A Right Deputy Censor-in-Chief of the Senior Third Rank — demoted five full ranks and reassigned to the Imperial Academy to handle miscellaneous tasks. This was worse than outright dismissal, and it made abundantly clear that the Emperor would tolerate no collusion between the upper and lower ranks, no shielding of one another.
The Right Deputy Censor-in-Chief had come up through the path of the Censorate, yet after his demotion, he dared not utter a word in his own defense. In an instant, the assembled officials understood — this punishment was likely not unjust.
Who could say whether the Emperor had not already conducted a private investigation long before this?
To debate was to invite defeat against Pei Shaohuai, and the Emperor had already made his position known. Those officials in the hall who had been restless and eager to speak thought better of it, fearing that the more they argued, the sooner their own positions might vanish — and years of careful maneuvering would come to nothing.
And so the assembled officials turned their gazes toward the senior Grand Academicians of the Cabinet. As the foremost body among the hundred officials, the Cabinet held the power of deliberation over court affairs, and could yet temper the Emperor’s decisions to some degree. The censors and remonstrators had exhausted themselves in argument; their only remaining hope now lay with the Cabinet.
Within the Cabinet, Grand Academician Zhang and Grand Academician Xu had made it plain they stood on Pei Shaohuai’s side — which left only Grand Academician Hu Qi and the two men behind him.
This meant the grand court deliberation had reached its final stage.
In the hush that fell over the hall, the Grand Academician Gao of the Eastern Cabinet stepped forward from his rank. He wore an ancient dark ceremonial robe woven with cloud patterns, a loyalty-and-serenity cap upon his head, his expression grave and composed, without the slightest trace of alarm — every inch the bearing of a Grand Academician.
When a Grand Academician spoke, it would not be the shallow posturing of ordinary censors. Grand Academician Gao’s voice was measured and deep: “Director Pei of the Bureau of Merit Assessments is truly one of the rising stars of the court — broad in learning, strong in memory, masterful in the art of debate. He has pointed out many irregularities in the capital evaluation. Your Majesty, this old official has a few questions he would like to put to Director Pei.”
The phrase “masterful in the art of debate” carried a tone that made it sound rather more like “gifted in sophistry.”
In his estimation, what Pei Shaohuai had identified were merely procedural flaws, not structural abuses.
The Emperor said, “Granted.”
Pei Shaohuai likewise said, “Grand Academician Gao, please proceed.”
“In the capital evaluation, do you know what office the Ministry of Personnel occupies?”
“By His Majesty’s decree, it coordinates all parties and serves as the primary managing office.”
“And what office does the Censorate occupy?”
“It supervises the entire process and reports any impropriety.”
“And the young officials of the Six Offices and the Thirteen Circuits?”
“Young calves unafraid of tigers — forthright and candid in speech, checking those above through those below, to prevent any single power from overshadowing the heavens.”
Having posed his three questions, Grand Academician Gao allowed a barely perceptible smile to cross his lips — as though mocking Pei Shaohuai for still being too young.
Grand Academician Gao then spoke: “The Founding Emperor once declared that court oversight should follow the principle of ‘the small checking the great, the lower checking the higher, each checking the other, above and below bound together.’ Thus were the Six Offices and Thirteen Circuits established, and thereafter there was no great matter at court that did not carry the word ‘oversight.’ The capital evaluation is no different. The Ministry of Personnel is charged with ‘conducting’ it; the various ministries with ‘reviewing’ it; the remonstrators with ‘deliberating’ over it; the Censorate with ‘supervising’ it; the Son of Heaven with ‘deciding’ it. This system of ‘reviewing, deliberating, supervising, and deciding’ has operated for over a hundred years. It may not be airtight, but it is interconnected from front to back, each part checking the other. Is it something that can simply be altered on a whim? Since Director Pei clearly understands the workings of each stage and the responsibilities of each office, why does he dare to submit so preposterous a remonstrance? Can it be that he sees only the surface of things, without ever reflecting on the hidden entanglements within?”
Grand Academician Gao bowed toward the Emperor and said: “Your Majesty, this old official believes that though the capital evaluation procedures have their flaws, they need only minor refinements. One cannot recklessly overturn the existing laws and shake the very foundations of Da Qing.”
This speech was formidable — first invoking the words of the Founding Emperor, then speaking of the interconnectedness of things. It was plain that the Grand Academician was no easy opponent.
The old blade still held its edge.
The hearts of the assembled remonstrators lifted; they all believed the tide was turning.
Yet Grand Academician Gao had rejoiced too soon. Pei Shaohuai remained unhurried and composed. Rather than debating directly, he turned the man’s own method against him and said: “Your Majesty, this official also has a few questions he would like to respectfully pose to Grand Academician Gao.”
“Granted.”
