The chill of spring had faded, and the weather was gradually warming. It had originally been thought that Ying Jie’er’s poor digestion was due to catching cold, but now, in the warmth of late spring when the days were bright and pleasant, her appetite still had not improved. She was listless every day, her complexion somewhat pallid without a trace of color — like the scattered petals wilting in the spring.

Birds play among the paulownia blossoms; fish leap among the grain rain duckweed. Once Grain Rain had passed, spring was considered to have ended, giving way to early summer.

That day, Ying Jie’er ate a bowl of bird’s nest and could manage no more. She excused herself from Lin Shi, saying she wished to return to her courtyard to rest.

“Fudong, help the young miss back to rest,” Lin Shi instructed, then added: “The food is kept warm in the kitchen. When the young miss has an appetite, you must fetch it quickly without delay.”

Ying Jie’er reassured Lin Shi: “After drinking the chicken broth that Nanny made, I’ve been much better lately. Mother need not worry — I know how to take care of myself.”

Lin Shi reached out to touch Ying Jie’er’s face, murmuring with tenderness: “Still, you’ve grown thinner.”

Just then, the maidservant Fudong suddenly knelt down with a thud, speaking urgently to Lin Shi: “First Madam, please punish your servant. Several days ago, your servant saw the young miss secretly testing medicines on herself in private, but your servant was too slow-witted to realize it until now…”

“Fudong, stop talking nonsense,” Ying Jie’er tried to stop Fudong.

Having carried her and raised her herself, Lin Shi knew her daughter best of all. With just one sentence from Fudong, she could guess the whole situation from beginning to end. Lin Shi’s expression grew furious, draining to a pale anger, her voice going hard yet trembling as she scolded Ying Jie’er: “It is I who have spoiled you too dearly, letting you be willful to the point of not knowing how to cherish yourself.”

She then had Fudong tell her everything she knew, one item at a time.

Fudong said: The young miss had recently taken to staying alone in her room, claiming that spring fatigue required her to rest well and that no one was to disturb her. Several days ago, Fudong had taken advantage of the warm sunshine to air out the bedding and had forgotten the young miss’s instructions, barging in — and had walked in on the young miss simmering medicine over a charcoal brazier, with various dried medicinal herbs scattered across the table.

No wonder the medicine smell in the room had always seemed rather pungent.

Ying Jie’er had appeased Fudong, saying she was merely curious and was practicing decoction methods from an old formula — and had told Fudong not to speak of it.

Over the past few days, the more Fudong thought about it, the more she felt something was wrong. Today, hearing the First Madam say that the young miss had grown thinner, her suspicions grew stronger, and she promptly came forward to inform the First Madam of the matter. The First Madam and the young miss had always treated Fudong very well — from any angle, Fudong could not stand by and watch the young miss continue to go further down the wrong path.

Lin Shi felt anger, resentment, and tenderness all at once, and at this moment she had no mind to scold and lecture Ying Jie’er. Instead, she instructed a manservant: “Go to the Wang family and invite Imperial Physician Wang.” The Wang family were hereditary physicians across generations; Imperial Physician Wang, aged sixty-nine, had originally held a position in the Imperial Pharmacy, but his second son’s medical skills had matured, and two years prior he had entered the palace to take his father’s place, after which Imperial Physician Wang had honorably retired. He would from time to time still make house calls for wealthy families.

“Kneel.”

Only then did Lin Shi begin to lecture Ying Jie’er, asking her why she had so little regard for herself, causing her loved ones to worry on her behalf.

Ying Jie’er admitted her error, filled with self-reproach, saying that she had only thought of her own desires without considering that her family would be worried and anxious for her — it was truly unfilial of her.

