The imperial court widely recruited talented and capable individuals, yet it could not tolerate those deemed “prodigies.”

If a single person’s strength could rival that of ten thousand soldiers, how could those in positions of power not feel a creeping dread at the mere sight of such a person?

Perhaps Pei Shaohuai, with the aid of the new-style firearms, could reduce casualties on their side during naval warfare. Yet once the court harbored suspicions, the ravages of war would only claim far more lives in turn.

Besides, Da Qing’s existing firearms were already considered advanced enough — sufficient for their needs.

Yang Shiyue gathered the remaining rough draft sketches left on the writing desk and fed them into the fire basin together, then offered words of comfort: “It does look a little like a shame, but your decision is the right one. One must first preserve oneself before one can preserve others.” She had understood the reasoning behind her husband’s words.

Since time immemorial, it had always been thus: the general wins peace for the realm, yet is never permitted to enjoy that peace himself. History was rife with such examples.

Yang Shiyue used a small poker to stir the ashes, ensuring everything had burned completely before she rose to her feet. She then slid the family letter a little closer toward Pei Shaohuai, saying, “Remember to read the letter Second Brother wrote.”

She had specifically mentioned Pei Shaojin, clearly implying something — it could only mean the letter contained a matter of importance.

Pei Shaohuai opened the envelope at once and found Pei Shaojin’s letter. The brushwork was somewhat lean yet full of bone-like vigor, cascading like a waterfall — ever since Pei Shaojin had entered the imperial court as an official, the sharpness of his brushstrokes had grown ever more pronounced on the outside.

This alone suggested that Pei Shaojin’s recent circumstances were going smoothly.

The letter was written in plain, everyday language, as though the two brothers were chatting face to face. First, it informed the elder brother that all was well at home, that Master Duan was in good health, urging Pei Shaohuai to set his mind at ease and not worry.

Then it relayed a piece of joyful news: Lu Yiyao was already with child, and Xiao Nan and Xiao Feng would soon have a younger sibling.

The entire letter appeared to be nothing but domestic trivialities — until the very last line, which read: “…Of late, Censor Wang has again submitted a memorial, requesting that His Majesty purge the remnant loyalists of the former dynasty so as to preserve Da Qing’s peace. There is no wave without wind. Your brother does not know whether it is the wind stirred by Elder Brother’s presence in the Fujian region that has roused this wave. Elder Brother would do well to conduct himself with caution.”

With that, the letter concluded.

Pei Shaojin understood his elder brother’s capabilities and saw no need for lengthy analysis — a brief word sufficed.

After the fall of the former dynasty, the majority of its remnants had retreated beyond the Nine Frontier Passes to the north, fragmenting into the various Tatar tribes. The “remnant loyalists” Censor Wang referred to were the portion who had fled overseas, consorting with pirates and bandits, periodically harassing the coastal populace and passing merchant vessels in their bid to restore the former dynasty.

This had been one of the reasons the founding Emperor of the Qing dynasty had decreed the maritime prohibition.

Over a century had passed since then, and those overseas “remnant loyalists” had long since ceased to be a significant force. Yet Censor Wang chose this particular moment to raise the matter of “remnant loyalists.” Whether he intended to take advantage of the opening of the seas to eliminate them in one sweep, or whether he harbored some other design entirely, remained unclear.

Pei Shaohuai finished reading, refolded the letter carefully, returned it to the envelope, and took up the letters written by the others to read.

“After all, you are stationed outside the capital,” Yang Shiyue said. “What Second Brother says does make sense.”

Had Pei Shaohuai remained in the capital as an official, he naturally would have had nothing to fear from slander. But having been posted away for several years, who could guarantee that no rift would form between ruler and subject?

“I understand the gravity of the matter — put your mind at ease.” Pei Shaohuai looked at his wife and smiled, his expression relaxed and unhurried.

Much of the worry on Yang Shiyue’s face eased. She sat down and leaned against her husband’s shoulder, saying, “I am both proud that you are a man of such capability and great principle, and yet I am often troubled by just how capable you are.”

“For your sake, and for Xiao Nan and Xiao Feng’s sake, I will not act rashly.”

It was early summer, the moon nearly full, stars fewer than lamplight. Husband and wife exchanged private words in the study, and only in the middle of the night did they at last retire.

……

The following day, the three clan elders came together to the prefectural office to report back, all three having agreed to the conditions Pei Shaohuai had put forward.

Just as the Twenty-Seventh Elder had said, the able-bodied men of Shuang’an Prefecture were of strong character. Once the three clan elders relayed the matter back to their respective clans, a majority raised their hands to volunteer — with such obvious benefits laid plainly before their eyes, why would they not be moved?

In the nights that followed, one cargo vessel after another set sail from Shuang’an Bay toward Jiahe Island, entering the military harbor to await conversion.

