The Metropolitan Examination, held every six years, was established as standing law.

On ordinary days, the censors and speech officials filed mutual impeachments against the incompetent, maintaining a delicate balance within the court. The Metropolitan Examination was the moment for breaking that balance — factions battled their arts against one another, forging a new equilibrium. Some gained power through the examination; others lost it, departing the stage of the capital’s official world.

No one could afford to take the Metropolitan Examination lightly.

Pei Shaohuai had not yet returned, but the imperial rewards had already arrived.

The Ministry of Rites came to proclaim the edict, and palanquin after palanquin of imperially bestowed gifts was carried into Jingchuan Earl’s Mansion. True prestige lies not in how precious or rare the gifts may be, but in the incomparable weight of imperial favor — even ordinary objects, when bestowed by the Son of Heaven, are worth ten thousand gold.

Compared to twenty years ago, the circumstances of this mansion had changed enormously. From a state of having no allies at court and falling into gradual obscurity, to the thriving prosperity of today — a sight that made every other noble household in the capital envious. A thousand sails had raced past; ten thousand trees had come into spring; two brothers had revived the family’s standing at court. Outsiders all sighed with admiration, saying that Jingchuan Earl Pei Pu had been blessed with two exceptional grandsons.

Truly, from unpolished stone comes a beauty refined into jade.

What surprised outsiders was that after receiving the edict and accepting the gifts, the Earl’s Mansion merely set off a few feet of firecrackers, threw out some coins of joy for those gathered around, and then quietly closed its gates — no elaborate banquet was held, and the steward was instructed to graciously decline all gifts and visiting cards.

Inside the Earl’s Mansion, the household celebrated among themselves. The servants were delighted to receive an extra month’s wages from the accounts room.

In the main hall, Pei Pu, Pei Bingyuan, and Pei Shaojin — grandfather, son, and grandson — sat together in conversation.

The old earl, now in his advanced years and fond of liveliness, said, “Boyan has received such a generous reward — shouldn’t the household prepare a little something, so that when he returns there’ll be a proper celebration to welcome him?”

Pei Shaojin, serving at court and aware of the state of affairs there, said, “Grandfather, it would probably not be wise to make a grand display right now.” He was thinking of his elder brother’s interests.

“What do you mean?”

Pei Bingyuan helped to explain: “Father, the Metropolitan Examination is approaching. It would be best for now not to do anything that might cause unnecessary complications or give others grounds to find fault.” Who could say what those censorate officials might pick at?

“Yes, yes — the Metropolitan Examination is what matters.” The old earl was a little disappointed, but he understood the importance of priorities. He said, “Then let’s just send invitations to a few of the in-law families and gather together on a good day — nothing too large.”

Pei Shaojin opened his mouth, then ultimately looked toward his father, leaving the explanation to him.

“It has been some time since we’ve all gathered together,” Pei Bingyuan said with a smile. Then, shifting tone, he added, “But Grand Secretary Xu and Earl Chen both hold important positions at court right now. Sending them an invitation at this moment would actually put them in an awkward position.”

“I’m growing old and muddled…” the old earl said.

Pei Bingyuan made a point of bringing up Xiao Nan and Xiao Feng: “Zhengguan and Yunci will be back soon. Zhengguan and Shaojin are both busy — Father, if you have some leisure, why not start thinking about Zhengguan’s coming-of-age ceremony?”

The old earl, who had just been downcast, found a proper matter to attend to and cheered up at once, saying, “Yes, yes — this scholarly spirit of our family must be carried on.”

Coming out from the main hall, Pei Bingyuan and his son Pei Shaojin walked toward the stone pavilion in the courtyard, talking as they went.

“Has the court settled on a candidate for the Director of the Personnel Evaluation Bureau of the Ministry of Personnel?” Pei Bingyuan asked. He served at the Directorate of Education, and was not closely informed of matters within the court proper.

The Personnel Evaluation Bureau of the Ministry of Personnel — its function was plain from its name: it was specifically charged with evaluating the merits and failings of officials. As the saying went, “With it, the realm is enlightened and well-ordered; without it, the realm falls into darkness and chaos” — a measure of how critical this bureau truly was.

The upcoming Metropolitan Examination would be organized by the Ministry of Personnel, with the Personnel Evaluation Bureau handling the specific work.

The Director of the Personnel Evaluation Bureau — a fifth-rank position — was a classic case of low rank, great power. In ordinary times, officials of every grade in the capital would line up to warm the seat cushion for him.

One would think that for such a critical post, with the Metropolitan Examination imminent, the court absolutely should not be selecting a new Director at the last moment. Court regulations also stipulated that “in a year of the great metropolitan review, when appointing the Director of the Personnel Evaluation Bureau, appointment must be made at least one full year in advance, no later than the spring or summer of the preceding year” — so as not to delay the Metropolitan Examination, and to ensure impartiality.

