The day after Master Duan’s birthday celebration.

Early the following morning, before class began, Old Aduo came to find Pei Shaohuai and said that Master Duan wished to speak with him.

When Pei Shaohuai entered his teacher’s room, Master Duan was seated in his wheelchair, head tilted back, gazing steadily at the painting of the ancient pine clinging to the mountain that the old Daoist Wu had painted. He had lost himself in it completely — his thoughts seeming to drift away into those verdant mountain crags and stone cliffs, unable to return for a long while.

Pei Shaohuai waited quietly to one side. Only when his teacher had come back to himself did he bow and say, “Teacher, you sent for me.”

Master Duan drew his gaze away from the painting and turned toward Pei Shaohuai. “Master Wu is a man of lofty character and hidden virtue — he has secluded himself in the mountains and rarely bestows his brushwork on others,” he said. “How did you come to obtain this painting?”

The sentiment conveyed in such a painting — how could his teacher fail to perceive the sincerity with which the old Daoist Wu had put it forth?

Which also meant that this painting had been given by Master Wu from the heart — painted specially for him.

To move a man of such reclusive nature to act with such genuine sincerity was no small thing. And that was precisely why Master Duan had sent for Pei Shaohuai.

Pei Shaohuai replied, “The reason Master Wu gave this painting lies not with this young one, but with Teacher.” He paused for a moment, then added, “This young one believes that a fine painting finds its rightful home when given to one who truly understands it.”

He then recounted in detail the story of how he had gone to the Mangshan Abbey to ask for the painting.

Pei Shaohuai concluded, “This young one did nothing more than expend a little effort on his own feet.”

Master Duan nodded and said, “Your understanding has always been a step clearer and more perceptive than those your age — as is true of your essays. Among the three of you, I worry that Shaojin may be too eager to advance, and that Yancheng may be too given to idle pleasures, too careless in the company he keeps… But you alone, it seems, give your teacher no cause for concern.”

Master Duan wheeled his chair a little closer, and said with great earnestness, “And yet your teacher is uneasy — for he does not know whether this is a blessing or a matter for worry.”

Not only was the teacher uneasy — Pei Shaohuai himself, at that moment, felt the same unease. Master Duan’s eyes were truly sharp and penetrating: even with his own family, Pei Shaohuai had never let anything slip, yet his teacher had caught a glimpse of something. He replied, “Not knowing is itself a form of concern — so Teacher does still have concerns about this young one.”

He could only commit fully to the explanation that he was simply “born this way.”

The teacher said, “Well said,” and pressed no further. He turned once more to gaze at the painting, lost in thought, and then, moved beyond his own control, slowly began to chant aloud:

One person, one path, one box of books — Half a life of verdant green, half a life of ruin. Fifty years lived in deference to heaven’s will — And still the old pine holds fast to its magnificent mountain.

By the time the verse was finished, his eyes were reddened and tears streaked his face. Yet these were not tears of desolate grief — rather, they seemed to wash away the dust that had long settled on Master Duan’s heart, leaving behind a measure of clarity and calm.

He and the old Daoist Wu had never met, and yet their hearts seemed to speak to one another.

Master Duan asked, “Shaohuai, what name do you think would be most fitting for this painting and verse?”

“This young one is of modest talents, but I believe ‘The Ancient Pine Questions Heaven’ would be fitting.”

“Well said.”

……

Since Master Duan had said that the three young students could sit the preliminary examinations the following year, he naturally needed to begin teaching them how to write examination essays.

“In the past, I never explained to you the structure of the eight-legged essay — how to open a topic, develop it, and bring it to a close — and instead let you write freely. That was because I feared that once you learned the formal rules of the eight-legged style, without yet having deep understanding, you might find your own vision obscured and your hands tied.” Master Duan explained with great care, then added, “Now that you have all laid your foundations and opened your minds, it is naturally time to begin learning the proper rules of composition.”

And so Master Duan carefully introduced them to the process of opening the topic, developing the theme, leading into the argument, entering the subject, the first set of parallel passages, the second set of parallel passages, the third set of parallel passages, and the closing passages.[1] It was rather like dancing with chains on one’s feet. He then guided the three students back through their command of language and phrasing — how to achieve balanced parallelism, proper tonal variation, and the apt use of classical allusion.

Finally, he brought out examination essays from past provincial and metropolitan examinations and analyzed them together with the students.

“Why not use the essays composed by top-ranked Scholars at the Palace Examination? Because the Palace Examination prizes insight, novelty, and bold assertion — and those who catch the eye of the Grand Secretariat and the Emperor are often those who write with exceptional daring and a particularly sharp perspective. For the purposes of meticulous refinement, therefore, the essays composed by the Hanlin scholars at the provincial and metropolitan examinations are more instructive.” Master Duan explained.