“May I ask Grand Academician Gao: in the matter of the capital evaluation, why must it not be conducted by one person or one body alone?”
When the assembled officials heard this, a quiet amusement stirred within them — they had expected some great opening move, yet it turned out to be so elementary a question.
Only those who knew Pei Shaohuai well understood that he was skilled at advancing step by careful step. None more so than Pei Shaojin, who knew his elder brother best of all: the calmer and more effortless he appeared, the more thoroughly he had already laid his plans — and the greater the storm gathering behind the stillness.
Grand Academician Gao replied: “Every man has his private interests. If one person handles everything alone, there is cause to fear he will act in his own interest.”
Another question followed: “Why is there oversight within the capital evaluation?”
“Because there is private interest, naturally a supervising body must be established to prevent deception of those above.”
Taken together, the two questions left the assembled officials with a vague sense that something was amiss, though they could not yet identify the crucial point — when they heard Pei Shaohuai speak in a clear, ringing voice: “Because one fears the private interests of a single person, another is brought in to check and restrain those interests. Yet since every man has his private interests, and those above fear being deceived — what is to prevent this second person from deceiving them still more egregiously than the first?”
Because one person’s private interests were feared, another person was summoned to watch over him. But what if this second person also had private interests?
“If yet another person is added in turn, and so on without end, there would be no limit to it,” Pei Shaohuai said. “What is more: if these persons collude with one another, protecting each other as officials do — what use would any number of additional stages be?”
What manner of “conducting, reviewing, supervising, deliberating, and deciding” was this — this framework for the capital evaluation that sounded so interlocking and airtight, yet in practice harbored who knew how many layers of private interest.
With two sentences, Pei Shaohuai had pierced through the very argument Grand Academician Gao had built.
There in the main hall of the court, the elaborate and magnificent ancient dark ceremonial robes stood in contrast to the clean simplicity of a purple official’s gown — an old man and a young one face to face. Pei Shaohuai stood straight-backed, his bearing unwilling to yield so much as an inch.
“By Director Pei’s reasoning, oversight is unjust and the capital evaluation is opaque — then what, precisely, constitutes justice, and what constitutes clarity?” Grand Academician Gao raised his voice, trembling as he spoke.
Revealing one’s true colors was proof of defeat.
Pei Shaohuai had entered officialdom many years ago; his manner was measured and composed. He was not old in years, yet his voice rang out with clarity and force: “The character for law — in its ancient form — signifies punishment, as level and even as water. The character for the common people signifies the multitude, the hundred surnames, the teeming masses. That law treats all without distinction is justice; that which the eyes of the people can plainly see is clarity.”
The ancient form of the character for “law” was its original written form.
Pei Shaohuai stepped closer to Grand Academician Gao and addressed him — and through him, every official in the hall who still refused to be convinced: “If law constitutes justice, and the people constitute clarity, then stripping away the power of officials to shield one another, and reforming the capital evaluation procedures to invite the judgment of the common people — what grounds are there to oppose it?” He pressed until Grand Academician Gao had stepped back several paces. Then Pei Shaohuai turned to face the assembled court and challenged them: “On ordinary days, each of you speaks without ceasing of ‘virtue’ and ‘capability.’ Now that you stand face-to-face with the law, face-to-face with the people — have you all lost your nerve?”
In that moment, he thought of the Scholar of the Southern Residence — an idealist who had grown up and taken root in this world, sincere and steadfast into old age, forgetful in his later years, yet never abandoning his original heart. Pei Shaohuai felt a surge of passion rise unbidden into his voice.
As he had taught Xiao Feng — one might yield to the way of the world, but one must not yield in one’s heart.
“Your Majesty,” Pei Shaohuai said at last, “this reform of the capital evaluation does not reform its oversight. Between the merit assessment and the examination hall, supervision and collective deliberation remain in place as before. Law comes first — not power. This official respectfully asks for Your Majesty’s discerning judgment.”
The Emperor’s gaze swept across the assembled officials. Each understood: regardless of whether they had spoken earlier, the moment of choice had arrived.
With Pei Shaojin at their head, a number of officials in green official robes walked directly behind Pei Shaohuai and declared in unison: “We second the motion.”
The circuit officials who had not yet made their choice were still wavering when the senior official of the Censorate made his decision — the Left Censor-in-Chief stepped to Pei Shaohuai’s side and said: “I second the motion.”
He further said: “The Censorate is charged with oversight, yet has been lax in its duties, and its abuses have been many. This old official is willing to swear an oath to burn the boats and break the cauldrons — to correct past wrongs and restore impartiality and selflessness.”
This was a man who could see clearly.