This time, they could raise their masts and unfurl their sails without concealment.

In the dark expanse of the sea at night, the wind sang through the sails as the vessels moved forward — like a procession stepping to song.

Crew members who ought to have been resting at home instead assembled and followed their ships to Jiahe Garrison to undergo drills.

……

Time passed swiftly. Seven days were nearly upon them, yet there was still no word from Old Bao Nine, nor had his boat been seen returning across the water.

Tonight would be the final night.

Even Pei Shaohuai began to doubt himself, wondering: could it be that he had been wrong in his assumptions — that those sea bandits who occupied the islands and collected “ship protection fees” and “passage fees” had absolutely no intention of resisting the Japanese pirates, let alone anything so lofty as national righteousness?

Then again, he thought, that could not be right. The letter he had sent offered concrete benefits and interests, not empty appeals to sentiment and reason. The sea bandit leaders should have been moved by such an offer.

Could it be that the bandit chieftain Wang Chu was afraid of being deceived and cheated?

The night had grown late. Pei Shaohuai and Yan Chengzhao sat together in the stone pavilion outside the wild ferry crossing, sharing drinks and keeping watch on the chance that Old Bao Nine might yet return.

Looking eastward, all that met the eye was the vast and boundless sea beneath the moonlight.

Inside the stone pavilion, Yan Chengzhao leaned against a stone pillar. The sea breeze sent his cape billowing wildly, and the elaborate embroidered scabbard at his waist caught the moonlight and shimmered.

“What makes Pei Zhizhou believe these sea bandits would be willing to cooperate?”

Pei Shaohuai was a man of letters, dressed in a plain round-collar blue robe. Beside Yan Chengzhao, the contrast made him appear all the more refined and scholarly. He sat upon a stone pier, gazing out toward the open sea, still hoping Old Bao Nine might arrive, and replied, “The Guiguzi states: ‘Those who benefit together draw near; those who harm one another grow apart.’ At this moment, joining forces against the Japanese pirates is clearly of mutual benefit.”

Yan Chengzhao poured himself a cup of wine and held it in his hand. A sudden impulse came over him to tease Pei Shaohuai, and he said with a laugh, “Could it be that Pei Zhizhou’s letter was so full of classical allusions, written in such an abstruse style, that the bandit chieftain could not make heads or tails of it — and neither could the advisors at his side?”

A man who lived with his blade at his throat relied on brute strength — he was not necessarily well-lettered.

Pei Shaohuai turned a empty wine cup between three fingers, and replied, “I had anticipated that from the start, which is precisely why the letter was written in plain speech: ‘The credit for suppressing the bandits goes to me; the Japanese pirates’ heads go to you.’ Surely even the most unschooled could understand that much?”

With Japanese pirate heads, one could claim a reward from the imperial court. If three or four of the pirates’ ships were destroyed, the reward silver would be no small sum.

He still could not work out where the gap in his reasoning lay.

The night deepened and the wind picked up. It seemed likely that Old Bao Nine would not be coming after all. Pei Shaohuai had Bao Bantou bring the carriage around and made ready to leave. At that very moment, by the light of the moon on the sea, a few mast-poles and sails appeared on the water, and before long a full vessel came into view — a mid-sized ship of five hundred liao.

The ship rode the wind southward, and as it passed beyond the ferry crossing, it lowered a small flat-bottomed boat before sailing on and vanishing once more into the sea.

The man aboard the flat-bottomed boat rowed his oar with great effort toward the shore. Once he stepped ashore, it was clear he was none other than Old Bao Nine, who had been gone for many days.

Whether it was the darkness of the night or something peculiar in his gaze, Pei Shaohuai had the impression that Old Bao Nine looked a good deal more round and well-fed than before, his face gleaming with a flushed, oily sheen. The bandit chieftain had clearly treated Old Bao Nine generously — yet why had he waited until the very last night to send him back with a reply?

Old Bao Nine came before Pei Shaohuai, breathless, and reported his return, handing over Wang Chu’s reply letter.

Pei Shaohuai opened the letter and read it together with Yan Chengzhao. Written upon the page were the words: “On the night of the fifteenth when the full moon rises, meet at the stone pavilion on Ceng Island.”

The characters were written in a fine and elegant small regular script.

Old Bao Nine added, “The chieftain also said that if Your Excellency has concerns about safety, you may bring one attendant onto the island.”

Ceng Island was an extremely small island. On it stood a single small rocky hillock, unobstructed and open to all sides, with only a stone pavilion built atop its peak.

Its very nature had long drawn literary scholars one after another to ascend the island and compose verses while gazing out at the sea and moon.

That Wang Chu had chosen this place for their meeting was advantageous to both parties.

“I understand,” Pei Shaohuai replied. “Go back and tell your chieftain that this official will keep the appointment as agreed.”

