In Pei Shaohuai’s view, it was perfectly natural for the Crown Prince to test him with such a question.
To show no wariness at all, to believe completely and without question from the start — that would have been the strange thing.
So Pei Shaohuai was not angry. He simply felt that the Crown Prince could not grasp what truly mattered, that he had no sense of how to assess the situation clearly — his attention had drifted entirely in the wrong direction.
Pei Shaohuai’s words had cut to the heart of it, leaving the Crown Prince in momentary stunned silence. Yes — he had not yet ascended to the throne. To speak of “sharing the realm” was not only to encroach on imperial authority, but to worry about something that had yet to come.
Only Sima Rui had any right to speak of “exterminating the Wang clan to rule alone.”
The evaluation had much to attend to. Pei Shaohuai had carved out time from a busy day to make this trip to the Palace Secretariat. He had not come to offend the Crown Prince, nor to win the Crown Prince’s esteem and affection. Nor had he come to drive a wedge between the Crown Prince and his “teacher-student bond” with Grand Tutor Wang. He had come only to ensure that the Crown Prince would not stir up trouble — so that the new evaluation could proceed without obstruction.
With his purpose achieved, Pei Shaohuai said no more.
Wang Gaoxiang had been the Crown Prince’s teacher for over a decade. To speak ill of him rashly might easily produce the opposite effect.
There was still time ahead. Things had to be taken one step at a time.
“Your Highness — shall we play another round?”
The Crown Prince shook his head. “No. I do not enjoy Go at all.” Having set aside his obsessive fixation, even his manner of speaking had loosened and become more natural.
Pei Shaohuai rose and bowed. “Your subject takes his leave.”
……
Coming out of the Left Hall, before he had even left the Palace Secretariat, as he crossed a covered walkway bridge, Pei Shaohuai heard a young voice from behind him: “Master Pei, please wait.”
The voice was clear and bright, carrying a note of respect.
Pei Shaohuai turned. At the other end of the covered walkway bridge stood a young man in a gold-brocaded purple robe — it was the Imperial Eldest Grandson Yan Chen. He came trotting over on his own, bowing before Pei Shaohuai: “Master Pei.”
Pei Shaohuai returned the bow and asked: “What business does the Young Highness have?”
Yan Chen had deliberately chosen this covered walkway bridge — there was no one around on all sides. He said: “Master Pei has not yet formally taken up his post, and yet has come early to the Palace Secretariat. Having gone this far, and having said what you said — why not, while you are at it, remind Father one more thing?”
This meant that Yan Chen had been listening in on the conversation just now.
Having entered the Palace Secretariat, regardless of whether the intent was real or not, people outside would assume Pei Shaohuai and the Crown Prince to be in an exceptional relationship — they would take him for one of the Crown Prince’s men.
Pei Shaohuai looked at this young man bearing some resemblance to the Emperor, and guessed a few things. He asked deliberately: “What would the Young Highness have me remind him of?”
“Naturally, to remind Father to be on guard against Raozhou Prefecture.”
It is said the imperial household fosters early maturity of mind, and Pei Shaohuai felt this was no exaggeration. That the Imperial Eldest Grandson could say such a thing meant his thoughts ran far deeper than the Crown Prince’s.
Seeing that Pei Shaohuai had not responded, Yan Chen continued: “The exposure of Kunning Palace’s intentions — was that not to seize a chance for Prince Huai? If one had no confidence at all in the outcome, who would dare stake so much on such a gamble?” There was a trace of uncertainty in his words. “Could it be that I have thought incorrectly?”
Pei Shaohuai understood at once. Give this young man a little more time — once he had learned to conceal his thoughts and not let them show in his words — his mastery of the art of rulership would be no less than his grandfather’s.
Yan Chen’s thinking was not wrong.
Xiao Jin had jumped out so conspicuously and offered an explanation of repaying a benefactor’s kindness — that was still plausible enough. But what about the Empress? She had made things difficult for the Pei family and the Qiao family at the imperial banquet for the officials’ wives. What was she hoping to gain? What benefit was there to her in antagonizing the Pei household, which was rising with such flourishing momentum?
This did not seem like the conduct of the carefully calculating Empress.
Even Yan Chen could see through it — the Emperor would naturally see through it as well, and not a few officials at court had also grown alert to something. Yet no one named it aloud.
Since even the Emperor had said nothing, issued no punishment, how were ministers to know what hidden depths lay beneath? The wisest choice was to watch the fire from across the river.
“Your Highness — matters that have not yet come to pass cannot be decided with a definitive judgment.”
One could speculate. One could not pronounce verdicts.
The Imperial Eldest Grandson was gifted beyond ordinary measure — yet if he were to take a wrong turn, his fortune would become his misfortune. Pei Shaohuai said with stern seriousness: “Young Highness has been too light on his studies. Once this subject has formally taken up his post in the Palace Secretariat, I will assign Young Highness more work.”
Kunning Palace, Raozhou Prefecture — the Imperial Eldest Grandson was thinking about these things far too soon.
An embarrassed look crossed Yan Chen’s face. He met Master Pei’s eyes for just a moment and felt as though all the small calculations in his heart had been seen clean through — nowhere to hide before this master. He at once clasped his hands and bowed in the manner of a student before a teacher: “All is at Master’s arrangement.”
……
Back at the residence, Pei Shaohuai called his younger brother into the study and closed the door.
His mentor had once reminded him: from the examinations to entering officialdom is like a river flowing into the sea — the most fearsome thing is not the rushing rapids and treacherous shallows, but the hidden currents beneath a smooth and untroubled surface.
If one were at a loss for what to do, a single wrong step could leave one pushed along by those hidden currents.
Right now, this was exactly the kind of situation they were in.
Pei Shaohuai told his younger brother of the recent encounters and shared some of his own conjectures. First, to put Shaojin on his guard so that he would not be led astray by others. Second, because he needed Shaojin’s support — one person alone was bound to have oversights from time to time.
Shaojin listened to the matter of the Imperial Eldest Grandson, furrowed his brow, and said: “No wonder the Emperor has been so strict with the Crown Prince.”
To have a son so gifted as to seem almost otherworldly — for the Crown Prince personally, this was not necessarily a good thing.
Pei Shaohuai nodded and said: “What he asked on the covered walkway — was that not itself a form of testing, even more bold than what his father had done? As for the respect he showed — who can say how much of it came from the heart, and how much was for the sake of the throne?”
In the world, there is little respect that comes without reason. All the more so upon a first meeting.
Yan Chen clearly understood: the throne could only reach his own hands if it first passed into his father’s — so he had to help his father win capable ministers to his side, and protect his father’s position as Crown Prince.
Pei Shaohuai had become his target.
Fortunately, this “little fox” was still young, and not yet too much of a fox at heart.
“What does Elder Brother think Prince Huai’s side will do?” Shaojin asked.
“Perhaps produce evidence sufficient to topple the Crown Prince — enough to turn court officials to their side.” Pei Shaohuai guessed. But he shook his head shortly after, murmuring: “Yet it feels too plain and simple. I cannot tell where my reasoning is lacking…”
The behavior of his adversaries in Fujian — like nested boxes within boxes — Pei Shaohuai had never forgotten it. If adversaries were truly involved in a scheme to seize power and the throne, would their methods truly be this “straightforward and unadorned”?
What the Empress and Prince Huai had done, and what they sought — it did not look like a plan to raise arms in revolt. It looked more like an attempt to drive the Crown Prince from power and take his place.
The brothers talked deep into the night and arrived at only a rough outline of a plan, deciding to proceed as the situation unfolded.
……
……
In early February, the Office of Merit Evaluation was deep in the work of drafting examination questions.
Everything had been proceeding smoothly — until a spring thunderclap suddenly threw the court into unrest.
Above the Forbidden City, lightning fell in ten thousand threads. A brilliant flash broke through, followed by a thunderous boom. This year’s first spring thunder was unusually violent, its heavy clouds pressing down over the entire capital.
