After Yan Chengzhao’s departure, the study grew quiet and still.

From time to time, the call of wild geese carried down from the horizon, speaking of the deep arrival of autumn.

Pei Shaohuai sat composed at his writing desk, still turning over Yan Chengzhao’s words — could the treacherous party truly be concealed among those closest to him? Among his own intimate circle?

Going through it all once more in his mind, he found it most unlikely.

The household servants were simply not capable of it. For one thing, he knew each of them through and through. For another, Pei Shaohuai kept his official matters and domestic matters entirely separate — even with Chang Fan, he had never discussed or revealed anything of substance regarding official documents or business.

His chief examiner, Zhang Lingyi, had risen to the rank of Grand Secretary. If Zhang Lingyi had truly been involved and harbored ambitions of becoming a regent holding power, why would he go to the trouble and effort of fostering Pei Shaohuai, only to have his own protege become a thorn in his side? Any action required a motive.

Among several households connected to his by marriage — if anyone could be said to know Pei Shaohuai best, it was the Xu family of modest scholarly background: his tutor, his brother-in-law, and his fellow students were all within the Xu household. By the same token, Pei Shaohuai had grown up studying there and knew the Xu household equally well. The networks in southern Fujian had been in place for ten years at minimum, and decades at most — if the Xu household had any connection to them, there was no way Pei Shaohuai could have failed to detect even the faintest thread.

As for his wife’s family, the Yang household, which was spoken of as holding a collection of works “numbering in the ten thousands in the capital, with eight thousand belonging to the Yang family library” — it was a family of literary renown and scholarly tradition with no shortage of talent, its members holding high office at court across generations. How could such a household risk involvement in affairs that would “cut off the fragrance of their scholarly lineage”?

The other households connected to his by marriage operated on the same principle — a shared rise and a shared fall.

Pei Shaohuai examined all of this so carefully because he feared he might be failing to see what was directly beneath the light.

The opposing party was too crafty — concealed in the darkness, when he turned to look back they dispersed like smoke and left no trace; when he stepped forward, they clung to him like a shadow, uncanny and persistent. He could not afford not to be cautious.

He sat thus for more than an hour. The sun had risen high by the time it was the midday meal, and Yang Shiyue came and knocked softly at the door: “Official — it is time for the midday meal.”

Only then did Pei Shaohuai come back to himself.

The round table was not yet set with dishes. Pei Shaohuai had barely taken his seat when little Feng came rushing over, dove with practiced ease under his arm, and climbed into his embrace to sit upon his knee.

She called out sweetly, “Father.”

Little Nan’s temperament inclined toward stillness. Small as he was, he already understood composure, and even as he came running over, he remembered to hold up the hem of his robe so as not to trip. He stood before Pei Shaohuai and said, “Father, I have memorized yesterday’s lesson.”

Little Feng remembered too, and followed with, “Father, I memorized mine as well.”

After earning Pei Shaohuai’s praise, little Nan said, “Father can teach us something new now.”

“There is no hurry. Memorize it thoroughly, then learn the characters carefully, and once you know them all, practice writing them — do not rush on to something new,” Pei Shaohuai said. “What you must do at this stage is help your mother with things around the house, or play in the courtyard, eat well, and sleep soundly — that is the proper study for your age.”

The two children were still young, and one could not push them too hard. At their age, having an interest in learning was already enough.

A talent for study perhaps owed something to what ran in the blood — the natural gifts of little Nan and little Feng for memorization surpassed what Pei Shaohuai himself had shown at the same age.

It was a curious thing — though he himself had placed first in the provincial examinations as a young man and earned the title of Zhuangyuan at a young age, and his brother had done likewise, faced now with a son and daughter of exceptional gifts, Pei Shaohuai had never once felt the urge to have them “make their name young.”

“Hoping your son will become a dragon” was one thing — “hoping your young child to become a dragon” was another. Pressing a child hard in early years always carried within it something of the parent’s private wish and private desire.

Thinking this through, Pei Shaohuai laughed at himself inwardly — this was hardly the most grounded of thoughts. If little Nan and little Feng were of ordinary aptitude, he would likely feel quite differently about it.

Whatever the case, to first let them grow up safely, and then achieve excellence in learning — this path was never the wrong one.

