Since whoever served as chief examiner would in some way upset the proper hierarchy of upper and lower, the simplest solution was for the Emperor himself to take on the role.
One examination every six years would hardly be an excessive burden.
The Emperor continued: “As for the other concerns Grand Preceptor Hu raised — Earl… beloved official Pei, do you have a response?”
The relationship between the Son of Heaven and the civil officials was one of mutual dependence and mutual restraint. Even a sovereign with as firm a hand as Yan Ze needed to go through a grand court deliberation like today’s — commissioning it, guiding it — rather than simply issuing a decree, if he wished to alter the ancestral laws and implement a new policy. Otherwise, why go to all this trouble?
In today’s court deliberation, Pei Shaohuai had first argued down the officials of the Six Offices and Thirteen Circuits, establishing his position on the grounds of principle and reason; the Emperor then stepped in at the right moment to apply pressure, bringing the veteran foxes of the Cabinet and the Six Ministries to heel — so that the matter could be handled with proper justification and propriety, and spare the new policy from being assailed from all sides and dying before it could take root.
Seeing the Emperor had made his position known, Pei Shaohuai adopted the same pleasant expression as Hu Qi, smiled, and said: “Grand Academician Hu makes a fair point; it was an oversight on my part.”
A mild smile, and then: “The authority to appoint and employ officials remains in the Emperor’s hands. The results of the hall examination and the merit register are merely a reference — and it is precisely with this reference that His Majesty can render clear and well-informed decisions.” Rather than making those decisions based on a few lines of flowery prose in an assessment report.
What he meant was: the hall examination is not a usurpation of the Emperor’s authority, but a means of helping the Emperor identify the capable.
“When the officials of the Six Offices and Thirteen Circuits recommend talented individuals out of loyalty, then those who have been recommended need not fear participating in the hall examination. To shine brightly in the hall examination, first, proves that a precious jewel had merely gone unrecognized; and second, reflects well on those who recommended them, confirming their discerning eye — is this not a perfect outcome for both parties?”
True gold does not fear the refiner’s fire — what harm is there in being tested?
“As for the final point — that capital officials are already among the finest of the imperial examinations and need not be tested again,” Pei Shaohuai explained, “the hall examination differs fundamentally from the imperial examinations. The imperial examinations emphasize scholarly learning and talent; the hall examination emphasizes practical knowledge of the world, strategic reasoning, and administrative ability. Consider: if officials of the Ministry of Personnel do not understand people, those of the Ministry of Finance do not understand money, those of the Ministry of Justice do not understand law, those of the Ministry of Works do not understand calculation, those of the Ministry of War do not understand military formations, and those of the Ministry of Rites do not understand ritual precedents — if after years in office, they are still doing nothing more than sitting in their bureaus day after day, sipping tea while composing official-style memorials — how can such men be worthy of posts of such importance?”
Even the Cabinet’s Grand Preceptor had conceded. After that, no further serious objections arose, and the new policy was settled.
This was only the first step. How the questions would be set, how the examination would be administered, how merit would be determined — all of this still required further deliberation, and a complete framework would need to be drafted.
By the time all the details were finalized, the grand capital evaluation would likely be scheduled for after the new year.
…
After the officials had withdrawn, the Emperor retired from the main hall to the imperial study.
The Crown Prince had been in the imperial study listening to the court deliberation throughout. On his desk lay more than ten sheets of paper, spread out in some disarray.
The Emperor picked them up and looked them over — they were mostly records of the back-and-forth arguments between the officials. He felt a slight disappointment, and asked: “Having listened to today’s court deliberation, what have you taken away from it?”
“One must first have a firm resolve, and then select the right person for the task — only then will the outcome be as intended,” the Crown Prince replied.
The Emperor nodded, his expression softening into a smile, replacing the disappointment of a moment before. With a note of approval he said: “Not bad — there has been progress. Remember: the officials below are not black and white chess pieces. If you have no will of your own and no direction to guide them, they will end up guiding you.”
“Your son takes this to heart,” the Crown Prince said. Receiving a word of praise from his Imperial Father, he was in rather good spirits himself.
“There is more,” the Emperor said. “Talented ministers are rare. It is only when the sovereign is wise that his ministers can be capable. In the employment of men, one must not act as the saying goes — ‘once the birds are gone, the good bow is put away’ — for that leads to becoming utterly alone. A sovereign without able men around him is a sovereign in name only.”
A shadow of embarrassment crossed the Emperor’s face; thinking of the past, he said with some regret: “This sovereign once made such a mistake, and on that account, I feel this all the more keenly.”