The thunder rolled past without rain — instead the clouds parted and the sun emerged, darkness giving way to light.
Just as everyone thought the storm had passed, a second thunderbolt, larger than the first, struck down — deafening, striking without deviation the turret on the wall of the Gate of Heavenly Completion, which burst immediately into flame.
Fortunately it occurred in broad daylight. The Imperial Guards and palace staff put out the fire swiftly, and only the gate tower of the Gate of Heavenly Completion was burned — it did not spread to the Hall of Imperial Supremacy.
Despite being a modest fire, the lightning-strike caused the usual stir of discussion — for the Gate of Heavenly Completion stood on the central axis of the Forbidden City.
Lightning-fire was different from an ordinary fire. People attributed it to Heaven’s will, and Heaven’s will was not to be defied.
Two days later, a procession of men arrived from Raozhou Prefecture, saying they had escorted a wanted criminal up to the capital for transfer to the Ministry of Justice.
The following day, the Imperial Clan Court also became involved in the matter.
Chuan Cheng – Chapter 227
“In the sound of firecrackers, the old year passes; the warm spring breeze carries in the new.”
For the officials of Da Qing, the first month of the year was the period with the most holidays. First came seven days off for the Spring Festival, and then, at the Lantern Festival, another seven days could be taken.
The court was so generous to the capital’s officials because their regular “ten-day rest” had long since become little more than a formality — when things were busy, it was common to go months without a single day off.
Officials cherished their first-month holidays greatly. Even the censors, who spent ordinary days in endless complaint, had the good sense to hold their tongues during this time.
Silver flowers of fire blazed across the nine heavens; day and night alike, every household rang with festivity and cheer.
The Eastern Palace was the same — lanterns and festive decorations filled every corner. Crown Prince Yan Youzheng was obsessed with pavilions, towers, and halls, but held no particular fascination for feminine beauty. Abiding by ancestral practice, his inner court consisted of no more than one Primary Consort, two Secondary Consorts, and two Selection Attendants.
On the fifth day of the first month, the Crown Prince found himself at leisure and went to the small courtyard in the northwest corner — his “woodstore,” piled high with components for architectural models, all carved from various types of timber.
These had been gathered by his wet nurse Ke Shi and her two sons, then brought inside the palace under the pretext of procurement.
With these components, the Crown Prince’s architectural designs — which could not be built in reality — could at least be assembled as models to satisfy his longing.
The Crown Prince had barely assembled half a structure when an attendant came to report that Minister Wang of the Board of Rites was waiting in the Left Hall of the Palace Secretariat, requesting an audience. No reason was given, but someone who would enter the palace on the fifth day of the first month must surely have urgent business.
The half-assembled “roof ridge” was left unfinished. The Crown Prince gave a quiet, hollow sigh, set down the components, brushed the wood shavings from his robes, and walked out of the courtyard.
Yet the scent of pine wood that had settled on him lingered, and had not faded.
In the main hall of the Left Hall of the Palace Secretariat, the visitor was not Wang Gaoxiang alone — Grand Secretary Hu Qi was there as well. The two had evidently already joined forces.
“Your Highness — if we do not act preemptively and suppress the two Pei brothers before they gain further influence, by the time they have truly come into their own, it will be too late!” As he spoke, Wang Gaoxiang’s agitation was evident. His normally drooping, narrow eyes widened, brows arched high — like a fox that had opened its eyes.
Hu Qi added his voice in support, speaking with grave weight: “This old minister serves in the Grand Secretariat and ordinarily would not do well to draw too close to Your Highness, lest it arouse the Emperor’s suspicion… Yet the planet Mars grows ever brighter. Its radiance is beginning to outshine the North Star — an omen of treacherous ministers descending upon the realm, seizing power over the court, and bringing chaos to the land. For the sake of Da Qing’s dynasty and the security of the realm, this old minister had no choice but to come here with Grand Tutor Wang on this occasion.”
Mars was considered an ill-omened star. “Mars menacing the heart” was the most inauspicious of all celestial signs, portending the fall of the Son of Heaven and chaos under heaven.
Though the Crown Prince was no expert in statecraft, he could hear clearly enough that Hu Qi was slandering the Pei family to serve his own ambitions. If there had truly been a celestial sign of “Mars menacing the heart,” the Imperial Astronomical Bureau would have reported it long ago. Having been summoned to the Palace Secretariat on the fifth day of the first month was itself unwelcome enough — and now, being made to sit through this web of petty politics was giving him a headache. His irritation grew sharper.
“The two gentlemen are looking at things with too narrow a view. The Pei brothers are far from being in positions of great power. Promoting the new evaluation system serves only to select capable ministers for the court.” The Crown Prince said. “I believe there is truly no need to invoke the ill omen of Mars.”
In his heart, he harbored a certain envy toward the Pei brothers and did not particularly favor them — yet he could not be said to hate them with any desire to see them destroyed.
He also added: “If the two gentlemen have something to say, please speak plainly. If there is nothing further, I shall take my leave.”
“Has Your Highness also been swayed by Pei Boyuan?” Hu Qi asked.
That one word — “also” — made Wang Gaoxiang rush to cut off Grand Secretary Hu’s words. He softened his tone and served as mediator, saying: “Your Highness, what Grand Secretary Hu says is based not only on celestial observations, but also on the state of the court. Were it not for urgent necessity burning in our hearts, would we dare trouble Your Highness at a time like this?” As Grand Tutor, he had spent long enough with the Crown Prince to understand his temperament clearly.
Wang Gaoxiang spoke with heavy sorrow: “Your Highness, the people below are truly without heart for the festival — they are all wholeheartedly at their duties. After the evaluation, it is unknown how many of them will be permitted to remain…”
By “the people below,” he meant the Crown Prince’s faction.
The Crown Prince had always been soft-eared and kind-hearted toward officials who served him. After a moment of reflection, he said: “If they are truly wholeheartedly at their duties, I will speak on their behalf before the Emperor.”
“And what of the future?” Wang Gaoxiang asked. “Does Your Highness still remember what this subject once mentioned — that passage about ‘Cao Pi hosting a banquet for his ministers’ from the Annals of Bing Yuan?”
The Annals of Bing Yuan record that when Cao Pi was still Heir Apparent, he hosted a banquet for his meritorious officials. At the feast, he posed this question: “If your lord and your father were each gravely ill, and there was a single pill that could save only one — would you save your lord, or your father?”
Ruler or father — whom to save? What a deadly riddle to pose to a minister.
Yet Bing Yuan was unafraid. He declared outright: “My father.”
Why was Bing Yuan unafraid? Because at the end of the Eastern Han dynasty, rulers were dependent on powerful ministers and aristocratic clans.
The Crown Prince’s expression shifted slightly upon hearing this.
Seeing this, Wang Gaoxiang pressed forward and let several more sharp words enter his voice: “The Emperor trusts the Pei brothers beyond measure — their imperial favor is unmatched by anyone in court. If the Pei brothers were to use that imperial favor to cultivate contacts above and below, gather loyal followers, and hold power in their hands — if they became so unafraid of the imperial authority that they stood in the hall and cried out ‘My father’ — what then could Your Highness do against them? A minister with no regard for ruler or father — Da Qing would return to the chaos of ‘the Wang family and the Sima family sharing the realm.’ Is this what Your Highness wishes to see?”
He continued: “And if the Emperor were to act on a moment of rage, how would Your Highness face the word ‘filial piety’? No matter how enlightened, the Emperor is still capable of rash judgments on occasion. Your Highness must be the eyes behind the Emperor’s back.”
The Crown Prince neither accepted nor refused, yet sat upright without leaving — which was evidence that he was taking this in.
