In the eyes of the world, the arts of the Imperial Observatory were mysterious beyond measure, and its officials cloaked in an air of secrecy.

But in Pei Shaohuai’s view, those who held positions at the Imperial Observatory were among the most capable people of this age — they did not merely perform divinations and appeal to fate. Within the Imperial Observatory, every person was versed in written calculation and stargazing, responsible for recording celestial phenomena, calculating the solar terms, establishing the calendar, and even assessing geomancy for construction — all of it within the purview of the Imperial Observatory.

When celestial anomalies occurred or weather patterns shifted, the Imperial Observatory also had the authority to submit sealed memorials directly to the throne, bypassing all intermediaries.

That they could determine the twenty-four solar terms from the movements of the sun, moon, and twenty-eight lunar mansions — aiding agriculture — was alone worthy of the deepest admiration.

Director Wu took Pei Shaohuai’s birth date and hour, glanced at it briefly, and said: “The Tiger month and the Rabbit hour — both belong to wood.” Thinking of this Advisor Pei’s given name before him, he also smiled and said: “Advisor Pei’s name was chosen with great care.”

Water nourishes wood.

Pei Shaohuai returned the bow in thanks. Since Director Wu had taken the initiative to broach the subject, he took the opportunity to ask one more question: “For this journey south, I humbly ask Director Wu to offer a word or two of guidance.”

“I would not dare call it guidance.” Director Wu said modestly. “However, there is one celestial phenomenon, which Advisor Pei may wish to take note of.”

“I am all ears.”

What Director Wu raised was still the matter of the prolonged winters — he said: “When the sun’s warmth is long depleted, cold inevitably follows. When the cold does not allow wood to flourish, and without wood, farming cannot thrive.”

Cold pressing southward was, for the smallholder farmers of the realm, nothing less than fatal.

“Advisor Pei’s birth hour belongs to wood — and so, going from north to south is the right course.” Director Wu said.

Pei Shaohuai fell into quiet thought, and for a long while said nothing. “When the cold does not allow wood to flourish, and without wood, farming cannot thrive” — ten brief characters, and yet they carried a depth of meaning worth pondering at length.

At last, Pei Shaohuai gave another bow and said: “Thank you for your guidance, Director Wu.”

“Advisor Pei is too courteous. Today I merely cast a brief divination based on your birth date and hour — please hear it as such, and there is no need to take it too much to heart.” Director Wu said with a smile, returned the bow, then led his grandson away.

In the corridor of the imperial palace, the boy’s curiosity got the better of him, and he asked his grandfather: “Grandfather, does that young Advisor Pei also understand celestial phenomena and star patterns?”

Director Wu shook his head and replied: “His principal classic is the Spring and Autumn Annals.” The Spring and Autumn Annals dealt with history — with the weighty meanings embedded in brief words.

The boy asked again: “Then why did Grandfather speak to him of celestial matters?”

Director Wu explained to his grandson: “In the past I told you — to read a thousand years of history is to observe the ancient and the modern in a single glance; to study the phenomena of the world is to understand how things generate and restrain one another, and the principles by which they operate. This Advisor Pei both reads history and follows the principles of all things — he ought to be able to understand what I said.”

He then added: “Reading history and investigating things — if you can master these two, half your work in governing the Imperial Observatory is done.”

“And the other half?”

“Understanding the human heart.”

……

Director Wu had barely left when Minister Ma Pingnuo of the Ministry of Finance came to find Pei Shaohuai. The Ministry of Finance was preparing to submit a proposal for new reforms, and Minister Ma wished to discuss the matter with Pei Shaohuai. Knowing that Pei Shaohuai was well-versed in silver coinage and taxation, Minister Ma had come to consult him, regardless of any difference in rank between them.

Minister Ma first handed Pei Shaohuai several pages of paper on which the Ministry of Finance had set out its proposed new reforms. As Pei Shaohuai looked through them, Minister Ma said: “The Treasure Bureau has been minting and issuing silver coins, and over the past three years, silver coins have been circulating freely throughout the southern and northern capitals and the various prefectures of Jiangnan, and have become the customary currency of ordinary people. The Ministry of Finance has also dispatched people to investigate the garrison towns along the Nine Frontier Passes, and silver coins are gradually replacing rough silver there as well.”

