Outside Little Black Mountain Island, the southern-patrol naval force had the small island completely surrounded. On the fourth day, five warships were withdrawn in succession, opening up a gap at the southeastern corner.

If one could escape through this passage and ride the sea current eastward, within three nautical miles there was an island occupied by a chaotic mix of people — merchants, pirates, and outlaws alike. To reach that island was to find a chance at survival.

On Little Black Mountain Island, the remaining bandits had spent several days gnawing on leaves and tree bark. They were spent and exhausted, at the very end of their strength. They had gathered together, intending to summon their last breath of energy and fight the southern-patrol naval force to the bitter end.

But just then, they saw the warships at the southeastern corner withdraw, opening a gap.

If they escaped, they could live.

The desperate, fighting-to-the-death spirit that had just been mustered dissolved away in an instant. The remaining bandits stared at that gap with reddened eyes, their minds consumed entirely by thoughts of how to swim their way out.

Among them, there were those perceptive enough to see that this was a trap — a lure to draw them out and pick them off one by one. But between life and death, few are willing to simply choose death outright, even if the chance of survival is but the slimmest thread.

Out of a hundred, if even one person could be the fish that slipped through the net — if even one person successfully broke free — why could that fortunate one not be oneself?

With this thought in their hearts, the remaining bandits scattered in every direction, each seeking their own way out. Any semblance of unified order collapsed entirely.

On the distant warships, soldiers skilled in the water had been selected and stood in neat formation on the decks, iron forks raised in their hands, ready and poised to strike. Over the past several days, they had eaten well and rested well, storing up a full measure of energy and vigor.

The officers stood on the lookout platforms, their eyes fixed on the movements in the distant gap, waiting only for the “flock of frogs” to enter the water and stir up ripples — at that signal, they would take their soldiers out to “catch the frogs.”

Each frog was a count toward their military merit.

The sky gradually darkened. When the last of the evening glow had faded and the tidal current began to stir, the remaining bandits plunged into the water one after another with splashing sounds, scattering as they swam with all their might toward the southeastern outlaw island.

When the bandits had swum out to the middle point — not yet arrived, not yet able to turn back — the naval officer gave the command: “Move out. Bounty is paid by the pirate’s head.”

Signal flares once again burst into the sky above the sea, and by the faint light, one could make out a large number of Japanese pirates swimming scattered across the surface of the water — like a school of fish surfacing at night to breathe. When they saw the naval force paddling toward them in flat-bottomed skiffs, iron forks raised high, they sensed that all was wrong.

At that moment, they should have continued to scatter further apart, to make it harder for the naval force to encircle and capture them. Instead, every one of them was thinking of using others as a shield — to escape in the chaos while others were taken. And so, paradoxically, they swam closer and closer together, growing denser with every stroke.

Then, several medium-sized vessels of four or five hundred piculs came out from the darkness, and great nets were cast down upon the water like a fisher casting for fish, leaving them nowhere to hide or flee.

……

After a night of waiting in ambush, as dawn began to lighten the sky, the soldiers on the decks tallied the spoils of battle: over two thousand Japanese pirates eliminated, and several hundred taken alive.

The southern-patrol naval force had suffered very few casualties.

In the wake of the great victory, as the soldiers drank and spoke freely, many praised the General as young yet brilliantly strategic, with remarkable intelligence. With a single stratagem of “luring the enemy into the trap,” he had shattered the pirates’ “feint attack” — it had been a long time since they had fought a sea battle this satisfying.

Some among them knew that the stratagem of leaving a gap in the encirclement of Little Black Mountain Island had come from Pei Shaohuai. Emboldened by the wine, they praised him: “The General is outstanding beyond question, but the eldest young master of the Prefect’s household should not be underestimated either. The stratagem for surrounding and capturing Little Black Mountain Island came from his mouth.”

Everyone listened with curiosity and urged the speaker to elaborate.

The speaker had a nimble tongue, and embellished as he retold Pei Shaohuai’s words from that day, drawing cheers and admiration from his companions.

The tale spread from ten to a hundred, and not only did it spread throughout the entire southern-patrol naval force — it made its way ashore as well.

The people of Taicang had long been plagued by Japanese pirates and water bandits. With this great victory — wiping out an entire faction of pirates and bringing peaceful days ahead — the townspeople naturally broke into joyful smiles and talked of nothing else.

The townsfolk were curious about the details of the battle. The storytellers in the teahouses suddenly found themselves with plenty of business, and storytellers competed to gather information from every source, crafting their own scripts for performance.

The gist of the stories generally centered on a few points: the Prefect had personally led his men to guard the city walls through the night; the southern-patrol General had brilliantly calculated and shattered the enemy’s scheme; a hundred warships had fired cannon in successive rounds to bombard the pirate fleet; and Young Master Pei, with a light application of strategy, had led to the complete annihilation of the remaining bandits.

From the lips of storytellers, the tale traveled from Suzhou to Yangzhou, and then on to the capital.

