The Emperor knew that the Pei brothers shared a close bond, but he had not reckoned on this younger brother’s ability to sing his elder brother’s praises with such fluency, as though reciting a catalog from memory.

“What I meant was — seeing the accomplishments Boyuan has achieved, should you not, as his younger brother, be striving to catch up?” the Emperor said. “I summoned you to my presence — not to listen to you praise your elder brother.”

“I am catching up, Your Majesty,” Pei Shaojin replied, hands clasped in a respectful bow. “I have been catching up all along.”

He offered no explanation of how, but instead said, “I am of the same age as my elder brother, yet I sat the Spring Examinations three years after him. Does Your Majesty perhaps think I did so deliberately?”

He paused, then added, “That is three years’ worth of salary foregone…”

He had simply been unable to catch up — which was precisely why he had been three years behind.

“To the matter at hand, to the matter at hand.” The Emperor waved his hand to close the topic before Pei Shaojin could lead him further astray and start demanding three years’ back pay. He then issued his command directly: “The sailing permit policy — I have already deliberated on it with the Grand Secretariat and the chief officials of the Six Ministries at court, and it is indeed a sound new measure. Since the memorial was submitted by you, this matter shall be handled jointly by you, the Ministry of Personnel, and the Ministry of Finance. My intention is to implement it immediately in the Fujian Administration, without delay.”

“This official obeys Your Majesty’s command.” At the last, Pei Shaojin could not resist appending a note to his earlier praise, saying, “This official will spare no effort to see it properly done, and endeavor to be like my elder brother — so that Your Majesty may feel at ease and at peace.”

“Enough, enough. Go and see to it.” The Emperor waved him off.

The so-called sailing permit required sea merchants, before setting out, to first report to the authorities and fill in their household registration, physical description, name, vessel type, intended destination, and various other details — all to be recorded in full — in exchange for official documentation permitting them to sail. Before departure, the goods being carried outward would be inspected against the permit to verify compliance; upon return, the goods brought back would likewise be inspected.

The measure facilitated the collection of maritime taxes, and also served to prevent unlawful elements from conducting illicit trade — trafficking in labor and preying upon the common people.

Pei Shaojin took his leave and walked out with a spring in his step, his heart quite content.

He understood clearly that by pushing through the sailing permits in Fujian at this particular moment, the Emperor was in effect reclaiming the “right to sail” that had been held by the Maritime Trade Offices — and placing yet another bargaining piece into his elder brother’s hands.

What did it matter that the noble clans of Fujian had a stranglehold on the goods? So long as they could not obtain a sailing permit, they would have no legitimate standing, and would be subject to the new authority. No matter how much cargo they had stockpiled, it would sit at the bottom of their holds.

Of course, with all things being interconnected, timing in any endeavor was everything. Pei Shaohuai had first broken open the entrenched stronghold of the powerful clans of southern Fujian and severed the monopoly between officials and merchants — only after that could the sailing permit policy be put into effect. He had not tried from the outset to use the sailing permits to dismantle the collusion among the clans. That approach would never have worked.

The timing now was exactly right.

After Pei Shaojin’s departure, the Emperor leaned back against the cushion of the dragon throne, stretched his back, and said to himself, “Those two Pei brothers, heh…” He laughed quietly and left the thought unfinished.

His spirits were considerably lifted.

“Imperial Attendant Xiao.”

“This old servant is here.”

The Emperor said, “Go to Xinglong Palace and tell Zheng’er to come to the Imperial Study this afternoon.”

Yan Youzheng — this was none other than the Crown Prince of the Eastern Palace, the only prince who had reached adulthood and still remained within the Forbidden City.

Xinglong Palace stood at the far northern end of the First Eastern Long Street — somewhat out of the way, and no short distance from the Palace of Heavenly Purity. By the time Imperial Attendant Xiao went to deliver the summons and the Crown Prince made his way back, the round trip would indeed not bring them together until the afternoon.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

……

The classical texts held that “among the actions of a person, nothing is greater than filial piety, and among acts of filial piety, none is greater than honoring one’s father.” In this world, the rites between father and son were governed by the principle that “the father is the moral guide of the son.”

Fathers held themselves stern toward their sons — no familiarity, no impropriety. Sons served their fathers with reverence — deferential and respectful in all things.

This was so in ordinary households; it was even more so among the families of officials; and most of all within the imperial clan.

And so, when the Crown Prince of the Eastern Palace came to attend upon the Emperor, the formality exceeded even that of the relationship between sovereign and minister — tender warmth was rarely, if ever, to be seen.

“Your son pays reverent respects to Imperial Father.” The Crown Prince performed the full ceremonial bow and called out respectfully.

“Rise.”

