Although it was already autumn, the autumn chill had not yet arrived. The rooms were still stifling, and sitting still was enough to raise a fine sweat. Because they had been lazy in the height of summer and missed their chance to admire the ten li of emerald leaves and pink lotus blossoms at Yejian Pond, the young men of the Pei and Xu families had made plans to go to Yejian Pond to admire the autumn lotus blossoms and make up for the missed pleasure.
Autumn lotus blossoms, though they could not match the summer’s expanse of emerald leaves reaching to the sky and lotus flowers like brocade, had the advantage of fewer visitors — they offered a different kind of leisurely charm.
Many of the lotus leaves had already withered and fallen over, mirrored on the surface of the pond. A few tardily arrived lotus blossoms peeked out from among them, serving as perfect adornments within the scene.
“I’m late.”
Pei Shaohuai called out from a distance, waving toward the pavilion in the middle of the pond, then quickened his step. Following the winding path and then crossing the walkway over the water, he finally reached the pavilion.
Pei Shaojin and Xu Yancheng had arrived early. They had brought two stacked food carriers, and several varieties of pastries, preserved fruits, and delicate treats had already been laid out on the stone table. Little Yan Gui sat on a stone stool swinging his short legs, holding a lotus seedpod and working out the lotus seeds to eat. He looked up and called out “Little Uncle Huai.”
Pei Shaohuai ruffled little Yanguai’s head, placed the food carrier he had brought onto the stone table, and said: “I passed by He Xiang Tower on the way and added something to eat.”
“Elder Brother, wait — don’t say the name of the dish. Let me smell it and guess.”
With that, Pei Shaojin twitched his nose in the air and took a sniff, already knowing the answer. He said: “The refined poet sang of ‘fragrant zongzi in bamboo shoots, tender; crispy roasted gosling, fresh.’ Though it is no longer summer and the time for eating zongzi has passed, we all share the heart for savoring fine food. What is in this carrier is undoubtedly He Xiang Tower’s signature crispy roasted gosling.” As he spoke, he opened the food carrier for his elder brother — and sure enough, out came a golden-glazed, sweetly charred roasted gosling.
Pei Shaohuai smiled and teased him: “If you put this talent of your nose tip to work at your brush tip, you wouldn’t keep breaking open essay topics at an angle.” Pei Shaojin had misinterpreted the topic two or three times, and Pei Shaohuai and Xu Yancheng had been holding it over him as a running joke.
“Elder Brother, stop making up stories about me,” Pei Shaojin said. “These past days, I haven’t misinterpreted a single topic.”
Xu Yancheng produced two flasks of wine and said: “These are fruit wines I coaxed out of Old Adu. The sweetness far outweighs the wine, and they are very light — perfectly fine to drink in place of tea.”
The young men enjoyed the view and chatted, recounting recent amusing events. Pei Shaohuai described the various types of people at the prefectural school, and their conversation was lively and satisfying.
Xu Yancheng proposed: “In the spirit of sweet wine and fine food, what if we play the flower-word game?”
“I had the same thought,” Pei Shaohuai agreed, then complained: “At the prefectural school, from the Dean and instructors down to the students, everyone views poetry and literary composition as minor tricks of the literary path — afraid it will distract from their essay writing. Hardly anyone will discuss verses with me, which is thoroughly dull.”
Da Qing’s men of letters held poetry in low regard — this had spread into a pervasive fashion.
Xu Yancheng looked out at the pond full of lotus leaves and the few lotus blossoms, breathed in the clear fragrance of the lotus, and said: “Let us use ‘lotus’ as the key word — what do Shaohuai and Shaojin think?”
“Ah —” Pei Shaohuai shook his head, smiling. “Poets and scholars of letters have always been fond of ‘lotus,’ ‘water lily,’ and ‘lotus root.’ Verses come readily to mind — if we use that word, we might play until nightfall without anyone drinking a single cup of sweet wine.”
He continued: “It is now entering autumn — why not use both ‘lotus’ and ‘autumn’ as the key words, and see who can come up with the most striking verse? How does that sound?”
Pei Shaojin and Xu Yancheng both nodded.
