aiqing truly say such words?”

“This humble official trembles with trepidation and would not dare deceive Your Majesty.”

The Emperor’s remaining reservations dissolved, and the tension eased from his expression. “We understand,” he said.

Pei Shaohuai emerged from the Imperial Study to find that the light snowfall of his arrival had thickened into a moderate snow. Outside the hall, wutong leaves drifted down alongside the snowflakes. Only then did he recall that he had forgotten to raise the matter of the “early snowfall” with the Emperor. By now, other officials had already entered the Imperial Study, and Pei Shaohuai had no choice but to set the matter aside for a future opportunity.

What was to be feared was not a single winter arriving early — it was every winter arriving early.

He was just about to take his leave when he heard Eunuch Xiao’s voice: “Please wait a moment, Lord Pei.”

Eunuch Xiao stepped out of the Imperial Study and presented a brown-yellow paper umbrella. “His Majesty heard from Lord Wang that the snow had grown heavier, and has commanded this old servant to bring out an umbrella.”

Pei Shaohuai accepted the umbrella and said, “Please convey my gratitude to His Majesty on my behalf.” With that, he opened the umbrella and departed.

He walked through the snow, his black satin official boots leaving a trail of footprints that were quickly buried beneath the fresh snowfall.

Partway along his route, Pei Shaohuai recalled that his mentor Zhang Lingyi had twice invited him to the Bureau of Military Armaments regarding the matter of casting warships and cannons — both times, other affairs had intervened. Since the Six Bureaus had little business today, Pei Shaohuai turned and made his way to the Ministry of War instead.

He stayed there the whole day and returned home a full hour later than usual.

On snowy nights, darkness fell early. By the time Pei Shaohuai arrived home, the sky had gone completely dark. He warmed himself in the side room, changed out of his official robes, and hastily ate dinner before heading to the main chamber to see his children.

Xiao Nan and Xiao Feng were just over a month old and spent most of their time sleeping quietly. It seemed to be a habit carried over from the womb — each evening when the lamps were lit, both infants would stir awake, full of energy, waiting for their father to come home and “discuss important matters” with them.

Walking beneath the covered corridor, Pei Shaohuai could hear Shi Yue inside the room coaxing one of the babies, who was babbling and fussing. He quickened his pace.

“My husband is home!”

Pei Shaohuai rubbed his hands warm as he walked in, reaching out to take the baby. “Yue’er, let me do the soothing — you rest awhile.”

It was Xiao Feng doing the babbling and fussing. The moment Pei Shaohuai took her into his arms and was about to “scold” her a little, the little girl immediately settled down, her bright eyes shining, her tiny mouth blowing bubbles.

Her brother Xiao Nan had been lying quietly on the bed, but upon hearing his father’s voice, he turned to look, waving his little fists.

With practiced ease, Pei Shaohuai cradled one child in each arm, gently rocking them as he said, “Father came home late today. Since the hour for sleep is upon you both, let us keep our conversation brief — if there are any ‘urgent matters,’ shall we save them for tomorrow evening?” He spoke with mock solemnity.

The two little ones, though wishing to play a while longer, could not hold out against their drowsiness. Before long they had drifted off to sleep. Pei Shaohuai gently set them down on the bed, his hands at last free.

He noticed a neatly folded collection on one side of the bed — an assortment of small garments, tiger-head caps, and tiny soft boots, each piece exquisite and delicate in its craftsmanship.

“What are these?”

“Sent over by Xiao Nan and Xiao Feng’s aunts. They said the children will be able to wear them in another two months.” Yang Shiyue replied, then added, “Second Sister’s share is included — she had it sent from Shanhai Pass back to the capital, and asked Elder Sister to bring it over.”

Pei Shaohuai felt a wave of wistfulness. “It has been some time since I last saw Second Sister and Second Brother-in-law. I wonder whether they will be able to return this year.”

Shanhai Pass was surely a few degrees colder than the capital.

He then asked his wife, “How has Third Sister’s cotton weaving workshop been faring lately?” Since Third Sister had come, she would certainly have spoken of this with Shi Yue.

Shi Yue’s enthusiasm for the subject was evident in the delight that spread across her face as she replied, “Third Sister said that while the cotton boll yield per acre from the farming households does not reach seven-tenths of what Songjiang Prefecture produces, the total output is quite considerable — all the machines at the weaving workshop are running.”

After all, it was only the first year of cultivation, so a slightly lower yield was perfectly natural. Things would improve gradually.

“Third Sister also said that next year, farmers from eighteen additional counties are willing to plant cotton on sloped land. Third Sister plans to continue spreading the practice into Hejian Prefecture and Baoding Prefecture.”

The weaving workshop had already stockpiled a quantity of cotton cloth, yet none of it had been put on sale — evidently Third Sister had other ideas in mind. Pei Shaohuai asked, “What are Third Sister’s plans going forward?”