She also gave voice to her hopes, thoughts, and fears, saying: “Among the nine streams of society, physicians are ranked only among the middle nine. For a man, practicing medicine is already difficult enough; for a woman, it is ten thousand times more difficult still — they are even spoken of in the same breath as shamans and sorceresses. Here at home, I am still able to receive a measure of tolerance from my parents and siblings, who permit me to tend my medicine garden and study medical theory. But once the end of the year comes and the coming-of-age ceremony is complete, and I am eventually betrothed to a family, concerns about family reputation will likely prevent me from ever touching this field again. Feeling the urgency of time, I lost my wits for a moment and made the foolish mistake of testing medicines on myself.”

She also wept as she said: “Your daughter understands — even someone as bold and clever as Elder Sister Zhu was forced into the palace to seek a path forward. I have always been sheltered and loved by the family, without any particular talents or abilities, and I ought not to be adding trouble to the Earl’s mansion. Yet your daughter simply cannot stop herself from seeking to explore and to try. Please, Mother, set your heart at ease — your daughter vows never to do this again.”

After hearing Ying Jie’er speak these words, how could Lin Shi bear to scold her any further? She pulled her up with tender compassion, embraced her, and stroked her hair saying: “Mother only aches for your body’s wellbeing.”

Imperial Physician Wang arrived. After feeling her pulse, observing her, and asking questions, and then examining Ying Jie’er’s medicine case and identifying which medicinal herbs had been taken, he finally said: “Madam Pei, there is no need to be overly alarmed. Young Miss Ying is knowledgeable in pharmacology and has not taken the wrong formula. However, she did not pay attention to dosage — the cassia seeds and lotus leaf were used in too large a quantity, causing cold deficiency in the body, which has led to persistent poor appetite and gradual weight loss.”

He further said: “I will write a warming and nourishing formula to regulate her condition over some time, after which she will recover fully. In the future, she must by no means act rashly again. Medical theory and pharmacology require decades of accumulated study before they can be mastered.” That final remark was a well-intentioned reminder to Ying Jie’er.

Lin Shi’s expression softened considerably. She said: “Thank you for your trouble, Imperial Physician Wang.”

“It is my duty,” Imperial Physician Wang replied. After a moment’s thought, he counseled Ying Jie’er further: “Although learning medicine is unlike studying books, it follows the same principle as studying books. Never mind a few months — even over a span of several years, and even with a renowned physician to guide and teach you, it is not certain that you would achieve even a modest level of mastery. Young Miss Ying would do well to proceed gradually and in proper sequence.”

“Thank you for the guidance, Imperial Physician Wang. I understand now, and I will not make such a foolish mistake again.”

…

Pei Shaohuai returned from school and heard of the matter. Putting down his book satchel, he headed straight to his elder sister’s courtyard.

“Mother was right — I was selfish. I’ve disturbed you too, and kept you from being able to focus on your studies,” Ying Jie’er said with shame.

“We are siblings — what kind of talk is that between us?” Pei Shaohuai said to comfort his elder sister. “Elder Sister, first let your health recover, and then the matter of studying medical theory can be discussed gradually, later on.”

He also offered this counsel: “Elder Sister has also read history in her daily studies and should remember that Jiang Taigong met King Wen only at eighty; Duke Wen of Jin led his army to defeat Chu at sixty-five; Su Laoquan began his diligent studies at twenty-seven, speaking to the needs of his generation and illuminating three reigns in glory.”

“I understand your meaning,” Ying Jie’er replied. “Imperial Physician Wang also told me that this path requires following the principle of proceeding gradually and in sequence. One studies all one’s life long. I should not be greedy. In the future I will only treat it as a fondness — learning when there is opportunity, not forcing it when there is none, and never again pushing forward recklessly. On one point, however, I will still continue.”

“It is good that Elder Sister can think this way.”

This world was simply more difficult for women than for men. That Ying Jie’er could see this clearly was itself a form of growth.

Coming out of his elder sister’s courtyard, Pei Shaohuai’s mood remained heavy for a long while. His arrival had indeed changed many things and avoided not a few calamities — but there were things he could not change.