Little Yan Gui clamored to join in. Xu Yancheng said: “It’s not that you can’t play — but if you can’t come up with an answer, and we can’t make you drink a forfeit either, what then?”
Little Yan Gui propped up his face in his hands and said: “At worst, just let you all pinch my cheeks.”
“You said it yourself.”
All three burst out laughing at little Yanguai.
“Then I’ll start,” Pei Shaohuai said. “Song dynasty, Yu Shi: ‘The lake’s waters too have changed with human years; half the autumn light is lost among the lotus flowers.’“
Having spoken, he slid the wine cup over to younger brother Jin.
Pei Shaojin did not even pause for thought. He picked up the cup and slid it straight over to Xu Yancheng, saying quickly: “Song dynasty, Yue Ke: ‘How lovely is the early autumn season of lotus blossoms; the wine in the cup is perfectly suited to beauties’ brows.’“
“Shaojin, you’re too fast — won’t you give me a little more time?” Xu Yancheng grumbled.
Pei Shaojin laughed and said: “Eldest Nephew would do better to think quickly rather than grumble — don’t tell me you can’t even get past the first round.”
“Got one!” Xu Yancheng said after a moment’s thought. “Song dynasty, Huang Geng: ‘Red lotus blossoms thick against emerald rails; at the first rise of autumn wind they easily fade and fall.’“
Little Yan Gui seemed to have prepared one in advance, and said in his childish voice: “Song dynasty, Lin Hong: ‘Mist rises over the willows; a faint trace of moon. Rain teases the lotus blossoms; a few dots of autumn.’“
Pei Shaohuai clapped and said: “In this round, in terms of mood and imagery, Yan Gui’s is the most fitting to the scene before us.”
Xu Yancheng also exclaimed with admiration: “You little fellow — you really can do this. Your studies have progressed far too quickly.”
Little Yan Gui let out a sigh, however, and murmured: “If it were any other key word, I might not be able to match Elder Brother and Little Uncle. But lotus flowers and water lilies — you must know that at home, every day Father uses verses like these to make Mother happy. How could I help but know them?”
All three laughed again.
After several rounds, little Yanguai safely kept his cheeks from being pinched, while Xu Yancheng drank five cups, Pei Shaohuai drank three, and Pei Shaojin drank only two — and those he drank on purpose.
Xu Yancheng complained: “I rack my brains to recall verses to answer each round, while Shaojin answers as if he has all the verses and classics right there in front of him, picking them off at will. This is not right at all — truly not right.”
But then, what could be done when Pei Shaojin was exceptionally good at memorizing texts?
After playing for quite some time and feeling tired, Xu Yancheng brought up something that had happened a few days before. He asked: “Shaohuai, Shaojin — do you still remember that Zhan Qingyuan from last time?”
How could Pei Shaohuai have forgotten him — was he not the fellow who stepped out of the examination hall and immediately started asking others how they had done?
“I remember him — the eldest legitimate grandson of Vice Minister Zhan of the Ministry of Rites,” Pei Shaohuai replied. “Didn’t you say last time that he failed the prefectural examination?”
Xu Yancheng nodded and continued: “A few days ago, I heard Lord Zhan asking Grandfather about your families. It seems… it seems he has intentions of proposing a marriage alliance with the Earl’s mansion.”
The eyes of both Pei Shaohuai and Pei Shaojin instantly flew over, full of resistance. If they were speaking of a marriage alliance, at present the only eligible young woman in the Earl’s mansion was Ying Jie’er.
It was not that the Zhan family was unworthy — but Zhan Qingyuan was absolutely unacceptable.
It was likely that the Zhan family was not even primarily targeting the Earl’s mansion. Rather, seeing that Lord Xu was about to assume the post of Minister of Rites, they wished to draw closer to the Xu family. Unfortunately, the Xu family had no unmarried young women, and so they overstepped by one more degree and inquired about the Pei family.
Pei Shaohuai picked up a dry lotus leaf, used it to pick up the remaining piece of roasted gosling bottom from the food carrier, and placed it on the lotus leaf.
“Shaohuai, what do you mean by this?” Xu Yancheng asked.
Pei Shaohuai calmly quoted the famous saying from The Scholars: “Not deserving of respect yet daring to aspire to a swan’s favor.”
