In the northwestern corner of the city, the lanes grew narrower with each step — cobblestone paths, small bridges on a slant, and the carriage could no longer pass. Pei Shaohuai and Chang Zhou had no choice but to disembark and follow on foot.
Jiang Ziyun had rented lodgings in such a remote residential area, barely within the city walls — no wonder the man had been drenched in sweat by the time he reached the examination hall that day.
“Is this the residence of Jiang Ziyun, a gentleman from Daxing County?” the runner who had come to deliver the good news called out.
The local residents gathered around to watch. A man raised his hand and squeezed his way through the crowd, shouting with excitement, “That scholar rents a room in my home!” He hurried to the front to lead the way, guiding the runners to Jiang Ziyun.
A thatched-wall courtyard with weeds, mossy flagstones outside — Jiang Ziyun’s purse was so thin that not only had he rented lodgings in such a remote area, not only in a common household, but in an unused woodshed. It was only marginally better than wandering the streets.
The young scholar Jiang Ziyun, dressed in hemp cloth, stood leaning against the woodshed gate, waiting.
At the sight of this, the expressions of the runners tasked with delivering the good news grew somewhat somber. The lead runner, Li Bantou, considered for a moment, then still went forward with a smile on his face. After verifying Jiang Ziyun’s travel permit, he called out in a loud voice, “Congratulations, Gentleman Jiang, on placing in the provincial examination results, ranking third — the Education Commissioner grants you the stipend student designation!” He handed over the announcement of the good news.
This thin, light sheet of paper was the beginning of breaking through hardship and washing away the bitterness of common toil. Jiang Ziyun accepted the announcement with slightly trembling hands. His face held both joy and a touch of embarrassment. He returned the greeting to Li Bantou and said, “I must thank all the officer brothers for making this trip.”
“It is our duty. We also wish Gentleman Jiang a meteoric rise, advancing step by step, and success in the imperial examinations.” With that, the head runner made to lead his men away, not wanting to cause this poor scholar any further embarrassment.
Yet the onlooking residents around them were not particularly considerate. They surged forward all at once to offer their own congratulations, grabbing at Jiang Ziyun’s sleeve and demanding celebratory coins.
What scholar who had just passed the provincial examination and become a Xiucai would not toss out coins to celebrate?
It was right at this moment that Chang Zhou squeezed through the crowd, leaned close to Jiang Ziyun’s ear, and said a few words. Jiang Ziyun followed the direction Chang Zhou indicated and spotted Pei Shaohuai waiting quietly not far away. Only then did Jiang Ziyun give Chang Zhou a nod.
“The Xiucai invites the officer brothers in for tea — you have all made the journey and it has been tiring.” Chang Zhou first pulled out a few taels of loose silver and slipped them deftly into Li Bantou’s sleeve, then added, “We also hope the officers will put in a good word for Xiucai Jiang.”
“It is our duty, our duty.”
Chang Zhou then stepped in to hold back the residents demanding celebratory coins, calling out, “Everyone will get some, everyone will get some!” He scooped up several handfuls of copper coins and tossed them out toward the courtyard gate, calling out again, “Everyone share in Xiucai Jiang’s joy and talent — may your children and grandchildren prosper!”
Only when the crowd had dispersed did Pei Shaohuai walk over.
“Fellow student Jiang, we meet again.” Pei Shaohuai cupped his hands in greeting, then introduced himself, “Pei Shaohuai of Wanping County.”
“So it is the top scorer Pei!” Jiang Ziyun’s surprise was evident on his face. For a moment, he even forgot to first thank Pei Shaohuai for having helped him out of the difficult situation, and instead spoke openly, “I looked at your essay below the notice board and had only glanced briefly at the opening thesis statement when I could already glimpse a clear and elegant spirit in it. The opening thesis for ‘frost and cold’ in particular — the subtlety of your allusion left me genuinely admiring.”
He quickly shifted the subject: “Look at me, only talking about essays… I am ashamed — my purse is thin and my situation is difficult, and I have made you witness it, Fellow Student Pei. Thank you for stepping in to help just now. How much silver was spent? I will go home and gather the funds to repay you as soon as possible.”
Pei Shaohuai smiled in reply, “Was it not Brother Ziyun who saw me in an embarrassing state on the first day of the examination as well?”
As for repaying the silver, Pei Shaohuai had already guessed that Jiang Ziyun was a scholar of farming origins who prided himself on his dignity, disliking the feeling of receiving charity from others. To simply insist on giving it as a gift would not be a gracious thing to do.