Hu Qi found his foothold in Wang Gaoxiang’s words and added to the persuasion: “The Nanping Earl’s residence controls the cotton weaving workshops — year after year they solicit winter clothing donations to win the hearts of the frontier troops. The Lin family and the Lu family hold the horse administration in their hands — every horse in the court passes through them. And then there is the Pei family’s father and sons opening up maritime trade, purchasing food grain on a vast scale… Case after case — is this not enough for Your Highness to be on guard? Once the evaluation passes, with the court in disarray, it will truly be too late.” What he called “disarray” simply meant that anyone who was not one of their people — no matter how talented — was unfit.
Cloth, horses, grain, and officials. If all four of these were tied to the Pei family, then truly one had to guard against them.
This was practically a sign of impending rebellion.
Even if it fell short of outright rebellion, it still bore every mark of a clan growing into a powerful aristocratic faction. The Pei family dominant, marriage alliances spreading through the court — was that not monopolizing power over the entire realm? Which fit perfectly with the celestial omen Hu Qi had spoken of — “Mars growing bright.”
The Crown Prince deliberated for a long while, then said: “Let the two gentlemen return for now. I will think it over further.”
Hu Qi and Wang Gaoxiang having achieved their aim, rose and took their leave.
The side courtyard of the Eastern Palace still had several unopened crates of components. The Crown Prince had no heart for them now. He sat alone in the great hall, which made him look rather solitary.
He had lost his birth mother when young. The Emperor had first been occupied with the struggle for the throne, then consumed by affairs of state. As time passed, he had come to find that when difficulties arose, he no longer knew whom to ask or whom to trust. The status of firstborn son by the Empress had granted him dignity, but had also surrounded him with people seeking to ride on his coattails.
The Crown Prince suddenly recalled that this very morning, his eldest son Yan Chen had said he intended to come to the Left Hall of the Palace Secretariat to practice his calligraphy. He took quiet steps to the side door of the main hall and suddenly pushed open the study door.
The young boy inside was startled and quickly returned to his seat, pretending to continue reading — though his eyes kept sneaking glances outward.
The boy was about twelve years old, dressed in a dark-purple round-collared robe, with embroidered flame-treading qilins at his shoulders. Born to the imperial family, the boy nonetheless carried an honest and earnest look about him. People often said that grandchildren resemble their grandparents — and indeed he bore some resemblance to the Emperor, looking guileless when he smiled and formidable when he was displeased.
After a long pause, Yan Chen finally set down the book he had been using as cover and said: “Father…”
The Crown Prince did not express anger. He simply closed the door behind him, and asked in a gentle voice: “Did you hear all of that?” He had always treated his children with great warmth.
Yan Chen nodded.
At twelve years old, he was no longer small. The Crown Prince asked: “What do you make of it?”
The imperial household forges precocity in the young; its children are never ordinary. Young Yan Chen, for all his earnest appearance, carried genuine composure. He answered: “‘The Wang family and the Sima family sharing the realm’ is indeed something to be guarded against. Yet I have two uncertainties.”
“What uncertainties?”
“Knowing Imperial Grandfather’s temperament — how could he be unaware of ‘the Wang family and the Sima family sharing the realm,’ and fail to take precautions against it? If the Pei family has any ambition to ‘share the realm,’ then what of Hu Qi and Wang Gaoxiang? If one must guard, surely one cannot only guard against the Pei family.” Yan Chen said. “This phrase about ‘sharing the realm’ sounds profound, but it is actually the most fundamental of principles: when the ruler is strong, the ministers are weak; when the ruler is weak, the ministers grow strong. If both ruler and ministers are strong, then all the world falls under Da Qing’s dominion.”
Seeing his son stand and speak with such fluency — his stature now nearly matching his own — the Crown Prince felt a flash of both pride and a faint sense of loss. He dimly recalled how many years ago, when he himself was still a youth, there had been a scene just like this one. When the Emperor had tested him in those days, there had always been a look of expectation in his eyes.
But that expectation had been worn away, day by day, in disappointment after disappointment. Afterward, the Emperor more often taught him — the questions had come to feel more like checking on assigned work.
Perhaps what the Emperor had once hoped for was exactly this — the kind of fluent, well-reasoned speech that Yan Chen was showing now.
He himself had let the Emperor down.
“Father?”
The Crown Prince came back to himself and said: “You spoke very well.”
“A ruler cannot seal off his ministers completely, nor obsess over keeping them in check. If Father does not know the Pei brothers well enough, why not make their acquaintance first, and decide from there? In any case, at present they are the ones in the weaker position, and they are the ones who have shown their hand first.” Yan Chen offered his suggestion.
Yan Chen was still a little brash in his youth — fortunately, the Crown Prince was not the sort of father who was wary of his own son.
……
Meanwhile, outside the gates of the Palace Secretariat, Hu Qi and Wang Gaoxiang emerged one after the other through two different exits.
The New Year’s holiday meant the palace was sparsely staffed, and the Palace Secretariat was among the quieter spots — very few people passed through.
Yet Xiao Jin happened to see them from a distance. The Emperor had that day been reading a fine book and had sent Xiao Jin on an errand to the Eastern Palace to summon the Imperial Eldest Grandson Yan Chen — and the Palace Secretariat lay right along the way.
Xiao Jin had sharp eyes. Judging by the two men’s gait and bearing, he quickly identified them.
He stopped in his tracks. His heart lurched, and in an instant he was both anxious and troubled. Coming to the Palace Secretariat on the fifth day of the first month — it was not hard to guess what Hu Qi and Wang Gaoxiang were up to.
Xiao Jin walked toward the Palace Secretariat, nearly reaching the gate — then suddenly turned on his heel and walked back the way he had come. He gave a sharp “Hmph” under his breath to release some of the anger in his chest, and muttered inwardly: “Truly insufferable, those narrow eyes — always leading people into dead ends.”
So consumed was he with this matter and his worry that the Crown Prince might take a wrong step, Xiao Jin entirely forgot the Emperor’s errand. He had forgotten his purpose for coming here altogether.
It was not until he returned to Qianqing Palace that the Emperor, seeing him arrive with only a whisk in hand and a distracted expression, asked: “Where is Yan Chen?”
Xiao Jin snapped back to himself, not having caught the Emperor’s words, and asked: “What was Your Majesty’s instruction?”
The Emperor laughed out loud and repeated himself: “I sent you to bring Yan Chen here. Where is he?”
“Oh my, this old servant deserves punishment — I forgot Your Majesty’s instruction entirely…” Xiao Jin said. “Allow this old servant to make the trip again.”
“Come back, come back.” The Emperor gestured, and laughed: “Just send a younger one to make the trip. You need not handle everything yourself.”
“This old servant obeys.”
The Emperor was clearly being considerate of him — yet Chief Eunuch Xiao could not help but feel a quiet, lingering sense of something lost.
Chuan Cheng – Chapter 228
What Xiao Jin cared about was not whether he made the trip or not. In former times, anything concerning the Eastern Palace — however trivial or weighty — the Emperor would have Xiao Jin handle personally, trusting it to no one else.
Now, summoning the imperial grandson had become an ordinary matter, one that others could attend to just as well.
Xiao Jin had no way of knowing what was truly in the Emperor’s mind.
……
Pei Shaohuai knew nothing of what had taken place at the Palace Secretariat. During the Spring Festival holiday, he and Yang Shiyue took their two children visiting relatives, finding leisure within the busyness.
On the day they visited General Situ’s residence, Pei Shaohuai had barely sat down, before he had even had time to pick up his tea, when Situ’s second brother-in-law had his eldest and second daughters come out to bow deeply before him.
“Greetings to Second Younger Uncle.”
Situ Si, at sixteen, and Situ Yun, at fourteen, had both reached the age of betrothal. Pei Shaohuai could not help but admire the Situ family’s bloodline — his two nieces by marriage were tall and willowy, even taller than Yang Shiyue, with features that did not carry the gentle, smooth look of the Pei family, but instead bore a touch of heroic spirit.
“Does younger brother-in-law still remember the promise he made to me years ago?”
“What matter is Second Brother-in-law referring to?”
“How can you have forgotten?” Situ’s second brother-in-law slapped his knee, with a look of urgency on his face. He waved to have his two daughters withdraw first, then said: “It was about finding a scholar husband for Si’er and Yun’er.”
