Kings commanding a thousand chariots, marquises presiding over ten thousand households, lords ruling over a hundred estates — all are those who seek survival and pursue profit.

The so-called cooperation between the Tatars and the Jin was by no means reliable — much like a verbal agreement between merchants, without any written contract to verify it, it could be renounced at a moment’s change of heart.

In the scheme laid by the opposing faction, could a single line — “when the long winter brings calamity, ride south to plunder grain and ensure the tribe’s survival” — truly hold the Tatars in its grip, making them disregard everything and charge southward on horseback?

The Tatars rode south to invade for profit; reining in their horses at the border and making peace with Da Qing was also for profit. The choice was simply a matter of weighing “which was lighter and which was heavier.”

Pei Shaojin had accurately understood this crucial point from the hints his elder brother had left behind, which was why he had set out ahead of time with Zhang Lingyi and Chen Gongda, making his way to the lands of Shaanxi and Shanxi to resolve the situation.

……

Hoofbeats stirring dust startled the sparrows from their grass, a thousand li dispatched in a galloping relay to deliver the news.

The latest military intelligence from the northwest frontier flowed ceaselessly into the imperial palace. For an entire month in succession, each day after morning court, the Emperor and his senior ministers would gather in the hall to hear the military reports together —

Pei Shaojin and the others first used the arguments of “when the city gates fall, can the fish in the moat survive?” and “should the Tatars march south in force, the western frontier princes will suffer first,” successfully persuading the Prince of Jin, the Prince of Su, and four other princes to contribute their stored grain to provide relief to the disaster-stricken people.

The common people had previously grown anxious over grain and had been misled by rumors. Now that they had received relief from the court, and upon seeing the Grand Secretary himself mount the city wall and publicly tear off a strip of his official robe as a pledge of faith, their hearts steadied at once, and they settled down in place one after another.

The Tatars’ elite advance troops exploited the speed of their cavalry to charge into Da Qing’s territory, intending to engage Da Qing’s border army directly in a frontal confrontation to probe Da Qing’s true military strength at the frontier.

After many years of comfortable garrison duty, the state of Da Qing’s border military colonies was indeed far from reassuring. Of every ten military household soldiers, seven were in truth farmers who tended to their military farmland day in and day out and had never participated in drills; the remaining three, while having undergone training, possessed combat strength far inferior to the Tatar cavalry. Fortunately, the court had sent a large shipment of cotton-padded military uniforms every year for the past several years, so the military colonies were well supplied with them.

Zhang Lingyi, Pei Shaojin, and Chen Gongda devised a stratagem together.

Making use of the advantages of the terrain, and employing Han Xin’s circuitous tactic of “fighting with one’s back to the river,” they successfully avoided a direct confrontation with the Tatars’ advance forces and instead drove them into a narrow valley.

When capturing the Tatars alive, they ordered all of the military household soldiers to don their military uniforms and raise Da Qing’s battle standards high, creating the illusion of a magnificent force of hundreds of thousands of regular troops.

The Tatars had no knowledge that Da Qing was now capable of mass-producing cotton cloth. In their eyes, only elite troops could be dressed in such finely woven fabric, and so they took it as truth — believing that Da Qing had deployed troops in advance to lie in ambush here, waiting for them to take the bait.

The advance troops were defeated. Moreover, with the two sides evenly matched and Da Qing still having reinforcements yet to arrive, the great Tatar army beyond the pass reassessed the situation, not daring to make another reckless assault. They decided to withdraw their forces thirty li and send envoys to negotiate peace, hoping to resume the tea-horse trade with Da Qing.

The Tatars’ demands were clear: they wished to exchange cattle and sheep for sufficient iron pots, grain, and cloth to help their people endure the successive years of long winter ahead.

For Da Qing, this was precisely what they had hoped for. Endlessly heightening the frontier walls would not hold the Tatars back — it was a stable trading relationship that could keep them firmly in check.

At this moment, it was Pei Shaojin’s turn to take the stage alongside Elder Zou’s disciples. Masterful in the ways of money and commerce, their mental abacuses clicked and clacked as they set to work, and the initial terms of agreement were smoothly reached.

……

“Urgent report —” the Deputy Transmission Commissioner announced. “Report from the northwest frontier: the Tatar army has withdrawn. Your subjects and the others will remain temporarily in the lands of Shaanxi and Shanxi, and shall await the complete cessation of hostilities and the resettlement of the northern people before submitting a memorial requesting leave to return to the capital.”

With this, the crisis was defused.

Without the Tatars of the northwest frontier to tie its hands, Da Qing dispatched a great army to reinforce Liaodong in full force. Crushed by absolute military superiority, the hastily assembled Jin army of two hundred thousand — fleeing in utter disarray — was only a matter of time.

All of Liaodong would once again come under Da Qing’s banner.

On another front, the Southern Garrison Command followed the leads uncovered through the Wang Family and Huang Qingxing, tracing one thread to unravel the entire web and rooting out the many planted pieces and spies concealed beyond the capital one by one. The silver hoarded in the city of Jinling, the grain and provisions transported northward by sea, and the counterfeit coins fabricated by Huang Qingxing — all were intercepted in their entirety. After a full accounting, they would be transported to the various prefectures of Shaanxi and Shanxi to provide relief to the refugees.

