The winter north wind howled and raged; on the Jiulong River, the waves never rested.

The reeds on the riverbank had already turned yellow, and in the fading light of dusk, a flock of wild geese was still hurrying on its way through the sky.

The north wind had arrived, and the grand sacrificial rites could be delayed no longer. Yet the list of who would offer the first incense had still not been decided. With no other choice, the clan elder could only stand guard at the gate of the Twenty-Seventh Elder’s residence, hoping to see him at least once and get a firm answer.

He stood from morning all the way through until nightfall.

Only then did the Twenty-Seventh Elder come out, hobbling on his lame leg and carrying a lantern, and coldly tossed out: “Come inside and talk.”

“Great-Uncle, the rites cannot be delayed any further. Your nephew has come to ask you to preside over the offering of the first incense.” The clan elder said with a placating smile. The Twenty-Seventh Elder was of the most senior generation — the sacrificial rites could not proceed without him.

“Qi Yu, you need not play dumb with me while knowing perfectly well what I mean. Do you truly not know in your heart why I refuse to see you?” The Twenty-Seventh Elder showed no goodwill toward the clan elder. With the north wind howling, he demanded: “It is the end of the year and the north wind has come, yet not one of the three great clans has invited the Prefect to offer the first incense. Can any of you look your own conscience in the face?”

“A sycophantic, corrupt Qi Tongzhi — you invited him four or five times. And now that a truly upright official has come, you all stand on the sidelines and look after your own necks. Let me ask you — whether it was opening Shuang’an Bay for fishing, attracting merchants to settle in Tong’an City, training the sailors, or repelling the Japanese pirates — in which of these things has Pei Zhizhou failed us? In which of these things is he unworthy of the first incense?” The Twenty-Seventh Elder laughed coldly, and went on: “In my view, it is not that Pei Zhizhou is unworthy — it is that the Qi Family Hall is unworthy. It is that all three great clans of Shuang’an Prefecture are unworthy.” The more he spoke, the more indignant he grew, until his goatee was trembling with agitation.

The clan elder knew he was in the wrong, and old as he was, he bowed his head like a scolded child and let the great-uncle rebuke him. At the mention of Pei Zhizhou’s merits, his own face flushed with shame.

“Great-Uncle, your nephew is ashamed. What you say, I understand, it is only that…”

“Only what?” The Twenty-Seventh Elder cut him off and said: “Only that the situation is not yet clear — Quanzhou Prefecture and Zhangzhou Prefecture’s great households and clans have been applying pressure from all sides, and you dare not openly offend them, dare not offend either of those two prefectures’ yamens?”

Pei Zhizhou had been in office for less than a year, and Shuang’an had already stolen business from Yuegang. The two prefectures would never accept this lying down.

Prefecture yamens, great clans, and pirates all colluded together — such a force was powerful and formidable, and could easily cut off the Qi Family Hall’s trade connections. The clan elder could not help but proceed with caution.

Lending ships and manpower to the Jiahe Guard was for the purpose of fighting the Japanese pirates. But inviting Pei Zhizhou to offer the first incense was an open declaration of standing on Pei Zhizhou’s side.

The clan elder asked: “Great-Uncle, would it not be too soon to wait until things become clearer?” There was no urgency to do it this year or even next.

“Qi Yu, you were a man who went to sea in your younger years. A ship that catches a favorable wind sails smooth and easy all the way. But miss that wind, and who knows when the next one will come?” The Twenty-Seventh Elder no longer scolded him relentlessly, and spoke instead with sincere gravity: “In this world, where is there such a thing as keeping your head down and having it all ways? When an opportunity is put before your eyes, failing to seize it means it is gone.”

He added: “Furthermore — if Pei Zhizhou had no real ability, why would two prefectures join forces to stand in his way? Only a man of true talent makes others green with envy… mediocrities and dead weight would have died on the road before ever reaching Shuang’an.”

