Because of preconceived notions formed at the outset, Pei Shaohuai had never entertained the thought that a bandit chieftain could be a man of learning.

And in the same way, given that letter written entirely in plain everyday speech, Wang Chu had evidently taken Pei Shaohuai for a pampered young master of no learning or ability — one who had obtained his post as prefect through the influence of his family’s connections or the purchase of office with silver.

As expected, while his attendant arranged the wine and dishes, Wang Chu gave a cold laugh and said, “When I first read Your Excellency’s letter, I had no intention of coming. But then Old Bao Nine mentioned that Your Excellency was exceedingly young… I wanted to see for myself just how young.”

The younger the official, the more it spoke to the absurdity of the court.

He then added, “Looking at you now, your literary refinement and your age do seem rather well-matched.”

Faced with Wang Chu’s mockery, Pei Shaohuai could not explain the true reason, so he simply replied, “That my literary refinement leaves something to be desired is true enough. That I sincerely wish to cooperate is equally true.”

He then asked, “How should this Pei address you — as Ship Master Wang, or Island Master Wang?” — hoping to use the question as a pivot to steer the conversation toward the matter at hand and begin the negotiations proper.

“On the island, my brothers may call me Island Master. But coming from Your Excellency, that word ‘master’ is not something Wang can accept.” Wang Chu was plainly twisting the meaning of Pei Shaohuai’s words with deliberate intent; every remark carried a barb, laced with aloofness and a kind of proud disdain.

Wang Chu poured himself a cup first, drank it to indicate it was not poisoned, and only then filled Pei Shaohuai’s cup.

While pouring, he said with self-deprecating irony, “The world divides people into ranks and grades. Wang once wished to call himself a commoner, but on second thought — to be a commoner, one must have a thatched roof over one’s head and a few meager plots of field to farm, weaving and tilling for a living. One who rents another’s land and sells one’s labor is called a ‘tenant.’ One without work or livelihood, idle and drifting, is called a ‘vagrant.’ And one who has neither a house to shelter in nor land to fill one’s belly — that is called a ‘drifter.’ Wang cannot even qualify as a commoner.”

He concluded, “These are the terms defined by the scholar-officials. Forgive Wang’s dull-wittedness — he does not know what he himself ought to be called.” And with that, he tossed the question back to Pei Shaohuai.

Pei Shaohuai recognized at once that the bandit chieftain before him — who bore all the outward appearance of a scholar — was no simple man. He had come prepared, and from the very first moment he had been in a state of negotiation.

Every word he uttered carried a deliberate purpose.

That letter written in plain speech had become Wang Chu’s pretext. To all appearances, he had been unwilling to come, giving in only reluctantly at the last moment — but in truth, it had all been a stratagem to whet Pei Shaohuai’s appetite.

His elaborate discourse on the social hierarchy was nothing more than a rhetorical tactic — a way of saying that he had taken to plundering at sea not by choice, but because the world had left him with no alternative, leaving him unable even to count himself among the common people. At the same time, he used it to put pressure on Pei Shaohuai and seize the upper hand in the negotiation.

Pei Shaohuai’s purpose was clear: he had come to negotiate cooperation, not to argue about right and wrong. He would not allow himself to be led about by the nose. And so he replied, “Whether ‘tenant,’ ‘vagrant,’ or ‘drifter’ — all are subjects of our great Qing.”

He then offered a reminder of his own: “And yet one would do well not to forget: one who steals from the people is called a ‘thief’; one who robs the people’s goods is called a ‘bandit’; one who betrays the people for profit is called a ‘traitor’; one who wreaks havoc upon the people is called a ‘plunderer.'”

To speak endlessly of being a man of the people, while at the same time preying upon those very people — on what grounds could anyone speak of what to call oneself?

The wine was rich and fragrant; the braised goose gleamed with color. Pei Shaohuai had not touched a single bite. Between an official and a criminal there existed a natural opposition that no shared background in scholarship could bridge with immediate familiarity. A negotiated cooperation was not built on goodwill — it was built on interest.

Wang Chu let out a great laugh and exclaimed, “Well said — thief, bandit, traitor, plunderer! Well said indeed, Your Excellency.” In that moment, his manner and the scholar’s robe he wore seemed entirely at odds with each other. Then he pressed back in challenge: “High officials and wealthy magnates seize the people’s land and drain them to the last drop — is that not stealing? Official-merchant monopolies over the Quanzhou ferry, hoarding all the profits for themselves — is that not robbing? Yet none of those men are thieves or bandits; it is only Wang who is a thief, only Wang who is a bandit?”

