On the fourth watch of the night on the twenty-eighth day of the third month, the Jingchuan Earl’s Manor was ablaze with lantern light. The two brothers emerged each from their own courtyards — Pei Shaohuai dressed in his deep cerulean official’s robes with a black gauze cap upon his head, while Pei Shaojin wore the tribute scholar’s robe issued by the Ministry of Rites — a pale cerulean round-collared robe of ramie and orchid-grass cloth.
One deep, one pale, both in the cerulean family.
Both brothers were heading into the palace — Pei Shaojin to sit for the Palace Examination, and Pei Shaohuai to attend, as an official, the grand ceremony preceding it.
Pei Shaohuai personally adjusted his younger brother’s square scholar’s cap, lending him an additional measure of refined scholarly air, and reminded him: “Today the Emperor has set the questions himself, so the approach will likely differ quite a bit from past conventions. But no matter how the form changes, the substance remains — write boldly and without reservation.”
“Elder Brother, I understand.”
The lantern light fell upon both their faces, and the brothers stood side by side, nearly equal in height. Such an ordinary scene, on so extraordinary a day, was enough to move anyone who witnessed it.
Two carriages set off together, heading east in tandem, and only parted ways when they drew near the walls of the Imperial City. As a capital official, Pei Shaohuai entered through the Meridian Gate, while Pei Shaojin, as a Palace Examination candidate, first gathered with the other examinees outside the Gate of Heavenly Succession.
When the Hour of the Dragon arrived, the Son of Heaven came to the Hall of Supreme Harmony. Civil and military officials alike, along with over three hundred examinees, performed the great ceremony of obeisance, and the Palace Examination began.
Pei Shaohuai stood among the hundred officials. Knowing that the Emperor had set the questions personally, he felt no small measure of curiosity about this year’s Palace Examination policy essay topic. By convention, such questions were generally structured in three layers — first, an opening quotation from the words of a sage on the art of governance; then a connection to historical precedents from past dynasties or to current affairs; and finally, an invitation for the tribute scholars to set forth their views and proposals.
Encompassing all three layers, a policy essay question typically ran to several hundred characters.
Yet when Grand Secretary Hu read aloud the Palace Examination question, it was only a handful of sentences — only this was heard: “The Son of Heaven puts this question to the learned scholars of the realm: discuss the advantages and disadvantages of Da Qing’s opening of maritime trade, and propose sound strategies for building upon its strengths while guarding against its weaknesses.” Concise and direct.
It was sufficient to show just how resolute the Emperor’s stance on opening maritime trade truly was.
Once the question had been read, the assembled officials withdrew, and the tribute scholars took their seats on the ground and began to compose their answers.
Pei Shaohuai walked at an unhurried pace through the corridor outside the great hall, turning over and savoring in his mind the question the Emperor had set himself.
First: when the sovereign is strong, the ministers are checked. That the Emperor could set such a question with no objection from any of the Grand Secretariat ministers demonstrated that he had the Grand Secretariat firmly in hand — it now functioned more as the Emperor’s private secretariat.
Second: the Emperor was personally examining the tribute scholars, and if he then personally read and assessed their papers himself, the ideal of “sons in learning to the Son of Heaven” would be realized to its fullest extent. The Emperor wished to replace the old ministers with new ones — to dismiss those who were obstinate and to promote those he trusted.
The Emperor was growing more decisive in word and deed with each passing day, and he supported the series of new policies Pei Shaohuai had proposed. They were clearly on the same side. And yet, a quiet unease stirred within Pei Shaohuai — he did not know whether the Emperor could bring himself to tolerate the gradual diminishing of his scepter someday.
In this world, could an emperor who sits stably upon the throne truly have only one face? Pei Shaohuai paused in his steps, collected himself, and for the time being set these thoughts aside. The Emperor’s compassion for and devotion to the people was already an exceptionally rare and enlightened quality. So long as the Emperor continued to hold to this path, the two of them could go on as wise sovereign and worthy minister.
Pei Shaohuai turned his thoughts elsewhere, reflecting that for Shaojin and Yancheng, writing on the topic of “the advantages and disadvantages of opening maritime trade” was sure to feel like a fish returned to water — they could set down upon paper everything they had learned and witnessed over the years. All those years spent studying away from home would not have been in vain.
His heart felt considerably lighter.
His thoughts continued to flow as he walked, and before he realized it, he had arrived back at the offices of the Six Supervising Secretariats. His mind still elsewhere, when Pei Shaohuai stepped into his office chamber and noticed a silhouette against the wall, he gave a slight start.
Looking more carefully, he realized it was Commander Yan who had come by.
“Pei Daren was away. This one was presumptuous and helped himself — boiled a kettle, made a cup of tea. I trust Pei Daren does not mind,” said Yan Chengzhao.
It seemed he had been waiting here for some time.
“Commander Yan seems quite at home here,” Pei Shaohuai said with a laugh, then asked, “I haven’t seen Commander Yan since the twelfth month — it’s been a while.”
