In Chongwen Hall, Tian Yonglu strode in with a light and purposeful air. He lifted the painting of the hundred farmers at autumn harvest from its stand and began rolling it up with a cord.

“What is Younger Brother Tian taking the painting for?” Cheng Si happened to be inside Chongwen Hall and asked upon seeing this.

Tian Yonglu did not think much of it and answered honestly, “Younger Brother Pei wishes to borrow it to take home and admire. I am bringing it to him.” With that, he made to leave.

“Wait.” Cheng Si blocked Tian Yonglu’s path, his manner turning cold and detached. “This painting belongs to Chongwen Literary Society. Who is he — a visiting student who comes and goes — to simply borrow it as he pleases? You are acting on personal sentiment, Younger Brother Tian. Even if you wish to do someone a favor, should you not first consult with the rest of us fellow members?”

Tian Yonglu gripped the painting scroll firmly and did not yield. “The painting depicts the autumn harvest of Taicang, and Younger Brother Pei’s father is the Prefect of Taicang. What is wrong with lending it to him to take home for a look?… In the end, who is it who has a personal motive — me, or you, Elder Brother Cheng?”

Since their last dispute, the relationship between Tian Yonglu and Cheng Si had grown increasingly strained.

“It is not that it cannot be done. Nor do I have any personal motive. It is simply that all things should be handled according to proper procedures — otherwise, what is the point of having a literary society?”

“Do not wave those empty formalities at me to muddy the waters.” Tian Yonglu pledged, “I am the one borrowing this painting out. If anything goes the least bit wrong, I will bear full responsibility — whether it means compensating for the painting or being expelled from Chongwen Literary Society, the rest of you may decide as you see fit.”

Cheng Si withdrew his hand and no longer blocked Tian Yonglu’s way. He asked, “Younger Brother Tian, we have known each other for six years now, have we not? Can it be that six years cannot compare to a mere six months? Are you truly willing to fall out with your fellow members over an outsider?”

He continued, “Pei Shaohuai is only a passing visitor — he will eventually return to the capital city. Two years from now, he will be your rival in the Metropolitan Examination. Does Younger Brother Tian not feel even the slightest need to be on guard?”

The first remark had given Tian Yonglu a pang of guilt.

But when Cheng Si spoke the second, Tian Yonglu suddenly saw clearly — the feeling between fellow members had already lost its purity.

Tian Yonglu replied, “Elder Brother Cheng should know that when two people walk in opposite directions, the longer the time, the greater the distance between them.” If they were to speak of rivals in the Metropolitan Examination, the other four members of Chongwen Literary Society were also Tian Yonglu’s rivals — was he to be on guard against all of them? Under heaven, has any top scholar ever succeeded by guarding against others?

Tian Yonglu did not argue further with Cheng Si and left with the painting.

“Elder Brother Tian, from what time did the Hermit of the South begin sending manuscripts to the literary society?”

Tian Yonglu thought for a moment, then said, “It seems he had done so a few years earlier already — two or three pieces per year, always prompted by some particularly fine essay that moved him to write. Since the Northern Sojourner’s manuscripts began arriving, he has sent commentary every month without fail… It is clear the Hermit of the South, like me, holds this Northern Sojourner in the highest admiration.” A note of quiet pride touched Tian Yonglu’s face.

Pei Shaohuai thanked Tian Yonglu and brought the painting home. He unrolled it and hung it on the wall.

He stood before it with hands clasped behind his back, head slightly tilted, looking at it in still silence for a long while. He was not particularly accomplished in the art of painting, having only learned some rudimentary techniques of color and brushwork from Elder Taoist Wu at Mangshan Temple.

Therefore, his ability to appreciate a painting was equally rudimentary — it was either beautiful, or it was not.

The painting before him fell into the category of beautiful. It was a pleasure to behold. Each of the farming figures within it seemed to emanate a certain vitality, giving the viewer a feeling that everything would, slowly, turn out well.

This sense of something to look forward to was deeply pleasing.

Beyond that, Pei Shaohuai could only blame his own inadequate eye for painting — he could not discern anything further beyond the surface.

When Pei Bingyuan returned from the yamen and saw this painting praising the autumn harvest of Taicang, delight spread across his face. To be praised by the common people was one thing; to be praised by scholars was quite another.

He, too, stood with hands clasped behind his back before the wall, appreciating the painting alongside his son.

Silence.

“This painting was made by at least two different hands.”