“A fine and accomplished scholar,” Situ’s second brother-in-law emphasized.
Having distinguished himself in guarding Shanhai Pass, Situ’s second brother-in-law had long since risen to the rank of third-grade general, and no small number of families had come forward to seek the match. Yet he was set on having his daughters marry a man of scholarly learning.
“What qualifies as a ‘fine and accomplished scholar’ is a condition that isn’t easy to pin down,” Pei Shaohuai said, finding it a difficult request.
Situ’s second brother-in-law said: “All you need to do is say he is one of your students, or someone you personally approve of — that will be more than good enough.”
“The young ladies would also need to be willing.”
“They are willing — I’ve already asked.”
Situ’s second brother-in-law thought for a moment, furrowed his brow, let out a long “tsk,” and added: “Now that you hold an important post at court, matchmaking through your own students would reflect poorly on your reputation. This way — when the autumn examinations come next year, just tell me who stands out, who is worth trusting, and I’ll send my men to station themselves below the posting board with a sack, ready to ambush the moment the list is posted. So long as the list is out, we’ll bundle them and bring them straight back to the residence — that way it’s got nothing to do with you. What do you say?”
Pei Shaohuai didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The tradition of “catching a son-in-law below the examination board” was not carried out quite like this.
“Second Brother-in-law, you must not do that. In broad daylight, the moment that sack of yours comes down, your rank of third-grade general would be finished.” Pei Shaohuai urged. “If there is a candidate worth considering, the proper way is to first send a matchmaker to test the waters, and then present a golden whip below the examination board — that is what a double blessing looks like.”
“I know, I know — it’s only because I got impatient that I talked about using a sack.”
Just then, Pei Ruolan, having apparently heard from her daughters and knowing that Situ’s second brother-in-law was once again going about things heavy-handedly, came hurrying over from the rear courtyard. Stepping through the door, she immediately said: “Eldest Brother, pay him no mind.”
Giving Situ’s second brother-in-law a light, scolding nudge, Pei Ruolan continued: “Si Jie’er and Yun Jie’er’s affairs have already been discussed with Mother, the sisters, and the sisters-in-law. Eldest Brother need not let it distract you from official matters.”
Ever since Si Jie’er’s incident at the opera house — the painful repetition of a mistake — Pei Ruolan had grown considerably clearer-headed. Knowing that her own judgment of people was not quite reliable, and knowing the matter concerned her daughters’ futures, she had taken to visiting her family home often, and listened closely to Lin Shi’s and her elder sister’s opinions.
Situ’s second brother-in-law leaned back, muttering: “I only wanted younger brother-in-law to help look out for someone too — he’s extraordinarily good at reading people, and having one more set of reliable eyes does no harm.”
Watching his second elder sister and her husband this way, Pei Shaohuai thought to himself: the strange twist of fate that had brought them together all those years ago had borne good fruit after all — something truly rare.
……
The spring holiday drew to a close, and officials returned to court.
Yet Chief Eunuch Xiao applied for leave from the Emperor on the very first day back in session. He said to the Emperor: “Your Majesty, this old servant intends to visit Zhihua Chan Temple to bathe and offer incense, to pray with sincere devotion for Da Qing’s blessing. I beg Your Majesty’s gracious permission.”
Eunuchs, having been castrated, were largely followers of the law of cause and effect, and the habit of burning incense and worshipping Buddha was common among them — Chief Eunuch Xiao was no exception.
Moreover, those subjected to punishment by mutilation were not permitted burial in the ancestral graveyard after death. Eunuchs with sufficient wealth and influence would spend their lives tending to the incense of temples, and after death would be interred in the temple’s burial grounds. Ordinary small eunuchs could only be wrapped in a grass mat and left in the open wilderness. Xiao Jin was old now, and had long made arrangements for his own final affairs.
Though the Emperor knew that Xiao Jin’s intent was not truly about offering incense, he still said: “You have Our permission.”
“This old servant thanks Your Majesty.”
The winter days are short, and though it was only the early hours of the evening, the sky was already growing dark.
Xiao Jin returned from offering incense, and on his way back to the palace, his route happened to pass by the Jingchuan Earl’s residence. Dressed in a dark cloak, he stepped down from the carriage, slipped into the alley, and knocked at the back gate of the Earl’s residence.
The steward opened the gate. By the lantern’s light, he saw an elderly man dressed in silks and satins, his hair crown neatly set, with a refined pale complexion and low, gentle eyes — the steward took him for a learned scholar and asked: “Whom does the gentleman seek? What is your business?”
“Please pass word to the eldest young master of the residence — tell him Xiao Jin has an urgent matter and has come to call.”
Pei Shaohuai found a quiet place to receive his visitor.
Below the pot, the firewood burned bright; above the stove, cooking smoke rose. The kitchen was busy at that hour, and the pine-wood smoke drifting from the stove drifted through the evening breeze into the small reception courtyard.
Xiao Jin twitched the tip of his nose and could not help stepping to the window, where he drew in several slow breaths, murmuring with feeling: “It has been a very long time since I last smelled smoke like this.”
“It is nothing but the ordinary smell of hearth and home,” Pei Shaohuai said.
Xiao Jin gave a low smile, shook his head, and replied: “Lord Pei does not know — wherever there are people, there is the smoke of hearth and home. But it is only in a clean and honest place that one can smell a clean and honest smoke.” There is no shortage of hearthfire in this world — what is scarce is an honest place to smell it.
Xiao Jin narrowed his eyes; his thoughts drifted. He murmured: “The pine wood burning in Lord Pei’s home must be cut up in the dry days of autumn — because pine wood in spring and summer is full of sap, the trunk thick and sticky, and an axe cannot cut through it at all…” He trailed off in a daze, then came back to himself, laughing softly at his own foolishness: “I have gone off on a tangent — at my age, one cannot help but find the mind wandering to trivial things of the past.”
The last time they met, Pei Shaohuai had used the cover of drunkenness to remind Chief Eunuch Xiao to “take his time on the road home” — and yet not only had he not slowed down, he had come directly to Pei Shaohuai’s door instead. Pei Shaohuai asked plainly: “What is it that Chief Eunuch Xiao actually wishes to discuss?” Truthfully, Pei Shaohuai had not initially wanted to involve himself in the power struggle over the imperial succession — yet in reality, so long as he remained in the court and sought to advance new policies, entanglement was unavoidable.
It was simply not possible to remain uninvolved.
And if he stood apart — what then of the Yang family, the Xu family, the Chen family?
Noticing Pei Shaohuai’s wariness, Chief Eunuch Xiao said: “My coming here tonight was not at His Majesty’s command — yet His Majesty is aware of it. Lord Pei need not be uneasy.”
He was putting Pei Shaohuai’s guard at rest while also making clear that his allegiance was solely to the Emperor.
The reason Pei Shaohuai had been willing to receive Xiao Jin today was that he understood: with a wise ruler on the throne, eunuchs could not stir up too great a wave. Xiao Jin could be close to the Son of Heaven, but he could not deceive the Son of Heaven. As Xiao Jin himself had said — whatever he did, the Emperor was aware of it.
Only when the Son of Heaven was incapable, or when the Son of Heaven distrusted his civil officials and needed eunuchs to keep them in check, would eunuchs truly “hold sway.” Eunuchs were unencumbered by ties of family or faction — they were the most convenient chess pieces of all.
“If what Chief Eunuch Xiao says is true, why the urgency to make this trip?” Pei Shaohuai asked.
Xiao Jin did not conceal it, and answered plainly: “That my allegiance is solely to His Majesty is true. That I have private partiality is also true.” He leaned forward in his chair toward Pei Shaohuai and spoke earnestly: “I ask Lord Pei to reach out and lend a hand to the Crown Prince, Your Highness. The Crown Prince needs a trustworthy minister at his side.”