Consider: Jiang Ziyun possessed such remarkable talent as to place third in the provincial examination, and however poor his family might be, if he were willing to speak to the clan elders and local gentry, he would surely not have been reduced to living in a broken woodshed and unable to produce celebratory coins. There was only one explanation — he was independent and stubborn, like a seed beneath a cobblestone, pushing upward against the weight of ten thousand pounds to break through, just to show the tip of a sprout.
He was that sensitive because of it.
And so Pei Shaohuai had Chang Zhou give Jiang Ziyun the exact figure, then smiled and joked, “It seems I can put in an early reservation for a share of Brother Ziyun’s stipend next month.”
Jiang Ziyun had placed third and was directly enrolled among the stipend scholars of the entire county, meaning he could start receiving the stipend students’ allowance and grain rations from the county yamen beginning next month, and would be exempted from labor service and taxes. His circumstances would surely improve a great deal.
Jiang Ziyun’s expression eased considerably. He replied, “That is only right.”
The two chatted further about their studies and became properly acquainted.
The writing brush that Jiang Ziyun had given Pei Shaohuai was sitting in the carriage not far away, but Pei Shaohuai quietly decided in his heart — there was no hurry to return it just yet. One always needed some reason to meet again.
On the way back, Chang Zhou was a little puzzled, and so he asked, “Young Master, why are you so interested in this Xiucai Jiang?”
“Tutor Duan once said that scholars from poor backgrounds have no school willing to accommodate them, no tutors or friends to guide them, no books to learn from, and no one of standing to recommend them — they are the most easily overlooked. And yet, in such circumstances, he still managed to rise above others. From this one can see the precision of his learning and the diligence of his study.”
Without good clan schools, without good tutors, without sufficient books, and without anyone to promote their reputation — compared to scholars from families with long literary traditions, scholars from humble origins truly faced far greater difficulties in achieving success through the imperial examinations.
There were those who made their names known, and many of them received the help of a discerning patron after first revealing their brilliance. But far more never had the opportunity to reveal their brilliance at all.
Chang Zhou had been left bewildered by his young master’s literary way of speaking, and scratched the back of his head in embarrassment.
Pei Shaohuai explained in plain language: “A hero is not judged by his origins; a talent is not judged by his poverty or wealth.” The second part, of course, was something Pei Shaohuai had made up himself.
Pei Shaohuai noticed that Chang Zhou’s facial features had grown more defined and angular than in his boyhood years. It suddenly occurred to him that Chang Zhou was no longer young, and so he asked, “Chang Zhou, have you been with me seven years now? This year you are…”
“Young Master, I am nineteen this year.”
“Surely it is time to speak of finding you a wife?”
Pei Shaohuai chatted casually with Chang Zhou and added, “I will have Mother arrange for someone to go to the government office and cancel your contract.”
“Young Master, please don’t.” Chang Zhou said urgently. “Young Master, please let me follow you a few more years — let me learn more useful skills. My old mother says there is no rush, that taking a wife in three or five years will not be too late.”
“Even if you were no longer with me, the Earl’s residence would always have a place for you.”
“That is different.” Chang Zhou said proudly. “In this city of the capital, Xiucais and Juren are plentiful enough, but a twelve-year-old who tops the provincial examination — there is only one of you, Young Master. Let me have some face to share in your glory too.”
And with a face full of longing, he said, “Once I have saved up enough silver, I plan to buy a small two-courtyard house in the western part of the city, and then have my old mother find a match for me from within the city.”
By the time master and servant returned to the Earl’s residence, the runners delivering the good news had already come and gone. Pei Shaohuai’s announcement had long since been mounted by old Master Pei and hung on the wall of the side room of the ancestral hall — positioned even more prominently than Pei Bingyuan’s announcement in its day.
……
The following day, the Grand Examiner hosted a banquet at the examination hall, to which all sixty newly recognized Xiucais who had placed on the list were invited to attend. This banquet was far from comparable to the Deer Cry Banquet or the Qionglin Banquet, yet it was nonetheless highly important. On one hand, it was an occasion for the scholars to pay their respects to the Grand Examiner as their teacher; on the other, it was a farewell banquet to thank the Grand Examiner for his many days of labor.