Yan Chengzhao replied, “Two deputy officials from the Southern Embroidered Uniform Guard accompanied the Ministry of Personnel on the southern inspection tour. The office has had a great deal of business and insufficient hands, so I haven’t been entering the palace as often lately.” He offered this with perfect composure — a perfectly composed untruth.
“Since you’re so busy, what wind blew Commander Yan here today?”
“To deliver this to Pei Daren.” Yan Chengzhao replied, then reached into the front of his robe with a solemn and deliberate air, as though extracting something of grave importance.
Pei Shaohuai had assumed Yan Chengzhao had uncovered some important piece of evidence from elsewhere and had come to discuss a case — but instead, he watched as Yan Chengzhao produced a single red-dyed egg and held it out before him.
Pei Shaohuai’s expression, which had grown rather serious, instantly dissolved into warmth and smiles. He accepted the red egg and offered his congratulations: “Congratulations to Commander Yan on the birth of a daughter.”
He added: “Commander Yan delivering a single red egg in person — that is rarer and more precious than sending a bar of gold.”
Yan Chengzhao was visibly pleased and proud, yet still tried to contain it — though unable to keep the corners of his mouth from curling upward. He said: “These past days have tired Pei Daren out, entering the palace alone so often to play chess.” Then, with a show of pressing business, he added, “There are still matters to attend to at the two offices. I’ll take my leave.”
“I’ll see Commander Yan out.”
“No need.”
Returning to the Northern and Southern Embroidered Uniform Guard offices would require going through the south gate, yet Pei Shaohuai watched as Yan Chengzhao headed toward the east gate instead.
The Emperor remained in the Hall of Supreme Harmony for a full two hours — not only observing the tribute scholars at work from his elevated seat, but also touring among them with Grand Secretary Hu at his side, and not departing until close to the noon hour.
As for the examinees below, more than half the allotted time had passed, and many had yet to produce a coherent composition. Those who ordinarily wrote with fluid fluency now found their thoughts dried up, laboring through long pauses to produce only a few sentences.
One reason was that the question had not quoted the words of any sage, leaving them unable to write reflections on classical doctrine — which stripped away a great deal of their usual filler.
A second reason was that many of the tribute scholars had never laid eyes on the open sea, had never acquainted themselves with maritime trade, and had even less knowledge of the hardships of coastal communities — how then could they grasp the intricate workings bound up within the matter?
Unable to write empty platitudes, and with no genuine knowledge to draw upon, such a policy essay was naturally difficult to write.
Those examinees who had carefully studied the writings of the Northern Guest found themselves rather grateful, for the Northern Guest had written two essays related to the opening of maritime trade, and they could draw a measure of reference from these.
Those scholars who had been born along the coast should, by rights, have enjoyed the greatest advantage — yet among them too, there were no few who had been born beside the sea without ever watching the tides rise and fall, who had lived among the common people without ever knowing the hardships of common people’s lives. For them, too, it was all in vain.
When Pei Shaojin first heard the question, a flicker of excitement passed through him — but he calmed himself quickly and settled into composing his answer with measured steadiness.
His elder brother had championed the opening of maritime trade wholeheartedly, yet had also acknowledged that if the process were handled carelessly or improperly, drawbacks would inevitably arise and the people would suffer. Therefore, to boldly identify the drawbacks of opening maritime trade was not to oppose it, but to pursue it more securely.
The Emperor had set the question in a direct and economical manner, and Pei Shaojin wrote his answer with the same directness — no words of flattery, and a clear thesis established from the very opening line: “Strengthening agriculture to protect the people is the foundation for securing the nation; training and drilling a naval force is the instrument for defending the nation; only then can maritime trade be opened and the channels of prosperity broadened.”
He wrote that the three elements — the people’s stable livelihood, a strong naval force, and open maritime trade — were mutually supporting and mutually sustaining, but that if any one of the three were lacking, drawbacks would easily arise.
For example: the silk and brocade fabrics most in demand for export were all produced in the fields. Once maritime trade was opened, merchants and wealthy households, seeing great profit in mulberry cultivation and silkworm raising, would find it easy to dispossess the people of their farmland, leaving them without grain and unable to clothe and feed themselves.
As another example: the more prosperous the ports of maritime trade became, the more easily they would be harassed by Japanese pirates and maritime raiders if there were no naval force stationed there to hold the line.
In his closing, Pei Shaojin argued that the opening of maritime trade was a great undertaking that required the full strength of the nation — one point set in motion, and everything else would move accordingly. If the opening of maritime trade were ever to truly succeed, it would mean far more than simply trading with the nations of the world; it would mean that every trade and industry within Da Qing had achieved its own measure of flourishing.
By the time he had written this, Pei Shaojin finally understood why his elder brother had been so insistent on making maritime trade his entry point. What appeared to be the doing of a single thing was in reality bound up with a thousand threads and ten thousand strands, pressing the court to address each of them one by one and see them through.