One day, Pei Shaohuai and Tian Yonglu had been so caught up in discussing scholarly matters that they missed the meal hour. They simply invited a few fellow students and went to a tavern together for dinner, enjoying lively conversation over the meal.

Partway through eating, Pei Shaohuai noticed something was off — they hadn’t ordered this many dishes. Why did the server keep bringing up one plate after another, and every one of them a signature specialty of the tavern, at prices that were far from modest?

Tian Yonglu called the server over to ask, and learned that the proprietor had recognized Pei Shaohuai as the eldest young master of the Prefect’s household, and had specifically arranged this.

When they were leaving, the proprietor refused no matter what to accept Pei Shaohuai’s payment for the food and wine, saying: “The Prefect has done much for the welfare of the people, and Young Master Pei devised the strategy that wiped out the remaining bandits — this is known throughout the entire city. Young Master Pei’s willingness to dine at this humble establishment is an honor for us. This is no more than simple everyday food and drink — please accept it as a small gesture of heartfelt appreciation from this shop.”

He then laughed heartily: “Since the Prefect took office, the lives of the townspeople have gotten better day by day, and our shop’s business has grown more and more prosperous along with it… Young Master Pei, take a look — remember how quiet and desolate the street used to be? Isn’t it much livelier now?”

Looking out through the tavern’s main entrance, one could see many newly opened shops along the street, and vendors with small stalls lining the roadside, a chorus of calls and haggling filling the air.

The tavern proprietor had been in business for over a decade, always staying on this street. He knew better than anyone whether the street was lively or not.

Tian Yonglu smiled and advised Pei Shaohuai: “Since it comes sincerely from the hearts of the common people, Brother Pei, please don’t refuse.”

Pei Shaohuai had no choice but to let the matter go.

Afterward, Tian Yonglu dragged Pei Shaohuai into a teahouse, insisting on listening to the story performance about “Young Master Pei deploying a light stratagem to annihilate all the remaining bandits.”

Up front, the storyteller performed with sweeping gestures and dramatic flair, his voice rising and falling with emotion, the plot richly detailed and full of twists. The teahouse patrons below would at one moment fall into hushed silence, then at the next leap to their feet and burst out in roaring approval. Only Pei Shaohuai, sitting in the very last row, listened with his face burning with embarrassment — who on earth had written this story script?

Pei Shaohuai had not known he was apparently this extraordinary. From what he could make out —

“…Young Master Pei, just seventeen years of age, has read widely and without equal, with a thorough mastery of military strategy. He often remains at home studying the art of war, and his greatest strength lies in the use of unorthodox tactics… At the age of three, he could already recite military texts from memory; at eight, he began studying the techniques of battle formation; and now, in the prime of his years, it is the perfect time for him to showcase his abilities… Facing Little Black Mountain Island, surrounded on all sides by high ground, while everyone else spoke over each other with scattered suggestions, Young Master Pei remained calm and unhurried, and quietly conceived a stratagem… General Yan declared this stratagem supremely brilliant, the finest plan of the highest order…”

Pei Shaohuai truly could not bear to listen any further, and could only drag Tian Yonglu away in hasty retreat.

The following day, Pei Shaohuai came to the Zou household and found the elderly Lady Zou working on a painting — a depiction of the very scene of leaving a gap in the encirclement. When he thought about how this painting might be printed and included in the Collection of Erudite Literary Works, Pei Shaohuai pressed a hand to his forehead, his face flushing red.

Was this matter truly going to spread all the way to Donglin Academy?

Grand Secretary Zou and his wife were both quite amused. Grand Secretary Zou said: “It is a rare sight indeed to see young friend Pei turning red.”

Pei Shaohuai said with embarrassment: “I did nothing more than take a stratagem from the Art of War and put it to use. How does that merit such praise from everyone?”

“Not so, not so,” said Grand Secretary Zou. “No shortage of people have read works on military strategy, but those who can apply them in practice, who can strike at the enemy’s spirit — such people are rarely seen.” He then teased Pei Shaohuai: “Right now the common people are merely praising you a little, and you’re already ill at ease. When you hold office one day and the townspeople present you with a ‘ten-thousand-man umbrella,’ what will you do then?”

A ten-thousand-man umbrella symbolizes an upright official who shelters and protects his people, deeply beloved throughout the region.

Lady Zou chimed in by her husband’s side: “Young friend, this journey south as part of your studies has earned you such a fine reputation — it is something to be glad about, not embarrassed over.” A reputation for governing the people and for military strategy was of a different nature from a reputation for literary talent — it was concrete and substantive, and would greatly benefit the path of officialdom ahead.

“Nangu Elder and the Lady are right — I suppose my skin is a little thin,” Pei Shaohuai said.

Today’s visit was for the purpose of discussing scholarly matters. Pei Shaohuai presented his essays to Grand Secretary Zou and waited in quiet anticipation for his assessment.