Ying Jie’er was enthralled by pharmacology and had already begun to venture into this field. Who could say with confidence that this would be a good thing, that the road ahead would be smooth and unobstructed?

Only destiny itself could command destiny — not him.

This realization shattered what had once been Pei Shaohuai’s arrogance into fragments.

Half a month later, Ying Jie’er had largely recovered and had regained her former lively and cheerful nature. One day, Lin Shi was about to go to the theater house and the tavern to check the accounts, and was preparing to board the carriage, when she saw Ying Jie’er following behind with Fudong, saying: “Mother will be too busy managing on her own. Let your daughter come along and help — even if it is only to help copy down the accounts, that would be useful.”

Lin Shi smiled with warm satisfaction, saying brightly: “Naturally that would be wonderful — I had my eye on you long ago.” Mother and daughter supported each other as they boarded the carriage together.

…

In early May, the Shuntian Prefecture School posted a notice announcing that on the ninth day of the month, it would assess the proficiency of local licentiates within its jurisdiction, selecting the best to enter the prefectural school for study. The quota was fifty students; all candidates were to be admitted based on their essays.

In the enterprise of education, the capital should naturally lead in setting an example. The Shuntian Prefecture School was the foremost prefectural school in the Da Qing dynasty, with the greatest reputation. The instructors at the school were all drawn from the National Academy; its academic atmosphere was strict and rigorous, and it produced talented individuals in abundance. Situated in the heart of the capital, it accepted only fifty licentiates each year from the two counties of Daxing and Wanping, making the competition quite fierce. Those who were unfortunately not selected had no choice but to settle for attending the county school instead.

Students were also keen on official schools because official schools were eligible to recommend students for the tribute student program, and the Shuntian Prefectural School’s quota for tribute nominations had always been double that of other regions.

Once the news was announced, Tutor Duan said to Pei Shaohuai: “I formerly did not allow you to enter the county school out of concern that, at your young age, you would not yet have the discernment to distinguish right from wrong, and might be influenced by the examination cramming methods that put speed and quick results above all else, losing sight of the larger picture for the sake of a narrow view. Now, your essays have reached a modest standard of accomplishment and carry your own distinctive style, and you now have the capacity to judge right from wrong. You may go and study at the prefectural school.”

He further said: “What I have taught, however good it may be, is still only one school of thought. To remain confined under my tutelage for too long will inevitably lead to a point where you can no longer advance even a single step. You should now go out and hear the learning that exists beyond these walls, make acquaintance with new colleagues, learn to distinguish among all manner of people around you, and gradually accumulate your own insights — only thus can you advance to a higher level. Learning is like carving and polishing: first come broad, sweeping strokes to achieve the general form, and then a small knife is used to slowly pare away the fine and superfluous details.”

“Furthermore, if you do not go out and see for yourself, you will not know how difficult the autumn provincial examination truly is, nor will you know how many scholars well-versed in their learning are, for one reason or another, unable to advance even a single step further.”

Pei Shaohuai had always known this day would eventually come. In Da Qing, official schools flourished while private schools served as supplements. Most scholars, after passing the prefectural examination, entered the prefectural schools in their respective regions — since the purpose of the imperial examinations was to become an official, how could one not spend time at a government-established institution of learning?

He adjusted his robes neatly and formally, then lifted the front hem of his robe and knelt to the ground, performing the full prostration bow before Tutor Duan. As he bowed his head he said: “First bow — to thank the tutor for transmitting the Way, imparting knowledge, and resolving doubts; for teaching this student to read, write, and compose. Second bow — to thank the tutor for transmitting to this student the five constant virtues of benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and faithfulness. Third bow — once a teacher, a teacher for life. When the day comes that this student’s name appears on the golden list and official robes are placed upon his shoulders, this student will certainly pay the tutor the highest possible respects.”