“Does Chief Eunuch Xiao understand what he is saying?” Pei Shaohuai slapped the table and rose, his words carrying anger. “Please take your leave!”
“A ruler’s three visits to the thatched cottage” — the Eastern Palace should come in person. “Entrusting a loyal minister” — it should be the Son of Heaven who speaks the word. Even “a powerful minister taking charge of governance” — even that should be Pei Shaohuai’s own calculation.
In any of these cases, it was not Chief Eunuch Xiao’s place to open this conversation.
What was this, then? Tying Pei Shaohuai to the Crown Prince’s ship by force — so that if one day things turned and fell apart, Pei Shaohuai would be dragged down completely as well, bearing the charge of deliberately plotting rebellion.
Besides, what lay in a man’s heart is hidden deep — who could say with certainty what Xiao Jin’s true nature was, or what he truly intended?
“Lord Pei, please calm your anger.” Xiao Jin said with remorse. “This servant has misspoken.”
He explained: “If not for the Emperor’s intention to have Lord Pei enter the Palace Secretariat and spend more time in contact with the Crown Prince — if not for the Emperor’s instruction that Lord Pei lecture the Imperial Eldest Grandson — if this servant had not come to know of these things, how would I dare act on my own initiative and come to call on Lord Pei without permission?”
It was because the Emperor had this intention that Xiao Jin had dared to take one step further.
Xiao Jin changed his approach and said with a note of entreaty: “Lord Pei may regard this servant’s visit today as nothing more than passing along information. What is to be done — that is entirely for Lord Pei to decide.”
He continued: “The inner palace and the outer court, within the palace walls and beyond them — all of it is entangled together. Lord Pei, there is no harm in listening.”
Pei Shaohuai sat back down, and Xiao Jin recounted everything he had seen on the fifth day of the first month.
In a few sentences, Pei Shaohuai grasped the danger within.
Hu Qi and Wang Gaoxiang defying the Emperor directly was a minister transgressing against his ruler — spoken more seriously, it could even be construed as forming a faction to commit treason. But if they placed the Crown Prince in front as a shield, the nature of the matter changed entirely — they could be cast as loyal ministers standing firmly behind the heir, working for Da Qing’s future. The contradiction would transform into a contest between father and son.
In other words, they were simply using the Crown Prince as their sword.
When the Son of Heaven grows old and the throne must pass, these are exactly the circumstances in which such situations most readily arise.
“Lord Pei will surely grasp what is at stake here. This servant is a small figure and will not presume to discuss the court with Your Lordship. There is only one thing this servant wishes to say.” Xiao Jin spoke with genuine feeling: “His Majesty holds the Crown Prince in his heart, and the Crown Prince holds the Emperor in deep reverence. Can Your Lordship bear to watch them — father and son — be plotted against by their own ministers, a wedge driven between them, each nursing a knife-wound in their own chest?”
Hu Qi and Wang Gaoxiang sought to use the Crown Prince’s influence to obstruct the new evaluation system and throw the court into disorder — on that basis alone, Pei Shaohuai would not stand by and do nothing.
Pei Shaohuai asked: “Chief Eunuch Xiao has private partiality — but why? I must at least have a reason, surely?” There had to be some cause behind this partiality toward the Crown Prince.
“If I said it was because Empress Xiaozhen was kind-hearted, that she treated those beneath her well, and that I once received her kindness — or that the Crown Prince lost his mother while still young, and that I watched him grow up before my eyes — would Your Lordship believe me?”
“Xiaozhen” was the posthumous title of the first Empress.
Pei Shaohuai remained silent. Xiao Jin’s account was understandable — but not fully convincing.
It was not enough.
Xiao Jin understood this. He fell silent for a moment, then shifted course and asked: “Does Your Lordship know how the eunuchs of the palace come to enter it?”
This was about to lay bare a wound. Pei Shaohuai did not know how to respond.
Xiao Jin did not wait for Pei Shaohuai to speak. He answered himself: “Those who do not know all assume that one presents oneself to the Board of Rites for selection, and upon being chosen, enters the palace — and only then is the operation performed.”
The Emperor had still been Crown Prince in the Eastern Palace when Xiao Jin had begun to serve at his side, making it clear he had entered the palace as a young boy — castrated before he ever arrived.
Xiao Jin gave a bitter smile and continued: “What they do not know is that of those selected by the Board of Rites, five or six in ten have already undergone the operation before being sent for consideration.”
He was one of those five or six in ten.
In the counties surrounding the capital, poor commoners envied the wealth and comfort of palace eunuchs. Some would castrate themselves in private, hoping to be taken into service. Some who were already married, with nowhere left to turn, would do the same. These men who had undergone the operation beforehand would receive a scolding from the Board of Rites — but the Board would also turn a blind eye and allow them to enter the palace as they had hoped.
“I was born into a farming family. We had more than ten mu of good land — poor but not destitute. From the time my mother died, the household changed.”
“He quickly remarried a woman named Huang, who bore him another son. That day, I came home from chopping firewood on the mountain to find a lavish table set with all the dishes I loved most. They smiled and said it was to celebrate my birthday. I was overjoyed, rushed inside to change into fresh clothes, then came to the table and picked up my rice bowl — without the slightest suspicion. They didn’t touch their chopsticks. They said I was the one being honored that day, and told me to eat more…”
Listening to Xiao Jin’s tone — calm yet shadowed with darkness beneath — it was clear this was a scene he had never been able to forget for the rest of his life. The price he had paid for trusting his “family.”
Pei Shaohuai could already deduce what had followed and why. He wanted to speak, to ask Xiao Jin not to tear open the wound further — but Xiao Jin showed no intention of stopping.
“Knockout drugs do not come cheap. They used a generous dose. When I came back to my senses, everything had already been decided.” Xiao Jin did not choke on his words; there was instead a sense of something long needing release. He said: “Who could believe it — that a man’s own father had performed the deed on his firstborn son with his own hands.”
Chuan Cheng – Chapter 229
A private act of punishment carried out within the family’s walls — to send the “extra” firstborn son into the palace, to bind him through blood and kinship, and have him win wealth and status for the family.
What cruelty.
In all of this, Huang’s scheming and her vicious suggestions were no doubt involved — yet at the root of it, the fault lay entirely with that man unworthy of the name father, who had acted out of selfish desire, heartless and ruthless.
Neither of them was anything but vile.
The room was quiet for a long while. Pei Shaohuai did not know what to say, and could only wait in silence as Xiao Jin gradually composed himself.
The smoke from the kitchen had gradually thinned. Xiao Jin’s nose was sharp — he knew it was time for the evening meal. He adjusted his lower garment, rose to his feet, and said: “All that this servant has said can be traced and verified. Your Lordship will have ways to confirm it.” He gave a slight bow and apologized: “Coming here without announcement today, saying things better left unsaid — I have troubled Lord Pei.”
He had said what he had come to say. What happened next was for Pei Shaohuai to decide.
Before leaving, Xiao Jin could not help but add one final word: “In the Eastern Palace, there are malicious servants who abuse the Crown Prince’s generous nature to lord it over others. If Your Lordship has any intention of dealing with them, please spare their lives.” He paused, then explained: “The Crown Prince’s nature is too gentle and kind — he holds the good memories of people in his heart.”
Not their treachery and wickedness.
“Why does Chief Eunuch Xiao not deal with them himself?”
“Though a eunuch carries the word ‘official’ in his title, in the end he is nothing more than a servant. The more one acts, the more one is guarded against.”
After Xiao Jin departed, Pei Shaohuai remained in the reception room deep in thought.
Night had fallen. By lamplight, shadows played strange.
Of Xiao Jin’s words this evening, Pei Shaohuai believed three or four parts. That the Emperor wished to pass the throne to the Eastern Palace, and that Hu Qi and Wang Gaoxiang schemed to use the Crown Prince as a weapon — these two points, at least, were beyond doubt.
Pei Shaohuai had a faint feeling that the adversaries he had encountered on his journey south were beginning to stir once more, ready to show their fox-tails again.