The unspoken meaning was clear — only by writing the eight-legged essay in proper, orthodox form and passing the first five rounds of examination would they even have the opportunity to think about how to write boldly and freely at the Palace Examination.

Every day after class was dismissed, the teacher would assign coursework — requiring each of them to write a passage based on a particular phrase from the Four Books or Five Classics, and then review and comment on it one by one before the following morning’s class.

With their foundations firmly laid and a great deal of learning already well-mastered, the Huai and Jin brothers and Xu Yancheng took to writing eight-legged essays with relative speed. Within a few months, all three of them were able to complete a full essay — from beginning to end — within the allotted time.

The first step toward preparing for the county examination the following year had been taken.

What remained was the question of how to improve the quality of their essays — a process of continual refinement.

That day, their teacher returned their corrected essays, annotated with his red brush. Xu Yancheng, sitting in the middle, first craned his neck to the right to look at Pei Shaohuai’s essay, and said, “Shaohuai got the most words of praise from Teacher.”

Then he leaned left to look at Pei Shaojin’s comments and said, “Teacher praised Shaojin’s essay as showing the most improvement in understanding.”

“Let me see what mine got the most of.”

He opened it and stared blankly. “My essay,” Xu Yancheng said, “got the most red circles.”

……

……

Just a few days after the Mid-Autumn Festival, on that night, Lan Jie’er’s labor began at the General’s household.

The child she carried was precious to the Earl’s household and even more so to the Situ General’s household. Every arrangement for the delivery had long been prepared in advance.

No sooner had Lan Jie’er been helped into the room than Madam Chen and the little Concubine Chen arrived with a group of maids, surrounding the birth chamber so completely that not a drop of water could seep through. Madam Chen stood at the door herself, directing matters, and ordered those around her, “The one who just came back from the training grounds — have someone hold him back. Before the child is born, he is not to be let in.”

She also had all the maids and nannies that the Pei family had sent over rounded up and kept under watch.

With such a display, one could see that if Lan Jie’er were to give birth to a boy, the infant might well be snatched away before she could hold him even once — spirited off by her mother-in-law Madam Chen. In the end, it was Madam Chen who ruled the inner quarters of this General’s household.

Madam Chen had been lavishing attentive care on Lan Jie’er’s pregnancy all these months — and was it not for exactly this moment?

Inside the room, Lan Jie’er was in such pain she could scarcely tell heaven from earth. Gritting her teeth, she asked the maid again and again, “Has Second Brother returned?” Through the window paper, she could dimly make out the commotion outside, and she understood perfectly what Madam Chen intended. In this General’s household, the only one who could protect her even a little was Situ the Second. If he was not here — what was she to do?

The midwife saw the faint cold sweat already beginning to appear on Lan Jie’er’s face and, her heart filled with pity, said, “Mistress, please put these thoughts aside for now. When a woman gives birth, she is walking the razor’s edge between life and death — there is no room to think of anything else. Labor has already begun. You must gather your strength and push.”

If not, once her body weakened, the birth would only become more difficult.

Hearing this, Lan Jie’er instinctively placed her hand on her belly. She hesitated no longer and asked no more questions. Of her own accord she bit down on the wet cloth, and with the midwife’s guidance, she began to bear down.

……

On the official road outside, moonlight cast a hazy glow as dust rose high in the air.

Situ the Second rode his horse at full gallop, spurring it faster and faster toward home. What he had not expected was that, having managed at last to enter the city and then the compound using the General’s household token, he found himself blocked from the inner courtyard by the household guards.

“Second Young Master, Madam has given orders that it is inconvenient inside the courtyard at present — there are certain matters requiring discretion. Please, Second Young Master, wait until the child has been born before entering.”

Standing outside the courtyard wall, Situ the Second could hear nothing of what was happening within, and his anxiety mounted. Without a second thought, he snatched a blade from one of the guards, held it before him, and declared through gritted teeth, “I’d like to see which miserable wretch dares stand in my way tonight.” With that, he delivered a slash to the leading guard’s leg.

Since the guards could neither raise their own blades against the Second Young Master nor physically block him, they could only back away slowly and clear a path.

Situ the Second came charging in from a distance. The midwife had just opened the chamber door and stepped out — with no infant in her arms. At the sight, Madam Chen’s expression fell blank.

The midwife bowed her head and said, “Madam, it is a young miss.”

Madam Chen cast a sideways glance into the room, then turned to see the furious Situ the Second striding toward her, and erupted in a sharp tirade: “A useless lot, every single one. What terrible luck I have, saddled with this whole wretched household.” She was, if anything, more enraged than Situ the Second.

With that, she led the group of maids away, without even stepping inside to look once at her nominal granddaughter.