The Twenty-Seventh Elder had cut to the heart of the matter with a single remark, and it woke the clan elder from his haze.

If what the Twenty-Seventh Elder said was true — that the Qi Family Hall, by being in Shuang’an Prefecture, had already offended the two prefectures — then what was there to fear about doing so “openly”?

“If you lack the courage yourself, then let the young men of the clan choose for themselves, rather than having you old fossils hem and haw and make all the decisions.” The Twenty-Seventh Elder said.

“I understand.” The clan elder seemed deep in thought. “Your nephew will come again to ask you another day.” It appeared he had made up his mind.

“If it is not the answer I want to hear, there is no need to come knocking at this old man’s door again.”

The clan elder bowed respectfully and took his leave.

In the two months following the naval battle at Fengwei Gorge, Yan Chengzhao had not been idle.

The atakebune and sekibune that had been brought back, along with the Japanese armor, steel swords, and firearms, were all worth studying carefully in preparation for future encounters.

Know yourself and know your enemy, and you will never be defeated in a hundred battles — the weapons craftsmen of the Divine Mechanism Battalion were kept busy.

The Japanese techniques for building ships were far inferior to those of Da Qing. Large or small, their vessels lacked a keel for support, the hulls no more than empty shells — it was no wonder they were so easily damaged and sank so readily. From this, Yan Chengzhao understood that in future naval battles, as long as Da Qing ships held the advantage of the upwind position, they could confidently ram the enemy without hesitation.

The Japanese steel swords, though the blades were hard and the edges keen, were prone to chipping after sustained use. The best countermeasure was to meet hard with soft, using flexible branches that would bend but not break, fray but not give way entirely.

In terms of firearms, aside from the hand grenades, the Japanese ships had also carried “large tubes” — a kind of oversized musket — whose range and accuracy were far inferior to Da Qing’s crouching tiger cannons.

Just as Pei Shaohuai had once thought: once a breakthrough was made and room given to work in, the people of Da Qing had never lacked in creativity.

In just two short months, the Divine Mechanism Battalion of the Jiahe Guard had crafted several specialized weapons for use against Japanese pirates —

First, a set of defensive armor plating for ships that could be raised and lowered. When two ships pulled broadside together, it could guard against the Japanese pirates throwing hand grenades and against them erecting ladders to board.

Second, the wolf-fang rake. Fujian, situated in the southeast of Da Qing, was abundant in large moso bamboo — thick, straight, and supple. The wolf-fang rake was made from the branching sections of this bamboo, taking lengths of roughly fifteen to sixteen feet, baked over a tung oil fire so that all the branch prongs were aligned forward, each one fitted with iron hooks and barbs, and some coated with poison. In close combat, it could be used to counter Japanese steel swords at a distance, bending without breaking under their blows, and when wielded by two men working in tandem, it left Japanese pirates overwhelmed and unable to cope.

Over the years, the garrison soldiers of Da Qing’s coastal guard stations had grown lax in their drills and slack in their martial training. In individual combat, they were no match for Japan’s samurai and ronin, and whenever they faced the Japanese steel swords, they tended to lose their nerve privately — their formations collapsing before the battle had even truly begun.

With the wolf-fang rake, soldiers could find a measure of courage, and form up in tighter, stronger formations.

Beyond these, there were also various shipboard firearms for naval warfare.

When spring arrived the following year, once the new warships built in Taicang Prefecture reached the Jiahe Guard, Yan Chengzhao would lead his men in modifying them to be both powerful in offense and strong in defense.

Sweeping all before them, advancing without fail.

During this period, Pei Shaohuai paid a visit to the prison cells of the Jiahe Guard, to see the Japanese captive they had taken.

Pei Shaohuai was not ordinarily interested in the business of interrogating prisoners, but when Yan Chengzhao mentioned that this Japanese man was from the Mori clan, Pei Shaohuai’s curiosity was piqued, and he came to have a look.