“Good child, rise now,” Tutor Duan said, the creases on his brow smoothing out. “Going to an official school to study and making the acquaintance of more people is an indispensable part of the examination path. Green shoots sprout in the third month, put forth leaves in the fourth, and grow into clusters in the fifth. Whatever should happen at whatever time — it all has its appointed course. There is no need to perform such a grand ceremony — it is not as if we are being separated by mountains and seas and shall never meet again.”

“The tutor deserves this ceremony.”

Tutor Duan also joked: “The prefectural school often lets out in the afternoon, with rest days on the first and fifteenth of each month. You must come back regularly so that I may test your learning. If I find that your diligence has slackened and your scholarship has not progressed, I will not be lenient.”

In truth, he was asking Pei Shaohuai to come back often to exchange ideas and discuss learning.

Afterward, Pei Shaohuai would have two places of study.

“This student will keep the tutor’s teachings firmly in mind,” Pei Shaohuai also joked: “I only hope that Elder Nephew Yancheng won’t secretly have someone move away my desk and chair while I’m gone.”

“What nonsense,” Xu Yancheng replied with a grin. “Tomorrow I’ll openly and aboveboard have it cleared out for Little Uncle — why would I do it secretly?”

On the ninth day of the fifth month, within the Shuntian Prefectural School, Dean Song led a group of instructors in organizing an assessment of the learning of the Shuntian Prefecture licentiates. The duration was half a day, consisting of two eight-legged essays — the time was a bit tight.

Only fifty students were to be admitted, yet nearly two hundred had come to participate, every one of them bearing the title of licentiate.

According to unwritten convention, those who had placed in the top eleven of the prefectural examination were generally not eliminated, and since Pei Shaohuai held the top position in that examination, he had even less to worry about. Nevertheless, Pei Shaohuai still approached this examination with full seriousness. He thought to himself: the time has already been spent — it is better to deal with it carefully. If he could produce two superior essays, that would itself be something gained.

The first essay topic was drawn from the Doctrine of the Mean: The exemplary man is harmonious but does not drift.

The second was drawn from the Book of Songs — Odes of Wei: As if cut, as if filed; as if carved, as if polished.

Both topics addressed the character of the exemplary man. The topics were exceedingly plain and straightforward — this was likely intentional on the part of the examiners, for the plainer and more straightforward the topic, the harder it is to produce an outstanding essay, and the more clearly it reveals the student’s writing ability. The second topic was drawn from the Book of Songs, one of the Five Classics. Regardless of which classic a student had chosen as their primary text, they were required to write on this topic. Students who had chosen the Book of Songs as their primary text were naturally pleased; any student who had not chosen the Book of Songs as their primary text and still could not break open the topic of “as if carved, as if polished” had no business continuing with the examination.

This once again affirmed one point: a student’s choice of primary classic by no means implied that they studied only that classic. The Book of Songs, the Book of Documents, the Book of Rites, the Book of Changes, and the Spring and Autumn Annals — not a single one could be neglected.

For the second topic, Pei Shaohuai reflected for a moment and thought: The quality of jade is what one is born with; but to become a polished gem, it requires carving and grinding. Applying this to a person, innate nature and endowment are like the quality of the jade, while wholehearted pursuit of learning is the carving process. A person of talent must still humbly seek learning before they can achieve greatness.

Neither can be dispensed with.

Having made up his mind, he set brush to paper and broke the topic with these words: In discussing the virtue of the exemplary man, one must therefore observe what he has received by nature, but must also consider what he has learned. “Received” — meaning the endowment of innate talent.

After polishing the essay, Pei Shaohuai read it through once more and was fairly satisfied. Once the two essays were copied out in neat calligraphy, he waited quietly to hand them in and leave.

The following day, the Shuntian Prefectural School posted its results. Pei Shaohuai, Jiang Ziyun, He Hanxue, and the other top ten finishers from the prefectural examination were all among those admitted. Pei Shaowei, for reasons unknown, had not participated in the examination and had forfeited his opportunity to attend the Shuntian Prefectural School.