The Crown Prince understood what was meant by “once the birds are gone, the good bow is put away,” and knew that Pei Shaohuai was that capable bow — yet he did not know toward whom his Imperial Father’s regret was directed, and could only say: “Though your son does not know who it is that moved Your Majesty to such feeling, he already understands Your Majesty’s deep concern.”
“Where has Qin’er’s studies reached?” the Emperor asked with paternal interest.
The Crown Prince replied: “The day before yesterday I was tested on the teachings of Confucius and Mencius; these past two days I have been practicing calligraphy and horseback riding and archery.”
The Emperor nodded a second time and smiled. To have been tested on Confucius and Mencius by the old scholars of the Hanlin Academy and to have passed — that was no small matter. He gave the following instruction: “Once the capital evaluation is finished and Boyuan has entered the Eastern Palace Administration, have him give Qin’er some lessons as well. His learning is no less than that of those veteran Hanlin scholars.”
The Emperor’s partiality toward Pei Boyuan seemed to be something the Crown Prince had long grown accustomed to; he felt nothing amiss about it and accepted the arrangement with a calm and easy air.
…
With the court deliberation over, the hour for officials to leave their posts had also come. The Pei brothers shared a carriage home to the family residence.
“Elder Brother’s years of postings outside the capital have sharpened his arguments to a consummate degree — his reasoning grows ever more meticulous and unassailable,” Pei Shaojin said.
Pei Shaohuai rubbed his temples and let out a breath of relief. “We have only moved one step forward, and what lies ahead is far from easy. Now that the new policy is being implemented for the capital evaluation, I cannot say whether some upheaval will arise from it — we can only proceed and see how the next few steps go.”
“Does Elder Brother have some concern in mind?” Shaojin asked.
Pei Shaohuai offered an analogy: “The capital evaluation is a scale — one that weighs how much officials are worth. It ought to be held in the hands of the common people, yet for now there is no way to return it to them. All we can do is erect a frame to support it, hold it up high, and keep officials from laying their hands on it.”
The two brothers were of one mind and one purpose; Pei Shaohuai held nothing back. He continued with his analogy: “An old boat that is rotting apart — no matter how often it is patched up, it is still an old boat. It will never become something brand new. We are on this boat. We hope it can somehow transform into something new, yet we dare not recklessly dismantle it piece by piece.”
For once the boat was dismantled, it would sink.
“And so,” Pei Shaohuai said, “if one part is altered, whether it will set off a chain reaction and affect everything else — no one can predict. We can only proceed with the greatest of care.”
“I am willing to lend Elder Brother whatever strength I have.”
“Let us walk forward and see as we go.”
…
In the days that followed, Pei Shaohuai became busier than ever before, moving back and forth between the imperial study, the Cabinet, the Ministry of Personnel, and the Censorate.
As long as this old boat had not been broken apart, he could not avoid these “joints and junctions” — his aim was to make use of them, not to go around them or try to control everything himself.
On one such day, Pei Shaohuai went to the Ministry of Finance to meet with Minister Ma. After finishing their official business, he thought of the granaries in Jinling City and asked a few more questions: “Minister Ma, the policy of paying taxes with silver has now been in effect for three years — how are the stores of grain in the Beijing and Tongzhou granaries?”
To the north lay the Beijing-Tongzhou granaries; to the south, the Jinling granary.
Minister Ma smiled: “Nine million shi of grain has been stored up — a quantity not inferior to the height of the Tang and Song dynasties.” He spoke with considerable pride.
He then said: “When the silver-for-tax policy was first implemented in the first year, the people still had the old mindset — they felt that grain must be kept firmly in hand before they could feel secure, and that year it was genuinely impossible to buy grain even with silver, and I received quite a few letters of impeachment over it. These past two years, the people’s households have accumulated surplus grain and grown willing to sell it to the granaries. With the addition of grain flowing in through the Taicang Prefecture docks, and the court dispatching official ships to the Southern Seas to purchase grain — pooled from several sources — we have arrived at these nine million shi.”
He praised Pei Shaohuai: “First the silver coin, then the silver-for-tax policy — Director Pei is truly remarkable.”
Pei Shaohuai inwardly understood the situation, but gave nothing away — Beijing and Jinling, as Da Qing’s two greatest hubs, could not possibly be allowed to have one using silver coins to purchase grain for its granaries while the other still used silver taels.
Minister Ma had only taken up his post at the Ministry of Finance with a measure of support from Pei Shaohuai in the first place. Given Minister Ma’s acumen in matters of finance, he ought never to have allowed such a significant discrepancy.