For the scholars, if they could receive a word of guidance from the Grand Examiner at the banquet, or make a lasting impression on him, then when the Grand Examiner’s tenure as education commissioner ended and he returned to the Hanlin Academy, he might speak well of them to his colleagues and recommend them — which would be of great benefit for the autumn provincial examinations and the spring metropolitan examinations that lay ahead. For Education Commissioner Zhao, as the presiding teacher, he was calling dozens of people below him his students. Da Qing placed great weight on the respect owed to teachers and the love owed to students; although this “bond between teacher and student” was a shallow one, it was still not without value as a connection.
One casts a great net — who can tell how many large fish might be caught?
Pei Shaohuai once again saw Jiang Ziyun. Jiang Ziyun was wearing a set of Xiucai robes that had been washed so many times they had faded to near-white, and which did not fit him very well — yet none of this could conceal his natural elegance and scholarly brilliance. The two gave each other a nod in greeting.
Pei Shaohuai also saw his third cousin Pei Shaowen. Pei Shaoyu, at twenty-two, had sat for the examinations repeatedly without success; if he could not make a breakthrough, he would likely progress no further. Today Pei Shaowen had come alone, and there was a heavy, subdued look on his face. Quite a few young men from prominent families present recognized Pei Shaowen’s identity and deliberately approached to engage him in conversation and cultivate the connection.
As the banquet began, Pei Shaohuai stood in the front row, leading everyone in paying their respects to the Grand Examiner, calling out in unison, “Students pay respects to our presiding teacher.”
Halfway through the banquet, the segment in which the Grand Examiner offered commentary on essays began. According to convention, the Grand Examiner would offer individual evaluations of the top ten papers; for lower rankings, it was left to circumstance and whim.
When he had just finished commenting on the fourth paper, Pei Shaowen pressed forward and asked directly, “Grand Examiner, why did my essay only rank fourth?” His desire to be the best was plain to see.
Such a direct question amounted to questioning the impartiality of the Grand Examiner’s grading. Everyone below held their breath and dared not utter a word.
Education Commissioner Zhao was inwardly displeased, but he was, after all, a veteran of the officialdom, and knew that Pei Shaowen had the Minister of Personnel behind him. Not wishing to show his anger in front of everyone, he casually found a reason and said, “The diction is ornate but the reasoning is insufficient; the tonal patterns are faultless but there are mediocre phrases. There is still room for three more floors of improvement.”
Pei Shaowen was dissatisfied with such an evaluation and was about to press further, but saw that the Grand Examiner had already picked up the fifth paper and said, “Meng Zao, come forward to hear your evaluation. This essay…” — giving Pei Shaowen no further opportunity.
Pei Shaohuai thought to himself that he did not know how the Minister’s household had raised this third cousin of his. Having a competitive spirit was not inherently a bad thing — it could spur one to push further. But the way Pei Shaowen had gone about “demanding answers” like this — seeking to excel but instead making enemies — was not a wise course.
He also thought: by the time this third cousin was born, the Pei Minister had already been doing well in the Ministry of Works, and had later risen even further to firmly hold the position of Minister of Personnel, with recent signs that he might enter the cabinet. Perhaps the weight of governmental affairs was too great, and this youngest grandson had been neglected in his upbringing? Or perhaps as the Minister rose ever higher, the grandson had grown accustomed to looking down on others by virtue of that power, with outsiders always fawning on him?
Looking at it this way, there was some truth to the saying that one fades after the second effort and is spent by the third.
Pei Shaohuai merely treated it as an entertaining spectacle.
……
More than a month passed. Pei Shaohuai received the stipend grain delivered by the Wanping County yamen, and the Old Madam specifically had it sent to the kitchen, where the entire household was prepared a meal.
Old Master Pei offered several bowls of white rice in the ancestral hall, reporting to the ancestors, “May the ancestors in spirit know: the seventh generation eldest legitimate son of the Jingchuan Earldom, Pei Shaohuai, from this day forward receives the court’s grain rations to provide for the sustenance of the family… Bells at meals and fine vessels — generations of distinguished lineage — may we look forward to more to come.”
The gist of what he said was that the seventh generation’s Pei Shaohuai was very accomplished and had already begun earning food to support the whole family…
Pei Shaohuai had initially felt this was a small matter, not worth such ceremony — but when he saw his grandfather weeping tears of age down his face as he prayed, he could only fall silent and kneel obediently alongside his grandfather to pay respects to the ancestors.