Japanese people were quite “peculiar” — before capture, utterly unafraid of taking their own lives, yet once their self-termination had failed, they could swiftly adapt and carry on living in the prison cell.

Mori Shiro, in his prison cell, was just like this — crouching in the dark corner of the cell, staring with a hollow, fixed gaze that was truly unsettling.

According to the prison guards, what Mori Shiro did most often was hang by his shackled hands, tilt his head to one side, and painstakingly pluck out each new hair growing from the top of his head, in order to keep his moon-top hairstyle clean and smooth.

Hearing this, Pei Shaohuai made a point of wearing a freshly pressed official robe — his round-collar blue outer garment, black ox-horn belt, and silver pheasant rank badge, each detail proclaiming his official rank.

“Prefect Pei, the Japanese man does not speak a tongue we know. If your lordship would wait a moment, your subordinate will summon a translator.” The attending prison head said respectfully.

A translator — one who specialized in the speech of foreign peoples, used for interpretation, also called a “nine-translation official.”

“There is no need,” said Pei Shaohuai. “Between Da Qing and the Japanese — what does not pass between them is not a matter of language.”

What Pei Shaohuai had come to understand on this visit was not something that could be learned through words.

The moment he stepped through the door, the gaze from the corner of the wall followed him, locking onto him and carefully scrutinizing him. Pei Shaohuai was unmoved. He deliberately used his sleeve to sweep off the table and chairs, covered his nose slightly, and only then sat down.

The eyes can perceive both joy and sorrow; they can also convey hatred and resentment.

Pei Shaohuai smiled his ordinary smile, but it carried a hint of contempt, and Mori Shiro’s eyes grew all the more fierce and hateful — as if he would lunge forward at any moment. Pei Shaohuai’s youthfulness made him all the more bitter and unwilling to accept his defeat.

“The strategy was mine. Your ships — all of them — sank.” Pei Shaohuai said calmly.

The iron chains suddenly clanged and rattled as Mori Shiro lunged like a starving wolf from across the room. Restrained by his shackles but not caring in the least, he screamed at Pei Shaohuai: “Kill me, or I kill you.” His Da Qing official speech was halting and unclear, but barely intelligible.

“So you understand Da Qing’s official speech.” Pei Shaohuai was not surprised. He said: “That is not so strange.”

He said: “The Han emperor bestowed his seal; your kind bowed as vassals during the Sui and Tang dynasties. You studied our Han characters and adopted our institutions. Even your houses and clothing owe their origins to Chang’an, and it was only through this that your barbarian land gained some degree of civilization and learned what it was to be human. This has been so from ancient times to the present — seen in that light, it is rather natural that you would learn the speech of Da Qing.”

Pei Shaohuai paused, glanced at the scarred, scabbed crown of Mori Shiro’s head, and went on: “However, in dress and hair arrangement, you have only managed to learn three parts of being human. The remaining seven parts of your animal nature cannot be changed — deep in your bones you are still beasts who drink blood and eat flesh, never satisfied with what you want.” Especially those samurai clans.

“Kill you!” Mori Shiro thrashed and roared.

Words were useless against a beast. Pei Shaohuai stood up, shook the dust from the wide sleeves of his robe, turned to leave, and tossed back a single sentence: “You will be allowed to die — just not yet.” The words were mild in tone, yet cold through to the bone.

What role Mori Shiro played within the Mori clan, Yan Chengzhao was still having men investigate. Judging by his age and his attire, he had most likely come out on his first “trial expedition,” only to end up in Pei Shaohuai’s prison.

By the twelfth month, the three great clans jointly held the grand sacrificial rites on the same day. In each clan’s ancestral hall, incense candles burned full in the braziers, and the offerings of three kinds of sacrificial meat were arranged on the Eight Immortals tables.

The officiants chanted of the fierce winds and waves of the distant sea, and prayers were offered that the ships carrying their fathers and brothers would be kept safe.

