The iron chains clanged and clattered — the dozens of soldiers in shackles, upon hearing these words, could no longer stay standing. They crumpled where they stood, every face showing terror and dread.
And then dark stains of urine began to seep out.
Most of them were the Anping Heir’s capable subordinates, petty officers within the military ranks who each commanded a number of men. Having followed the Heir back to the capital this time, returning at last to the splendor of the city — how could they suppress the restlessness in their hearts? They had inevitably slipped off to the pleasure quarters for a visit to the “little entertainers.” The Heir neither objected nor restrained them — he only told them to return early and not to cause trouble.
None of them had expected that when dawn barely broke, the Shuntian Prefecture clerks would come kicking doors in, rounding them all up one after another like a stream.
They had assumed the Governor was bringing them here only to use the charge of “poor discipline and dissolute behavior” as a pretext to put the Anping Commandery Prince’s Mansion in an awkward position. Being numerous, the law would not punish them all — after returning to the camp and receiving some minor punishment, it would all blow over.
What they had not anticipated was that Governor Zhang would open his mouth and clap such an enormous label on them — “escaped soldiers.”
Escaped soldiers were to be executed on the spot. How could they not be terrified? Some of them had already fallen to their knees, kowtowing, and in their panic were babbling incoherence — saying they had merely changed their clothes to go out for a bit of fun and were not escaped soldiers, begging the Anping Heir to save their lives.
Cries of pleading filled the air.
The Anping Heir had never anticipated matters escalating to this degree. Because of the affair with Pei Ruozhu, he had come to feel that the Earl’s Mansion did not know its place and had deliberately shamed him, causing him to lose face. And so, using his subordinates, he had decided to take advantage of this critical juncture to create difficulties for the Earl’s Mansion — to let them know what he was capable of. He had deployed his men in the early hours before the fourth watch and pulled them back before daybreak, without great fanfare.
In the capital city, it was common for great families to have their household guards harass and intimidate others — how had it fallen to him specifically to end up at the Shuntian Prefecture Government Office? The Earl’s Mansion’s carriage had been stopped, but he had also brought a great deal of trouble down on himself.
The Anping Heir was hard-pressed to deal with the immediate situation and had no time to dwell on other matters. If his subordinates were all put to death, how would he maintain his position going forward? The Anping Heir forced a smile and stepped toward Governor Zhang, explaining, “Governor Zhang, this is all a misunderstanding. There are no escaped soldiers whatsoever — some of them simply got confused in the darkness of the night, wandered off, found themselves in a deep alley they couldn’t get out of, and were found before long… There are no escaped soldiers.”
He wanted to reduce a major matter to a minor one.
He pointed to the several dozen soldiers and added, “As for these ones who sneaked out to play around — Governor Zhang may simply hand them over to me. I will certainly report to my father and see that they are severely punished, until the Governor is satisfied.”
But the Anping Heir had miscalculated. Those words “my father” were particularly grating to Governor Zhang’s ears, and his expression grew colder still. He asked, “Oh? No escaped soldiers?”
He paused.
The Heir immediately sensed that the atmosphere had shifted — Governor Zhang’s words carried a chill.
Governor Zhang demanded in a sharp voice, “If there are no escaped soldiers, then why, in the dead of night within the imperial city, did the Heir order men to blockade and search Zhengjing Avenue without any cause — is that treason?”
This “escaped soldiers” story had always been the Anping Heir’s cover, yet he himself had torn it away — and so he could not blame Governor Zhang for pinning this charge on him.
“Governor Zhang, mind your words.” The Anping Heir’s face showed fear. He watched what he had intended as a small act of private revenge spiral increasingly out of control, and he was utterly without any means of response before Governor Zhang.
Just then, “Governor Zhang has graced us with his presence — please forgive the lack of proper reception.” A steady and composed voice reached them — it was the old Prince, who had rushed over from the Commandery Prince’s Mansion, his steps urgent yet controlled, his face bearing a pleasant expression that revealed nothing of his true thoughts.
The old Prince said, full of apology, “My son is rash and impulsive in his conduct and has caused trouble for Governor Zhang. I have come to offer my apologies to the Governor.”
Setting aside the old Prince’s title of Commandery Prince — his position of Regional Military Commissioner alone, at the second rank, outranked the Shuntian Prefectural Governor by a full grade. Yet the old Prince showed not the slightest inclination to press his superiority — his manner was extremely conciliatory, hoping only that Governor Zhang would not let the matter escalate further.
