Pei Shaohuai had once believed that Elder Councilor Shen’s ability to detect traces of Elder Councilor Zou’s presence and literary style within his own essays perhaps indicated that the two men were of the same kind — both wholeheartedly devoted to securing the people’s well-being, sparing no effort in that pursuit.
Yet he had been wrong in that assumption.
Elder Councilor Shen had merely been reading the hearts of others and striking at them through those very hearts — it was simply one of his methods. At root, he was no different from Lou Yuxing: a man who schemed for his own gain. And because his scheming was concealed beneath a veneer of amiability, he was all the more insidious for it.
This was why Pei Shaohuai felt the whole affair had not been worth it.
Pei Shaohuai pressed further, demanding: “After Elder Councilor Shen met privately with the provincial administrators of both circuits, when the court deliberated on opening maritime trade, not a single word was spoken of the Zhejiang and Fujian Administrative Commissions. Was that also done out of consideration for me?” He did not refer to himself as “your student” or “your subordinate,” but simply used his own name.
Elder Councilor Shen showed no sign of panic — he did not even rise from his seat. He merely let the mask of warmth fall away, revealing the cunning of a fox beneath, and said: “It seems that after Zou Zhichuan retreated from the court, he learned flexibility after all. The students he trained are no longer only capable of blundering straight ahead — they have learned to scheme as well.”
He lifted the teacup as if to drink, then discovered it had gone cold and set it back down. He added: “Close the door, and tell me your terms.”
Elder Councilor Shen assumed that Pei Shaohuai had come alone in order to negotiate.
This was the sort of “transaction” he encountered often. So long as Pei Shaohuai could be drawn onto the same boat, it hardly mattered if some minor leverage was held over him.
Pei Shaohuai suppressed his fury and asked with contempt: “By the look of things, Elder Councilor Shen has already sold off a fair number of the court’s vacant positions.”
Elder Councilor Shen assumed Pei Shaohuai was after an official post and advised him coldly, in a tone that suggested he was doing him a favor: “You are in high favor before the Son of Heaven. In my view, you are still young — there is no need to rush your advancement. Doing so would only spare you no small amount of gossip and rumor.”
Hearing this, Pei Shaohuai thought to himself: just as he had feared — if Elder Councilor Shen were allowed to continue unchecked, the fall of one Hexi Faction would only give rise to another faction in its place.
And factional strife would only grow more intense, the methods ever more underhanded.
With that, Pei Shaohuai had not a shred of hesitation remaining. He pressed forward, producing his evidence: “Bamboo and silk scrolls inscribed with written words were meant for the transmission of learning and the instruction of students. Yet some men, for their own selfish gain, falsify and spread slander through those very words — killing others invisibly through writing. Such men deserve no mercy in death.”
Elder Councilor Shen, who had been composed until this moment, flushed crimson with rage upon hearing these words. He snarled: “What else do you know?”
“It is a pity that the bookshop proprietor died without ever reclaiming his surname. The stele above his grave bears no inscription.”
Even a tiger will not devour its own cubs.
“Enough — silence!” Elder Councilor Shen lurched abruptly to his feet and pointed at Pei Shaohuai as he roared.
The official black hat on the desk was jolted by the force and tumbled to the ground, its crossbar snapping.
In the next instant, Elder Councilor Shen shifted to anxious wariness, and catching his breath in agitation, he asked Pei Shaohuai carefully: “What exactly do you want? You want maritime trade opened? You want the national treasury opened to relieve the people? This official grants you all of it…” He was still trying to salvage the situation — after all, he had not yet taken his seat at the head of Wuying Hall.
Pei Shaohuai asked in hard, measured tones: “A Grand Councilor of the dynasty — why resort to such insidious and underhanded means?”
“Why resort to them? Why resort to them?” Elder Councilor Shen gave a fractured, unhinged laugh.
Over the past decade and more, Lou Yuxing had traded on the favor he had once shown the Emperor and lorded his authority over the cabinet, forcing two Deputy Grand Councilors in succession to step down — while the Grand Councilor himself sat immovable as a mountain.
By the time Elder Councilor Shen rose to the position of Deputy Grand Councilor, he was like a man pressed into the crevice of a rock — residing in Wenhua Hall, yet able to influence nothing around him.
He never engaged Lou Yuxing in direct confrontation, conducting his affairs through circuitous and indirect means, which made him appear somewhat feeble.
But who would willingly remain behind another man forever? If the Grand Councilor never fell, he would remain in this same listless, powerless state indefinitely.
“Is a man not allowed to act in his own interest? And what wrong is there in acting in one’s own interest?” Elder Councilor Shen replied.