Pei Shaohuai turned to look at his father sharply, a trace of surprise and curiosity on his face. He recalled that his father had spent decades immersed in books and had a fondness for appreciating paintings — naturally he would understand more than he did. Pei Shaohuai asked, “Father, what leads you to say so?”

Pei Bingyuan pointed to the poem inscribed on the painting, “The strokes in the inscription end with a slight fork, bearing a sharp flourish — this comes from writing with full momentum and then suddenly curling the wrist to lift the brush, stopping abruptly. Only in this way could one achieve such a free and sweeping flourish.”

Pei Shaohuai nodded. He had achieved some proficiency in calligraphy himself and understood this kind of bold and expressive technique.

He had been so absorbed in looking at the painting earlier that he had forgotten there was also a poem inscribed above it.

Pei Bingyuan then pointed to the grain stalks within the painting. “Whereas the painter filled in stroke after stroke with meticulous care, with extremely fine brushwork to render the detail of each grain cluster — showing a steady and patient temperament.”

He concluded, “Just as one’s character shows in one’s calligraphy, in one’s painting, and in one’s writing — from this it can be seen that the painting and the poem were made by two different people.”

Pei Shaohuai understood completely. He relayed to his father everything he knew about the Hermit of the South, then asked, “A scholar of such profound learning would surely have left some trace in Suzhou. In Father’s view, who might the Hermit of the South be? And where should one go to seek him?”

Pei Bingyuan paced in thought. “He may not necessarily be within Suzhou’s borders — he could be in another nearby prefecture, or merely staying here temporarily. A scholar of such insight who has deliberately concealed his identity — how would he be so easily found?”

“Father analyzes the matter well. Your child was too impatient.” Losing his composure.

Pei Bingyuan patted Pei Shaohuai on the shoulder and said warmly, “Just as he said — no need to hurry. There is still time ahead… If fate allows it, this Hermit of the South will naturally come and seek you out.”

The winter climate in Jiangnan was pleasant. Even after frost, green grass could still be found growing thick and lush, and no fallen leaves stripped the branches bare. At first glance, one might mistake it for spring in the northern borderlands.

Though the scenery was fine, the chill never relented by half. The wind howled down from the north and, mingling with the dampness rising off the river surface, crept in through collars and down into robes. Even the heaviest of garments could not keep out that wet and penetrating cold.

A letter arrived from the capital. Xu Zhan obliquely reminded his father-in-law that the court, once spring had passed, would issue an edict permitting a number of coastal prefectures and counties to open their ports and allow merchants to sail out to sea for trade — and Taicang was among them.

Taking advantage of the slack season of winter, Pei Bingyuan rallied the people. Families sent out members, contributing both labor and effort, and they firmly took hold of that old dilapidated dock and began to rebuild it.

When there was surplus grain and something to look forward to — when the parent official promised them the prosperity of a city like Yangzhou — who would fear the cold of the winter sea? Their energy and enthusiasm knew no bounds.

Each morning before Pei Bingyuan set out, Lin Shi would try to drape a white ermine cape over his shoulders. He would decline and explain, “I am going to inspect the old dock. It would not do to go dressed in fine silks and furs… The cold is cold, but I will manage — a good shake and I will be fine.”

Lin Shi did not press further. “In the evening, remember to come home for a hot meal. Do not spend all day making do outside.”

“I understand.”

One afternoon, Pei Bingyuan returned home much earlier than usual, his face lit with a broad smile. The moment he stepped through the door, he called out, “My dear wife, go quickly and prepare ink and brush.”

Lin Shi knew something good had happened and guessed at the nature of it. She hurried to prepare ink and brush, took out an unused memorial form, and as she ground the ink, asked, “Has an imperial edict come down from the capital?”

Pei Bingyuan nodded and smiled. “I may petition the Emperor for a reward.”

At the year’s end, officials serving away from the capital who had achieved notable merit during the year were duly rewarded — the rewards typically took the form of promotion in rank. As Pei Bingyuan had already been promoted a grade and a half at the beginning of the year, it would not be appropriate to grant a further consecutive promotion. However, his accomplishments since taking up his post had been far from ordinary, and a commendation was imperative — hence the practice of petitioning for a specific reward.