Pei Shaohuai, a man of a different clan and an outsider, traveled back and forth between the three ancestral halls, and together with the assembled elders, offered up the first incense. The incense smoke was thick, and Pei Shaohuai’s eyes were nearly blinded by it; ash fell on the back of his hand and burned him painfully. Yet Pei Shaohuai stood straight throughout, following the guidance of the clan elders, and offered the incense with proper observance.

This stick of incense was an act of reverence for the local customs.

The younger generations of each clan harbored no misgivings about Pei Shaohuai’s youth or his different surname. Along the sea’s edge, living off the sea, they were destined to respect strength and ability.

Once the customary rites were done, the clansmen in the ancestral halls were still busily dividing up the sacrificial meat and sharing in the offerings. Meanwhile, Pei Shaohuai and the three clan elders had already moved to the council room.

“The clan elders have invited me to offer the first incense, and the meaning of this, we all understand in our hearts.” Pei Shaohuai did not seat himself in the high central chair, but paced in front of the several clan elders as he said: “So I will speak plainly.”

“Please speak, Prefect Pei.” Now that there was no turning back, the three clan elders were considerably more straightforward.

“When the ships return next summer, I hope they will be loaded with grain — not gems and spices.”

Trading in grain was a respectable business, but its profits were nowhere near as high as those of gems and spices.

The three clan elders did not feel it was their place to ask too many questions, and replied: “We will follow the Prefect’s instructions.”

From then on, as the morning mist drifted over Shuang’an Bay, hundreds of “fishing boats” each day shot out of the harbor with swift oar-strokes and raised their sails, riding the north wind southward, setting off on the new year’s trading routes.

A magnificent fleet of sails broke through the waves.

After the twelfth month, spring arrived, and for the first time, the Pei and Yan households were spending the new year far from the capital, in this foreign southern land of Fujian. The two families were on close terms and spent much time together, and to let the children feel the festive spirit of the new year, they simply decided to join forces and spend New Year’s Eve together.

Red lanterns lit the whitewashed screen wall; the sound of firecrackers shook the courtyard gate. In the midst of all this noise and cheer, much of the homesickness of being in a strange land was swept away.

Another long, cold winter, and even Shuang’an Prefecture in the southeastern reaches of Fujian, along the sea’s edge, had light snowfall — fine pellets that melted into rain the moment they touched the ground.

Light snow on New Year’s Eve, the heart at leisure, the capacity for wine generously wide.

Outside the main hall’s door, two grand chairs stood to the left and right — one civil official, one military commander. Pei Shaohuai and Yan Chengzhao sat like a pair of “door gods,” watching the night snow by the lantern light of the eaves on one side while clinking cups and drinking warm wine on the other, driving off the chill of winter.

Inside the main hall, bright and warm, a large round table was covered with all manner of dumpling fillings. Thin, round sheets of dumpling skin were rolled out one after another, while Yang Shiyue and the county princess led a few small children in folding dumplings, telling them about the New Year traditions of their homeland. Away from home, some customs could not be changed.

Three little children stood on their chairs, barely managing to reach the round table, each trying to shape the dumplings into circles, or squares, or fold them into the shape of flowers and leaves, squabbling and laughing and competing with one another, having the most wonderful time.

Little Feng was the most mischievous of all — her small flour-dusted hand smeared a pat of flour across her older brother’s left cheek. Little Nan’s eyebrows, the tip of his nose, and his cheeks were now well-dusted with flour. Seeing this, little Yi’er smeared another pat across little Brother Nan’s right cheek — and now at least it was symmetrical.

The two little girls burst out laughing, sides heaving, while little Nan was not the slightest bit cross, and went on diligently folding dumplings. Only his dumplings, like his father’s before him, came out rather uniquely shaped, as neither of them seemed to have any natural talent for it.

Perhaps because of the smell of raw meat, the county princess felt a tightness in her chest and a wave of nausea, and lifted her handkerchief to cover her mouth.

This did not escape Yang Shiyue’s notice. She leaned over and the two women spoke in low, gentle murmurs to each other.