He added further: “In addition, the Ministry of Finance has just completed a new revision of the Fish-Scale Registry — the ownership of all land and fields throughout the realm has been recorded down to the last detail. At present, granaries across the realm are full and the imperial treasury has ample silver reserves. This official therefore considers the time ripe to implement the policy of replacing taxes in kind with silver.”

The conditions had matured, and replacing taxes with silver would bring far more benefit than harm —

First, official collection by officials, and official remittance by officials — the procedures would be simplified. The original complex tax categories could be consolidated into one, accounts would be clear, collection and management would be made easier, reducing the scope for middling officials to skim from the people and line their own pockets.

Second, silver coins were easy to collect and transport, which would reduce losses from canal transport, and also avoid the spoilage of grain en route. Moreover, having enormous quantities of goods shipped to the imperial treasury in the capital, where they piled up like mountains, always tended to breed all manner of problems.

Minister Ma then handed over several more pages, saying: “When it comes to the principles of taxation, none in this dynasty surpasses the retired Grand Academician Zou Zhichuan — no one comes close. It is a pity that he retired from court rather early… These are the letters I received in reply after consulting with him.”

Pei Shaohuai opened them to find a familiar hand, which read: “…In this elder’s view, a few more provisions might be added. First, assess by land and calculate by able-bodied adults — levy silver by the mu of land; second, with the treasury well-supplied, hire laborers in silver…” The text ended with a question mark.

The meaning was: fold the labor levy into the land tax — those with more land pay more, those with less pay less, those with no land pay nothing at all — and no longer assign corvée labor based on household registers. Corvée would be converted into a silver payment, which would then be used to hire common people to perform the work, replacing the old system of “compulsory conscription.”

In this way, the harm of land consolidation might be temporarily eased.

Pei Shaohuai held the retired Grand Academician Zou’s letter in his hands, and a look of deep respect came over him — the Grand Academician Zou had left office and retired to the countryside, yet he had not forgotten the people of the realm. It was truly admirable.

“Does Advisor Pei know the Grand Academician Zou?” Minister Ma asked, seeing Pei Shaohuai so visibly moved.

Pei Shaohuai came back to himself, shook his head, and replied: “Those who keep the people at heart are respected by all. To read his words is as if to see the man himself.”

“Then what does Advisor Pei think of the new policy?” Minister Ma came to the point.

Pei Shaohuai rose and paced in thought. He recalled again Director Wu’s words — “when the cold does not allow wood to flourish, and without wood, farming cannot thrive” — Da Qing’s people were bound to their fields, smallholder families going round and round in the same cycle. Should a natural disaster one day bring an end to the flourishing of wood, for those smallholders it would be nothing less than total destruction.

Should that day truly come, however sagacious the ruler, however loyal and capable the ministers, however active the court — all of these forces would be as nothing against a true natural calamity.

Only by loosening the shackles that bound them — letting every person fend for themselves — would Da Qing be able to weather the long age of ice.

People act where profit leads; when silver coins circulate, people begin to move as well.

“Minister Ma is absolutely right — the time has come to implement the new policy.”

Minister Ma cupped his hands in a salute and said: “Then I ask Advisor Pei to lend the Ministry of Finance his support when the matter comes before the court for deliberation.”

“It is only right to do so.” Pei Shaohuai replied.

The new policy would encroach upon the interests of the powerful and aristocratic households. That Minister Ma dared to lead the Ministry of Finance in pushing for this reform showed considerable courage and resolve.

Pei Shaohuai asked: “Which locations does Minister Ma plan to select for the trial implementation of the new policy?”

Minister Ma replied: “The prefectures of Shuntian, Hejian, and Baoding have seen the rise of the new cotton weaving industry, and the people have surplus money. Taicang Prefecture and Songjiang Prefecture have prospered from the opening of maritime trade, with ships and commerce coming and going — all of these locations are suitable for a trial run.”

“There is one more place that could be included in the trial.”

“Which place?”

“Chengdu Prefecture.” Pei Shaohuai replied, then explained: “After Minister Pei of the Ministry of Personnel retired from his post, he followed his grandson to Chengdu Prefecture.”