What Pei Shaohuai did not know was that his examination paper was passed around and read by the instructors one after another, then presented to the Dean. Everyone praised it, saying that the prose radiated a kind of inspired vitality — drawing on the classics yet never appearing stiff or pedantic.

…

The Shuntian Prefectural School was located within Daxing County. Originally a Taoist temple called the Supreme Harmony Shrine from the previous dynasty, it had later been converted into an official school. The entire compound had been carefully renovated; while its scale did not match that of the National Academy, it surpassed all other prefectural schools in the land.

The Shuntian Prefectural School followed the principle of “learning on the left, temple on the right,” divided into left and right sections, each consisting of three successive courtyards. The left section was primarily composed of lecture halls, the most prominent being the Hall of Ethical Cultivation in the center. On both sides were the subject rooms and dormitory quarters for the various disciplines. The right section housed the shrine to Grand Secretary Wen Tianxiang.

The dormitory courtyards were built in a row side by side. Each courtyard had a main gate to the south, with four rooms each on the east, west, and north sides. Every licentiate had one room; if accompanied by a page boy, the page could either share the room or lodge in the storage room near the main gate.

Although Pei Shaohuai had no intention of residing regularly at the prefectural school, he still brought a good number of belongings, so as to be prepared for the occasional need to stay overnight.

As it happened, He Hanxue, who had placed second in the prefectural examination, as well as Jiang Ziyun, were both assigned to the same dormitory courtyard as Pei Shaohuai — which would make it quite convenient for them to exchange ideas about their studies in the future.

On the first day of enrollment, Dean Song gave a lecture to the fifty newly admitted students, saying: “Poetry and rhapsody are ornamental and superficial skills — even one who has read but a little can achieve modest success in them. But the classical interpretations and eight-legged essay form require someone with deep and broad familiarity with ancient and modern learning before they can be mastered.” The general meaning was that poetry and literary composition were minor accomplishments on the path of letters, and that the examinations fundamentally depended on classical scholarship and the ability to write eight-legged essays. He reminded the students seated below not to waste their time on poetry and literary composition, but to focus on sharpening their essay writing.

The students below nodded their heads in agreement, finding this all deeply true.

And it was not only they — among ten students throughout Da Qing, eight of them probably thought the same way.

Dean Song also said: “Under all of heaven, the examination essays are held in the highest regard. You must not squander your time.” With this, the first lesson of the opening day was considered complete.

Returning to the study hall, Pei Shaohuai discovered that, in addition to the Four Books and Five Classics, almost every student’s book satchel contained a personal copy of The Ten-Subject Strategy, and Jiang Ziyun was no exception. When doing coursework and writing essays, it was common to see students take out this book, flipping through it and consulting it frequently, as though they could not put it down.

Pei Shaohuai had never read this book. Curious as to what made it so uniquely popular that everyone was so enamored of it, he borrowed a copy from Jiang Ziyun.

Jiang Ziyun said in surprise: “Huai younger brother has never read this book?”

Pei Shaohuai nodded and replied: “Never read it — which is precisely why I am so curious.”

Jiang Ziyun grew even more astonished, finding it somewhat hard to believe. He asked: “Then when Huai younger brother answers policy questions and writes essays, where do you get all the knowledge you need — current affairs and policy strategies, institutional regulations of successive dynasties, ancient and modern military systems, the comparative merits of the prose of the Eight Great Masters across dynasties, monetary regulations through the ages, river engineering and hydraulics, and all manner of other detailed and complex learning?”

In truth, Jiang Ziyun had not yet finished listing everything. To answer policy questions well and write eight-legged essays skillfully required an extraordinarily broad range of knowledge — covering virtually every trade and profession, and every dynasty and era.