The Left Censor-in-Chief understood that at this juncture, reform of the capital evaluation was now inevitable. Moreover, placing Pei Shaohuai within the Censorate thereafter was plainly an act of deliberate design on the Emperor’s part. Beyond that, the official who had been made an example of today — killed as a warning to others — was the Right Deputy Censor-in-Chief, a subordinate of his own. If he, as the senior officer, did not step forward and take his share of the responsibility, and make his position known, then when the Emperor’s blade fell, it would not stop at killing a single chicken.
The Left Censor-in-Chief ranked first among the Nine Ministers, often referred to alongside the six chief ministers of the Six Boards as the “Great Seven Ministers” — which was testament enough to the weight of his position.
The Minister of Personnel, Wang Gaoxiang, had long since tucked his head in like a turtle; now that the Left Censor-in-Chief had also acted decisively, both of the great offices most directly concerned with the capital evaluation had tilted toward Pei Shaohuai’s side.
At this, sensing that the situation had turned against them, the “peacemaker” stepped forward.
Grand Preceptor Hu Qi walked out with a smile, and began to “oversee the larger situation.” He said: “Your Majesty, a lamp wick that is trimmed burns all the brighter; principles that are debated grow all the clearer. Today’s court deliberation has shown us the admirable courage of the younger generation — broad in learning, bold in speech. The older officials, though given to following established precedent, acted out of caution, and all with Da Qing’s best interests at heart. All are loyal subjects, good ministers. With such assembled officials, Da Qing grows ever more prosperous.”
Having offered these conciliatory words, he then said: “However, this old official believes there is not so very much factionalism and favoritism, buying and selling of favor, within the court. The Emperor employs his ministers on the basis of trust; ministers repay their sovereign with loyalty. Treacherous officials have existed in every dynasty in every age, but one absolutely cannot implicate an entire body of men because of one or two — that would be throwing away food for fear of choking.”
“The grand capital evaluation is, at its root, meant to recommend the capable and dismiss the corrupt and incompetent for the Emperor’s use. When colleagues discover exceptional talent and exert themselves to recommend it, hoping it will shine forth in the capital evaluation and be of service to Your Majesty — this is a form of loyalty. This old official believes that once the list of recommended names has been placed on the Emperor’s desk, the decision of whether to employ them rests entirely with Your Majesty’s discerning eye. If Your Majesty does not find them suitable, they need not be used — but one must not block the path by which ministers may assess and recommend, lest that loyal intention be wounded.”
What he meant was: in the capital evaluation, the ultimate authority over whether to employ someone or not lies with Your Majesty. You, the Emperor, are the sovereign presiding over the whole affair.
This was a smiling, veiled insinuation that the new policy Pei Shaohuai proposed had overstepped its bounds.
He continued: “Moreover, every official in the capital has spent ten years in rigorous study and passed through layer upon layer of the imperial examinations — they are already proven talents, selected through multiple rounds of scrutiny. Since they were already so thoroughly tested in the past, why must there be yet another examination hall set up after they have entered officialdom? Are the imperial examinations insufficient? The Ministry of Rites administers the autumn provincial examinations, the Cabinet oversees the spring metropolitan examinations, and the Emperor himself presides over the palace examination — this is already the highest possible standard. To now add another hall examination raises the question: who would serve as its chief examiner? Would this not risk disrupting the order of seniority, the hierarchy of upper and lower?”
Compared to Grand Academician Gao, this smiling fox Hu Qi was considerably more difficult to deal with.
First, he had applied the label of “loyalty” to the assembled officials; then he had declared that the Emperor was the supreme decision-maker and that no one could overstep him; and then, by implication, he had suggested that the hall examination was superfluous and contrary to proper practice.
Because the Emperor, before ascending the throne, had passed through a period of hardship, he set great store by proper order of seniority and the hierarchy of upper and lower. These words were plainly aimed at the vulnerable point in the Emperor’s heart.
To disrupt the hierarchy of upper and lower was to invite disorder; disorder would give rise to chaos.
Why should Your Majesty risk stirring up turmoil at court for the sake of a capital evaluation that was already well within your control?
Where others had argued from the standpoint of whether the new policy was good or bad, Hu Qi feigned the role of mediator and examined the matter from the Emperor’s perspective, drawing out the aspects of the new policy that were unfavorable to the Emperor.
Hu Qi had found Pei Shaohuai’s weak point. A minor official, to accomplish anything, ultimately still depended on the Emperor’s favor. Without that imperial favor, the new policy could not advance a single step.
If he were to argue back, Pei Shaohuai had already formed his rebuttal in his heart — yet he understood that at this stage, what mattered was no longer the argument itself. What mattered now was whether the Emperor’s resolve remained unchanged.
He was waiting for the Emperor to make his stance known.
“Grand Preceptor Hu’s considerations are thorough; this is indeed an important matter,” the Emperor said with a smile. “Then it seems this sovereign has no choice but to take on the task of serving as chief examiner once more.”