“When all of us are simply trying to carve out a way to survive — why is it that those who study, sit the examinations, and take office are celebrated and spoken of with admiration, while the brothers on my island must live in hiding, always running and concealing themselves?” Wang Chu continued.

At last he said with bitter indignation, “The court speaks of recruiting the worthy and the talented — recruiting the worthy and the talented — but in the end, it recruits only the scholar, never the man of valor.”

Pei Shaohuai surmised that Wang Chu had come dressed in the blue robe of a scholar precisely because he was still haunted by his connection to learning — conflicted and yet resigned to what he had become, perhaps unable even to respect himself for it. It was possible that Wang Chu had once been a candidate who had failed the imperial examinations, and with nowhere else to turn, had gone to sea and turned to banditry, using his intellect and cunning to rise to the position of island master.

Faced with Wang Chu’s string of challenges, Pei Shaohuai only answered what he was able to answer, and said, “Gathering a following on an island, patrolling the seas for profit — at the beginning, one can still curse the world’s injustice and cite being driven to desperation, of officials forcing the people to revolt, as justification. But as time passes, a faction grows unsatisfied with merely eating and dressing well, no longer content with ordinary comfort. At that point, where do you go from there? What is seized will always come faster than what is earned.”

“Even if you yourself hold fast to your principles, whether you can keep the men under your command from straying — that remains to be seen,” Pei Shaohuai said.

In the end, it would only result in the people suffering.

And in the end, it would be put down by the authorities and by the people themselves.

That was an outcome that could not be avoided.

By now, the moon had climbed high over the sea. The lunar disc appeared somewhat smaller, but the expanse of sea beneath the moonlight had grown vastly wider. The briny sea air carried on the wind, and the waves crashed in relentless disorder — scattering the romantic poetry of the moon’s first rise, and lending the isolated island in the sea a rawness that was more real.

Taking advantage of Wang Chu’s momentary stillness, Pei Shaohuai cut to the heart of the matter: “What you and I are here to discuss today is cooperation, not right and wrong.”

“The tenth month is nearly upon us. When the Japanese pirates come to raid, neither you nor I can bear to see the coastal people harassed and plundered. We join forces to stop them — I take the merit, you take the reward. Honest silver, honestly earned. Why should either of us refuse?”

They did have a basis for cooperation.

“The Japanese pirates are skilled navigators. I have sparred with them several times and have not once gained the upper hand.” Wang Chu asked with skepticism, “What does Pei Daren have that can defeat them at sea?”

As a sea bandit, Wang Chu was not without some understanding of the situation in Shuang’an Prefecture and Jiahe Garrison.

“As stated in the letter: before the battle begins, your men need only to monitor and signal; after the battle commences, your men need only to block the Japanese pirates’ retreat and cut down any stragglers. The rest is my concern.”

The terms of cooperation had already been laid out in the letter. This meeting today had only one purpose: to see whether Wang Chu would agree.

Wang Chu asked with a trace of suspicion, “Is it truly the case that Your Excellency came to the island today solely to negotiate this one matter of cooperation?”

The moment he posed that question, Wang Chu had ceded the upper hand.

“What else would I be here for?” Pei Shaohuai lifted his cup of hua diao wine, then set it back down with a slight smile. “This is our first meeting. We are each guarding against the other. We cannot even drink a cup of wine at ease — how could we be at ease discussing anything else? With Old Bao Nine carrying messages between us, there will be other opportunities to speak of other matters and debate the rights and wrongs of the world.”

He then added by way of a compliment, “The people of Shuang’an Prefecture widely speak of Island Master Wang’s charitable generosity — how he frequently donates rice and distributes congee to the poor. Surely Island Master Wang has no wish to see the people caught in the chaos of a pirate assault.”

Since Pei Shaohuai was not drinking, Wang Chu could only drink alone. His tone softened somewhat, and he dropped the veiled mockery from his words, saying, “Very well. I accept Your Excellency’s terms.”

“As long as pirate vessels set sail from outside Satsuma Province, I will send word back at the earliest possible moment and report their heading to the prefectural office,” Wang Chu pledged.

“Good.” The matter being settled, Pei Shaohuai rose to take his leave.

He cast a glance at the table full of wine and dishes that had gone nearly untouched — in particular, a plate of thinly sliced braised goose — and said, “Had Island Master Wang truly believed that this Pei was a man of mediocre learning who rose to his position through power and influence, he would not have brought braised goose and hua diao wine to this meeting.”

Robes billowing in the wind, Pei Shaohuai and Yan Chengzhao descended along the winding stone steps, one step at a time.