Pei Shaohuai thought it over and replied: “Either the tutor explained it in class, or the tutor assigned me to go and read through a certain work on my own. Day after day, year after year — in many matters I have come to have at least a passing familiarity, though the tutor says it is still far from sufficient.”

“No wonder your essays are written so well — every sentence has something substantive to say. It turns out that within your breast lies a whole universe,” Jiang Ziyun said with admiration, and then handed the Ten-Subject Strategy to Pei Shaohuai, adding: “What this book compiles is precisely what I just asked you about — divided into ten subjects, hence the name.”

He also said: “Many students throughout the land have limited funds and cannot afford to read widely. Or they have insufficient time and cannot read carefully and deeply. They can only use this book to gain a glimpse of the whole, and make sense of it themselves.”

Pei Shaohuai opened it and looked through — and sure enough, it was as Jiang Ziyun had described. The ten subjects were organized by category, each one explained in turn, with the key points covered. The shortcomings were also quite obvious: with limited pages and too wide a scope, the content could only touch on topics without going into depth.

Was this not the same as a study guide for examinations in his previous life?

Jiang Ziyun sighed and said: “Studying this way is also a helpless measure.” He then took out another book, the Reference Texts for the Second and Third Sessions, and gave it to Pei Shaohuai, saying: “This one is indispensable as well.”

At this point, Pei Shaohuai finally understood what Tutor Duan had meant by the phrase “influenced by examination cramming methods that put speed and quick results above all else.”

Pei Shaohuai thought to himself: There is no right or wrong in this matter. If one can read widely, that is naturally the best situation — but if one does not have the means to do so, does that mean one simply should not study at all? He could not look upon this with the attitude of “the well-fed man who does not understand the hunger of the starving.”

“Thank you, Elder Brother Ziyun, for enlightening me,” Pei Shaohuai said.

“This hardly counts as enlightening,” Jiang Ziyun said with a smile. “The day will come when I encounter a current affair or historical allusion I do not understand and must ask you for guidance — that would truly be you enlightening me.”

…

After Pei Shaohuai left for the prefectural school, one seat in the Xu household’s study hall stood empty.

Pei Shaojin would often habitually turn his head and say, holding up an essay: “Elder Brother, what do you think of this sentence I’ve written?” When no reply came after a long time, he would realize that Elder Brother had already gone to the prefectural school. He would sigh at that empty seat, murmuring: “I still haven’t gotten used to it…”

Xu Yancheng was the same. In the mornings when he prepared his brush and ink, he would often set out Pei Shaohuai’s portion as well and place it on the table. Only when the tutor began class would he belatedly realize — even if Shaohuai were to come, it would only be after the prefectural school let out in the afternoon, when he would come to seek instruction from the tutor.

The two young ones, Pei Shaojin and Xu Yancheng, studied with ever-increasing diligence. The two of them had spoken privately about it.

“Let us both prepare well. Once next year’s prefectural examination is past and we’ve become licentiates, we’ll be able to go to the prefectural school and study alongside Shaohuai,” Xu Yancheng said.

“The tutor says your method of breaking open essay topics is always very clever — you only need to further sharpen your writing ability, and next year should certainly present no problem,” Pei Shaojin said. He added: “Lately I have had a few essays where the topic has been somewhat misinterpreted. The tutor told me to go home and read through the Collected Notes on the Chapters and Sentences once more — that if I cannot achieve a skillful break of the topic, I should choose to be conventionally sound instead.”

“Given your natural ability, this is by no means a difficult problem.”

The two young ones encouraged one another, and both now had a goal in their hearts.

Little Yan Gui, sitting nearby, also spoke up: “Elder Brother, Little Uncle — do I need to work harder too, to catch up to you?”

He also said: “I also want to go to the prefectural school with you.”

Yancheng smiled and pinched little Yanguai’s cheek, saying: “Studying has to go one step at a time — you still have a long way to go.”