Governor Zhang’s expression eased slightly, though his tone remained cold. “Your Highness, this matter is no small thing — it is far more than merely causing trouble for the Shuntian Prefecture Government Office. If it goes uncontrolled and unpunished, does it not mean that anyone will dare to come into this imperial city and cause incidents and disturbances? With the common people living in terror and the city unable to find peace — if even within the imperial city it has come to this, what will the realm at large become?”
He then said with resolute righteousness, “Entrusted by His Majesty to govern this pivotal region of the capital, this official cannot look the other way and turn a deaf ear — this matter must be submitted to the court and reported to His Majesty.”
The old Prince knew that Governor Zhang had not mentioned treason again — which was already a concession of half a step — and he hastened to affirm this opening, saying, “That is precisely Governor Zhang’s duty — it is as it should be, and the matter should indeed be reported to the court for His Majesty to decide.” His face showed an expression of shame and remorse as he continued, “It is this official’s failure to raise his son properly that has led to this great trouble. This official will enter the palace tomorrow to confess and seek punishment from His Majesty, and request that His Majesty strip this unfilial son of his post and rank, confine him to the mansion, and this official will absolutely not shield or indulge him.”
Upon hearing these words, the Anping Heir’s face fell — full of unwillingness and resentment. He was clearly dissatisfied with his father’s decision, yet dared not interrupt in his father’s presence. He could only swallow his full measure of furious grievance.
The old Prince glanced over at the soldiers who lay crumpled on the ground, then said to Governor Zhang, “These good-for-nothings — they have still consumed a fair amount of the public’s provisions; it would be a waste to execute them. How about demoting their household registration and exiling them as garrison troops — what does Governor Zhang think?”
Garrison troops — a status even below that of tenant farmers, and hereditary for all generations that followed.
“Since they are the Prince’s men, it is the Prince’s affair — it is no concern of mine.” Governor Zhang flicked his sleeve, turned on his heel, and departed with his clerks.
But the matter was not yet over.
In the Anping Commandery Prince’s Mansion, inside the study.
The Heir, filled with resentment and aggrievement, was about to implore his father to plead with the Emperor on his behalf by all means and preserve at least his official post. He said, “Father…”
But the Heir had barely parted his lips when a resounding crack rang out — the old Prince raised his arm and struck him with full force across the face.
The old Prince was a man who had led soldiers in battle — this slap was delivered with not the slightest restraint. The Heir was sent flying and crashed into the wall, the corner of his mouth drawing blood, yet he immediately scrambled to his feet and knelt before the old Prince.
The Heir knew his father was truly furious — which made this very serious.
The old Prince cursed in fury, “Has your head been stuck in a cesspit and kicked by a donkey? Were you so eager to carry my funeral tablet to the ancestral shrine? I sent you to bring men back to the capital to drill troops before the Emperor and earn merit — not to hand Shuntian Prefecture a gift of achievement on a platter.”
Men of families like theirs found it enormously difficult to preserve even a single military distinction. He had held off all the prowling competitors from the outside, only for the knife to be thrust outward from within — how could the old Prince not be furious?
He continued, “Is Zhang Lingyi the kind of man you dare to trifle with? He is a presented scholar by examination, has held a post in the Ministry of War, is praised by the remonstrance officials for his character, and credited by the Ministry of War for his nerve — he enjoys the Emperor’s trust, equally at home in both civil and military affairs. In front of a man like that you dare to scheme? If I had not arrived when I did, you would have had my head served up to him as a plaything as well.” Had it not been for his son, the old Prince would never have had to be so low and so deferential before Governor Zhang.
“A man past thirty — can you not have even half the sense your younger brother does?” the old Prince said, unable to conceal his bitter disappointment.
“I only wanted to have people create difficulties for the Earl’s Mansion — I didn’t make any great disturbance, or do anything outrageous. How was I to know it would stir up the Shuntian Prefecture Government Office? There must be some enemy who had their eye on me specifically…”
“This wasn’t outrageous enough? Did you need to stab through the sky before it would count as outrageous?” The old Prince grabbed the Heir by the chin and demanded, “What grievance did you have with the Earl’s Mansion that was worth risking your neck over?”
The old Prince was usually occupied with military affairs and rarely managed the affairs of the inner household.
The Heir lowered his head, stammering and unable to get the words out. Perhaps he himself knew that the reason was not something he could say with any dignity.