Dark brownish-black rocks. The hurried crashing of waves. Against this backdrop, Pei Shaohuai’s figure appeared luminous and refined.

That night the full moon shone pure white; its brilliant radiance threatened to mark the sky.

Wang Chu watched Pei Shaohuai’s retreating figure, and understanding dawned. He had believed he had seen through the court’s intentions — but in truth, it was this young official who had seen through him.

……

The vessel returned from Ceng Island to Jiahe Island, sailing with a favorable wind and current, and made swift passage.

Since they had not been able to drink freely on the island earlier, they made up for it now on the deck.

The ship swayed gently. Pei Shaohuai and Yan Chengzhao leaned against the railing, one hand holding a cup, the other holding the flask to pour.

“Yan offers Pei Zhizhou a cup.” Yan Chengzhao was dressed in a constable’s garb, his embroidered scabbard already returned to his waist, and he said with a teasing smile, “This cup is for the grand Zhuangyuan Lang of Da Qing — triple first in all examinations — who lived to see the day when a man mocked him for writing letters without literary refinement.”

Pei Shaohuai clinked cups and drank, then poured a cup in return, saying, “And this Pei offers Commander Yan a cup in return — for that supremely inspired remark: ‘Very round, very bright.'”

After trading jabs at each other’s expense, the two men laughed freely and heartily.

Though Yan Chengzhao was no practitioner of those flowery poems and literary compositions, he was deeply versed in the art of warfare. From the evening’s exchange of words, he had picked up on something beyond the surface, and he said, “With such generous terms — and yet not requesting a single ship or a single man from Wang Chu — Pei Zhizhou never intended from the beginning to use the sea bandits as a fighting force against the Japanese pirates.”

Pei Shaohuai gave a nod of agreement. “Even if Wang Chu had been willing to send ships and men, would I have dared to use them without reservation?” One had to guard against the possibility of the sea bandits playing both sides. He continued, “As long as the sea bandits refrain from seizing the opportunity to come ashore and stir up chaos while the Japanese pirates attack, that alone will be the greatest achievement of today’s negotiation.”

First, settle the external threat. Then, deal with the internal one.

If external and internal threats erupted simultaneously, even three Jiahe Garrisons might not be enough to contain them.

And so Pei Shaohuai’s cooperation with Wang Chu — on the surface an attempt to borrow Wang Chu’s forces — was in reality nothing more than a means to keep Wang Chu pacified and still.

“In times of upheaval, displaced wanderers fill every road. A single bowl of gruel is enough to purchase a man’s loyalty — enough to make him willing to lick blood off a blade and sell his life for you.” Pei Shaohuai remarked, “A so-called great benefactor who gives alms and dispenses charity may not be charitable at all.”

The human heart, like the hidden reefs beneath the vast sea, has the power to overturn ships.

“The months ahead will depend on Commander Yan,” Pei Shaohuai said.

“Of course,” Yan Chengzhao replied. “Now that all these trifling matters are behind us, Pei Zhizhou should finally have some free days to attend to proper business, yes?”

Trifling matters? The meeting on Ceng Island tonight — that was merely a trifling matter?

Pei Shaohuai was puzzled. “What proper business?”

Yan Chengzhao turned away and tossed out a single line: “Looking for a residence, naturally. And purchasing one.”

……

Two days later.

They had agreed to view the residence together today and sign the deed of purchase.

Yan Chengzhao brought his wife and daughter, arriving first. He lifted little Yi’er onto his shoulders and strolled idly through the courtyard with her.

The residence was well-situated — perfectly square, south-facing, peaceful and quiet on all sides. But being an old property, no small number of places would need repair and refurbishment.

“Yi’er, is the courtyard your father found for us good?” Yan Chengzhao asked.

Without furniture yet placed inside, the rooms felt somewhat empty and open. Weeds still grew in the corners here and there.

Little Yi’er did not answer right away. After a pause she asked, “Father, where do Xiao Nan ge-ge and Xiao Feng jie-jie live?”

“Your Uncle Pei, Auntie Pei, and the children live right next door.”

Yi’er’s eyes lit up instantly. None of the property’s other qualities mattered anymore. She urged eagerly, “This place is wonderful, I love it here! Father, choose this one — buy it quickly, buy it now!”

Yan Chengzhao’s expression darkened.

All those residences he had visited and carefully selected — and not one of them could compare to the effect that Pei Shaohuai’s Xiao Nan and Xiao Feng had on her in an instant? A grave miscalculation.

And now Pei Shaohuai had taken the advantage.