Pei Shaohuai could not bear to watch any longer. He boarded his carriage and said to Steward Zhang, “Chang Zhou, return to the residence.”
His principal classic had been the Spring and Autumn Annals — a history text, and the one Pei Shaohuai knew most intimately.
More than two hundred years of major events recorded within it: censuring the Son of Heaven, demoting the feudal lords, punishing the great ministers — in this history, wise rulers and virtuous ministers were named, and treacherous villains and conniving heroes were named as well, but the countless tens of thousands of common people were nothing but numbers.
In the contests of turbulent ages and the machinations of power, ordinary people were the most insignificant of all.
Whatever he witnessed on the streets — whether or not it was caused by him, whether his connection to it was large or small — Pei Shaohuai could not stand idly by. He had come south to open the seas for the good of the people, not to bring harm and disorder upon them.
He returned to the residence.
Pei Shaohuai saw little Nan, little Feng, and little Yi’er playing in the courtyard — apparently playing house and “planting grain,” snapping off grass stems from the flower beds and planting them one by one into the cracks between the courtyard bricks, trotting back and forth with great delight, so absorbed that they hadn’t even noticed their father’s return.
Children are not careful enough — it was inevitable that their boots and sleeves had picked up grass stains and mud, soiling their clothes.
Yang Shiyue sat to one side watching the children, leisurely doing some needlework, and had not restrained the children’s playfulness. In her lap, a deep indigo straight-cut robe was nearly complete — all that remained was to sew the knotted buttons onto the front and embroider a simple pattern at the cuffs and collar.
She knew her husband’s taste in clothing — he had always favored simplicity and understated elegance, and disliked anything elaborate.
At noon, little Nan and little Feng, freed from their play, finally noticed their father had returned. They quickly and obediently washed their hands and ran over for the meal, jostling to sit beside their father.
Pei Shaohuai had no choice but to seat one on each side, attending to both of them.
The dishes were laid out — several dishes and a soup, prepared with the children’s tastes in mind, light and nourishing. Pei Shaohuai had not asked the kitchen to cook separately for the adults.
Though born of a titled noble family and serving as the highest official of a prefecture, his daily life was quite frugal.
What was different from usual was that instead of spoons in little Nan and little Feng’s bowls, each had a small pair of bamboo chopsticks placed beside them.
Little Nan held the chopsticks in one hand and worked at manipulating them with the other, his small hands barely managing to grip them with some awkwardness. He looked up and said proudly to his father, “Father, look — little sister and I have learned to use bamboo chopsticks.”
It turned out Yang Shiyue had recently begun teaching little Nan and little Feng to use chopsticks, and they had learned quite well — but Pei Shaohuai had been so occupied with official duties that he hadn’t returned home until late at night for days on end, and had simply missed it.
Seizing this rare opportunity, little Nan and little Feng were eager to put on a demonstration.
Pei Shaohuai praised them warmly, and took the occasion to explain to the children the origin of chopsticks.
“The top of the bamboo chopstick is square, and the bottom is round — speaking of ‘heaven is square, the earth is round.’ The person holds them in the middle, taking food between heaven and earth.” The words were perhaps a touch too profound for little Nan and little Feng to fully comprehend, but Pei Shaohuai believed that gradual, unnoticed influence always served a purpose. He continued: “To take food with bamboo chopsticks — not pointed, not sharp, not edged, not injuring others — it relies on the harmony of two chopsticks working as one.”
Foreigners struggled to master the technique of using bamboo chopsticks as Da Qing did, and it was not that their fingers were insufficiently nimble — it was that the underlying philosophy was contrary to their own. “Heaven square, earth round; two chopsticks in harmony” was a world apart from “the knife-point aimed forward.”
Pei Shaohuai held the chopsticks and opened and closed them before the children — deft and graceful.
“Eating a meal calls for a clear conscience and an unhurried hand at the chopsticks,” Pei Shaohuai added.
The two little ones tilted their faces upward, listening with an expression of half-understanding, nodding their heads like rattles.
“All right, let us eat first,” Yang Shiyue said with a laugh. “Your father’s great wisdom and philosophy has no end — eat your fill, and then he can speak slowly.”
During the meal, little Feng was not yet skilled with chopsticks, and with a small child’s limited wrist strength, a piece of meat fell onto the dining table.