Pei Shaohuai advanced on him step by step and countered: “To act in one’s own interest permits one to cast all the people aside without a thought — even if women starve along the roadside, even if children are abandoned to wander the wilds, even if white bones feed the wasteland grasses, even if a thousand miles stretch without a single cooking fire — and still look upon all of it with a clear conscience and no regret? How utterly contemptible! If your heart is consumed entirely by the word ‘contend’ — then why not contend on behalf of the people? If you must form factions and parties — then why not align yourself with the people as your faction?”
“Ignorant child — not holding the position, how could you know its difficulties?” Elder Councilor Shen argued back, then added: “In a world such as this, no matter how refined one’s methods, there are still petty schemers lurking in every unseen corner. You cannot govern so wide a range of affairs.”
Even as he spoke, the sound of pressing footsteps approached from outside the hall. Through the paper windows and doors, the shadows of numerous figures could be seen.
The personnel of the Court of Judicial Review waited in disciplined silence, poised and ready, awaiting only the order from within.
“You…” Elder Councilor Shen stumbled back several steps and collapsed into his official chair, his face drained of color. When Lou Yuxing fell, the Emperor had retained some residual old sentiment and preserved his dignity. With Elder Councilor Shen, the Emperor had no such sentiment to speak of.
“Wherever I stand, whatever office I hold, I vow to contend on behalf of the people, to stand among the people as one of them — even unto death, without ceasing.” Pei Shaohuai swept his wide sleeves aside, turned, and strode out of the hall in long, deliberate steps. His shadow within the hall grew larger and larger with each step, until finally he left behind a single word:
“Arrest him.”
That evening, on the road home.
The carriage made its unhurried way, passing through the bustling market streets and the narrow lanes between residential dwellings. The cries of street vendors and the laughter of playing children could still be heard, and wisps of pine-smoke fragrance still drifted through the carriage curtain into the cabin.
This was ordinarily the time of day when Pei Shaohuai found peace of mind, setting down his burdens as he returned home. Yet today he could not quiet his thoughts no matter how he tried, his mind filled entirely with the scenes from Wenhua Hall.
Even after stepping down from the carriage and walking back to the small courtyard, he attempted to compose a light and gentle expression — but it came out strained.
Yang Shiyue watched her husband approach from a distance, his steps slow and unsteady, clearly distracted. She rose slowly and walked toward him, taking his hand — and felt that it was cold and clammy with perspiration.
“Boyuan, what happened today?” Yang Shiyue guided Pei Shaohuai to sit, asking with gentle concern.
She added: “There is little your wife can do to help, but telling me may perhaps ease your heart somewhat.”
Pei Shaohuai nodded. The affair had begun when his wife discovered something amiss in the Illustrated Guide to Feminine Virtue — now that it was concluded, it was only right to tell her of it.
He laid out the demon tract case from beginning to end, one thread at a time, omitting certain details that violated human decency, and interspersing his own analysis as he went.
Yang Shiyue listened attentively, nodding from time to time, while using a silk handkerchief to wipe the perspiration from her husband’s hands. When he had finished, she said: “You have handled this exceedingly well. The matter has been resolved — why then are you still so low in spirits?”
“I feel I have not done enough.” Especially after hearing Elder Councilor Shen’s words.
Who could say how many men like Elder Councilor Shen lay hidden throughout the court?
Yang Shiyue had been about to say that small things accumulate and progress comes gradually — but then she reflected that her husband could hardly fail to understand this truth. She thought of how, when she herself was anxious and restless, her husband would always shift to a lighter topic to coax her into better spirits.
So Yang Shiyue said: “Why not do as you always have, and talk things over with these two little ones?” With that, she took Pei Shaohuai’s hand and placed it on her belly.
As if sharing their mother’s feelings — or perhaps by chance — the two little ones kicked from within just at that moment. That small, faint force transmitted itself through to Pei Shaohuai’s palm, as though responding to their father’s low spirits, offering him encouragement.
At least, that was how Pei Shaohuai felt in that instant.
His mood lifted considerably. Some things are passed down from one generation to the next — what the former leaves unfinished, the latter takes up and continues. He need only press on through wind and rain, and those who come after will follow.
“Indeed, we must talk it over properly.” Pei Shaohuai smiled. How could the daily homecoming consultation be skipped?
And so he launched into another round of talk directed at the two little ones inside, speaking off the cuff in words full of scholarly elegance and poetic feeling.
“Can they actually understand what you are saying?” Yang Shiyue asked.
Pei Shaohuai shook his head and replied: “But they can get used to their father’s ways ahead of time.” This drew a laugh from Yang Shiyue.
Late that night, Pei Shaohuai finally took out the memorial urging the opening of maritime trade from his desk drawer once more.