Situ the Second reached the door and went to push it open — eager to see Lan Jie’er — but was stopped by the midwife, who said, “Second Young Master, please change your clothes before going in.” She then offered her congratulations, telling him that his wife had given him a daughter.

At that point, Situ the Second finally understood why Madam Chen had flown into such a rage — she had miscalculated and come away empty-handed. His mood at once became wonderfully bright. Calling out toward Madam Chen’s departing back, he shouted at the top of his voice, “A daughter is excellent! I love having a daughter! Next time, and the time after that — give me daughters, every one of them, as long as they’re mine!”

The words grated on Madam Chen’s nerves, sending her walking even faster. In the moonlight, even flanked by all those maids, her figure looked somehow solitary.

……

That night, word reached the Earl’s household, and the Old Madam rose from her bed, saying, “No wonder I have been unable to sleep soundly this whole night. As long as mother and daughter are safe, that is everything, that is everything…”

Lin Shi heard what Madam Chen had done, and even hearing it secondhand made her feel a creeping unease — for she thought: if Lan Jie’er had given birth to a son and Madam Chen had taken him away, that girl, as a daughter-in-law by marriage, would never have been able to stand against Madam Chen.

……

Before the year’s end, Pei Bingyuan passed his final examination, earned the last half-credit he needed, accumulated the full eight credits, and graduated from the Imperial Academy. The court’s imperial edict for his outpost appointment followed shortly after.

He was to set out before the new year.

Lin Shi set aside all her business concerns and devoted herself entirely to preparing everything for her lord. During the day she directed the servants in sorting out what to pack and take along; at night she burned the lamp and personally sewed garments for Pei Bingyuan with her own hands.

Pei Shaohuai could not bear to see his mother working herself so hard, and urged her, “These things could be left to others — it would come out the same. Father understands Mother’s devotion perfectly well without all this.”

Lin Shi only smiled and shook her head. “Since giving birth to you, I have never once sewn him a piece of clothing. This time, your father is being sent out as an official — a term of three years — and I cannot go with him. At least I can do this for him.”

In addition to arranging for Old Zhou’s family to accompany Pei Bingyuan, Lin Shi also consulted with Nanny Shen and arranged for the eldest and second sons from their family to go along as well — fearing that once Pei Bingyuan took up his post, he would be a stranger in an unfamiliar place with no one to direct and rely upon.

Two days before the Laba Festival, Pei Bingyuan set out.

Before his departure, Pei Bingyuan repeatedly urged his two sons, saying, “Master Duan has said you can both sit the county examination next year. Over these next two months, you must not slacken or grow complacent — study steadily and prepare for the examination. Your father will be waiting in Yuchong County for good news.”

“Yes, Father,” the Huai and Jin brothers answered.

They watched as Pei Bingyuan’s carriage gradually receded into the distance and vanished down the official road. The Old Madam wept the hardest of anyone — her eldest daughter had married far away and not returned for many years; now her youngest son was being posted away, not to return for several more. The only ones who could give her any comfort were the sensible grandchildren who remained.

After Pei Bingyuan’s departure, he sent two letters home that first month. The first was to report that he was safe — saying that everything in Yuchong County was well and properly settled, asking his parents, wife, and children to set their hearts at ease. The second letter said that he was busy with re-registering household records before the new year, and with distributing the wasteland before the spring planting season arrived, so that the spring sowing would not be delayed. Though it was hard work, all was well.

The report that Chief Shen’s eldest son sent back to Lin Shi, however, told a different story. He said that the county office had nothing left in it — only an empty courtyard, and one that had half caved in at that. When they first arrived, there had not even been a clean place to lay down and sleep. Fortunately, Old Zhou’s family and the two sons of Chief Shen were capable men — some felling timber, others laying bricks — and after nearly ten days of bustling labor both inside and out, the county office was finally fit to be lived in.

He also said that the county office’s coffers held not a single copper coin. The county deputy and the official secretary aside, the rest of the runners and yamen staff, having received no wages, had long since scattered. The prefect of Dongyang Prefecture was himself buried under a pile of troublesome official business and had no attention to spare for Yuchong County. Now, if Pei Bingyuan wanted people to do any work at all, he could only pay them out of his own pocket to bring the runners back.

As for the deputy and secretary — his two subordinates — they were at least respectful enough toward Pei Bingyuan and had not caused him any direct trouble. Three parts out of ten of what he said, they would heed; three more they would nominally comply with; and the remaining four they simply ignored.

Lin Shi, having heard all of this, was consumed with worry, yet she could not tell the old master and the Old Madam — she could only keep it locked away inside her own heart. Through the entire New Year, she wore a bright and cheerful expression in front of others, while in private she brooded and fretted. Had Pei Shaohuai not been rather perceptive, Lin Shi might have managed to deceive even him.