The methods by which those adversaries stirred up trouble were often subtle and unseen. Those who jumped out in plain sight were very likely nothing but chess pieces being manipulated to confuse and mislead. This time, Pei Shaohuai would not act alone on impulse.
As the southern scholar had said — let the field grow green through the season, and when the harvest comes, the weeds and tares will reveal themselves on their own.
……
Searching through the Board of Rites’ records, Pei Shaohuai sent Chang Zhou on a trip to a village in the southern outskirts of the capital called Xiao Village — not to confirm Xiao Jin’s identity, but to learn how Xiao Jin had handled his “family affairs.”
“The household Your Lordship asked me to find — according to the villagers, it disappeared decades ago. They say the man wore himself out on corvée labor and was carried back home, and within two days he had breathed his last. At the time, his son was still young, and the clan relatives devoured the estate. The widowed mother took the boy and remarried into a place called Gao Village.” Chang Zhou reported. “I made another trip to Gao Village as well. Huang died some years ago. Her son took the surname Gao, and having no land or fields, could not find a wife, so he became a live-in son-in-law for another family, making a living by chopping firewood and burning charcoal on the mountain.”
So it seemed Xiao Jin had long ago sent his father “on his way” — and then stopped.
Chang Zhou continued: “The villagers also said that since no one burned incense or made offerings, the man’s grave was swallowed up by weeds. In a year of famine, refugees flooded in from Baoding Prefecture, and the court gave permission to open wasteland for cultivation — the grave mound was likely dug up long ago.”
Listening to Chang Zhou’s account, Pei Shaohuai seemed to see it — a young boy newly entered into the palace, small and cautious, working to find his footing one careful step at a time, accumulating rewards one fraction at a time, until his hands had enough reach — and then, without hesitation, he struck back.
……
……
On the morning of the Lantern Festival.
Yang Shiyue finished arranging her hair and, thinking of the special nature of this day, opened her vanity box, took out the gold frog and agate lotus-leaf jade-foot hairpin, and pinned it into the back of her hair bun.
Though many years had passed, the hairpin was still as lustrous and new as ever.
Then came the sound of steady, light footsteps behind her. The one who had entered was Pei Shaohuai. He was dressed in his official robes and stood behind his wife, saying: “Madam looks truly beautiful.”
Then he gently removed the gold frog hairpin and drew from his sleeve a gold-set jade ruyi hairpin, pinning it in the same place. He smiled and said: “Madam need not think poorly of your husband’s taste — all you need know is that this ruyi hairpin carries a wish: that every day from this day on may bring you all you could wish for.”
The Lantern Festival was the anniversary of the day they had first met and begun to harbor feelings for one another.
“Will my husband be going to court today?” Yang Shiyue turned around and straightened his official robe for him.
Pei Shaohuai nodded and said: “With the evaluation approaching, the business of setting the examination questions must be properly arranged.”
Yang Shiyue took a round jade pendant from her sleeve and helped Pei Shaohuai fasten it to his sash. She said: “Your wife hopes for husband’s safety and peace.” The jade pendant was carved in open-work with the figure of a sacred elephant — an elephant for great peace, a guardian of safety and a guardian of the realm.
Married now for several years, she knew well the hopes and ambitions of her husband.
……
On the Lantern Festival, most palace departments were lightly staffed — but the Office of Merit Evaluation was fully present, and a good number of vice directors had been called over from the Six Ministries to assist with the work of reviewing the capital officials’ performance records and compiling them into ledgers.
Regarding the examination questions, Pei Shaohuai had considered several approaches. After comparing them, he determined that it would be most appropriate for the primary officials of the Six Ministries and the Nine Courts to jointly draft the question types and question banks, with the Emperor then selecting the final questions — this approach would carry more persuasive weight.
If Pei Shaohuai were to draft everything himself, suspicions of “ruling single-handedly” or “leaking questions to his associates” would inevitably arise.
After a full day of work, Pei Shaohuai left office half an hour earlier than usual. That evening, he was to take his wife and children through the streets to see the lanterns — Little Nan and Little Feng had been looking forward to it for a long time, and he could not break his promise.
The moon hung like a silver plate mirrored in the treetops; lanterns across the bustling markets shone like scattered stars.
Pei Shaohuai lifted Little Feng onto his shoulders. Little Feng held a small rabbit lantern in his left hand and a small sugar figurine in his right, exclaiming with delight every now and then — his eyes simply not enough to take everything in. The Lantern Festival in the capital truly was far livelier and grander than what they had seen in Fujian.
When he grew too eager, Little Feng used Pei Shaohuai’s hair crown as a “baton,” shaking it and calling out: “Father, Father — to the left, to the left!”
Little Nan was equally excited. He held his mother’s hand firmly, looking all around, standing on his tiptoes from time to time and pointing at some novelty, asking: “Mother, what is that?”
After they had walked to their hearts’ content, Pei Shaohuai brought Little Nan and Little Feng to Fan Garden, which was lively without being crowded.
Little Nan and Little Feng met up with Xu’er Ge’er and the Xu family’s siblings. The ladies led them to guess lantern riddles, freeing Pei Shaohuai to sit and rest in a stone pavilion.
Not long after, an elderly man leading a young man walked over — closer, Pei Shaohuai recognized them as Astronomer-in-Chief Wu of the Imperial Astronomical Bureau and his grandson Wu Jianqing.
Three years prior, when Pei Shaohuai had journeyed south, it had been this grandfather and grandson who had divined the hexagram of the “Treading” sign — “Mercury bright and radiant, a capable official serving the people” — and reported it to the Emperor.
Jianqing — “cheaply light” — the name suggested the boy’s fortune had not been favorable in youth, and that his grandfather had given him a humble name in hopes of seeing him grow safely to adulthood.
Pei Shaohuai quickly rose and bowed: “Astronomer-in-Chief Wu — it has been a long time.” He then turned to Wu Jianqing and praised: “In just a few years, young nephew has already grown this tall.”
The young man bowed properly, saying: “Greetings to Lord Pei.” He was a young man of few words. In the dim evening light, Wu Jianqing’s pair of eyes shone clear and bright.
Astronomer-in-Chief Wu said with a cheerful smile: “The hexagram of old — ‘discern above and below, establish the people’s resolve, and bestow blessings upon ten thousand people’ — it has proven itself true.”
Whether “discern” or “resolve,” both fit closely with everything Pei Shaohuai had said and done.
“The reminder Astronomer-in-Chief Wu gave me then — ‘cold years do not favor the growth of wood; without wood, farming cannot thrive’ — has benefited this junior greatly.” Pei Shaohuai said graciously.
The meaning was: prolonged cold winters damage the harvest, and without harvests, farmers cannot survive.
“Accomplishment lies with the man — the old fellow’s offhand remark hardly counts as a reminder.” Astronomer-in-Chief Wu’s expression remained the same genial, pleasantries-making face — yet he suddenly lowered his voice so that only Pei Shaohuai could hear, and said using minimal lip movement: “Lord Pei’s birth hour and year correspond to the element of wood. When this old fellow spoke those words back then, he did not think carefully enough. Your Lordship would do well not to mention this to others in the future, lest it be seized upon by ill-intentioned parties.”
Astronomer-in-Chief Wu was being very cautious.
Pei Shaohuai’s heart skipped a beat, yet his expression held its easy smile.
Astronomer-in-Chief Wu was right. In this world, celestial omens and divined signs were more potent than rumors.
Pei Shaohuai had indeed neglected this superstitious side of the world.
Astronomer-in-Chief Wu returned to his normal voice and said cheerfully: “My grandson is nearly of an age to take a wife, and a suitable match has yet to be found. I’ve brought him out for the Lantern Festival, to walk about and see if some affinity presents itself.”
The position of Astronomer-in-Chief at the Imperial Astronomical Bureau was hereditary. Astronomer-in-Chief Wu’s only son had died young, and his position would pass to Wu Jianqing — which made finding Wu Jianqing a suitable match genuinely difficult.