Barely a month had passed — the memorial had not yet gathered dust. The remonstrance that had once satisfied him, upon reading it again, now felt lacking in vigor, its wording excessively deferential — for Pei Shaohuai’s state of mind had changed.
Once, he had been somewhat inclined to look before and after.
The pestle ground against the inkstone with a soft, steady rasping. The ink reached its ideal consistency, ready to be applied. Pei Shaohuai took out a fresh blank memorial and set brush to paper, rewriting the remonstrance from the beginning.
The same arguments, the same supporting evidence — but in different words, with a measure of resolute finality that brooked no negotiation, conveying the absolute determination to see the matter through.
His closing lines read: “…However ten thousand difficulties may attend the opening of maritime trade, before the people’s livelihoods they cease to be difficulties. However ten thousand perils may attend the opening of maritime trade, there will always be those who step forward to face those perils first…”
The moment Pei Shaohuai submitted the memorial, the Emperor seized upon the morning court session to have the Ministry of Rites convene a full court deliberation.
The deliberation covered not only the opening of maritime trade, but also the question of how much wealth the coastal Administrative Commissions had been illicitly pocketing over the years through their management of official merchant voyages abroad, and how many protectors they had cultivated in the court.
The collusion between the Zhejiang and Fujian provincial administrators and Elder Councilor Shen was a case in point.
The Emperor said: “The Administrative Commissions oversee the Maritime Trade Supervisorates and manage the official merchants’ voyages abroad — much like a household steward controlling all purchasing. Without anyone to supervise them, they act with impunity, turning official commerce into a private monopoly for their own profit.”
Before the assembled officials could even begin to deliberate on this matter, Pei Jue stepped forward and claimed the task for himself outright. He first acknowledged fault: “This falls upon the Ministry of Personnel’s failure in oversight supervision. The locusts have fed upon the people’s sweat and blood for so long that it went unnoticed. This subject humbly requests Your Majesty’s permission for the Ministry of Personnel to atone for its negligence through meritorious service.”
He then added: “This subject is willing to personally lead a team south to thoroughly investigate this matter and make preparations for opening maritime trade in the name of Da Qing. I respectfully request Your Majesty’s approval, and the dispatch of Embroidered Uniform Guard troops to accompany and supervise. This subject will not fail the mission.”
It was a performance staged in prior consultation with the Emperor — yet Pei Jue delivered it stiffly, and any official among the civil and military ranks who was not entirely blind could see through it plainly.
For a man of Pei Jue’s age to still dare to take on the trouble of journeying south — that took considerable resolve.
“Granted,” the Emperor said.
With the task thus assigned, there was nothing further to deliberate upon.
When the court then deliberated on the opening of maritime trade, Pei Shaohuai read his remonstrance aloud before the full assembly in clear, ringing tones. The line — “Sealing off the sea and locking the kingdom cannot rid us of the scourge of pirates; sealing in the midst of disorder only invites greater disorder. Only by building up a great naval force to engage and annihilate them can we be free of their harassment” — set the hearts of the assembled civil and military officials trembling.
The first to stand up in support of Pei Shaohuai were not the civil officials, but the military ones, who had been won over by the unyielding spirit of his words.
There were of course censorate officials who raised objections, arguing that Da Qing’s national treasury was presently well-supplied and that there was no need to open maritime trade and develop commercial routes.
Pei Shaohuai no longer responded in refined, scholarly terms. He let out a cold laugh and retorted with a series of blunt challenges: “When Shanxi suffered a great drought, I did not hear Censor Wang declare that the national treasury was well-supplied. When military rations were allocated for the Nine Frontier Garrisons, I did not hear Censor Wang declare that the national treasury was well-supplied. When the granaries were opened to relieve the flood refugees of Kaifeng Prefecture, I did not hear Censor Wang declare that the national treasury was well-supplied… Now that maritime trade is to be opened, Censor Wang declares that the national treasury is well-supplied? If everyone in the realm could live as finely as Censor Wang — clothed in splendor and dining on abundance — what need would there be for us to exhaust ourselves here arguing on the people’s behalf? Censor Wang may disdain a few measures of grain, but he cannot leisurely pass by and then kick over those very measures of grain.”
No one was able to answer Pei Shaohuai.
A complete silence fell over the court. The day’s deliberation was exceptionally brief. The Emperor asked: “Do any of our beloved officials have further words to say?”
After two or three breaths, no one replied. The Emperor rose and said: “Then let five new maritime trade ports be established. Boyuan — ah, Beloved Official Pei — shall be entrusted with this matter and shall propose the selection of the ports. Court is dismissed!”
Out of long habit, the old form of address had slipped out before he could catch himself — and before the assembled officials, he had called him “Boyuan” once again.