Having learned the full situation, Pei Shaohuai first offered his mother reassurance, saying that his father had reported only the good news and kept the hardships to himself precisely so that she could have peace of mind.

Once his mother had calmed down somewhat, Pei Shaohuai suggested, “This young one, while reading, came across the fact that Dongyang Prefecture is the last city along the southern water route — from Dongyang Prefecture along the canal going north, one arrives at the capital. Mother also knows that Great Uncle, when traveling south to Yangzhou, typically follows the inland river vessels transporting goods, resting a day or two at each city along the way from south to north.”

“What is Huai’er getting at?” Lin Shi was perceptive and had already guessed part of the meaning.

Pei Shaohuai continued, “Father’s posting is in Yuchong County, which falls under Dongyang Prefecture. Mother might consider taking advantage of the fact that Dongyang Prefecture is still recovering from the floods — property prices in the city are low — and acquiring some properties near the wharf in the city. First, it would give Mother a reason to go there from time to time to attend to business matters, and an opportunity to visit Father with a proper place to stay. Second, Father’s three-year term in Yuchong County is in a county that is impoverished and in need of reclamation — he cannot very well keep reaching back toward the capital for funds. If Mother establishes a foothold there, Father will have something to rely upon and a base from which to stand.”

These were very practical considerations.

Lin Shi took note of everything after hearing it — but then she saw fit to instruct Pei Shaohuai, “None of this is for you to be thinking about. With the county examination approaching, you ought to keep your mind on your studies, and no more distractions.”

“Mother is wrongly blaming me this time,” Pei Shaohuai explained. “These examinations require far more than just writing essays. The various regions within the Da Qing dynasty — their local customs, their mountains and rivers — are all things worth learning and understanding thoroughly.”

“Don’t try to put one past me just because I read less than you.”

“When has this young one ever managed to put anything past Mother?”

After the New Year, Lin Shi very soon sent people to Dongyang Prefecture to look for suitable properties — but that is a matter that need not be elaborated upon further here.

……

……

The children’s preliminary examinations were held twice every three years: the county examination in the second month, the prefecture examination in the fourth month, and the academy examination in the sixth month. If all went smoothly, three consecutive passes within half a year would lift a student from the rank of a young pupil to that of a scholar and, ultimately, a licentiate.

The county examination, as its name implied, was a civil examination administered by the county office. Candidates from various regions were each required to return to the county of their registered household to sit the examination.

The area east of the capital, though directly under the Son of Heaven’s feet, was by administrative division situated within Wanping County, Shuntian Prefecture. And so, all the sons and grandsons of the high-ranking officials and meritorious families who resided in the eastern part of the city — should they wish to sit the imperial examinations — would need to register through Wanping County Office.

If a dispute arose between two households of high standing, both residing in the eastern part of the city, the first authority to handle the case was likewise Wanping County Office. It was no wonder that people jested: “The court governs the realm; Wanping governs the court.”

The immediate superior of the Wanping County Magistrate, the Shuntian Prefect, even bore a different title from other prefects, outranking them by one grade and holding a third-rank post.

These two facts alone were sufficient to demonstrate that the county magistrate and prefect holding office within the capital were given particular importance by the court — and were in turn particularly well regarded by the many powerful and influential figures throughout the capital.

……

At the end of the first month, Wanping County Office posted its official notice on schedule: the examination for the cyclical year would be held on the sixth day of the second month, with five consecutive rounds of testing over five days. Beginning immediately, students registered in the capital could start submitting their applications.

Pei Shaohuai, Pei Shaojin, and Xu Yancheng — the three young students — found mutual guarantors among their peers, then sought a licensed licentiate to act as their official sponsor. After attending to all the various formalities one by one, they went together to register at Wanping County Office.

The old licentiate in charge of recording names — hair already gone white — upon hearing that Xu Yancheng was eleven years old and that the Huai and Jin brothers were only ten, could not help but look up, shaking his head in wonder: “At such a young age, already taking the preliminary examinations — remarkable, truly remarkable.”

“We are young and full of spirit — we have come merely to try our hand,” Pei Shaohuai replied modestly.

The old licentiate verified each of the three students’ names, places of registered origin, ages, and physical descriptions in turn, then returned the completed “entry permits” to each of them.

Leaving the county office, Pei Shaohuai looked over his “entry permit” and saw that the section on physical description read: “relatively short in stature, fair-skinned, thick eyebrows, no birthmarks on face.” He looked over at Pei Shaojin’s and found it said much the same.

The ever-nosy Xu Yancheng leaned in for a look, and after a moment’s glance, heaved a deep sigh: “I knew it. Every single time, I am the one who stands out.”

He spread his open, and on it was written: ears protrude conspicuously to the sides.