The family sat down to an ordinary midday meal. Looking after the two little ones took a little longer than usual. Such quiet, unremarkable domesticity lightened some of the worry weighing on Pei Shaohuai’s heart.

……

At the mouth of the Nine Dragon River, the evening waves grew still. A single slender bamboo pole fished for an autumn’s worth of catch.

In autumn the river fish were fat and fine, and angling with a rod was one of the pleasures favored by men of letters. And so along the banks of the Nine Dragon River — on rocky outcroppings, in groves of bamboo — one could see a few long, fine bamboo poles reaching out, their lines cast into the current in search of plump fish.

The anglers wore bamboo sedge hats, each gesture a brushstroke of ink in a painting, lending the river scene a quality of poetry.

Pei Shaohuai had found himself a quiet spot, using fishing to settle the restlessness that had taken up residence in him of late — the lingering harm was not yet wholly resolved, and worry was inevitable.

The more he tried to settle it, the harder it was to take the next step.

The hour was drawing toward evening, and a few thick clouds had gathered over the western mountains, blocking the slanting sun, leaving the bamboo grove along the riverbank considerably more dim. A gust of autumn evening wind blew through, and the bamboo leaves rustled and whispered.

A few bamboo stalks that had grown out in long arcs over the river swayed most forcefully in the wind — as the wind came, the stalks bowed low, nearly touching the water; as the wind passed, they swayed upright once more.

And that same gust of wind carried on to the western mountain, scattered the clouds and mist along the mountain’s ridge, and the setting sun appeared again in all its vivid color.

The straw float on the fishing line showed not the faintest sign of sinking, and it was clear no fish would be caught today. And yet Pei Shaohuai found his heart considerably more open — all because the scene before him brought to mind those lines by Chen Yuyi: “The sea presses the bamboo boughs low and they lift again; the wind blows the mountain’s face dark and it clears once more.”

Even Jiang Ziya at his fishing made a point of the principle that only willing fish need take the hook — and if the fish were too clever to bite today, that was only natural.

Just then, a dry rustle of bamboo leaves sounded behind him, footsteps with a rhythm so even they might have been measured, perfectly steady.

The newcomer bent down, picked up a few flat stones, and sent them skipping out toward the center of the river.

The flat stones skipped across the surface, each touch lifting a small spray of water, and leaving ring after ring of ripples spreading outward.

“Prefect Pei is certainly in a fine mood — no wonder he was nowhere to be found at the prefectural office. It turns out he was hiding here fishing.” It was Yan Chengzhao’s voice.

“What matter was so urgent that it required Commander Yan himself to come find this official?”

Yan Chengzhao reached for the books beside Pei Shaohuai, intending to use them as a cushion to sit on, only to have Pei Shaohuai snatch them back.

“Is there not enough bare stone here for you to sit on?” Pei Shaohuai understood that Yan Chengzhao had something of a fastidious streak when it came to cleanliness — but sitting on his books was out of the question.

Yan Chengzhao sat down with a faint look of distaste, and said, “Today, on something of an impulse, I thought I would come and express my thanks to Prefect Pei.”

“Commander Yan’s ‘impulse’… is rather distinctive,” Pei Shaohuai said with a wry smile — expressing gratitude as an impulse. He added, “We are neighbors. What is there to thank?”

“When I lived within the Anping Commandery Prince’s household, I believed that was simply what the bond between father and son was supposed to be,” Yan Chengzhao said. “Having been neighbors with Prefect Pei for two years, I came to see that it need not be so.” He felt this all the more now that he had a pair of children of his own.

Yan Chengzhao’s heart was not as cold within as his face suggested.

He held a flat stone in his fingers — its shape was quite irregular. Yan Chengzhao sent it spinning out with force, curving through the air in a wide arc, and said, “A jagged, broken stone — only by spinning and spinning without stop can it appear, from a distance, round and whole.”

Pei Shaohuai understood. He thought of the somewhat misapplied “theory of the family of origin” from a later era — of those people who had worked so hard to set down the past, pressed forward, and shone with their own light. To call it merely “a closed door and an open window” was not fair to them.

They were fine, just as they were.