Families of standing would not wish to have their daughters marry into such a household. For one, those who observe the heavens were said to have thin blessings in this life, with life and death uncertain. For another, generation after generation would be confined to the small plot of land that was the Imperial Astronomical Bureau.
“Then I shall not take up Astronomer-in-Chief Wu’s time. Until we meet again.”
“Until we meet again.”
After they had walked away, Wu Jianqing asked his grandfather quietly: “Why?”
Astronomer-in-Chief Wu pointed up at the fourth star of the Big Dipper and asked: “In your view — did the Star of Literary Excellence come first, or did the top scholar come first?”
“The stars have existed since ancient times.” Wu Jianqing assumed the Star of Literary Excellence came first.
“Wrong.” Astronomer-in-Chief Wu explained: “If people had never seen the glory of those who earned great honors, who would have ever worshipped the Star of Literary Excellence? Therefore — first come the capable men and wise ministers, and only then do the signs of peace appear in the heavens. And capable men and wise ministers are encountered perhaps once in a hundred years.”
Wu Jianqing nodded.
Astronomer-in-Chief Wu continued: “To divine is to observe the heavens — and to guard the heart.” For some reason, his face showed a look of quiet worry as he instructed: “No matter what comes, Jianqing — you must guard your heart.”
……
Once the Lantern Festival holiday ended and officials returned to their posts, the court grew “lively” once more.
The censors, who had held their tongues for half a month, began a new year of sharp-tongued accusations and written denunciations.
Among their targets, the most frequently impeached was Pei Shaohuai — the charge being that “Pei Shaohuai controls the cotton manufacturing industry, amasses great wealth and power, and harbors treacherous ambitions.”
During this period, a storeroom in the west wing of the palace caught fire. The censors laid this too at Pei Shaohuai’s feet, saying it was a heavenly omen of retribution against a treacherous minister.
It was truly beyond reason.
The court sent men to investigate, and found that of the weaving workshops connected to the Pei family, only one remained in the capital — its sole purpose the weaving of winter clothing for the frontier troops. The storeroom fire had been caused by a drowsy small eunuch who had kicked over an oil lamp on a low table.
The accusers were rendered speechless, and the farce came to a close.
All of this commotion was nothing more than anxiety about the upcoming evaluation — a bit of noise to buy time and cause delays.
On this particular day, Pei Shaohuai went to the Palace Secretariat. Unlike Hu Qi and Wang Gaoxiang, who had gone in secret, Pei Shaohuai went in full view of everyone — openly and known to all.
His account to the Emperor was this: he wanted to familiarize himself with the environment before formally taking up his post as junior vice-director.
Pei Shaohuai had barely settled into a seat in the Left Hall when the Crown Prince, having heard of his arrival, came at once — and had someone bring a Go board along.
“I have long heard that郎中 Pei’s skill at Go is superb. Why not seize this opportunity for us to exchange a few moves?” The Crown Prince said.
“Then this subject will make a fool of himself.” Pei Shaohuai smiled in reply, bowed, and went to take his place at the Go table.
In his view, the Crown Prince was indeed acting on impulse. There were clearly far more pressing matters to discuss — yet he was fixed on playing this game of Go. It was as though he had been preparing for a long time, waiting only for this opportunity today to release the fire pent up in his chest.
So be it.
Pei Shaohuai was genuinely not skilled at Go — he was not feigning weakness. And the Crown Prince had come prepared and ready, so within the game, Pei Shaohuai quickly fell to the disadvantage.
Pei Shaohuai muttered to himself inwardly: what was the point of bullying a poor player at Go?
At the end of the game, the Crown Prince set down his Go bowl, tucked both hands into his sleeves — signaling that the outcome had been decided and the game was settled. He looked at Pei Shaohuai. For the first time up close, had he not known of everything Pei Shaohuai had done in the court, the Crown Prince might not have believed that this young, pale-faced scholar — so composed in manner, so gentle in speech — could carry the shadow of becoming a powerful minister.
The Crown Prince asked: “When Emperor Yuan of the Jin dynasty held court, Diao Xie, Liu Yi, and Dai Yuan once advised him to take the opportunity of Wang Dun’s armed rebellion to exterminate the entire Langya Wang clan. What does Gentleman Pei make of that?”
To exterminate the entire Langya Wang clan — words carrying a murderous chill. Yet spoken from the Crown Prince’s lips, they came out evenly and without expression.
Pei Shaohuai understood: though the Crown Prince possessed no great brilliance or ambition, neither did he possess cruelty or ruthlessness.
This question was a most interesting one.
Sima Rui had ascended to the throne and established the Eastern Jin dynasty with the support of the Wang clan — and the Langya Wang clan had risen to overwhelming power as a result. Sima Rui even addressed Wang Dao as “Zhongfu” — as one would address a respected elder. When the minister’s power was great, the imperial power was diminished; as authority drifted away, Sima Rui was naturally unwilling, and tried to promote Diao Xie, Liu Yi, and Dai Yuan to restrain the Wang clan.
Did Sima Rui not wish to exterminate the Wang clan? Not necessarily — but he could not do it, and did not dare.
Wang Dao declared himself Chancellor; Wang Dun declared himself Duke of Wuchang. This left Sima Rui as Emperor in name only. Until Sima Rui died in bitter frustration, he had never managed to rein in the aristocratic power of the Wang clan.
This was “the Wang family and the Sima family sharing the realm.” More precisely, it should be said that Wang Dao, Wang Dun, and Sima Rui shared the realm together.
The Crown Prince’s meaning was that because Emperor Yuan of Jin had not listened to Diao Xie, Liu Yi, and Dai Yuan and had not exterminated the Langya Wang clan, it had led to “sharing the realm.”
Pei Shaohuai smiled, kept his eyes on the Go board without looking up, and replied in a tone of ease: “In this subject’s view, if Your Highness wishes to study the history of the Eastern Jin, you should begin by reading of ‘the Rebellion of the Eight Princes’ — or even earlier, from the Three Kingdoms period — rather than from the founding of the Eastern Jin.”
Sima Rui had relied on the Langya Wang clan, borrowing the power of the Wang clan, to emerge from the Rebellion of the Eight Princes and ascend the throne as Emperor in the south of the Yangtze River.
The Yangtze south — this land was not in Sima Rui’s hands from the beginning.
Pei Shaohuai continued, as if in passing: “After all, only after one has first ‘obtained the realm’ does the matter of ‘sharing the realm’ become something to speak of.”
His meaning: Your Highness, you have not yet ridden forth to seize the realm. As heir apparent, the realm has not yet come into your hands. Where does ‘sharing the realm’ come from?
Pei Shaohuai gently urged: “And so, this subject believes that what was said just now may be said between this subject and Your Highness — but please do not let the Emperor hear it.”
There was yet another layer of meaning: if the Crown Prince harbored such thoughts, rather than fixating on “sharing the realm,” he would do better to think about how to safeguard his own position as Crown Prince.
Chuan Cheng – Chapter 230
In Pei Shaohuai’s view, it was perfectly natural for the Crown Prince to test him with such a question.
To show no wariness at all, to believe completely and without question from the start — that would have been the strange thing.
So Pei Shaohuai was not angry. He simply felt that the Crown Prince could not grasp what truly mattered, that he had no sense of how to assess the situation clearly — his attention had drifted entirely in the wrong direction.
Pei Shaohuai’s words had cut to the heart of it, leaving the Crown Prince in momentary stunned silence. Yes — he had not yet ascended to the throne. To speak of “sharing the realm” was not only to encroach on imperial authority, but to worry about something that had yet to come.
Only Sima Rui had any right to speak of “exterminating the Wang clan to rule alone.”
The evaluation had much to attend to. Pei Shaohuai had carved out time from a busy day to make this trip to the Palace Secretariat. He had not come to offend the Crown Prince, nor to win the Crown Prince’s esteem and affection. Nor had he come to drive a wedge between the Crown Prince and his “teacher-student bond” with Grand Tutor Wang. He had come only to ensure that the Crown Prince would not stir up trouble — so that the new evaluation could proceed without obstruction.