After finishing, he read back through the essay, and Pei Shaojin felt a faint sense of unreality — he could scarcely believe this composition had been written by him on the spot in the Hall of Supreme Harmony. Then he thought more carefully: every word and sentence could be traced back to something that had taken root through the course of everyday life — conversations with his tutors, his father, the Southern Residence Master, and his elder brother had themselves been a form of accumulation.
As the sky began to darken, many examinees in the hall were still writing furiously. After submitting his paper, Pei Shaojin left the hall through the side gate at the southeast corner, waited for Yancheng to emerge, and then exited the palace led by officials of the Ministry of Rites.
The Palace Examination was over. Three days hence, at the Proclamation Ceremony, the results would make themselves known.
That evening, the East Wing was ablaze with light. Not a single capital official among the Grand Secretariat academicians or the heads of the Six Ministries and Nine Courts of Justice was absent — because the Emperor had spoken one sentence: “We shall read the papers personally.”
Grand Secretary Hu asked: “If Your Majesty reads the papers personally, this old minister believes the step of sealing the names may well be omitted.” After all, the sealing of names was meant to prevent bias among the ministers — it was not designed to prevent the Emperor himself from choosing whom he pleased.
“Still follow the regulations.” The Emperor shook his head, then continued: “In the interest of fairness, the Palace Examination selection of scholars shall be judged solely on whether the views expressed are incisive and whether the composition runs shallow or deep — without regard to names or backgrounds.”
And so, after the names on all three hundred or more papers were sealed and covered, they were arranged in orderly rows on the writing desks, and the Emperor began reading through them with his assembled ministers.
Two days later, all the papers had been ranked. All that remained was to unseal the names and fill in the Golden List. The Emperor was in excellent spirits — though a fair number of scholars had been unable to finish their compositions, or had produced nothing of substance, there were also more than a dozen who had answered with genuine insight, earning the Emperor’s admiration.
The Emperor instructed: “Summon the top three of the Yi You examination year and have them unseal the papers.”
It was not that he needed the three to come — it was that he wished to summon Pei Shaohuai. As the matter concerned maritime trade, the Emperor still had Boyuan on his mind. The new ministers selected today were all people who could be put to use for maritime trade.
And at this point, Pei Shaohuai no longer needed to avoid the appearance of a conflict of interest.
“Your ministers pay their respects to Your Majesty.” The top three of the Yi You examination year arrived at the East Wing.
After the Emperor smiled and explained his intention, Pei Shaohuai immediately grasped the deeper meaning behind it. Confronted with this act of imperial favor, so carefully considered, Pei Shaohuai felt a faint pang of guilt.
“Scholarship and learning are transmitted from one generation to the next — today, let the three of you unseal the papers and fill in the Golden List,” the Emperor said.
Regardless of whose names appeared once the seals were broken, the rankings on the Golden List would not change. Those on the list were, without question, sons in learning to the Son of Heaven.
“Your ministers receive the command.”
Pei Shaohuai stepped up to the desk and reached out to take the first paper. He had only opened it and glanced at it for a moment when he froze — the brushstrokes on this paper, whenever the writer lifted the brush at the end of a character, would invariably sweep upward with an easy, unstudied flourish, leaving the final stroke just a fraction longer than it needed to be.
Anyone else would never have detected so minute a difference. But Pei Shaohuai and his younger brother had studied side by side for over a decade — how could he fail to recognize it?
Shaojin had taken first place.
Pei Shaohuai had not yet finished unsealing his paper when the other two men reported their rankings first.
Former Third Place Zhong Wang Yue called out: “Palace Examination of the Wu Zi Year — Third Place Xu Yancheng, courtesy name Ziheng.”
Former Second Place Ma Tingwen called out: “Palace Examination of the Wu Zi Year — Second Place Yang Xiangquan, courtesy name Nianqing.”
Pei Shaohuai quickly removed the binding thread, lifted the thick paper away, and found the familiar name on the cover just as he had expected. He called out: “Palace Examination of the Wu Zi Year — First Place Pei Shaojin, courtesy name Zhongyai.”
Grand Secretary Hu led the assembled ministers in stepping forward to offer congratulations: “Congratulations to Your Majesty on obtaining yet another man of virtue and talent.”
Then Grand Secretary Hu added: “Your Majesty’s discerning eye has identified true gems — these three men are precisely the top three from the Spring Examination.” In truth, he was praising himself for having made a fair and just selection in the Metropolitan Examination, having chosen talents whom the Emperor admired.
After the papers were unsealed and the Golden List filled in, Pei Shaohuai returned to the manor. Though he now knew the results, he held himself back and did not tell Shaojin in advance.
He wanted Shaojin to be standing before the Hall of Supreme Harmony at the Proclamation Ceremony, and to hear with his own ears the solemn threefold calling of the Court of Imperial Entertainments official.