But the topic carried too much weight, and Pei Shaohuai feigned a slight frown and said, “I understand the meaning. I accept the gratitude.”

He paused, then added, “Only — with Commander Yan skipping stones at this rate, how am I supposed to catch any fish?” He gave a small lift of the fishing rod to make his point.

Today’s fishless expedition — all Yan Chengzhao’s fault.

With that, Pei Shaohuai smoothly shifted to the next subject: “Commander Yan has come all this way — there must be other pressing matters to discuss?”

Yan Chengzhao nodded and said, “Since the opposing party has already withdrawn from Fujian, is it not time for us to settle our accounts properly?” They had not moved before because they had not wanted to startle the quarry.

Furthermore, the men who had broken into the Yan household that night bore connections to all three major clans. If Yan Chengzhao did not settle this debt properly, how would he swallow the outrage?

“Indeed it is time,” Pei Shaohuai replied.

Not merely to settle old accounts — but to turn the page and begin a new chapter. After two long and turbulent years, Fujian had finally been cleared into open ground, and the imperial edict to open maritime trade to the sea ought now to see the light of day.

The fact that the snake had fled was no reason to delay the proper work at hand.

To carry the goods made by the common people to farther shores — to bring back more grain for Da Qing to guard against the long winter — this was a matter that could not be put off.

“Then shall we each attend to our own portion?”

“Yes.” Pei Shaohuai agreed.

Yan Chengzhao would be responsible for dealing with and arresting the three clans — Lin, Chen, and Shangguan — and shaking loose the goods in their hands. Pei Shaohuai would be responsible for disposing of those goods, promulgating the maritime trade opening, and implementing the sailing permit policy.

After Yan Chengzhao’s departure, the float on the fishing line showed still no sign of stirring. Before long, Pei Shaohuai gathered his things as well and set off home, carrying an empty bucket.

At the evening meal, though Pei Shaohuai had caught no fish, the table was set with a dish of southern Fujian braised fish.

Nanny Chen explained, “Before the master had returned, the Yan household had someone send this over. I saw it was fresh and plump and had it taken to the kitchen.”

“That Yan Chengzhao,” Pei Shaohuai said with a wry, helpless smile.

Yang Shiyue saw her husband’s expression of mingled feelings and asked, “Official — is something the matter?”

Pei Shaohuai naturally could not say that this was Yan Chengzhao’s way of mocking him for not catching any fish, and brushed it aside: “Nothing at all. Let us eat.”

……

……

The following day, the morning had barely begun before two public notices were posted, and before midday the various clans of Shuan’an Prefecture were beating gongs and drums in celebration.

Long banquet tables fitted end-to-end along the alleyways, one relay of celebratory feasting following another — no matter how lavish the celebrations, they could barely contain the joy of the people.

Two public notices — first: Shuan’an Prefecture was officially opening its port. All civilian vessels, merchant ships, and fishing boats could enter and depart freely. Second: sailing permits were required in order to conduct trade legitimately, following the regulations, and maritime taxes were to be paid accordingly.

This port was no longer the exclusive domain of the official-merchant class.

The common people could engage in foreign trade and make a living — no longer needing to hide and conceal themselves.

So long as the sea was opened and the people had a means of earning a livelihood, the maritime taxes that were due would naturally be paid.

Though the various indications beforehand had all pointed to the likelihood of Shuan’an Prefecture opening to maritime trade, when the notice was posted and the wish fulfilled, the people’s joy was not diminished by even a fraction.

Very quickly, the news also reached the surrounding counties, spreading to Zhangzhou Prefecture, to Quanzhou Prefecture, and then throughout all of Fujian.

In Dehua County, in the middle of the night, the craftsmen could not sleep. They fired up the kilns through the night, loading a batch of clay forms to be fired. The firelight fell across everyone’s faces, their sweat mingled with joy. They knew — now that the sea was open and the road was clear, these kilns, even if they ran without stopping year after year, could not fire enough white porcelain to meet next year’s demand.

High on the Wuyi Mountains, in the period between the Cold Dew and the Start of Winter, the tea harvested during this interval was called “winter tips.” The tea farmers took great care in collecting the final batch of this year’s leaves, then began to close the mountain and tend attentively to tea tree after tea tree on hillside after hillside, hoping that after a full winter’s rest, they would put forth their finest new leaves come spring.