Yang Shiyue answered, “Third Sister took one of my cloud brocade looms with her, saying she wants to weave brocade patterns onto the cotton cloth. Before the year-end imperial banquet, she intends to enter the palace for an audience with the Empress.”

Pei Shaohuai immediately grasped Third Sister’s intentions and felt a deep admiration stir within him — Third Sister was indeed a woman of both courage and shrewd foresight.

Before he could say a word, he heard his wife remark with approval, “Third Sister has made a move that is at once grounded and clever. She is not merely running a business.”

Husband and wife had arrived at the same thought.

In the cold of the night, the lamp burned past the third watch; as snow fell in the courtyard, brush strokes fell upon paper. The soft rustle of snowfall was surpassed by the scratch of a brush — flake upon flake, page upon page.

Pei Shaohuai had business that evening, and after lulling Xiao Nan and Xiao Feng to sleep, he stayed alone in his study until late. On his way back, he noticed that the study of Pei Shaojin still glowed with candlelight — through the window paper, the faint shadow of a moving brush could just be made out.

After winter comes spring, and Pei Shaojin would soon be sitting for the Spring Imperial Examination. Pei Shaohuai thought back hazily to himself three years prior, when he too had written essays deep into the night like this.

In the stillness of night, thoughts came most vividly.

When the shadow of the brush at last set down, Pei Shaohuai knocked gently on the door. “Zhongyai, it is me.”

Pei Shaojin opened the door, his expression one of delight mixed with mild surprise. “Elder Brother, you have not yet retired?” He ushered his elder brother inside to sit down.

The essay on the desk was still wet with fresh ink, shimmering in the candlelight. Pei Shaohuai picked it up and read it. It was a policy essay on how Da Qing’s nine frontier defense lines could resist the southward incursions of the Northern Yuan, offering a meticulous analysis of both the strengths and weaknesses of the frontier military garrison system. It was a fine piece of writing.

The argument was well-reasoned and cohesive, and bore the unmistakable mark of Pei Shaojin’s own style — incisive and direct, building its case through careful, layered exposition.

Compared to before his travels, the progress was remarkable — proof that Pei Shaojin had not squandered these two years.

Before Pei Shaohuai could offer his assessment, Pei Shaojin spoke first, evaluating the work himself: “The essay is passable, yet on close reading, it falls far short of the depth of intention in Elder Brother’s work from three years ago.” He paused, then continued, “Elder Brother dared to build ships and construct docks five years ago, dared to argue openly before a Minister of the court upon first entering officialdom, and succeeded in promoting the silver currency. If it had been me, I could never have done those things.”

Pei Shaojin spoke with calm composure, though a trace of despondency crept into his voice.

He quickly explained himself: “My despondency does not stem from Elder Brother — it stems from myself. Since returning from my travels, my knowledge has broadened, my understanding has deepened, and my writing has become more thorough. Yet I always feel as though what flows from my brush floats in mid-air, unable to come down to earth no matter what I do.”

Pei Shaohuai understood completely. That Pei Shaojin could perceive and name this feeling for himself was itself proof of his exceptional gift.

The night outside had grown deep. He asked Pei Shaojin, “Tomorrow is a day of rest. Would you be free to go out with me?”

Pei Shaojin nodded. “Of course I am free.”

“Then rest for now — we will speak more tomorrow.”

The next day dawned bright and cold.

The two brothers had not coordinated, yet both wore blue standing-collar robes, with crane-feather cloaks draped over their shoulders against the chill.

Lin Shi and Concubine Shen were chatting leisurely when they happened to see the brothers climbing into the carriage to go out. For a fleeting moment they had the sensation that time had reversed — it was as if they were back in those days when the brothers would set off early each morning for their lessons at the Xu residence, close in age, equal in height.

Only now, those boys of yesterday had grown into young men. The playful boisterousness of youth had given way to refined and scholarly bearing.

Lin Shi smiled and said, “Shaojin’s personal affairs ought to be moved along as well — it would be best if the date were set for after the spring examinations, so the two joys could be celebrated together.”

She then teased, “That would spare the Lu family’s young lady the trouble of racking her brains for all manner of pretexts to send Shaojin food.” In the days just after Shaojin had returned to the capital, the food boxes from the Lu residence had indeed arrived in a steady, unbroken stream.

After all these years, Concubine Shen no longer carried herself with the careful restraint of former times, and joined in the teasing: “Shaojin really ought to keep pace with his elder brother — by this time next year, Xiao Nan and Xiao Feng will be running all around the courtyard.”

Who could have imagined that the two children were born only seven days apart?

Lin Shi and Concubine Shen both laughed with open warmth.

On the eastern road of the city, the common folk’s market was no match for the thousand lanterns of the southern watertown night markets, yet it was lively enough in its own right. The covered market was lined with shops, and along both sides of the road stalls were spread in abundance, with vendors’ calls rising one after another.