Little Feng was about to pick up another piece, when she saw her father lift that piece of meat, give it a symbolic blow to dust it off, and place it into his own bowl — a seamless, fluid motion.
Once the meat was in his mouth, Pei Shaohuai noticed a flash of surprise in Nanny Chen’s eyes, and only then did it occur to him that this gesture was inconsistent with his own station.
In a past life where food and clothing were never a concern, Pei Shaohuai had witnessed such an action countless times, in countless places — it was so ordinary to him that in this life too, it had become second nature, and he had demonstrated it to his children without a second thought.
Done completely naturally.
What was more, if this were the days of drinking and trading verses over flowers, when speaking of chopsticks, the lines he would have recited first would certainly have been: “I set down my cup and cast aside my chopsticks, unable to eat; I draw my sword and gaze around, my heart lost in confusion.” But now, explaining chopsticks to little Nan and little Feng, what came to mind was no longer that free-spirited restlessness, nor “Four centuries of the Han dynasty, all decided by the Marquis of Liu in one gesture of his chopsticks” — instead, it was “two chopsticks in harmony, eating side by side.”
He was slowly growing into the role of a father.
After the noon meal, once Yang Shiyue had coaxed the two children to nap, she brought a bowl of cooling herbal tea into the study.
“It has turned to summer heat — drink a bowl of cooling tea to ease the inner fire.”
The husband and wife spoke of the situation in Tong’an City, and both fell into a long sigh. A few days prior, Yang Shiyue had wanted to hire two temporary workers for a few months of miscellaneous tasks; she had passed the word through a go-between, and when Nanny Chen went to make the selection, dozens of people had come scrambling for the positions.
Worried about placing too much pressure on her husband, Yang Shiyue had not dared to share these observations with Pei Shaohuai; she only suggested, “The residence still has some silver remaining. You might take it and use it to fill the gap for now — even a cup of water against a burning cart of firewood is better than nothing, as long as it can hold on until Elder Cousin Lin’s ships arrive in port, things will improve.”
“Do not trouble yourself on my account,” Pei Shaohuai said. “The funds allocated by the Emperor for opening the seas have not yet been touched. I will discuss the matter with Commander Yan tomorrow and release the funds — the people’s situation will improve quickly.”
Pei Shaohuai had come south to open the seas with the Emperor’s blessing: the Emperor had given him authority, and military force — it would make no sense to withhold financial resources as well.
The sum was not enormous, but it was far from insignificant.
Pei Shaohuai continued, “Clear the channels and let the water run; open the windows and let the breeze flow through… The funds may not be much, but as long as coins begin to circulate and the people are kept busy, this land can be brought back to life.”
Since the opposing side had blocked the commercial routes and cut off the livelihoods of many of the people, Pei Shaohuai would simply open a new channel — to stir the stagnant pool back to life.
Southern Fujian was destined to be the pioneering territory for opening the seas; this was also the right moment to address the problem of private money exchanges, lest they become an endless source of trouble — one never knowing when they might be seized by the throat again.
Seeing that her husband already had a plan fully formed in his mind, Yang Shiyue’s first reaction was not joy, but a rush of tears she had long suppressed from worry — they suddenly surged forth, and she said, “As long as you have a plan, all is well.”
Pei Shaohuai drew a handkerchief from his sleeve and gently wiped away the teardrops from his wife’s face, comforting her: “These past days, this home has relied entirely on you. You have worked hard.”
Little Nan and little Feng were at precisely the age of restless little monkeys; Yang Shiyue had managed the children alone, overseen the entire household, worried about her husband’s official duties, and feared he might encounter some danger — all this in a strange place far from home, knowing no one, unable to seek counsel from relatives in the capital. The weight of her anxieties had accumulated deeper and deeper within her.
Pei Shaohuai added, “It was also my carelessness — I neglected you.”
After resting briefly at home, in the afternoon Pei Shaohuai returned to the prefectural yamen.
The clan elders of the Qi, Bao, and Chen families had arrived early and waited inside — they had come in the morning and not found Pei Shaohuai, and had been waiting ever since.
The situation appeared grave and urgent.
The clan elders brought Pei Shaohuai to Qi Family Hall’s cargo warehouse. In the storage building that stood four zhang high, a musty smell of dust and mold pervaded the air. At a single glance, one could take it all in — empty, without a thing inside.
