The family had already guessed most of it.

“Yuan’er, are you planning to take one of those outposted positions?” The Old Madam stared fixedly at Pei Bingyuan and asked in a trembling voice.

Even for an outpost, one could ordinarily only be appointed as an eighth-rank deputy magistrate — so how could there be a lower seventh-rank post available? It could only mean that wherever this outpost was located was far from ordinary.

Pei Bingyuan gave a quiet nod.

In the great hall, both elders fell silent. Lin Shi opened her mouth and then stopped herself, simply lowering her head with tears circling in her eyes, unable to speak. In the family’s view, with a peerage title that could be inherited, it would be most proper and respectable for Pei Bingyuan to remain in the capital and secure a minor post in one of the various ministries or offices.

Who could have imagined he would entertain the notion of an outpost appointment?

The family also knew that, for all his usual gentleness and rarity of temper, once Pei Bingyuan made up his mind, he was extraordinarily stubborn and not easily persuaded. The very fact that he had brought this up today meant that this idea had been long in his heart — that he had thought it through carefully.

Since persuading him was out of the question, it was better to understand the situation clearly. Old Master Pei asked, “Where is the posting, and what is the position?”

Seeing there was no way around it, Pei Bingyuan had to be forthright: “Three hundred li east of the capital, in Yuchong County of Dongyang Prefecture — the position of county magistrate.”

Everyone was shaken. The Old Madam’s tears fell at once. Wiping them away, she urged him, “Yuan’er, while you have not yet submitted it to the court, abandon this notion now… a place as bleak and harsh as that — how could you possibly endure it? Let us simply stay here in this household, live our days in peace. There is nothing wrong with not taking up an official post.”

Everyone in the capital knew that the previous year, the Dongyang Prefecture river had burst its banks — and Yuchong County had been situated directly at the mouth of the breach, utterly inundated. It was said that after the floodwaters receded, a brand new river channel had been carved straight through the middle of Yuchong County, winding its way eastward.

The floodwaters had passed, but everything that had once stood there — all of it had either been buried under sand and silt or swept away by the current. Yuchong County was now a desolate wasteland. The only inhabitants who remained were those with nowhere else to go — wandering refugees who had returned to till the land they had once called home.

To be appointed an official in such a place was no different from being sent to break open wilderness. Small wonder the court had elevated the rank by one grade in order to commission a county magistrate.

The one saving grace was that Yuchong County lay in the heart of the Central Plains, not too far from the capital — a matter of several days by horse and carriage.

Old Master Pei also tried to dissuade him: “A family like ours has no need to endure such hardship for the sake of a seventh-rank post.”

Pei Bingyuan shook his head. “Your son has already made up his mind.” His gaze was resolute, though he did not dare raise his eyes to look at his wife.

He then added, “Father and Mother understand, I trust — your son’s purpose is not wealth or glory.”

“Then what is your purpose?” The Old Madam pressed him. Seeing that she could not persuade him, whether from anger or distress she could not tell, her voice suddenly hardened by several degrees. “What is worth you abandoning your family, neglecting your wife and mother, insisting on going to that forsaken place… if something were to happen to you…” The Old Madam did not dare to speak the inauspicious words aloud — she swallowed them back down, eyes wet with tears.

Pei Bingyuan had no answer to give.

During the three years at the Imperial Academy, he had still been able to return home on the first and fifteenth of each month, and in any urgent matter could make it back within an hour or two. If he truly went to Yuchong County — bound by the duties of his post, with all the attendant inconveniences — he would likely not see his family more than a handful of times over the course of an entire year.

Pei Bingyuan finally found his voice: “To prove something to myself.”

From sitting one examination after another, to entering the Imperial Academy, to graduating and taking up an official post — throughout this journey, Pei Bingyuan’s feelings had been sensitive and complex.

Pei Shaohuai had already begun his studies and had taken his first steps on the path of the imperial examinations. He understood his father — a man already in his forties, having spent years watching others run ahead of him, had at last reached the starting line himself. How could he possibly hold back from giving it everything he had?

He was fighting for his dignity.

As for his wife, children, and aging parents — they may have been the ties that bound his heart, but they could not stop him.

What Pei Shaohuai thought of such a father he could not easily say. One could praise him for his ambition, for his willingness to cast himself into hardship — or one could fault him as a man who washed his hands of family and hearth, neglecting those who depended on him. In this world, perhaps men like Pei Bingyuan were the norm.

……

That night, Pei Bingyuan returned to Lin Shi’s chamber.