Inside the carriage, Pei Shaohuai asked, “Zhongyai, where within the city do you think is most suitable for gathering information?”

Pei Shaojin considered for a moment, then replied, “If we are speaking of bustling, well-trafficked places, it would naturally be the teahouses and wine shops — many people come and go, and there is more to be heard.”

Pei Shaojin was not wrong; the covert agents of the Southern Garrison Office were often stationed in such places.

Pei Shaohuai made no reply either way, and led Pei Shaojin out of the carriage. Together they entered the busy market on foot, and the route Pei Shaohuai took was one he knew with familiar ease. Along the way, he stopped here and there to ask about the price of rice and cloth, and at times had Chang Fan hand over coins to make small purchases — just enough to blend in.

At last they arrived at the firewood market. With the light snow of recent days falling unceasing, the firewood on sale was somewhat damp.

“Grandfather, how much are you selling this firewood for?” Pei Shaohuai asked.

The old farmer could tell that Pei Shaohuai did not look like a man in need of firewood, yet he answered carefully all the same, adding at the end, “Not many people are willing to go up the mountain to chop wood this year, so the price of firewood has gone up by a coin. If your lordship’s household has not yet laid in the winter supply, you had best have your steward keep a close watch on it.”

“I understand — thank you, Grandfather.”

“This old man doesn’t deserve a word of thanks from my lord.”

Shortly after, at the corner of the covered market, the brothers spotted numerous stalls selling smoked mutton. The vendors were broad and sturdy of build — one look made it plain they were not people of Da Qing.

The price was apparently fair, for a good number of common people had gathered around to buy meat.

The two brothers passed by at a distance. Pei Shaojin had been on the verge of remarking on it, but seeing his elder brother remain calm and take no notice, he held his tongue.

Once back in the carriage, the brothers sat across from each other, and Pei Shaohuai at last came to the point. “It is true that teahouses, wine shops, and entertainment houses are places where much information can be gathered — but what one hears there tends toward grand talk and scheming, and may well be false. Whereas the price of rice, cloth, and firewood in the market — one coin more or one coin less — cannot deceive anyone.”

The market was where abundance and scarcity were most readily perceived.

Pei Shaohuai gave an example: “Shuntian Prefecture has suffered neither drought nor flood this year. We are just past the autumn harvest, with grain still in the farmsteads — it ought to be the most stable time for grain prices. Yet the rice shops in this district have been edging their prices upward. Do you know why? …If you were to inquire a few more times, you would find that the ones busiest buying rice at this time are the small vendors within the city.”

When it came to the firewood, Pei Shaojin took up the thread himself and reasoned it out: “During the slack farming season, farmers often go up the mountain to chop firewood to earn a little extra income. This year, the cold has come early and firewood prices are high, yet there are fewer wood-choppers, not more — it is not that people have grown lazy, but that the farmers have found better work.”

Pei Shaohuai nodded approvingly. “Well reasoned.”

He continued to guide Pei Shaojin’s thinking: “‘Markets’ do not exist only in the lanes and alleys of common life — they exist between nations as well. If one can harness the power of the ‘market,’ victory may be achieved without a battle, sparing the people from the ravages of war.” This remark was clearly a commentary on Pei Shaojin’s essay about defending the frontier against the Northern Yuan.

Relying solely on the nine frontier garrison lines to repel the Northern Yuan forces was not enough — a wolf starved to the extreme was most likely to run in a pack.

Pei Shaojin turned the thought over carefully, weighing each of his elder brother’s words.

“When a good policy is written merely for the sake of writing a good policy, the essay lacks depth of intent and tends to float above the ground.” Pei Shaohuai said. “Every inch of cloth, every mouthful of grain, every stick of firewood in the lives of the common people can be the substance of writing — ‘for the people’ is the finest foundation of intent.”

Pei Shaohuai said earnestly, “Zhongyai, what your brush sets down is not merely words. If your heart holds something worth defending and you write to fight for it, then each stroke of the brush is like an arrow, slaying the enemy from a thousand miles away.” He drew a letter from the broad sleeve of his robe and handed it back to Pei Shaojin, continuing, “The letter you wrote while in Taicang Prefecture is exactly that — a sound and practical policy that can truly be put into action.”

The letter proposed — that after the opening of maritime trade, a system of ship permits be established to regulate seafaring vessels.

Pei Shaohuai had long felt that Pei Shaojin’s suggestion was excellent, yet he had never incorporated it into his own remonstrations to the throne. A proposal this good ought to be submitted by Pei Shaojin himself.

The haze in Pei Shaojin’s heart lifted considerably, his gaze steadying into one of resolve. As he took the letter from his elder brother’s hand, he was visibly moved. “Thank you, Elder Brother, for your guidance today. From this day forward, my writing can no longer be done merely for the sake of writing.”

Two brothers, of one mind — both standing watch for the people, both striving on the people’s behalf.

From student to official, there was always a period of gradual finding one’s way.