The Crown Prince stood at proper attention, awaiting the Emperor’s questions. Following the usual custom, the rare meetings between father and son generally began with an examination.

In his own day, the Emperor had not been favored by his imperial father — though he was the eldest imperial son, he had not been permitted to marry and establish his own household until the age of twenty-one, and so his children had come late.

The Crown Prince of the Eastern Palace before him was not particularly old — he appeared to be under thirty. His features were not as imposing as the Emperor’s, but he held himself with an upright bearing and a proper countenance. Before his father, however, his head inclined slightly downward, lending him an air of being somewhat at a disadvantage.

“The matter I asked you last time — how have you thought it over?” the Emperor asked.

At their previous meeting, the Emperor had said that the civil and military officials who filled the court, jostling together in a great press, were difficult to distinguish at a glance — and had asked the Crown Prince to consider what kinds of subjects existed, and how those subjects ought to be employed.

It was an examination in the art of sovereign authority.

Yan Youzheng had prepared his answer in advance and replied, “Your son is of the view that the officials at court may be divided into the loyal, the virtuous, and the able. The loyal devote themselves entirely to the service of their ruler; the virtuous speak on behalf of the people; the able tackle the most difficult tasks and overcome hardship. All three qualities are rare and precious. If a single person possesses any two of the three — loyal and virtuous, or loyal and able, or virtuous and able — he may be counted a key minister of the age and is exceedingly difficult to come by, and ought to be treated with great honor. For all three — loyalty, virtue, and ability — to be united in a single person is something one may encounter by fortune but cannot count upon.”

The Emperor listened to the Crown Prince’s answer and was quite satisfied. Holding loyalty, virtue, and ability as his measure, an image rose unbidden in his mind.

As for how to employ them, the Crown Prince continued, “In employing a subject, one should use his strengths and accommodate his weaknesses; and knowing a subject’s character, one must not demand absolute perfection from him, nor treat him with undue strictness. For instance, in employing a loyal official — though one’s heart is at ease in trusting him, his actions may not always meet one’s expectations. In employing a virtuous official — though he works on behalf of the people, he may not necessarily earn a fine reputation for it, and is often subjected to attacks from others; such a person needs to be shielded and protected.”

The Crown Prince had clearly been paying close attention to his father’s daily conduct, for his answer accurately reflected the Emperor’s own style in handling his subordinates.

There was one further passage the Crown Prince had hesitated over whether to include. Seeing that his father’s spirits were rather good today, he gathered a little more courage and went ahead with it: “Employing one’s officials is like constructing a pavilion or a tower. Virtuous officials form the foundation — with a strong foundation of virtuous officials, the structure is stable. Loyal officials are like the outer walls and roof tiles — they shield what is within from wind and rain, and often give their lives and meet their end in doing so. Capable officials are like the high pillars within — they enjoy the most comfort and attract the most attention, holding up the rafters on the strength of their ability alone.”

Sure enough, no sooner had the Crown Prince finished speaking than the color of pleasure on the Emperor’s face faded somewhat.

The Emperor dismissed the others from the room, then said with a stern expression, “As I have told you before — your station is extraordinary and your responsibilities weighty, and you ought to be directing your mind to the arts of authority and governance, not to these idle diversions of the side paths… it does not even rise to the level of a proper diversion.”

The Crown Prince had a particular obsession: he enjoyed observing and studying the pavilions, terraces, and towers within the palace, and had even drawn his own architectural plans, having the people beneath him construct small structures within Xinglong Palace.

He had at one point requested architectural drawings of various buildings from the Ministry of Works, and had also sent people outside the palace on his behalf to survey architectural styles from different places throughout the realm.

All of these activities, however, had been suppressed by the Emperor. The court officials had caught only whispers of the matter and, not knowing the full truth of it, dared not speculate openly.

The Emperor softened his tone slightly and said, “It is not that I wish to be overly strict with you. But when the day comes that you are sovereign, if you openly indulge an obvious preference, the officials around you will pander to that taste, and the foreign tributaries at your borders will supply whatever pleases you — will you still be able to hold together this great realm at that point?” To allow an object to ruin one’s ambition was not acceptable.

The Crown Prince lowered his head a fraction further and replied, “Your son understands the depth of Imperial Father’s concern, and knows where the error lies.”

The Emperor continued, “Where there is loyalty, there is also treachery; where there is ability, there is also mediocrity; where there is virtue, there is also villainy. What you answered just now was still too comfortable in its assumptions — too narrow in its vision.” Within the imperial city, the capital officials might number only several hundred to a thousand, and yet the place was far more complex than anything outside those walls. The Emperor went on, “If it were simply a matter of treacherous, mediocre, and villainous officials, they would not be so difficult to manage. What is difficult is the capable man who carries villainy within him, the mediocre man who carries loyalty within him… If you cannot even see through a person’s true character, how can you govern them?”