With his purpose achieved, Pei Shaohuai said no more.
Wang Gaoxiang had been the Crown Prince’s teacher for over a decade. To speak ill of him rashly might easily produce the opposite effect.
There was still time ahead. Things had to be taken one step at a time.
“Your Highness — shall we play another round?”
The Crown Prince shook his head. “No. I do not enjoy Go at all.” Having set aside his obsessive fixation, even his manner of speaking had loosened and become more natural.
Pei Shaohuai rose and bowed. “Your subject takes his leave.”
……
Coming out of the Left Hall, before he had even left the Palace Secretariat, as he crossed a covered walkway bridge, Pei Shaohuai heard a young voice from behind him: “Master Pei, please wait.”
The voice was clear and bright, carrying a note of respect.
Pei Shaohuai turned. At the other end of the covered walkway bridge stood a young man in a gold-brocaded purple robe — it was the Imperial Eldest Grandson Yan Chen. He came trotting over on his own, bowing before Pei Shaohuai: “Master Pei.”
Pei Shaohuai returned the bow and asked: “What business does the Young Highness have?”
Yan Chen had deliberately chosen this covered walkway bridge — there was no one around on all sides. He said: “Master Pei has not yet formally taken up his post, and yet has come early to the Palace Secretariat. Having gone this far, and having said what you said — why not, while you are at it, remind Father one more thing?”
This meant that Yan Chen had been listening in on the conversation just now.
Having entered the Palace Secretariat, regardless of whether the intent was real or not, people outside would assume Pei Shaohuai and the Crown Prince to be in an exceptional relationship — they would take him for one of the Crown Prince’s men.
Pei Shaohuai looked at this young man bearing some resemblance to the Emperor, and guessed a few things. He asked deliberately: “What would the Young Highness have me remind him of?”
“Naturally, to remind Father to be on guard against Raozhou Prefecture.”
It is said the imperial household fosters early maturity of mind, and Pei Shaohuai felt this was no exaggeration. That the Imperial Eldest Grandson could say such a thing meant his thoughts ran far deeper than the Crown Prince’s.
Seeing that Pei Shaohuai had not responded, Yan Chen continued: “The exposure of Kunning Palace’s intentions — was that not to seize a chance for Prince Huai? If one had no confidence at all in the outcome, who would dare stake so much on such a gamble?” There was a trace of uncertainty in his words. “Could it be that I have thought incorrectly?”
Pei Shaohuai understood at once. Give this young man a little more time — once he had learned to conceal his thoughts and not let them show in his words — his mastery of the art of rulership would be no less than his grandfather’s.
Yan Chen’s thinking was not wrong.
Xiao Jin had jumped out so conspicuously and offered an explanation of repaying a benefactor’s kindness — that was still plausible enough. But what about the Empress? She had made things difficult for the Pei family and the Qiao family at the imperial banquet for the officials’ wives. What was she hoping to gain? What benefit was there to her in antagonizing the Pei household, which was rising with such flourishing momentum?
This did not seem like the conduct of the carefully calculating Empress.
Even Yan Chen could see through it — the Emperor would naturally see through it as well, and not a few officials at court had also grown alert to something. Yet no one named it aloud.
Since even the Emperor had said nothing, issued no punishment, how were ministers to know what hidden depths lay beneath? The wisest choice was to watch the fire from across the river.
“Your Highness — matters that have not yet come to pass cannot be decided with a definitive judgment.”
One could speculate. One could not pronounce verdicts.
The Imperial Eldest Grandson was gifted beyond ordinary measure — yet if he were to take a wrong turn, his fortune would become his misfortune. Pei Shaohuai said with stern seriousness: “Young Highness has been too light on his studies. Once this subject has formally taken up his post in the Palace Secretariat, I will assign Young Highness more work.”
Kunning Palace, Raozhou Prefecture — the Imperial Eldest Grandson was thinking about these things far too soon.
An embarrassed look crossed Yan Chen’s face. He met Master Pei’s eyes for just a moment and felt as though all the small calculations in his heart had been seen clean through — nowhere to hide before this master. He at once clasped his hands and bowed in the manner of a student before a teacher: “All is at Master’s arrangement.”
……
Back at the residence, Pei Shaohuai called his younger brother into the study and closed the door.
His mentor had once reminded him: from the examinations to entering officialdom is like a river flowing into the sea — the most fearsome thing is not the rushing rapids and treacherous shallows, but the hidden currents beneath a smooth and untroubled surface.
If one were at a loss for what to do, a single wrong step could leave one pushed along by those hidden currents.
Right now, this was exactly the kind of situation they were in.
Pei Shaohuai told his younger brother of the recent encounters and shared some of his own conjectures. First, to put Shaojin on his guard so that he would not be led astray by others. Second, because he needed Shaojin’s support — one person alone was bound to have oversights from time to time.
Shaojin listened to the matter of the Imperial Eldest Grandson, furrowed his brow, and said: “No wonder the Emperor has been so strict with the Crown Prince.”
To have a son so gifted as to seem almost otherworldly — for the Crown Prince personally, this was not necessarily a good thing.
Pei Shaohuai nodded and said: “What he asked on the covered walkway — was that not itself a form of testing, even more bold than what his father had done? As for the respect he showed — who can say how much of it came from the heart, and how much was for the sake of the throne?”
In the world, there is little respect that comes without reason. All the more so upon a first meeting.
Yan Chen clearly understood: the throne could only reach his own hands if it first passed into his father’s — so he had to help his father win capable ministers to his side, and protect his father’s position as Crown Prince.
Pei Shaohuai had become his target.
Fortunately, this “little fox” was still young, and not yet too much of a fox at heart.
“What does Elder Brother think Prince Huai’s side will do?” Shaojin asked.
“Perhaps produce evidence sufficient to topple the Crown Prince — enough to turn court officials to their side.” Pei Shaohuai guessed. But he shook his head shortly after, murmuring: “Yet it feels too plain and simple. I cannot tell where my reasoning is lacking…”
The behavior of his adversaries in Fujian — like nested boxes within boxes — Pei Shaohuai had never forgotten it. If adversaries were truly involved in a scheme to seize power and the throne, would their methods truly be this “straightforward and unadorned”?
What the Empress and Prince Huai had done, and what they sought — it did not look like a plan to raise arms in revolt. It looked more like an attempt to drive the Crown Prince from power and take his place.
The brothers talked deep into the night and arrived at only a rough outline of a plan, deciding to proceed as the situation unfolded.
……
……
In early February, the Office of Merit Evaluation was deep in the work of drafting examination questions.
Everything had been proceeding smoothly — until a spring thunderclap suddenly threw the court into unrest.
Above the Forbidden City, lightning fell in ten thousand threads. A brilliant flash broke through, followed by a thunderous boom. This year’s first spring thunder was unusually violent, its heavy clouds pressing down over the entire capital.
The thunder rolled past without rain — instead the clouds parted and the sun emerged, darkness giving way to light.
Just as everyone thought the storm had passed, a second thunderbolt, larger than the first, struck down — deafening, striking without deviation the turret on the wall of the Gate of Heavenly Completion, which burst immediately into flame.
Fortunately it occurred in broad daylight. The Imperial Guards and palace staff put out the fire swiftly, and only the gate tower of the Gate of Heavenly Completion was burned — it did not spread to the Hall of Imperial Supremacy.
Despite being a modest fire, the lightning-strike caused the usual stir of discussion — for the Gate of Heavenly Completion stood on the central axis of the Forbidden City.
Lightning-fire was different from an ordinary fire. People attributed it to Heaven’s will, and Heaven’s will was not to be defied.
Two days later, a procession of men arrived from Raozhou Prefecture, saying they had escorted a wanted criminal up to the capital for transfer to the Ministry of Justice.
The following day, the Imperial Clan Court also became involved in the matter.