“Say it!”
It was only then that the Heir told the story in fits and starts, holding back one sentence for every sentence he gave.
From this small glimpse, the old Prince saw the whole picture, and the fury of it set his chest heaving up and down. He swung his hand and gave his son another slap across the other cheek, cursing, “You worthless thing — your brain is entirely lodged in your crotch.”
“Family comes first, family comes first — I have said it until my mouth foams, yet I cannot see that you’ve taken a single word of it in.” The old Prince said, “Do you think it would be a good thing for the Pei family to produce a legitimate son for you? Do you think your father-in-law is a simple man? I told you long ago, privately, that it would be better if no son were born — did you not understand me, or do you simply not take my words seriously?”
“From today onward, stay home and quietly reflect on your conduct. Don’t let me hear that you’ve gone out stirring up trouble.”
The old Prince threw down these final words, flicked his sleeve, and departed, the stifled fury in his chest still refusing to dissipate.
Inside the examination hall, Pei Shaohuai of course knew nothing of all the interesting things that had unfolded outside. The way the situation had developed even exceeded his original expectations.
He was familiar with the Da Qing statutory code, and knew that the Anping Heir’s sort of conduct could be made much of or made little of — it was precisely the kind easiest for people to find fault with. That was why he had thought quickly on his feet and sent Chang Fan to tip off the government office.
By now, Pei Shaohuai had composed his mind, cast aside everything that had happened that morning, and was concentrating wholeheartedly on working through the examination questions.
Because so many had registered for the prefectural examination, and Chief Examiner Superintendent Zhao was only one person — it was not possible to hold five successive sessions as in the county and prefectural-level examinations. Instead, it was condensed to two sessions: the main session and the re-examination.
Each session lasted one day, concluding at sunset. When papers were collected, the collection officials would record a sequential number on each paper in the order received, from front to back. If two papers were of comparable quality, the earlier submission would be chosen — hence the practice of “competing for the first paper.”
In the main session, candidates were required to compose two essays on the Four Books, one essay on their chosen Classic, making three eight-legged essays in total, and conclude with one regulated verse.
The re-examination involved two policy-question essays and two expository essays — though the number of questions was sometimes adjusted.
Since the chief examiner and his co-examiners had to grade thousands of papers and review tens of thousands of essays, and since they also traveled between various prefectures to successively examine the scholars of all jurisdictions within Northern Zhili, their energy was limited. It was therefore very difficult for them to read carefully and at leisure. Essays that were long-winded or obscure tended to be poorly received, while those that were short, fast, and clear stood out.
Each essay was best kept to around three hundred characters — neither too long nor too short.
Tutor Duan had explained all these standards to Pei Shaohuai, and during this recent period of practice, Pei Shaohuai had been writing to precisely these specifications.
When the Superintendent set questions, he typically chose “small topics” — topics with few characters, lively and concise, that gave candidates sufficient room to develop their ideas, rather than constraining their written power. What constituted a “small topic”? A topic with few characters, light and flexible, which could be extended from various angles.
For instance, in this prefectural examination that Pei Shaohuai was sitting, on the topic board two Four Books questions were written:
First: The cold of winter.
Second: Trust in books.
The first topic was drawn from the Analects, “Confucius said, ‘In the cold of winter, then we know that the pine and the cypress are the last to lose their leaves.'” It spoke of how in severe winter, when all things fade and wither, only the pine and the cypress stand tall and undiminished — used as a metaphor for the human character, in praise of the gentleman who remains unbroken in adversity.
The second topic was drawn from Mencius, “Mencius said, ‘To believe everything in books is worse than having no books at all.'” The sage Mencius urged scholars not to follow blindly what books say, but to analyze as they learn, in order to achieve genuine and integrated understanding.
Both topics concerned the conduct and the scholarly cultivation of the gentleman, and presented no great difficulty for Pei Shaohuai in terms of identifying the correct line of argument — the time would be spent primarily on choosing words with care.
The examination then released the regulated verse topic, which appeared on the board as: Deliberately assuming the colors of small red peach and apricot blossoms.
In his daily life, Pei Shaohuai had always been particularly fond of reading Tang poetry and Song lyrics — partly for the cultivation of sensibility, and partly as a brief respite from the tedium of the eight-legged essays. He recognized at once that this line came from Su Shi’s poem “Red Plum” — in a rare departure, the poet compared the plum blossom to a young woman, praising its integrity while also giving it a touch of playfulness.