Pei Shaohuai was drinking outside in the hall, and ordinarily should not have been able to notice — but Yan Commander’s ears were too sharp and his reactions too pronounced, as he kept turning his head to look back at his wife, as if he might toss aside his cup and charge inside at any moment. It was impossible for Pei Shaohuai not to notice.

“Yan Commander is formidable,” Pei Shaohuai said with a teasing smile. “You have not let any matter slip by.”

He had brought the Jiahe Guard to full readiness, won the battle against the Japanese pirates, and now had this joyous news approaching.

Yan Chengzhao glanced at little Nan and little Feng, and said: “That is nothing compared to Pei Zhizhou.”

“Clang—” the two men laughed and touched cups together, and this cup of wine tasted especially mellow.

“Thank you, Yan Commander, for being willing to travel all this distance south with me to open up the sea.”

Yan Chengzhao heard that “with me” and agreed immediately: “Of course. It has been a pleasure working together.”

“You are not going to be modest?”

“Pei Prefect’s official rank is indeed somewhat lower than mine.”

The two families dined together, and braved the light snow to set off fireworks, before finally departing deep into the night, each cradling children who had nodded off with drooping heads.

Just after the Lantern Festival had passed, on the seventeenth day of the first month, Pei Shaohuai received an invitation from Prefect Xie of Quanzhou — asking Pei Shaohuai to come to Wangjiang Tower in Quanzhou’s prefectural city for a conversation on the twentieth day of the first month.

Whether it was a genuine invitation or a trap, Pei Shaohuai intended to attend. It was time to go and find out what schemes these local senior officials were plotting.

What was coming could not be avoided indefinitely.

Though Shuang’an and Quanzhou were neighbors, the distance between the two cities was not short. On the twentieth day of the first month, Pei Shaohuai dressed in his ordinary round-collar blue robe, and set out at first light, heading first to Jiahe Island.

The Jiahe Guard dispatched men and ships, and sailing along the bay, had Pei Shaohuai delivered to Quanzhou’s prefectural city before noon.

The Quanzhou Prefecture Deputy Governor met him at the dock, and after the customary pleasantries, escorted Pei Shaohuai to Wangjiang Tower.

“Following the Prefect’s wishes, as it is still early in the day, allow me to first take Pei Prefect on a tour of this prefectural city of Quanzhou — if Pei Prefect is amenable?”

“Thank you for your trouble, Prefect Lu.” Pei Shaohuai agreed.

A tour, of course — nothing more than wanting Pei Shaohuai to see the prosperity and splendor of Quanzhou Prefecture, its people living in peace and happiness, the officials and people in harmony.

All along the way, shops and pavilions stood in dense rows, neatly laid out, the storefronts elegantly decorated, each one distinctive, with two- and three-story buildings predominating, the sounds of vendors’ calls and lively noise unceasing.

The people passing back and forth were dressed, if not in fine silks, then at the very least in neat and presentable attire. Passing by a meat stall, large chunks of fatty meat lay cut across the counter.

From inside the entertainment houses, the sounds of pipes and strings, singing and storytelling mingled with cheers and applause as they drifted out.

Though he sat in a horse carriage and watched from behind a lifted curtain, having made this full circuit, one could see well enough the prosperity of Quanzhou’s prefectural city.

Such a scene, compared to the capital or Suzhou and Hangzhou, was not at all inferior.

Deputy Governor Lu escorted Pei Shaohuai to Wangjiang Tower, saw him to the private room, and then took his leave.

Wangjiang Tower stood on the banks of the Luoyang River — a five-story tall wine house, its furnishings and decor most refined, the interior quiet and elegant, fragrant with tea, clearly a place only the wealthy frequented.

Perhaps because Pei Shaohuai had delayed in coming out to receive him last time, Prefect Xie had a mind to “return the favor” — this time keeping Pei Shaohuai waiting in the private room for two quarters of an hour before making his “fashionably late” entrance.