Yet the previous Director had proven corrupt, and two months prior had been caught in a trap laid by the censorate — a scheme by the Supervising Secretary of Personnel to test him — and had been found guilty of selling official posts, ending up in chains.

The President of the Ministry of Personnel, President Wang, had lost face and received punishment over the affair, and had forfeited the authority to nominate a new Director through the usual process of court deliberation.

During the Metropolitan Examination, officials of the fourth rank and above, as well as Hanlin Academicians, would submit self-appraisal memorials to the Emperor for the Emperor’s personal judgment on their merits. Those of the fifth rank and below were required to attend formal hearings conducted by the Personnel Evaluation Bureau and the Censorate. Pei Shaojin held the post of Supervising Secretary in the Ministry of War — a rank below fifth — so his father was particularly attentive to the question of the new Director.

“It has not yet been decided,” Pei Shaojin shook his head and said with a note of sarcasm. “The factions are still sparring — no winner has emerged.”

What Pei Shaojin figured was this: even if a winner did emerge from the fighting, given the Emperor’s temperament, the Emperor might not appoint that person anyway. After all, the Supervising Secretary of Personnel had used the tactic of hiring someone to test the previous Director — was that not also a move aimed at seizing the Personnel Evaluation post? Yet it had not succeeded.

Pei Bingyuan shook his head with a sigh. He urged Shaojin, “The Metropolitan Examination is a serious matter. Start preparing early. When your elder brother returns, you two brothers sit down and think it through together.”

“I understand, Father.”

Pei Bingyuan could not conceal his look of worry. He asked, “Lately, have the memorials impeaching you been as frequent as they were last month?”

“Father, there is no need to worry about me,” Pei Shaojin said. “Since I had the courage to submit the memorial on reforming the horse administration, I knew this would be the result. Grand Secretary Zhang and maternal grandfather managed to recover the three great horse pastures from the Princes of Su and Jin — compared to that, what does receiving some impeachment memorials at court amount to?”

He added, to reassure his father, “The Emperor does not respond to them — let them keep submitting memorials until the Emperor grows tired of it.” Even when speaking words of comfort, there remained in his manner a sharpness that was characteristic of his youth.

Perhaps because his elder brother had been in front of him all along, bearing the brunt of things, Pei Shaojin had carried this sharpness with him from his days of studying all the way through to his days as an official — repeatedly cautioned by Tutor Duan, yet never quite put away. It was this same sharpness that had earned Pei Shaojin a great deal of goodwill among the Ministry of War and the military officials.

“What your father fears is that they will use the Metropolitan Examination to trip you up.”

“With elder brother back in the capital, it would be perfectly fine for me to spend some time traveling outside the city,” Pei Shaojin said.

He added, by way of consolation, “Father, don’t worry over all this — elder brother’s return is what truly matters.” As he spoke, a smile spread across his face that was entirely that of a young man.

When elder brother returned, Pei Shaojin would have liked nothing better than to move into elder brother’s study and spend days talking with him about everything that had happened over the past few years. In all the letters that had passed between them, there had always been more to say than could ever be fully written.

Speaking of Pei Shaohuai, Pei Bingyuan’s tightly drawn brows relaxed as well.

Father and son both found themselves wondering what official post the Emperor would assign to Pei Shaohuai this time. If he were returned to the Six Offices of Scrutiny, the rank would be somewhat too low. If he were placed in one of the Six Ministries or the Nine Courts, either the rank would be too high — given how young Pei Shaohuai still was — or the post would be too idle, confined to matters of minor palace routine.

Turning it over, it seemed the only place remaining was the Censorate.

Back in his own quarters, Pei Shaojin’s son Xu Ge’er came bounding out to him, hurling himself at his father.

The little round-faced boy, seeing his father’s expression full of smiles, asked, “Father is very happy today?”

Pei Shaojin nodded and said with a grin, “Because my elder brother is coming back.”

“Father’s elder brother is… is great-uncle, and great-uncle is coming back.” Xu Ge’er counted out the forms of address on his fingers, and caught the joy as well, saying, “Then Xu Ge’er’s elder brother is coming back too.”

The two-year-old Xu Ge’er was full of curiosity and anticipation for the elder brother Xiao Nan and the elder sister Xiao Feng he had never yet met.

Lu Yiyao, standing nearby, burst out laughing and teased her son, “Silly little one — whoever refers to himself by his own pet name?”

“If you’re all allowed to call me that, why can’t I call myself that? What kind of logic is that?”

All three of them laughed together.

And so it was. Pei Shaojin’s elder brother was coming back. Xu Ge’er’s elder brother and sister were coming back. This household was about to fill once more with a great deal of life and warmth.

As Pei Bingyuan and Pei Shaojin had guessed, it was not long before events confirmed them right.