The topic was not especially obscure, but some scholars who had read little poetry in their daily lives, or had overlooked and not committed this poem to memory, might easily misread it. After all, it was rare for a poet to write of the plum blossom in such a dainty and vivid manner — using words like “small red,” “peach,” and “apricot” to create the atmosphere.
Pei Shaohuai gave a quiet smile — he had already guessed that quite a few people would stumble on this regulated verse question.
He had written many poems about plum blossoms in his daily practice, and at this point he only needed to transcribe one and refine it slightly to produce a finished piece. He wrote:
A single tree bare in winter’s cold, branches white as jade, Leaning out alone toward the village path, beside the creek’s bridge. Not knowing that near the water, blossoms appear before all others, One wonders if the snow of winter past has not yet thawed. [3]
He titled it “Early Plum.” Rather than writing of the plum blossom’s red and playfulness, he wrote instead of the early plum’s white and purity. After all, in terms of engaging the topic, one only needed to stay firmly connected to “plum” — and amid a thousand papers all writing of the red plum, a clean white early plum might catch the examiner’s eye.
For this regulated verse, he had taken the approach of combining “literary flair” with “strategic calculation,” because he wanted a good ranking. Perhaps at some earlier time he had entertained the thought of “passing to attain Cultivated Talent status will be enough” — but after suffering through repeated attempts by others to hold him back, it had instead ignited the desire to win in Pei Shaohuai:
The more you try to stop me, the higher I will climb — until everyone can see me.
If even a plum blossom could do this, how much more so a person?
Let the scholars with their literary refinement come trudging through the snow — I intend to be that branch of early plum that pushes through the cold before all others. No one can overshadow me.
The brush the farming-background scholar had given Pei Shaohuai felt a little unfamiliar at first, but grew more comfortable the longer he used it. By the time the roving examination seller came around with brushes to sell, he had already completed his draft. So Pei Shaohuai bought two brushes from the seller, tried them both out, chose the best one, and only then began transcribing his essays onto the official answer sheets.
His handwriting was unaffected.
The summer heat was fierce, and sitting in the examination booth one could smell the dry and musty smell given off by the sun-baked straw on the roof, which set the mind restless and the sweat flowing continuously. Pei Shaohuai was also sweating in wave after wave, but he steadied his concentration throughout, only occasionally dabbing his palms and forehead with a handkerchief before continuing to transcribe.
The characters were neat, carrying a trace of sharpness, and the entire paper was completed without a single error.
On the sundial, the gnomon’s shadow had shifted to the hour of Shen. Pei Shaohuai had just finished his transcription. The first paper had long since been snatched up by someone else — but Pei Shaohuai was not in any rush. He reviewed his work once more, and then submitted his paper in twenty-eighth position before gathering up his belongings and following the other candidates out of the examination hall.
Outside the examination hall, Pei Shaohuai stood holding that brush beside the south gate, waiting quietly. He thought: since he had met the farming-background scholar here, that man should also emerge from this gate on his way out.
He had been hurrying along from home to the examination hall that morning — rushing on foot, in something of a panic and muddle, with his mind unsettled — and in that moment, to receive a word of “slow down” from a complete stranger was a rare and precious kindness, one he felt was worth going out of his way to express his thanks for in person.
Had that voice not said “slow down,” he might not have paused to recheck his belongings — and would naturally not have discovered that the writing brush had slipped out, leaving him even more at a disadvantage once inside, with the already-disrupted composure of the morning only deepening into agitation… and this examination would likely have come to nothing.
“Slow down” — it was like a voice saying, “Miss, don’t be in such a rush,” “We’ll help you think of something together,” “Wait a moment — I’ll take you there.”
A pity, though — whether the farming-background scholar had left by another gate, or had submitted his paper earlier than Pei Shaohuai, Pei Shaohuai waited until the sun was sinking in the west and the examination had come to its close, yet never saw the farming-background scholar emerge.
The Earl’s Mansion’s carriage had arrived. Pei Shaojin came sprinting over and threw his arms around his elder brother in a great embrace first, asking, “Elder Brother — did everything go smoothly with the examination?”
Pei Shaohuai nodded and replied, “All went well.”
He held the brush in his fingers and said to his brother, “Everyone has worked hard — let’s go home and we can talk about the rest there.”
That farming-background scholar — if fate ordained it, they would meet again.