Only a few broken wooden crates were stacked in a corner; some of the shelving had fallen into disrepair and collapsed, left unattended. At the base of a wall where light crept through the cracks, wild grass had grown up on its own.
Elder Qi sighed, “In previous years at this time, we would have already begun purchasing goods, storing them in the warehouse, waiting for the twelfth month to load the merchant ships and set sail with the northern wind.”
From early spring in the fourth month through late autumn in the ninth and tenth months — this stretch of more than half a year was when the sea merchants made their purchases.
Now it was already the seventh or eighth month, and the warehouse did not contain so much as a single bowl, a single packet of tea, or a single bolt of cloth. When the twelfth month came and the northern winds blew, what would they have to take to sea for trade? The clan elders could not help but feel anxious.
Elder Qi ventured to ask, “My lord, perhaps we could raise the grain price just slightly? Not much — just another ten percent — enough so that this year’s merchant fleet does not sail out empty-handed and at a loss.”
Setting sail with nothing but silver and an empty hold was the worst possible option.
Business was about buying and selling — without goods to sell, one could only buy. Sailing out to sea with only silver was not only more dangerous, it also greatly reduced the margin for profit. With dozens of hundreds of ships and two thousand crew members, the expenses accumulated over half a year of travel were no small matter.
They had so many clansmen to support — what they said was born of helplessness.
Elder Qi continued, “If there are no sought-after goods, those foreign merchants may not be willing to exchange grain with us.” In the coming year, if they could only purchase grain, “trading silver for grain” would certainly cost more than “trading goods for grain.”
Pei Shaohuai understood their feelings.
Though they were partners, the matter was of great importance, and there were things Pei Shaohuai could not say to them plainly, certain information he could not disclose. He could only speak to them earnestly: “Since you have all chosen to place your trust in me, I ask that you give me some time — wait a little longer with patience. I will find a way to resolve the matter of goods.”
He also said, “If I should fail in my strategy, it will not be too late then for all of you to extricate yourselves entirely — I will have not a word of complaint.”
Hearing the official address himself as “I” rather than “this official,” the elders sensed his sincerity.
Moreover, having already chosen to align with Pei Shaohuai, withdrawing at this juncture would very likely result in losing on both fronts.
After a long deliberation, the clan elders exchanged glances, and it was Elder Qi who finally spoke: “Then we shall await good news from Prefect Pei.”
“My thanks for your trust.”
“As it happens, there is also a matter I would like to discuss with all the elders,” Pei Shaohuai said. “I intend to continue construction on the Shuang’an Prefecture harbor — not the slow, gradual approach of before, but a full-scale, grand undertaking.”
He continued, “Not only the harbor and docks, but from west to east, we will also widen the courier relay roads, so as to connect east and west and allow goods to flow freely.”
These two lightly spoken sentences carried the meaning of requiring an enormous workforce.
Splitting the mountain for stone, quarrying river sand, tamping the embankment walls — every task required manpower, along with the participation of countless other trades and industries.
The clan elders looked at one another, eyes filled with astonishment, and with some doubt and discomfort as well.
Southern Fujian was far from settled at present. If conscript labor were levied at such a time, with the common people driven to desperation and taking up arms in revolt — what then?
Elder Qi did not dare say outright “forced conscription drives the people to rebellion.” He half-counseled, half-probed: “My lord, even if we widened the east-west roads right now, the goods would not make it in time anyway — and road construction takes no short while. Perhaps it would be better to hold off a while longer?”
Elder Bao added in counsel: “If one wishes to complete both projects, the people of Shuang’an Prefecture alone would likely be insufficient for conscription. I ask that my lord consider carefully.”
Pei Shaohuai smiled lightly and said, “Gentlemen have misunderstood.”
He explained: “The road is being built for the sake of moving goods — but not for this year’s goods.” It was more like building roads for the sake of building roads — the more work there was, the more laborers would be needed.
As for Elder Bao’s concern about “conscription,” Pei Shaohuai explained: “This time, the work is not ‘levied’ but ‘hired.’ This official will allocate funds to pay wages — there is no need for anyone to worry about finding no workers.”
“As for how deeply or how shallowly each of you wishes to participate — that is a matter of your own inclination. After all, this harbor and dock are not being built for this official’s personal benefit.”