Yet unexpectedly, Grand Secretary Zou folded the essays and returned them to Pei Shaohuai, saying with a smile: “A literary essay has its source in the heart. Since you already know where your own shortcomings lie, and you are willing to humble yourself and put things into practice, there is no longer any need for me to read it… When a person sits upright, the brush in their hand will not go crooked.” He then continued: “For the spring examination the year after next — go forward boldly.”

Pei Shaohuai received the essays with both hands. Their gazes met, and in Grand Secretary Zou’s eyes he saw an expression full of approval. He replied with firm resolve: “This student will certainly not disappoint the Elder’s expectations.”

The two of them turned to leisurely conversation about poetry and verse — a most elegant and tranquil afternoon.

After half a day had passed, Pei Shaohuai took his leave. Lady Zou then said to her husband: “Old man, this young gentleman from the north grows more remarkable with each passing day. I had originally thought he was simply a young man who wrote well.”

“I told you to paint with a broader, grander scope, and you simply wouldn’t believe me,” Grand Secretary Zou replied, seemingly beside the point. Noticing his wife’s glare, he explained: “Everything you have painted with your brush — overseeing water works, the autumn harvest of farming households, a river full of competing vessels, leaving a gap in the encirclement… all of these scenes are things he has seen and lived through. Take all of these paintings together — what do you think they amount to?”

Pei Shaohuai had followed his father southward on this journey of study, and had truly experienced a great many things — managing water works, fending off water bandits, constructing ships and wharves, compiling maritime customs regulations, launching assaults against Japanese pirates… Over the course of two years, one thing after another, every single one real and concrete.

“You’re the one who paints with such grand scope — why do we never see you painting on ordinary days?” Lady Zou finished scolding her husband, then asked curiously: “What do all the paintings amount to when put together?”

Grand Secretary Zou reclined in his rattan chair and gazed absently at the top of the stone pavilion, murmuring: “He will go on to see even more. One painting beside the next, these works will naturally form the mountains and rivers of the realm… He is, of course, a person of no ordinary caliber.”

……

At the same time, from the Zhenhai Guard’s side — after their “sweeping victory” and “glorious military achievement” — there came a piece of news: Commandant Lin had led his troops to resist the Japanese pirates who came ashore and defend Taicang Prefecture, when in the chaos of battle he was stabbed in the back by a Japanese pirate and died in battle.

Several of Commandant Lin’s subordinate officers — various unit commanders and junior officers — had also “died in battle” in one way or another. The entire Zhenhai Guard underwent a complete reshuffle.

The court swiftly issued an edict: Vice-General of the Southern Patrol Force, Lord Zhu, would take over the position of Commanding Officer of the Zhenhai Guard and assume office on the spot. This Lord Zhu had come from the Ministry of War and was a prized student of Minister Zhang Lingyi.

Just last month, Pei Bingyuan had placed the shipyard under the jurisdiction of the Ministry of War. With Minister Zhang’s connection in place, it was foreseeable that going forward, the relationship between the prefecture office and the Zhenhai Guard within Taicang Prefecture — between civilian households and military households — would no longer need to involve internal strife and competition.

Good governance of Taicang Prefecture would be a benefit to all.

And those with discerning eyes could all see that the matter of Commandant Lin mysteriously “dying in battle,” with no body to be found, most likely concealed a great deal.

Several days later, the southern-patrol naval force finished its period of rest and recuperation, and was about to set sail and continue southward to complete the full southern patrol mission. Yan Chengzhao did not come to see Pei Bingyuan again — instead, he had someone deliver a letter, which read:

“Prefect Pei has distinguished himself in governing Taicang Prefecture and resisting the Japanese pirates. This official will report these merits faithfully to His Majesty. However, the commendation and reward for these achievements will likely take no small amount of time to come down. Prefect Pei need not be impatient.”

The letter was very brief, but carried considerable weight between the lines. When the Pei father and son finished reading it, both felt a jolt of surprise in their hearts.

Pei Bingyuan said with a lingering feeling: “The matter of the Zhenhai Guard is, indeed, far from simple.”

Pei Shaohuai concurred: “The longer the merit is delayed in coming, the larger the scale of what this affair has ensnared.” Each matter could only be concluded with proper handling before His Majesty could reward those who had rendered service.

If the reward remained delayed and slow in coming, it could only mean the affair was far from over.

The meaning behind Yan Chengzhao sending this letter was not about the merits themselves — it was to convey a temporary outcome to Pei Bingyuan: the Zhenhai Guard’s affair was still under investigation, and would continue to be investigated for a long time yet.

Pei Shaohuai reflected inwardly with quiet admiration — this Yan Chengzhao was a man of real ability. Only that air of supreme arrogance about him made him difficult to approach and hard to read.

He clearly intended to mend relations with the Earl’s府, yet his manner remained cold and distant. If it were anyone else, without thinking one layer deeper, they might not have understood his meaning at all.