Xu Yancheng could not help but burst out laughing. He said: “You are certainly direct. Grandfather could already predict your family’s reaction and deflected them.”
This matter did remind Pei Shaohuai that Ying Jie’er’s coming-of-age ceremony was not far off. The matter of marriage, even if delayed, could not be put off indefinitely.
After a day of leisure, the three young men and little Xu Yanguai had all enjoyed themselves greatly. They had admired the lotus and chanted poetry to their hearts’ content. Packing everything up, they turned and headed home.
On the carriage back to the Xu household, Xu Yancheng teased little Yanguai, saying: “Yanguai, Elder Brother is truly envious of you.”
Little Yanguai looked up at his elder brother and asked: “Elder Brother, why do you sigh like that?”
“Let me count them out for you,” Xu Yancheng said, ticking off his fingers. “You have a grandfather who is the Director of the Court of State Ceremonial, a father who is the Second Place graduate, and in the future you will have two Zhuangyuan Lang maternal uncles and a Second Place elder brother. Tell me — who can match an assembly like that, little Yanguai?”
Little Yanguai did not nod. Instead, mimicking Xu Yancheng’s tone, he said: “Elder Brother, younger brother is truly envious of you.”
Then he added: “Beyond what was just said, Elder Brother has one more that I don’t.”
Xu Yancheng looked puzzled.
Little Yanguai stood akimbo with an air of great satisfaction and said: “Elder Brother has one more — a Zhuangyuan Lang younger brother. Truly the envy of all around.”
The Xu family’s spirit of contented ease was truly passed down through the bloodline.
…
“I have a flask of wine, and with it I set off to travel. At each inn I encountered, the amount doubled; with each friend I met, I drank a dou. After passing through three inns and friends, the flask was empty. May I ask — how much wine was originally in the flask?” In the arithmetic classroom of the Shuntian Prefectural School, Instructor Mo was reciting a comic verse.
This was a problem drawn from the Introduction to Arithmetic.
Instructor Mo was a small, somewhat stout old man in his fifties. Knowing that the students had no interest in arithmetic, he did not make things difficult for himself either, and simply chose some simple and entertaining problems to discuss, in the hope that the students below might take something in.
But the afternoon heat was stifling, and the students were drowsy and half-asleep. No one was even listening to the comic verse, let alone one that required arithmetic. Besides, the examinations would never test this sort of thing.
Instructor Mo paused, about to call on someone to answer the question. Glancing over and seeing Pei Shaohuai bent over writing, he assumed he was working on an essay, and so called on him to answer.
Pei Shaohuai rose and replied: “Your student has calculated seven-eighths of a dou.”
Instructor Mo gave a slight nod and asked further: “What method did you use to arrive at this figure?” If one were only familiar with the basic operations of multiplication, division, addition, and subtraction, one could still slowly work backward to find the answer — but it would take quite some time. That Pei Shaohuai had answered so quickly and correctly showed he clearly had not used reverse calculation.
“In reply to the Instructor — your student has read the Nine Chapters on the Mathematical Art and applied the method of the celestial element.”
This text, written in a question-and-answer format, had not yet formed a complete system, but its content was sufficiently broad to help Pei Shaohuai conceal his mathematical abilities.
“Excellent,” Instructor Mo said with approval. After a pause, unable to restrain himself, he asked one more question: “Have you also studied the other methods in the text?”
Pei Shaohuai replied: “I have read through all of them, though there are many parts I do not fully understand and that I will need to continue studying slowly.” There were methods that Pei Shaohuai did not lack the understanding for — rather, he needed to match what he knew with what was written in the text so that he could explain the source of his knowledge.
To know something and surpass the knowing of it — that was a genius of extraordinary gifts; to know something with no apparent reason for knowing it — that was a genius of the supernatural variety.
An extraordinary genius could live; a supernatural genius could not.
Instructor Mo had been about to offer encouraging words, urging Pei Shaohuai to continue working diligently in arithmetic. Yet after pondering for a moment, what came out of his mouth was: “Focus well on your essays. If you have leisure time, then go and study further — understanding calculation and reasoning may prove of some use to you in the future.”