Pei Bingyuan picked up his brush and wrote: “…Your servant’s aged mother has been gravely ill for many days. This unworthy servant, unfilial as I am, being stationed far away in Jiangnan and weighing civic duties as foremost, has not been able to return to the capital to attend to her even for a moment — so as not to fail the trust Your Majesty has placed in me…”

“…The elderly mother has been coughing since the autumn chill, and with winter it may well worsen. As the moon waxes and wanes month after month, all living beings must one day find their final rest. Your servant trembles with unease…”

“…My third daughter, Ruozhu, was raised from childhood at her grandmother’s knee, and it is through this upbringing that she has come to possess the character she has today. Now that her grandmother is gravely ill, she thinks of her granddaughter Ruozhu night and day without ceasing, and Ruozhu too longs to be at her grandmother’s side, to repay in some small measure the grace of that upbringing…”

“…Da Qing has always held loyalty and filial piety as the foremost virtues of a person. Your servant humbly beseeches Your Majesty’s gracious mercy to permit the palace lady-in-waiting Pei Ruozhu to leave the palace, that the longing between grandmother and granddaughter may be eased, and that the virtue of filial piety may be broadly upheld throughout the realm…”

Pei Bingyuan wrote with great care. He revised the draft several times, read it through again and again, and only then began to copy it out in a clean hand.

The floor was strewn with discarded drafts.

Pei Bingyuan’s memorial was sent by urgent courier back to the capital and placed on the Emperor’s desk.

On this day, the Emperor was in the Imperial Study reviewing memorials. The senior eunuch beside him, holding a white horsetail whisk, announced, “Your Majesty, the Commandery-Stabilizing Commandery Prince’s household General Who Guards the Nation has returned from escorting the bride and awaits outside the hall.”

The Emperor set down his brush. “Summon him.”

“Summoning General Who Guards the Nation Yan Chengzhao to an audience——”

Yan Chengzhao had not come in the resplendent robes of his first-rank title of General Who Guards the Nation, but rather in the official uniform of the Chief Commander of the Southern Brocade Guard — third rank.

The eunuch’s announcement jolted him back to the present. As the head of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, Yan Chengzhao’s thoughts rarely drifted — yet that had been an exception just now.

It was because of what his father had said to him before he entered the palace.

“This time when you enter the palace, you must petition the Emperor for an imperially bestowed marriage — request to wed the third daughter of Jingchuan Earl’s household, Pei Ruozhu, and form this matrimonial bond.”

“The Pei Family has already refused. Why does Father insist on this?”

“Once the Emperor gives the word for the marriage, what does it matter whether the Pei Family refuses or not?”

“The Pei Family is no longer as it once was.” What he meant to say was that the Pei Family would not simply comply.

“If the Pei Family were the same as it once was, why would I scheme to have you form a marital alliance with them? This union is of benefit to the Commandery Prince’s household in every way — you need not harbor excessive misgivings.”

Yan Chengzhao had wanted to ask what benefit there was in it for himself, but he did not ask, for he already knew the answer. His father said no more and left.

Yan Chengzhao collected his thoughts and strode into the hall, his mind already made up.

“This servant kowtows before Your Majesty.”

“Chengzhao, it was a long journey south. You have worked hard.” The Emperor’s tone was mild and warm. He asked, “You have rendered meritorious service, and We shall grant you a reward. What would you like?” He thought for a moment, then asked, “You are not young anymore — why have you still not started a family?”

Yan Chengzhao’s heart gave a start. Why had he still not started a family?

Perhaps because the heir apparent had not yet been able to produce a grandson for the Commandery Prince’s household. Now that one had been born, it seemed he, too, was finally expected to marry.

He replied, “A man of ambition is not bound by the moment.”

“Is there a young lady who has caught your eye?” The Emperor seemed to have his own intentions about arranging a marriage for him.

“In reply to Your Majesty — there is not.” Yan Chengzhao immediately followed this with, “This servant has thought it over, and there is a reward I wish to request.” He deliberately bypassed the subject of an imperially bestowed marriage.

“Speak then.”

Certain thoughts, once they take root in one’s heart, cause everything around one to become evidence — each incident and circumstance confirming one truth after another: that he, Yan Chengzhao, had indeed been mired in a quagmire without realizing it.

He was forthright and resolute. “This servant has reached the age of majority, and humbly petitions Your Majesty to grant a separate residence.”

Yan Chengzhao spoke with finality, yet the Emperor seemed to show little great surprise. He was silent for several breaths, then asked, “Do you know that according to ancestral precedent, while your parents are still living, We cannot grant you a separate residence? If We were to permit this, what would follow is punishment — your title would be reduced by one rank, from General Who Guards the Nation to Assistant-State General. Have you thought this through?”

Even if he were granted a separate residence, it did not necessarily mean a clean break.

“This servant has thought it through. I humbly ask Your Majesty to grant this.”