If it was not an oversight, then it meant someone had been deceiving their superiors and concealing the truth.
Pei Shaohuai felt a tightening in his chest, and his thoughts were troubled — yet he had to endure it and continue the conversation. He made his decision quickly and said: “I hear there is still a vacancy for the Right Deputy Minister of Finance?”
Minister Ma’s eyes brightened; he said with delight: “Does Director Pei have a suitable candidate to recommend?” He trusted Pei Shaohuai’s understanding of financial matters, and trusted equally in his judgment of men and his integrity.
Anyone recommended by Pei Shaohuai was certain to be no ordinary talent.
Pei Shaohuai replied: “Since there is a vacancy, I will recommend someone — though whether he passes the hall examination and is transferred to the Ministry of Finance still depends on the Emperor’s intentions.” He was merely exercising the right of official recommendation.
“That is as it should be. I look forward to Director Pei’s good news,” Minister Ma said, still in high spirits.
…
That night, the cold of winter made the lamplight seem all the more clear and cool. On the writing desk: an unfolded memorial, freshly ground ink, a brush left resting on the inkstone.
Pei Shaohuai sat quietly at the desk. Half an hour passed; the ink dried halfway. He had not yet lifted the brush.
He held the brush up before the lamp. A draft of cold air seeped in through a gap in the window, making the flame tremble and sway — yet no matter how it swayed, the shadow of the brush remained perfectly straight.
Of course. When one’s conduct is upright, one need not fear a crooked shadow. A person who is deliberate and suspect need only be held up to the light to reveal whether their conduct is truly upright or not.
Pei Shaohuai hesitated no more. He composed his thoughts, calmed his mind, and began writing the letter of recommendation for Huang Qingxing.
…
Heavy frost and snow in deep winter, freezing the ground three feet down.
Pei Shaohuai emerged from the palace and made his way home. After descending from the carriage, he walked directly toward the courtyard, his cloak covered in snow.
Yang Shiyue unfastened his cloak for him, brushing the snow from his lapels to prevent it from soaking through — and all the while scolded him tenderly: “In weather this cold, with snow falling besides — must you always march straight inside the moment you step down from the carriage? Would it kill you to wait for a servant to bring an umbrella?”
Pei Shaohuai smiled sheepishly: “I forgot, I forgot — I’ll be sure to remember next time.”
He noticed that Xiao Nan was in the study, quietly practicing his calligraphy, but saw no sign of Xiao Feng. He asked: “Where is Xiao Feng?” In the usual way of things, the moment she heard Pei Shaohuai return, this little “gust of wind” would already have blown over.
Yang Shiyue handed the cloak she had taken off to a servant woman and shut the door, keeping the cold wind from rushing in. She said: “Third Elder Sister came by today. When she was leaving, Xiao Feng insisted on making a fuss about going to stay at her aunt’s house for a few days. Third Elder Sister dotes on her so, and I let her have her way — so Third Elder Sister took her by the hand and brought her back with her.”
She added: “I sent the wife of Shen Nanny’s second son along with them,” so as not to have the servants there unfamiliar with Xiao Feng’s habits and end up disturbing Third Elder Sister too much.
So that was the way of it.
Come to think of it, it was rather curious — Xiao Nan and Xiao Feng had been back in the capital for less than two months, and the number of times they had met with the various aunts was not great. Yet this little girl and Third Elder Sister had taken to each other from the first meeting, each clinging to the other, each doting on the other, always with endless things to say — which was why Third Elder Sister came calling every few days.
Perhaps this was simply the workings of fate.
Pei Shaohuai smiled: “Then let this little gust of wind blow about Third Elder Sister’s house for a few days.”
After tidying up, Yang Shiyue called Pei Shaohuai into the room and said: “My lord, there is a matter I would like to discuss with you.”
“What is it, my lady?” Pei Shaohuai sat down.
“I have heard that the Mo family next door is moving away, and their residence is to be sold. I intend to purchase it,” Yang Shiyue said.
If it were simply a matter of buying a house, there would be no need to consult him specially. Pei Shaohuai knew there was more behind his wife’s words — he had even already guessed at Yang Shiyue’s kind intention. With a smile he asked: “What plans does my lady have in mind?”
The Mo family’s residence was separated from the Earl’s Manor only by a narrow alley. Knock down the wall between them and the two could be merged into one, and the Earl’s Manor itself was not particularly large to begin with — even combined, it would not overstep any boundaries.
“Simply to expand the Earl’s Manor a little, so that Second Elder Brother and his wife are not too confined,” Yang Shiyue replied.