Come to think of it, it had been Pei Jue who first proposed “replacing taxes with silver.”

……

Once the matter was settled, the Ministry of Finance moved quickly, submitting the proposal to the throne before the New Year.

When the matter came before the court for deliberation, there was naturally a great deal of heated contention — but in the end the outcome was good, exactly as Pei Shaohuai had anticipated. Whether it was the circulation of silver coins or the fullness of the imperial treasury — all had been groundwork laid precisely so that the Ministry of Finance’s new policy could be implemented. How could it fail?

Minister Ma was a shrewd man — one who dared to charge into difficulties, and also knew how to ride the tide.

……

……

On New Year’s Eve, candlelight filled the palace chambers, and the sounds of music floated through the air.

The ruler bestowing favor on the worthy and the loyal — a banquet shared with the assembled officials.

Another year, another imperial banquet. This year’s evening feast was filled with great cheer; ruler and ministers raised their cups together several times, and poems and verses of exceptional brilliance were offered one after another in quick succession.

There were common people in the capital setting off fireworks — the sounds drifted into the palace, and the Emperor was even more delighted. He had the assembled officials fall quiet and listen carefully, then drank several more cups.

When the palace banquet concluded, the Emperor, as he had done the year before, kept Pei Shaohuai behind, inviting him to the Imperial Study for a game or two of chess. He said with a smile: “I must make good use of the time before you head south and play a few more games.”

Ruler and subject sat across from each other at the chess board, the frequent sound of pieces being placed filling the air.

It should have been a leisurely late-night game, played slowly and at ease, with pieces falling at an unhurried pace — but the Emperor played without the slightest hesitation, so that, before the candle flame had even flickered once, the game was decided.

And so Pei Shaohuai knew the Emperor’s mind was not truly on chess.

He also noticed that several blank imperial edicts were stacked on the writing desk, the imperial seal placed beside them, gleaming with a jade luster in the lamplight. The Emperor seemed to be waiting for Pei Shaohuai, taking advantage of his slight intoxication, to once again “help himself” to a few edicts.

When one game was finished and they were each gathering their pieces back in, the Emperor brought up the Ministry of Finance’s new policy, recalling: “I remember, the first time you came on duty in the palace, I asked you how the people’s problems were to be addressed. Boyuan, you said that the consolidation of land in the hands of the wealthy and powerful harmed the common people and depleted the imperial treasury — it could not be left untreated. Later, after you entered the Bureau of Six Offices, I asked how to place limits on the wealthy households’ hoarding of land. Boyuan, you said that wealthy households owning a thousand mu of land still performed only one household’s worth of labor service, while farming households with no land were conscripted household by household — labor service could not be assessed by household.”

The last piece was placed in the chess jar. Only the crisscross of black lines remained on the board.

“Now, these provisions have all been put into practice, inscribed as national policy for our Da Qing.” The Emperor paused, then looked at Pei Shaohuai with a touch of wine-softened warmth and asked: “Old Master Zou — he should be at peace now, should he not?” He spoke of Pei Shaohuai’s past, and asked of the old master Zou’s peace of mind.

Pei Shaohuai made no effort to conceal his momentary stupor. He thought of that single character of doubt the Grand Academician Zou had written.

The Emperor had long known that Pei Shaohuai had “learned under” Grand Academician Zou, and Pei Shaohuai was equally aware that the Emperor knew — yet by some unspoken accord, neither of the two had ever raised the subject, nor ever mentioned Grand Academician Zou.

“Boyuan need not be nervous. Tonight, let us simply speak from the heart, as ruler and subject.” The Emperor’s tone held no testing, no reproach — as generous and magnanimous as he had always been.

Pei Shaohuai understood. The Emperor had chosen this moment to bring up Grand Academician Zou for no other reason than that the new policy was being implemented — the Emperor wished, through Pei Shaohuai’s words, to offer some small amends for old regrets, and also, before Pei Shaohuai departed south, to dissolve the faint lingering awkwardness between ruler and subject.

In that case, Pei Shaohuai ventured boldly to ask: “Did Your Majesty ever doubt the Grand Academician Zou’s loyalty?” A black piece fell — and in this new game, he had taken the first move.