A few more days passed, and Jiang Ziyun sent a calling card to pay a visit, personally coming to the Earl’s residence to return the silver he “owed.”
Jiang Ziyun had changed into an indigo cotton straight-collar robe, and the whole person looked far more spirited — one could also see that his circumstances had improved considerably.
Pei Shaohuai invited Jiang Ziyun to the study to discuss academic matters. At the end of their conversation, Pei Shaohuai said, “Brother Ziyun surely knows that I chose the Spring and Autumn Annals as my principal classic. With limited energy, I have neglected the Book of Changes and my understanding of it is not thorough enough. Brother Ziyun has chosen the Book of Changes as your principal classic — I imagine your notes must contain your own unique insights. Would Brother Ziyun be willing to lend me his notes so I may read them?”
Choosing a principal classic did not mean the other four classics need not be studied.
Exchanging notes was the most common method of sharing learning among scholars.
Jiang Ziyun agreed readily, “Of course, there is no problem at all.” The Book of Changes was pure and subtly profound — it truly suited Jiang Ziyun’s character very well.
Pei Shaohuai also presented Jiang Ziyun with several books, saying, “The examination essays written by past three-rank graduates in the metropolitan examination have long been difficult to come by. I have been fortunate enough to collect some, and Brother Ziyun may take them to read at his leisure — perhaps there is something to be gained from them.”
Jiang Ziyun took out a square of cloth and carefully wrapped the books, revealing plainly how highly he valued them. He cupped his hands and said, “Broad learning and wide reading are provisions for the poor — I thank you, Younger Brother Huai, for this gift.”
“Brother Ziyun is too kind.”
……
Afterward, Pei Shaohuai came to learn, bit by bit, about Jiang Ziyun’s family circumstances.
Jiang Ziyun had originally been born into a farming family of modest means, and was the eldest son. The Jiang family had inherited more than ten acres of paddy fields from their ancestors, and during the agricultural off-season the Jiang family would also go into the city to do a small business selling brine-cured tofu. There was still a surplus after the annual taxes at year’s end, and so Jiang’s father and mother sent their eldest son to the clan school to begin his education.
But who could have foreseen that disaster would strike out of nowhere: when Jiang Ziyun was fourteen, his father and mother were making their way home after closing up their stall one night, passing through a small woodland path, when they were set upon by bandits and lost their lives. From that day on, the burden of the household fell upon Jiang Ziyun’s shoulders.
Above him was his elderly grandmother; below him were a younger brother and a younger sister. His uncles and cousins eyed the paddy fields with hungry intent; every year after paying taxes, there was still the cost of buying exemption from the labor service draft…Jiang Ziyun had not lived easily in all these years.
Fortunately, the tutor at the clan school thought highly of him and was always willing to teach him, no matter when he came to the schoolroom.
When the mourning period ended, Jiang Ziyun barely managed to scrape together enough silver to pay for the Xiucai sponsor’s guarantee and the registration fee, determined to make one attempt — and so everything that followed came to pass.
Pei Shaohuai felt a deep pang of sadness. He had originally assumed Jiang Ziyun was simply an ordinary farming family’s son who was a little tight with clothing and food. He had not expected a life story so desolate. He felt genuine admiration — that a person in such circumstances could still hold fast to his original heart and study so diligently was truly something to be respected.
It made his achievement all the more remarkable.
……
……
The nights of late autumn turned cold with sudden violence; a night’s rain fell softly and ceaselessly, and when daylight came it cleared just as abruptly, leaving a fresh and crisp autumn sky.
Following Pei Shaohuai’s achievement of topping the provincial examination, two more pieces of good news came to the Jingchuan Earldom.
The first: Zhu Jie’er sent word through a messenger that, in recognition of her meritorious service as a reader-companion, Empress Sun had personally promoted her to the rank of seventh-grade Female Historian, appointed to the position of Keeper of Written Words — the fastest promotion among all the female officials of her cohort. Although she was recorded under the Bureau of the Palace Superintendress and held a nominal post, she was still in service to Princess Shunping in practice — but the Empress’s regard for her could be glimpsed from this, and the other female officials and palace maids naturally showed her far greater respect as a result.
The so-called “meritorious service as a reader-companion” was nothing other than the fact that Princess Shunping had again received the Emperor’s praise, along with very tangible rewards and bestowal of gifts upon the princess.