Seeing that his wife was silently sorting out the Academy robes he would need for the following day without a word, he took the initiative: “Shizhen, if you resent me, let yourself cry — it is better than keeping it bottled inside and refusing to speak to me.”

Lin Shi froze. The garment in her hands slipped to the floor. The next instant, she could hold herself together no longer — she threw herself into her husband’s arms, buried her face against his shoulder, and wept aloud.

“All these years, you have managed this home so well. You have built up the businesses and properties. Ying’er is sensible; Huai’er is clever — all of it is your doing.” Pei Bingyuan patted Lin Shi gently on the back, comforting her: “In the years to come, you will once again have to shoulder everything alone. It is your husband who is selfish — unable to remain by your side.”

A barren, desolate place like Yuchong County — how could Pei Bingyuan bear to bring his wife and children along and make them suffer alongside him?

Lin Shi gave Pei Bingyuan a push, and said reproachfully, “That is not what I am crying over.”

Then she said, “My lord’s constitution is delicate. Going to a place like that, with no one to look after him close at hand — how could I not worry and fret? What I fear is that you will overwork yourself.”

“I know my lady cares for me,” said Pei Bingyuan. “I have thought it through — when the time comes to depart, I hope that my lady will relent and allow me to take Old Zhou and his family along. He and his three sons are capable men, and having them will spare me a great deal to manage.”

Lin Shi found herself laughing even through her tears, truly not knowing whether to laugh or cry. “My lord, stop talking such nonsense about me,” she said. “The way you tell it, I sound like some fearsome harridan who must have a say in everything… You are the master of this household. Whoever you wish to take with you, that is your decision. How would I ever manage to stop you?”

Though her heart was still heavy with grief, Pei Bingyuan’s manner had offered her some measure of comfort.

The two of them exchanged tender words for quite some time.

Lin Shi said with a snort of laughter, “Had I known that at this age, my lord would still be going off to roam and stir up trouble — so utterly restless — I would have…”

“Would have what, my lady?”

“I would not have married you.”

“That, I would never have accepted… and besides, what do you mean, ‘this age’?” At that, Pei Bingyuan proved himself every bit the restless, incorrigible creature she had described.

……

And so the matter of Pei Bingyuan accepting an outpost appointment was settled. He would simply wait the remaining few months for the Imperial Academy graduation, the imperial edict, and then set off for Yuchong County to take up his post.

……

The nineteenth of the following month was Master Duan’s fiftieth birthday. The Xu family was preparing to host a celebration for him. As Master Duan’s students, Huai Ge’er and Jin Ge’er naturally had to prepare gifts.

That afternoon, after class was dismissed, on the way home, Pei Shaohuai reminded his younger brother, “Next month is our teacher’s birthday, Jin’er — don’t forget.”

“Right, right. I was thinking of going to the jade shop to see if there’s anything suitable, or perhaps having something carved.” Jin Ge’er replied, then asked, “What is elder brother planning to give? Have you thought of something?”

This put Pei Shaohuai in a quandary. He answered honestly, “You already have an idea, but I have not yet thought of anything. Let me think it over again when we get home.”

Back at the courtyard, Pei Shaohuai brought up the matter of their teacher’s birthday with his mother. Lin Shi’s first instinct was also to send a fine piece of jade.

Unblemished white jade, smooth and lustrous as water — for a scholar to send a jade pendant was a choice that could never go wrong.

Pei Shaohuai was confident his mother could find a fine piece of jade and have a skilled craftsman carve and polish it… but the problem was that Jin’er had already decided on jade as his gift. Knowing this, it would hardly be appropriate for him, as the elder brother, to also give jade. When the two pieces were placed side by side, the quality of the jade and the craftsman’s skill would inevitably invite comparison — and it would only sow discord between the brothers.

Pei Shaohuai shook his head and said, “Jin’er is already giving jade. I should give something different.”

Lin Shi then thought of the Taohe inkstone that the family had among their collection — but quickly dismissed the idea herself, saying, “It was originally sent over by Lian Jie’er from the Xu family. If we sent it back there now and she found out, she would certainly be displeased. It is better to keep it for your own use.”

Master Duan’s wheelchair had grown somewhat worn. It was made of fine woodwork, but the two wooden wheels had been made too rigidly, and pushing the chair along often required a considerable effort. Pei Shaohuai had noticed this some time ago and, drawing on his knowledge from his previous life, had redesigned a wheelchair for his teacher the previous month — intending to use fine pear wood, better fitted to the body and easier to maneuver.