The tone was exacting, but there was genuine deliberation behind it.

The Emperor, as a concubine-born eldest imperial son, had not triumphed over Imperial Noble Consort Zhou and the King of Chu in his day merely on the strength of the support of the Hexi faction.

The Crown Prince stood below and listened attentively, not daring to interject.

The Emperor asked, “Liu Rui — a man of ability without virtue, who has stirred disorder in Fujian for many years. Knowing this, do you understand why I still appointed him to take over the position of Administration Commissioner of Fujian?”

This time the Crown Prince did not dare answer hastily. He thought carefully for some time before replying, “Though an able man may lack virtue, when placed in a situation of difficulty, he will, for the sake of his own security, find every means to stabilize the situation. Only once the situation is stabilized can there be any hope of resolving the difficulty. Whereas appointing someone who is loyal and virtuous but without ability tends to result in a person who, carrying nothing but ‘good intentions,’ stirs the waters into ever greater turbidity — all words and no power — and in the end can only atone with death. That serves the common people no good.”

“That is precisely the reasoning,” the Emperor said with a nod, his expression easing a little. He then admonished, “It is not that you are incapable of reasoning these things through — it is that you often let your thoughts wander elsewhere. When you return, apply yourself properly and spend more time in daily reflection on the affairs of the court.”

“Your son reverently heeds Imperial Father’s instruction and does not dare transgress it.”

“You may withdraw for now. I will ask again next time.”

“Your son obeys.”

As Yan Youzheng stepped back, he caught a glimpse of the chessboard on his father’s desk — a half-finished endgame arranged upon it. A trace of wistfulness flickered in his eyes, and was quickly suppressed.

He had retreated to the doorway when his father’s voice reached him again: “Wait — there is one more matter.”

The Crown Prince turned back and stood in respectful attention to listen.

“Zheng’er — beyond what I have just spoken of, the loyal, the virtuous, the able, the treacherous, the mediocre, and the villainous — in your view, how should a household retainer be employed and managed? Such a person may be more dangerous than even a villainous official.”

At these words, the Crown Prince immediately knelt, saying carefully, “Your son does not understand what Imperial Father means.”

His father was only in his fifties — not exactly at his prime, but not elderly either. How could the Crown Prince of the Eastern Palace dare maintain any household retainers of his own?

“There is no need to be alarmed,” the Emperor said. “I simply forgot to pose the question to you just now, and add it here… This is the question I will examine you on the next time we meet. Return and consider it carefully.”

“Your son obeys.”

As the Crown Prince withdrew, his expression was clouded and heavy with a complexity that was difficult to read — whether it was performed or genuine, it was impossible to tell.

Watching his son’s figure retreat and disappear, the Emperor let out a sigh. The fine spirits that Boyuan and Zhongyuan had given him had not lasted half a day before he had disturbed them himself.

The Emperor had lived through it himself, and so believed all the more firmly that genuine familial feeling within the imperial house was too much to hope for.

The wistfulness in the eyes had not been the Crown Prince’s alone — when the Emperor opened Boyuan’s letter and Yan Chengzhao’s secret memorial, and thought of the Crown Prince’s respectful yet distant manner just now, the careful deliberation with which he had chosen every word of his answers, a look of wistfulness surfaced in the Emperor’s own eyes as well.

After some time, Imperial Attendant Xiao returned to the Imperial Study from outside, and found that the Emperor had already composed himself.

The Emperor said, as though struck by a sudden whim, “Oh — has it not been some time since I last saw Academician Pei after he entered the Imperial Academy?”

Imperial Attendant Xiao was momentarily puzzled and could not quite place who this Academician Pei was meant to be.

The Emperor did not reproach him, and explained with a smile, “He is the father of Boyuan and Zhongyuan — Pei Bingyuan.”

Imperial Attendant Xiao recalled him at once and replied, “In response to Your Majesty — it has indeed been some years since the Jingchuan Viscount resigned his post to teach.”

Academicians and erudites at the Imperial Academy rarely entered the palace in the first place, and Pei Bingyuan, who regularly took his students out on practical assignments, even less so.

The Emperor had long forgotten what Pei Bingyuan had written in his resignation memorial, but he remembered clearly that it had been filled, from one end to the other, with deep paternal love.

Seeing the Emperor hesitating somewhat, Imperial Attendant Xiao offered a suggestion: “Shall this old servant make a trip out of the palace and summon the Viscount to come and pay his respects?”

The Emperor made a sound of assent, and immediately added, “Summon him to the palace to reminisce with me — these past few years at the Imperial Academy have been a labor for him.” The more words he added, the more transparent the pretext became.