“Yes, your student will keep this firmly in mind.”
For some time afterward, Pei Shaohuai displayed in his arithmetic classes a certain measured mathematical talent, progressing gradually. He repeatedly earned Instructor Mo’s praise, who said: “With your talent, if in the future you enter the Ministry of Works or the Ministry of War, you will certainly feel as much at ease as a fish in water, unencumbered by any limitations in arithmetic.”
The other students in the classroom, however, were quite dismissive of this.
Only Jiang Ziyun came regularly to ask Pei Shaohuai about arithmetic problems. Jiang Ziyun said: “I have been thinking that if I become an official in the future, all manner of detailed tasks — measuring and surveying farmland, constructing irrigation channels, taking tallies of soldiers — if I am entirely ignorant of arithmetic, will I not simply have to let the administrative aides deceive me at will? While there is the opportunity now, it is better to learn a bit more.”
Pei Shaohuai smiled and said: “Elder Brother Ziyun plans ahead and plots for the long term.”
…
In mid-October, with the annual examination drawing near, the Shuntian Prefectural School was noticeably more crowded. For one, all those old licentiates who had been attending only long enough to mark their names had come back. For another, those high-born students who had merely registered their names had also come to put in an appearance.
There were also some old licentiates in their fifties and sixties who had no longer the heart or the energy to take the annual examination. They came early to smooth things over and work their connections, hoping that when the examination came, they would not be placed in the lowest sixth grade — something that would be embarrassing for the prefecture office, the prefectural school, the superintendent’s office, and the old licentiates themselves. The prefectural school, in consideration of their advanced age, would generally not make things difficult for these elderly licentiates.
For a licentiate in his thirties or forties to attempt the same would be “aspiring to a swan’s favor” — better to calm down and focus on reviewing coursework.
At the end of October, the annual examination concluded. The following day, a rankings list was posted on the outer wall of the prefectural school, announcing the results. Pei Shaohuai was placed fifth, and Jiang Ziyun was placed thirty-ninth; both were assessed as first class.
Jiang Ziyun had preserved his stipendiary student status. Had he fallen another ten-odd places, dropping to second or even third class, he might well have been replaced by one of the supplementary students.
Those licentiates who had spent their days in a muddle-headed daze and been assessed as fourth or fifth class had not had their titles stripped and been reduced to the lowest social rank — but they would face long-lasting criticism and censure, and could only hide at home without going out.
That day, Jiang Ziyun came to Pei Shaohuai’s room, first to express his gratitude once more, and then to present him with three volumes of books as a gift. He said: “Huai younger brother has the grace of having awakened me, and your background and scholarship are both above mine. I do not know how to repay you. I have noticed that Huai younger brother often goes to the archive hall to look through these few ancient texts, and thought there must be something in them that you enjoy. So I copied them out and offer them as a gift — a small gesture of my gratitude.”
Pei Shaohuai was somewhat surprised, and also somewhat moved.
These ancient texts were rare original copies. The prefectural school’s archive hall did not permit students to borrow them. If one wished to copy them, one could only take brief notes there on the spot, then return to one’s quarters and copy out a full version — going back and forth multiple times, a great deal of trouble.
Jiang Ziyun had copied out three full volumes in a row. He must have spent a considerable amount of time and effort.
It was precisely because this gift was so generous and so sincere that Pei Shaohuai could not refuse it. He accepted the volumes with both hands and said: “Elder Brother Ziyun has gone to great trouble.”
“True heart for true heart — it is only right,” Jiang Ziyun smiled and said. “It is only that at present I have only these abilities and can only do such things.”
…
Pei Shaohuai returned to the Earl’s mansion and heard that a letter had arrived from Yuchong County. He received the letter, went to his room, and opened it with a sense of anticipation.
In his previous letter, in addition to discussing the matter of planting sesame with his father, he had asked a few questions at the end — inquiring why his grandfather harbored a sense of guilt toward his own younger brother that had lasted decades and could not be set aside. His father would likely give him some answers.
Pei Bingyuan opened the letter with these words: “Huai my son — you need not concern yourself with him, nor listen to anything he says. In any case, even if there is guilt to speak of, it is a reckoning that belongs to the older generation. We need not atone for him.”