In the bamboo forests of Shunchang, bamboo stalk after bamboo stalk fell, only for bamboo shoot after bamboo shoot to spring up after a fresh rain. Bundle after bundle of bamboo strips was soaked in pools, and only when they had softened into fiber — turned into bamboo pulp — did the making of “rough-edged paper” truly begin. These vast stretches of bamboo could not grow food crops, yet under the name of Shunchang rough-edged paper, they supported generation after generation of the common people.

Beyond this, the small workshops that dried and salted fish, carved lacquered boxes, wove grass mats, glued and folded fans — all of them were pressing to keep up with the work.

Everyone understood — now that the Shuan’an port had opened and the ships had gone out, there would only ever be too little of their goods to sell, and never the wrong kind.

Wisdom accumulated across many generations had given them confidence enough in their own wares.

……

Clans large and small, one after another, came seeking the Prefect to celebrate with him.

If he accompanied each and every household, he would not be able to divide himself and would neglect the real work at hand.

Pei Shaohuai understood the people’s joy, but he truly had many pressing matters waiting to be done, and so he declined them all without exception and retreated to Jia He Island.

The three clan elders of Shuan’an Prefecture — Qi, Bao, and Chen — whether they waited outside the prefectural office or outside the Pei household, could not manage to intercept the Prefect.

Clan Elder Bao vented his feelings onto Bao Bantou, saying, “Bao the Third — you are the head constable of the prefectural office, and you let the Prefect slip away without a trace? You don’t even know where he has gone. What am I to do with you?”

Bao Bantou was helpless, and thought to himself — the legs are on the Prefect’s person. How could he possibly follow closely enough to stop him?

……

Yan Chengzhao dealt in succession with the three great clans — Lin, Chen, and Shangguan — in Quanzhou and Zhangzhou. The crimes did not warrant the extermination of their entire lines, but the main branches of the family could not escape the death penalty. The officials among their members were imprisoned one by one, and the entire clan was like a great tree toppling — scattered and impossible to reconstitute to their former standing.

In Fujian, no single family would dominate the trade any longer.

The goods they had monopolized and stockpiled became precisely the evidence of the disorder they had brought upon the region.

This cargo was released at market price, and small merchant ship-owners from all parts came to receive their share of it, as jubilant as if it were the New Year.

Maritime merchants obtained their goods, and Da Qing’s national treasury was replenished by some measure.

As for Xie Jia, who still sat in his position as Prefect of Quanzhou Prefecture, Yan Chengzhao had promised Pei Shaohuai to let Pei Shaohuai make one last attempt — to see whether anything of use could be pressed out of him.

In the Quanzhou Prefectural Office — the red beams and green tiles of the yamen were such that, looking only at the courtyard, it was not inferior to the Shuntian Prefecture Office.

Lavish and magnificent.

It was impossible to know how much thought and effort Xie Jia had poured into building this office, nor how much was wrung from the fat and blood of the common people and swallowed into those walls.

But the courtyard was strewn with scattered clutter, left untended — when even a single egg in the nest has gone bad, how can any of the others be good? The minor officials and petty clerks had already been taken into custody.

It had all come to nothing in the end.

Xie Jia knew that his cause was lost. He neither fled nor showed alarm, but simply sat waiting within the main hall — amidst the surrounding disorder, his fourth-rank crimson official’s robe stood out all the more conspicuously.

“Xie Jia — there are things that, if not said now, cannot be said at all.”

Pei Shaohuai stood outside the threshold, his figure framed in the doorway — falling exactly so as to cast the shadow directly over Xie Jia where he sat.

Xie Jia still wore that official’s black-winged hat squarely on his head. He slowly looked up toward Pei Shaohuai, then gave a sudden crooked smile — the expression of a man who had lost and yet felt strangely pleased about it — and said, “You won, but it is still a loss.”

Pei Shaohuai had actually thought there was still something to draw out of him.

“Pei Shaohuai — with your intelligence, you ought already to have worked out…” Xie Jia said. “Since I can still be sitting alive in this place, it means that I do not know who is truly at the top of all this. You were right — I am nothing but a dog that runs errands. A dog who does not even know who his master is.”