That day, the Emperor summoned the five Grand Secretaries and had the chief eunuch Xiao retrieve the official roster of the Censorate.

The Emperor went on at some length — but the meaning was always the same one thing: there happened to be an open vacancy in the Censorate — the Senior Censor, a position of the fourth rank — and he wanted to place Pei Boyan in that post.

The Emperor said, “Pei Boyan has served in the Scrutiny Offices and has served as a prefectural magistrate outside the capital. Young as he is, he is capable of bearing the responsibilities of a regional supervising official.”

This display of favoritism was really pushing the boundaries of “conflating official ranks.” Could a Senior Censor and a “regional supervising official” ever be the same thing? The Supervising Secretaries of the Six Offices were Scrutiny officials, and the Investigating Censors of the Thirteen Circuits were the regional supervising officials. A Senior Censor, who oversaw all thirteen circuits, had been reduced in the Emperor’s words to a mere “regional supervising official” — was this not a deliberate effort to downplay what the role actually entailed?

A Senior Censor held the authority of “great matters to be submitted for imperial decision, minor matters to be resolved on the spot.”

In the Emperor’s presence, the Grand Secretaries naturally kept their own thoughts in check. Grand Secretary Hu, the Chief Grand Secretary, also said that everything should simply follow the established regulations — there was nothing particularly amiss.

But once they had left the imperial study, the expressions on their faces all changed.

Grand Secretary Zhang Lingyi and Grand Secretary Xu Zhannian were naturally pleased for Pei Shaohuai — but the other three Grand Secretaries wore darkened expressions. As time had passed and each had consolidated their positions, people tended to change — the cabinet was no longer the harmonious unit it had been three years ago. Each had his own views and his own sphere of influence; sometimes they aligned, and sometimes they clashed.

And true to form, what should have been known only within the cabinet became common knowledge throughout the court in less than two days, and with more people knowing, resistance naturally followed.

Censor-officials unleashed a barrage of memorials; the Transmission Office was sending deliveries three times a day and still couldn’t keep up.

It was not that Pei Shaohuai was unfit to serve as Senior Censor, nor that he was incapable of fulfilling the role — Pei Shaohuai had come through the Hanlin Academy and the Scrutiny Offices, and if he were somewhat older, a jump from the seventh rank directly to the fourth was not unheard of; there was even precedent for Supervising Secretaries going straight to fourth-rank Vice Ministers. The issue was that the seasoned old foxes simply did not want Pei Shaohuai — this sharp-witted individual — entering the Censorate at this particular moment.

The Metropolitan Examination was to be conducted jointly by the Ministry of Personnel and the Censorate. The Ministry of Personnel bore primary responsibility for “executing” it, while the Censorate bore primary responsibility for “overseeing” it — each providing a check on the other, achieving balance through their mutual contest of strength.

If Pei Shaohuai entered the Censorate at this juncture, given the Emperor’s temperament, the Emperor would surely have Pei Shaohuai shoulder a significant portion of the Metropolitan Examination’s burden. This meant the Censorate would feel its authority invaded and diluted by a newcomer; the Ministry of Personnel would feel supervised by an official whose allegiances were unknown; and the capital officials being evaluated would find themselves with a recently returned provincial official riding above their heads — naturally, none of these parties would be pleased.

Furthermore, if Pei Shaohuai were to take advantage of this moment to place a few of his own in-laws, classmates, or associates into key positions, that network of influence would start to rise.

One had to guard against it.

Toward a clever person who fell outside one’s own control — however much one might admire their talent — one would inevitably take precautions against them becoming an adversary.

And so nine-tenths of the memorials did not say that Pei Shaohuai should not be appointed Senior Censor at all, but rather urged the Emperor not to act in haste: talent should not be deployed impulsively; after the Metropolitan Examination, it would not be too late to issue the edict of appointment.

After all, was not the Metropolitan Examination precisely the time to first review merit and conduct, and only then to determine official postings?

The petitions earnestly implored the Emperor not to set aside established precedent for the sake of one man.

Among this great mass of memorials, all broadly similar in content, it was the memorial of the President of the Ministry of Personnel, Wang Gaoxiang, that was rather more skillfully crafted. He affirmed the accomplishments Pei Shaohuai had accumulated over the years, calling him a rare capable minister in governance and an official of rectitude and talent, and wrote: “…Capable ministers are rare. For the sake of Da Qing’s enduring prosperity, one who belongs among Your Majesty’s reserves of talent should be placed in service to the Eastern Palace — to assist, educate, and advise the heir to the throne. This servant is of the view that Prefect Pei could be appointed to the Eastern Palace Household Administration as Junior Household Superintendent, a position of the fourth rank.”

The position of Junior Household Superintendent in the Eastern Palace Household Administration also happened to be a fourth-rank post.