“I have heard of the rose dew, ** made red in color” — the origin of this matter lay in the rose dew. This fragrant dew had been introduced from the Western Regions; it was obtained by distilling rose flowers using the method of making spirits, and stored in porcelain vessels. Fragrant enough to fill the nostrils, it had long been beloved by literary gentlemen, refined scholars, and noble ladies alike.
In the period just prior, this item had entered the palace and spread rapidly, with each and every palace compound finding ways to obtain rose dew. Princess Shunping was no exception.
At the prime age of early girlhood, it was natural to be especially fond of such fragrant and beautiful things.
Zhu Jie’er, however, was different from the other female officials and palace maids. Rather than thinking of how to obtain rose dew to please the honored ones and mistresses, she instead recalled those words of guidance offered by Official Xu — that the Emperor had always personally practiced thrift and valued agriculture throughout the realm, having no love of extravagance.
She concluded that rose dew was perhaps among the things considered extravagant.
Zhu Jie’er made her way through several layers of inquiry and, from the mouth of a young eunuch at the entrance to the Imperial Study, learned the answer — “ornamental indulgences merely encourage extravagance” — these were the Emperor’s own words.
In the autumn, the Emperor held a banquet with all his officials to jointly celebrate Da Qing’s fine weather and bountiful harvest that year, with the common people’s fields yielding well and everyone having enough to eat and wear. The imperial princes, noble consorts, and princesses also attended this banquet.
Everything at the banquet went well — save for one matter that displeased the Emperor: the palace was suffused with a heavy and pervasive scent of roses.
Princess Shunping stepped forward to present her gifts: the first was a jar of mulberry wine she had brewed herself, and the second was a set of silkworm silk garments she had woven — though they were somewhat roughly made, far from the quality of Suzhou or Hangzhou silk.
Princess Shunping said, “At the beginning of the year, Father Emperor sent mulberry seedlings and silkworm eggs to each palace, showing such thoughtful care. But this daughter is unclever, and her hands are not nimble enough. Although she watered the trees every day, the mulberry trees did not grow vigorously, and the silkworms she raised produced only a few catties of white thread. This wine was pressed by this daughter from mulberries gathered in summer; this robe was woven by this daughter at the loom in autumn. On this occasion of celebrating the harvest, this daughter offers them to Father Emperor, as this year’s assignment to herself. She only hopes Father Emperor will not find them wanting.”
Upon hearing this, the Emperor was greatly pleased, clapping his hands repeatedly and calling out, “Excellent!” — three times in succession.
He further said, “If the subjects of the realm could all be like this — applying themselves wholeheartedly to agriculture — what need would there be to worry about empty stomachs and insufficient clothing?”
“You have done very well, Ping’er. Though the fruit wine is not sweet enough and the silk is not smooth enough, the sincerity of your intent is something I feel deeply. That you, as a princess, have been willing to lower yourself to engage in agricultural matters and set an example for each palace is a merit that deserves recognition and reward.”
He then pointed to the other imperial consorts and princesses, saying, “Do not spend your days and energy on extravagant things. You should learn more from Ping’er. Whenever you have leisure time, experience the hardships of common life — only then will you know how dearly bought your wealth and privilege truly are.”
Finally, the Emperor issued a decree, granting Princess Shunping, ahead of schedule, a fiefdom in Jiangnan that was flourishing with mulberry cultivation and the silk-weaving industry.
For a princess to receive such a rich and fertile fiefdom — not just the other princesses, but even some of the imperial princes felt envy.
As the behind-the-scenes architect of this matter — Zhu Jie’er — she was subsequently summoned by the Empress.
Empress Sun had originally wished to promote Zhu Jie’er two full ranks, but Zhu Jie’er knelt in gratitude and said, “I thank the Empress for the gracious reward. However, a tree that stands tallest in the forest will be brought down by the wind. This humble official dares not accept credit beyond what is due, and begs the Empress to reconsider.”
And so, in the end, she was only promoted to the seventh-rank position of Keeper of Written Words.
……
The second piece of good news: the lands that Pei Bingyuan was governing in Yuchong County had all yielded harvests from the newly reclaimed fields. Moreover, the court had exempted the county from taxes for three years, meaning the county’s residents had sufficient grain to see through the winter — a great achievement.
The Prefect of the Dongyang Prefecture submitted a memorial reporting this matter. The court offered its recognition and reward, and Pei Bingyuan was promoted from the subordinate seventh rank to the full seventh rank — no longer falling half a rank below other county magistrates.