The drawings had been sent to the craftsmen’s workshop a fortnight ago, and a rough draft was now beginning to take shape.

This had been one of Pei Shaohuai’s options — but he had also crossed it off the list. Presenting a wheelchair as a birthday gift was too sensitive an item. If it stirred up memories for his teacher and touched some old wound in his heart, it would be far from ideal.

The new wheelchair would be better given to his teacher at a more fitting occasion.

Since it was a gift, thoughtfulness was only one consideration — it also had to cater to the recipient’s tastes. Having studied under his teacher for several years, Pei Shaohuai knew that Master Duan had another particular fondness: collecting paintings by great masters.

Among the many celebrated painters of the current dynasty, the one Master Duan admired most was an old Daoist priest by the name of Wu, who resided in the Mangshan Abbey on the outskirts of the capital. His technique was delicate and refined, his use of color bold and daring, and he excelled at capturing movement within stillness.

But this old Daoist was also a man of eccentric temperament. It was precisely to avoid the eyes of the world that he had taken up monastic life, and if one wished to obtain one of his paintings, the only currency that worked was fate itself.

Money and rank were of no use whatsoever.

Pei Shaohuai decided to try his luck.

……

The Mangshan Abbey was built halfway up a mountain, and climbing up to it was no easy feat. Over his two days off, Pei Shaohuai made the climb three times, and was fortunate enough to finally meet the old Daoist Wu.

Knowing the old Daoist’s ways, he dared not enter the abbey to disturb him and did not pester the young acolyte to go and announce him. Instead, he waited at the abbey gate, sitting cross-legged on a stone slab, reciting texts from memory while he waited.

One of those days, the old Daoist Wu was heading out with a bamboo basket and a long fishing pole to go angling — and it was thus that he came across Pei Shaohuai.

The old Daoist spoke the moment he stepped outside: “You little boy — if you want to read, go somewhere else. You have been sitting at my gate for two days. What are you after?”

Pei Shaohuai bowed respectfully in apology and stated his purpose: “Your presence here has long reached this young one’s ears. I have come to ask for a painting.”

The old Daoist laughed. Amused by the child’s small stature, he said, “Many have come to ask me for paintings, yet few ever leave with so much as an inch of ink. I find you rather interesting — let me hear you explain why you seek my brush.”

Pei Shaohuai replied honestly, “My teacher’s birthday is approaching, and I am here to ask for a painting on his behalf.”

“Another one who wants to use my paintings to curry favor with someone else — how thoroughly dull.” The old Daoist’s interest evaporated at once. He picked up his fishing gear and started down the steps, muttering as he went, “I see that you are young, so I will not hold it against you. Go back home now.”

He had refused Pei Shaohuai.

“My teacher has said that in your work ‘Picking Lotus,’ the wonder lies not in the lotus itself, nor in that half-boat — but in the river egret bursting forth in sudden flight.” Pei Shaohuai called out after the old Daoist as he walked away. “My teacher genuinely loves your paintings.”

The old Daoist’s footsteps halted on the way down. It was clear that these words had reached somewhere deep within him. He turned and asked, “He is someone who truly understands painting. If that is so, why does he not come to ask for one himself?”

Pei Shaohuai spoke at length, explaining his teacher’s circumstances and the inconvenience that prevented him from coming in person. He concluded, “My teacher’s instruction has been the foundation of my learning. This young one came here out of earnest devotion and perhaps moved too hastily — I humbly ask for your understanding.”

“Do you know what subject I paint most often?”

“This young one is aware.”

The old Daoist Wu asked, “If your teacher fell ill because of a mountain, why would he still want a painting of mountains?”

Pei Shaohuai replied, “My teacher has said that the fault does not lie with the mountain.”

The old Daoist continued briskly down the steps. After a long pause, from a distance he finally called out, “Come back on your next day off — your painting will be ready.” The old man’s clear, resonant voice echoed through the mountain.

“This young one thanks you sincerely, sir.”

The old Daoist gave a wave of his hand along the stone-paved path, and in no time was hidden from view by the trees, gone off to fish somewhere beyond sight.

A fortnight later, Pei Shaohuai collected the painting — half the canvas lush with verdant mountain scenery, the other half rough with jagged stone cliffs, yet the two halves blended into a seamless whole. On the face of the rock wall, an ancient pine clung fast to the stone, its gnarled roots tangling and weaving through the rock, its canopy full and flourishing.

Pei Shaohuai bowed deeply in gratitude to the old Daoist Wu once more.