The Emperor shook his head, tapped two fingers down and placed a white piece in quick reply: “When old Master Zou urged me to stop printing treasure notes, I knew it was out of concern for the people. When old Master Zou stood alone against the officials of Hexi, urging me to select and employ officials first and foremost on the basis of virtue and ability, I knew it was out of concern for the court… his bitterness of heart and his loyalty — I understood it all.”

And yet the Emperor had not listened to Grand Academician Zou.

Because without printing treasure notes, it would have been impossible to fill the imperial treasury; without meeting the salaries owed, his throne would have become unstable; if the court fell into disorder, the realm would follow.

Because compared with loyal ministers, capable ministers who hung like a blade over one’s head were equally useful; the court would never have only one kind of official.

“We had Our own difficulties.” This admission from the ruler was the greatest concession an emperor could make.

“This official is not the Grand Academician Zou — but in this official’s view, the Grand Academician Zou understood Your Majesty’s difficulties when he submitted his request to retire,” Pei Shaohuai replied. Just then the sounds of wind and snow came from outside the house, and Pei Shaohuai continued: “Now that the new policy is being implemented — no matter how great the wind and snow — if every home can have firewood beneath the stove, grain in the pot, and be free from hunger and cold, the Grand Academician Zou would be at peace.”

“Truly?”

“This official dares not deceive.”

The chess games that followed were played at a much more leisurely pace, and the conversation between ruler and subject grew more casual as well.

The Emperor said: “The Pei family and the Qiao family this year again presented the court with tens of thousands of bolts of cotton cloth — a great meritorious act.”

Pei Shaohuai feigned not to notice the several blank imperial edicts stacked on the writing desk, saying only: “To ease Your Majesty’s burdens — your officials dare not claim credit.”

When the water clock reported the late hour and night had deepened, and after five games of chess, the Emperor at last released Pei Shaohuai to leave.

Pei Shaohuai had barely stepped out of the main hall when he heard the rapid patter of footsteps as an eunuch called after him: “Please wait a moment, Advisor Pei.”

He turned to look, and saw the eunuch Xiao carrying a large glass lantern, coming to his side and saying: “The night has grown late — His Majesty has commanded this old servant to carry a lantern for Advisor Pei, to light the way out of the palace.”

“I thank you for your trouble, Eunuch Xiao.”

The small eunuch who had been leading the way ahead with a paper-covered lantern stepped aside.

Eunuch Xiao held up the lantern, its glass shade protecting the flame from the night wind and snow. He said: “His Majesty’s exact words were: ‘No matter how great the wind and snow outside, the road Boyuan takes out of the palace must not be dark — go and see him off.’ “

“And those blank imperial edicts on the writing desk — His Majesty specially instructed this old servant to have them laid out well in advance. Why did Advisor Pei take no notice of them?” Eunuch Xiao said with a note of wistfulness, then added: “Is there any subject under Heaven who does not wish for the rewards his ruler bestows?”

In closing, Eunuch Xiao added: “These last words are this old servant’s own.”

Pei Shaohuai, in the light of the lantern, stepped down the stone stairs one by one, his feet pressing into newly fallen snow, and replied: “It is not that the subject does not wish for rewards — it is that the road between ruler and subject is still long.”

He then said: “This lantern His Majesty has sent is worth more than any reward.” It could shield one from the slanting wind and heavy snow, and it let one see the road home clearly.

Eunuch Xiao escorted Pei Shaohuai out of the palace and then turned back to the Qianqing Palace. The lamps in the Imperial Study were still burning brightly. He conveyed Pei Shaohuai’s words back to the Emperor.

The Emperor had Eunuch Xiao take the imperial edicts away, and murmured to himself: “Boyuan can only ever be Boyuan.” He was no longer the newly enthroned ruler he had once been; Da Qing was no longer burdened with an empty treasury; the court was no longer ridden with powerful cliques. And so Boyuan, naturally, was no longer the Grand Academician Zou.

What Boyuan hoped for was not merely “firewood beneath the stove, grain in the pot, and freedom from hunger and cold.”

The road between ruler and subject was still long.