Pei Shaohuai knew Xie Jia was a veteran schemer. Xie Jia knew Pei Shaohuai was a cunning young fox. Yet both men wore expressions of warm enthusiasm and smiled at each other pleasantly.

They drank a little tea and exchanged pleasantries. Then Prefect Xie stood before the private room window, gazing at the view of the Luoyang River below.

On the river’s surface, official vessels came and went in a constant stream, transporting goods to Quanzhou’s port without cease.

What was interesting was that the Luoyang River had a bend where the current ran swift, and despite the broad width of the river’s surface, at that particular spot vessels would only pass through two or three at a time, all giving a wide berth to the river’s north bank.

Prefect Xie pointed to this bend in the river and asked Pei Shaohuai: “Does Pei Prefect know why vessels avoid the north bank and all keep to the south?”

Prefect Xie had been waiting for Pei Shaohuai to say he did not know, so he could explain — but instead Pei Shaohuai replied: “Ah, I know.”

He said: “There is a large tree root lying submerged beneath the water on the north bank, and it has frequently struck and holed passing vessels.”

Pei Shaohuai had done his homework.

He saw Prefect Xie’s face show a flicker of embarrassment, and the prefect was momentarily at a loss for words. Pei Shaohuai added: “I imagine this submerged tree stump has some other story behind it.” And so he offered a step down.

Only then did Prefect Xie speak, his tone heavy, recounting the story of the tree stump. It turned out that at that bend in the river there had once been a sandbar, on which grew a hundred-year-old banyan tree, lush and full. Passing vessels, seeing the great tree, would steer well clear of it from a distance, and few ever ran into it.

But then one year, a new governor arrived in Quanzhou. Thinking the banyan tree stood in the middle of the river and obstructed shipping, and meaning well, he ordered it cut down to clear the obstacle.

What he had not reckoned on was that cutting down a tree was easy, but pulling out its roots was another matter. The banyan had grown on the sandbar for so long that its roots had gone deep into the earth, tangled and intertwined beyond untangling.

Once the canopy was removed, it became even harder to find a point of leverage — poles could not pry it, ropes could not bind it tight — and in the end the matter had to be left as it was.

Later, the rotting stump slowly sank beneath the water’s surface. Passing vessels, if not careful enough, would strike it and be holed — ships wrecked and people drowned, and the local people suffered greatly from this.

“This governor truly meant well but caused harm — the root of the trouble was left hidden beneath the water, plaguing the people for years on end.” Prefect Xie said with a sigh.

So that was what “root of the trouble” meant here.

It seemed to be a metaphor for something.

After listening patiently to the whole story, Pei Shaohuai asked: “And what became of that governor afterward?”

Prefect Xie laughed with contempt and said: “Naturally he lost the people’s hearts, was driven out by them, found it hard to receive the court’s favor, and died with regret in the end.”

“That is truly a pity.” Pei Shaohuai said, feigning sorrow.

After going to all this effort, Prefect Xie was waiting for Pei Shaohuai to continue feeling moved and continue speaking — but all Pei Shaohuai said was “truly a pity,” and then there was silence.

It was impossible to tell whether Pei Shaohuai truly did not understand, or was pretending not to.

Prefect Xie had no choice but to speak further: “What is exposed above the water is only the canopy of the banyan tree. Momentary boldness and determination can cut away the canopy, but cannot pull up the massive root system beneath the water… Pei Prefect is a triple-crown laureate, erudite and learned, and at such a young age has already risen to the fifth rank — it would not hurt to sit and think carefully about whether this principle holds.”

Pei Shaohuai nodded with apparent solemnity and said: “I understand…”

Prefect Xie smiled with satisfaction.

But then he heard Pei Shaohuai continue: “Prefect Xie has gone to such lengths to invite me here to the prefectural city — you wish me to find a way to pull out this submerged ‘root’… That is easily done. It is not too difficult.”