He also wrote: “The reasoning I should have conveyed, I have conveyed to him. He himself also understands it. He has simply not let himself off the hook.”
One could see that since being posted away from the capital as an official, the father’s temperament had grown considerably more irascible than before.
Pei Shaohuai continued reading and finally came to understand the source of his grandfather’s guilt.
It turned out that Pei Pu and Pei Jue were born of the same mother, only a year and a half apart in age, and as children had been very close. One day, while playing together in a room, the two were rough-housing and Pei Pu accidentally knocked over a candlestick. It set fire to the window curtains. Just as a gust of wind came in through the window, the hot embers of the burning curtain fell onto Pei Jue’s neck and adhered to his skin.
Although the supervising maid rescued him in time, from Pei Jue’s jaw down to his neck, a burn scar remained — and no medicine, however miraculous, could erase it.
Pei Pu, as the elder brother, was consumed with guilt and self-reproach.
From that time on, though their mother had never said a word about it, her tenderness toward her younger son could not help but be somewhat greater — and this persisted until her death.
The two of them grew up, and this matter did not fade gradually with the passage of time. On the contrary, new events kept occurring that kept it lodged in the throat like a fishbone, a lasting, stabbing pain for both of them.
Pei Pu, as the eldest son, inherited his father’s title, and married a well-matched young lady of a suitable family.
Pei Jue, knowing that inheriting the title was beyond him, and having been long tempered by that scar into a quality of patient endurance, applied himself diligently to study. Along the examination path, he achieved a degree of accomplishment, and ultimately placed tenth among the second tier of the imperial examination.
In the palace examination selection for the Hanlin Academy, Pei Jue performed steadily. His essay was listed among those selected for the rank of Shu Jishi — a probationary Hanlin academician. But in the subsequent interview stage, something went wrong.
Though Pei Jue went to considerable lengths to conceal it, that scar — not particularly prominent as it was — still caused him to narrowly miss selection as a Shu Jishi.
The Minister of Personnel in charge of the palace examination selection at the time stated that the Hanlin Academy was a place to nurture talent, and that those selected should be outstanding in all respects — only then could they do justice to the prestige of the institution.
And so Pei Jue was removed from the list of candidates for Shu Jishi selection.
In the end, not only did Pei Jue fail to enter the Hanlin Academy — he was not even permitted to remain in the capital. He was posted directly by the Ministry of Personnel to the remote, mountain-separated Chengdu Prefecture, to serve as a seventh-rank county magistrate. From a son of the capital’s Earl’s mansion, to an official in a remote and impoverished region — the gap between these two conditions was something that only Pei Jue himself could truly comprehend.
The Minister of Personnel had dared to make such an arrangement not only because of the scar Pei Jue bore, but also because of the Earl’s mansion itself.
At that time, the Jingchuan Earl’s mansion was already showing signs of decline, with no voice whatsoever at court. It had no ability to intercede on Pei Jue’s behalf in the matter of his failed Hanlin selection — and could only let him be at the mercy of others.
Reading to this point, Pei Shaohuai had already grasped a fair amount of it. He also thought of something else — it was said that the very first thing Pei Jue did after assuming the post of Minister of Personnel was to dispatch men to conduct inspections of Hanyang Prefecture and Wuchang Prefecture, uncovering a series of corrupt and shameful affairs. He then submitted a memorial to His Majesty, having the two prefects of that region demoted to the eighth rank and posted to serve as officials at the southwestern border of Yunnan.
These two men bore the surname Yang, and were the pair of sons of that former Minister of Personnel. They had thought that by retreating from the capital to the Huguang region early enough, they could avoid Pei Jue’s reach. Little had they known that Pei Jue would give them no such opportunity.
From this, one could also see something of Pei Jue’s character.
Pei Bingyuan wrote at the end of the letter: “What I know amounts to only this much. In between, there may well have been many other reasons, and the two brothers may have made certain promises to one another — of all of this I am unaware.”
“In my view, there is no need to dwell any further on these matters. It cannot be that they are the knife and the chopping block while we are the fish — silent and still. As long as they dare to come at us again with their underhanded schemes, simply return blow for blow.”