……

Since Wang Chu’s character and temperament were entirely unknown to him, it would be best to approach the meeting with caution, to avoid any unexpected development.

The fifteenth and the full moon were only a few days away — preparations needed to be made without delay.

On the journey back, inside the carriage, Pei Shaohuai turned to Yan Chengzhao and asked, “I wonder — among the men in Commander Yan’s camp, is there one who is heroic and valiant, supremely skilled in martial arts, capable of holding his own against a hundred men, able to subdue an opponent in a single move, gifted with eyes that observe all eight directions and ears that hear all four quarters, steady in protecting those in his charge, and yet also possessed of the wisdom to see the larger picture, the discernment to act at the right moment, and the flexibility to adapt to changing circumstances? Would it be possible to prevail upon such a person to pose as my attendant and accompany me onto the island for the appointment?”

Pei Shaohuai gazed at Yan Chengzhao and delivered this long string of flattery with the air of someone discussing the weather.

Remarkably fluent.

One might wonder whether he had rehearsed it privately beforehand.

Yan Chengzhao, who had been sitting with his eyes closed in composed rest, opened them at this. He glanced over at Pei Shaohuai with undisguised contempt and said, “Pei Zhizhou could simply address Yan by name directly — why waste so many words?”

He added, “Before departure, His Majesty gave instructions that Pei Daren’s safety must be ensured at all costs. Those were the words of the Emperor.”

“Commander Yan possesses far more admirable qualities than what this Pei has listed — it is only my poor talent with words that has left me unable to do them full justice,” Pei Shaohuai said with a smile, before immediately pressing on: “Then I shall have to trouble Commander Yan.” He gave no chance for Yan Chengzhao to reconsider.

“Of course,” said Yan Chengzhao, returning to his composed rest with eyes closed. “Once this matter is settled, Pei Zhizhou must not forget about the matter of looking at residences.”

“Of course, of course.”

With Yan Chengzhao arranging the matter of “security,” Pei Shaohuai had nothing further to worry about and could proceed unencumbered.

……

……

The fifteenth night, the moon full.

Gazing east from the lone island, the water meets the sky; the moonlight breaks apart and fills the boat entire.

On the vast and boundless sea, atop Ceng Island’s stone pavilion, a single lantern competed with the moon for brilliance.

Pei Shaohuai arrived on the island ahead of schedule. Watching the jade disc of the moon rise slowly over the sea, he sighed that this truly was a splendid place for viewing the sea and gazing at the moon, and said aloud, “The bright moon emerges from the sea of clouds; vast and boundless, it renders the world of men but a speck. What does Commander Yan make of this scene before us?”

Yan Chengzhao had changed into the clothing of a constable for the occasion, though his bearing remained impossible to conceal. He replied, “Pei Daren, Yan is your attendant at present.” He was reminding Pei Shaohuai to get into character.

Pei Shaohuai made a sound of acknowledgment and corrected himself: “Xiao Yan, what do you make of the scene before you?”

Yan Chengzhao was silent for a long moment, then replied with resignation: “Very round. Very bright.”

Before long, several vessels approached from the north and moored at the edge of Ceng Island — Wang Chu had arrived.

Pei Shaohuai straightened himself and his expression grew considerably more composed and serious. He collected his thoughts, contemplating how to conduct negotiations over the cooperation with Wang Chu, and quietly worried that they might find themselves unable to communicate.

Two figures mounted the stone steps — Wang Chu had also brought one attendant.

As the figures drew nearer, Pei Shaohuai was mildly surprised. The middle-aged man walking at the front was somewhat lean, dressed in a scholar’s blue robe, hair crowned and beard kept, his bearing upright, his movements measured and unhurried.

Were he walking down a street, he would appear to be nothing more than an ordinary middle-aged scholar.

That Wang Chu had come dressed in a blue scholar’s robe seemed to be his way of announcing that he was, in fact, a man of learning.

Behind Wang Chu, his attendant carried a crock of hua diao wine in his left hand and a lacquered food box in his right, and one could faintly catch the fragrance of braised goose. When the literary men of the Jiangnan region gathered, it was their custom to drink wine and savor braised goose.

This bandit chieftain was most likely a man of letters who had come from Jiangnan.

Pei Shaohuai had been mistaken from the outset — this bandit chieftain was no rough, uncultured man.

Wang Chu, upon seeing Pei Shaohuai, was also visibly surprised — whether it was the young official’s age that startled him, or something else, was difficult to say.

Pei Shaohuai rose, and both men exchanged a slight bow before sitting down across from each other.

Wang Chu spoke first: “Wang could scarcely believe it — a man of such distinguished bearing, yet the letter he wrote was filled to the brim with plain and simple language from beginning to end.”

Pei Shaohuai was taken aback.

Behind him, Yan Chengzhao’s face twitched almost imperceptibly — as though he were struggling to suppress a laugh.