The old Daoist said, “Off you go now — I cannot have you sitting at the abbey gate reciting texts again… What I fear most in this world is the sound of recitation.” Quite a character.

……

……

On the day of Master Duan’s birthday, his former and current students — Xu Wang, Xu Zhan, Xu Yancheng, Pei Shaohuai, Pei Shaojin, and the youngest of them all, little Yan Gui — each stepped forward in turn to offer their kowtow of birthday greetings and present their gifts.

It was only the Xu and Pei households — no outside guests had been invited, and so there was none of the usual formality. As Master Duan received each gift, he unwrapped it and shared in the moment with everyone gathered, his manner entirely unlike his usual sternness. A smile never left his face — he was clearly delighted.

Whether it was the Pear Blossom Drunk wine that Xu Zhan presented, the jade carved figurine of a mythical beast that Jin Ge’er gave, or the little longevity peach that young Yan Gui had shaped with his own hands — he treasured each and every one.

When Pei Shaohuai presented a painting, Master Duan slowly unfurled it and, before he had even seen half of it, before the seal was revealed, he recognized the brushwork as that of the old Daoist Wu. He clicked his tongue in admiration: “Extraordinary — a genuine masterwork from Master Wu.”

He unrolled it to its full length and saw that it was a painting of an ancient pine clinging to a mountain. Unable to contain himself, he called everyone over to admire it together, speaking at length and with great enthusiasm about how Wu’s technique and artistry were so perfectly fitting and ingenious. When he was finished, Master Duan handed the painting to Old Aduo and told him to hang it in the very center of the study, where he could contemplate it at his leisure.

Once the students had finished presenting their gifts, the teacher naturally had gifts in return.

Pei Shaohuai stepped forward, and Master Duan took up a book scroll and handed it to him, saying, “A text read ten thousand times builds the foundation. You have finished memorizing the Four Books and Five Classics — at last, your foundation is complete. Now you may take the next step upward.”

“Thank you, Teacher.”

He opened the scroll. On the left were the examination essays of first-rank Presented Scholars from previous dynasties; on the right were Master Duan’s own annotations in red brush, revealing at a glance the craft and brilliance of each passage. Further in were essays written by the teacher himself, each composed through careful deliberation, with every phrase and line refined to precision, containing deeper layers of meaning within.

Pei Shaohuai merely glanced through it and already grasped how precious it was — if he were to read it carefully upon returning home, the enlightenment he would gain would be far greater still.

No wonder Xu Wang and Xu Zhan were so accomplished — with a teacher and study materials like these, they had already been given a head start over others.

Then it was Pei Shaojin’s turn. Master Duan presented him with a printed copy of a picture album and said, “Learning in this world is not confined to words and phrases alone. Study this album, combine it with what you observe in your daily life, and contemplate its meaning and atmosphere. Every three days, bring me a written piece — and then I will have more to say to you.”

“Thank you, Teacher.” Jin Ge’er received the assignment with great cheer.

Xu Yancheng stepped forward next.

The books that Pei Shaohuai and Pei Shaojin had each received, Master Duan gave Xu Yancheng a copy of both — and then added a piece of calligraphy on top, bearing a single word written in swift, forceful strokes: “Caution.”

Master Duan said, “Yancheng — Yancheng. What is built comes from the mouth; what is ruined comes from the mouth as well. From this day forth, in the presence of others, you must guard your words and act with care. Do not be rash.”

“Yes, Teacher.”

Xu Yancheng left “laden with rewards,” and teased his two fellow students, saying, “I knew it — not only the coursework, but even the gifts, I always receive the most of anyone… and it was worth it. Teacher has told me to talk less, but the two of you are not outsiders — I can say as much as I like in front of you. That way, I’ll have no energy left to babble nonsense in front of anyone else.”

This left the Huai and Jin brothers not knowing whether to laugh or cry, and naturally the three of them fell into bantering with one another.

When the birthday celebrations were concluded, Xu Zhan asked, “Master Duan, how are these three young students getting on with their studies?”

Master Duan replied, “Next year’s preliminary examinations — they can all take a place in line.” He said “take a place in line,” not merely “give it a try” — this confidence stemmed both from the three young students’ sharpness and exceptional natural gifts, and from Master Duan’s own complete assurance in his teaching.

The preliminary examination, known as the children’s examination, comprised the county examination, the prefecture examination, and the academy examination.

Xu Zhan was somewhat astonished, and also rather pleased. He and his elder brother Xu Wang had not been given permission by Master Duan to sit the preliminary examinations until they were thirteen. Truly, each new generation surpasses the last.