……

……

Strolling at leisure through the courtyard as osmanthus blossoms fell, a clear breeze swept past and left both sleeves fragrant.

Looking back over these past several months — it seemed time had passed quickly. Yet calling to mind the selfless sacrifice of Supervisor Wu, the tutor’s impassioned cries from the floor, and Pei Shaojin’s “exile” to the northwest — it also felt as though these months had stretched on for an extraordinarily long time.

Fortunately, these fragrant little blossoms still arrived in their season, announcing with a scent impossible to ignore that autumn had come.

Another year of the Autumn Examination was upon them.

Pei Shaohuai held out his palm and caught a tiny flower that drifted down from above. Just at that moment, the Deputy Commander of the Southern Garrison Command walked over and reported: “Two grave offenders are to be escorted to the Meridian Gate for execution tomorrow. Does my lord have any further instructions?”

After matters were settled, Yan Chengzhao had wasted no time petitioning the Emperor for leave, personally traveling south to Wuchang Prefecture to bring his wife and children back. With Commander Yan away, as one of only two people holding a golden command token, Pei Shaohuai had no choice but to temporarily manage both the northern and southern garrison commands on Commander Yan’s behalf.

The two grave offenders naturally referred to that old villain from the Wanyan clan and Huang Qingxing.

“I will go and look in on them a little later,” Pei Shaohuai said.

……

The prison was dark and without light, not so much as a fist-sized window having been left. Only by the torch the jailer had lit could Pei Shaohuai barely make out two figures huddled in the cells. Rats darted back and forth at their sides; the prisoners had grown so numb they did not even react.

Pei Shaohuai came first to the cell of Huang Qingxing, sliding in a bowl of the final meal before execution.

Sensing the torchlight, Huang Qingxing — who no longer resembled a human being in appearance — lifted his head and glanced up. Seeing it was Pei Shaohuai, he silently lowered his head again, only his eyes visible beneath his matted, tangled hair.

“Huang Di, is there anything you wish to say?”

Huang Qingxing said nothing.

“Since you have nothing to say, I will take my leave,” Pei Shaohuai said. “Eat your final meal and go to your death on a full stomach.”

“Wait.” Huang Qingxing held him back, hesitating before asking: “Is our honored teacher… aware of what I have done?”

Elder Zou had led an upright and honorable life, yet he had suffered betrayal twice — once by “Little Xu” and once by Qingxing. Thinking of this, Pei Shaohuai said with fury: “Huang Di, do you not find it far too late to be asking this?” He paused, then added: “If it were possible, I would hope that Elder Nanju never learns what a grave crime you have committed.”

The last trace of light in Huang Qingxing’s eyes went dark.

After Pei Shaohuai walked away, Huang Qingxing began to murmur to himself in a low voice, reciting over and over: “The reed has always come from the lonely wild, and when autumn comes, to the lonely wild it returns…”

Such was his fate. The honored teacher and teacher’s wife should never have saved this lone and drifting reed — they should have left him to grow and perish on his own.

What use was remorse now?

……

Pei Shaohuai passed by the cell of the old Wanyan villain. Unlike Huang Qingxing’s dejection, the old villain seemed to still be living within his own dream of Jin supremacy.

The old villain dragged his heavy chains and crawled forward, his withered hands gripping the cell bars tightly, and said with excitement: “Your haste to execute me — is it because the cavalry of my great Jin is about to ride through Shanhaiguan?”

A villain such as this, who regarded ordinary people as no more than weeds and laid his schemes with no regard for human life, could not be allowed to die with his dream intact. Pei Shaohuai let out a cold snort and said: “The Son of Heaven himself leads the campaign with great ceremony, three hundred thousand troops have marched beyond the pass to meet the enemy, and ten thousand great cannon have roared in unison — how long do you think your Jin’s two hundred thousand can hold out?”

Borrowing a verse the old villain himself often recited, Pei Shaohuai continued to mock him: “‘In the end, how many truly catch the deer? Not knowing they have spent their days dreaming they were fish’ — your grand dream of conquest ought to be shattered now.”

For just after the Tatars had retreated and negotiations for peace were underway, the Emperor had acted with decisive speed, dispatching three hundred thousand Imperial Guards beyond the pass to engage the enemy and decisively defeating the Jin army.

The Jin remnants had fled in a rout all the way back and had retreated to north of the Nen River — no longer a force to be reckoned with.

The old villain refused to believe it. He shook the cell bars and shouted: “You are deceiving me, you are deceiving me!”

Never mind his ancestors — speaking only of himself: he had spent decade after decade, day after day, devoting his entire life to being a piece in others’ games while laying his own, convinced that the net he had woven was impenetrable, never realizing that when the wind and rain came, the spider’s thread would be entirely destroyed… How could he accept such an outcome?

“Impossible, this is impossible,” the old Wanyan villain said, shaking his head. “The Treatise on Imperial Statecraft has said: ‘Keep the people ignorant and drive them to farm; punish heavily and reward lightly; let all benefit flow from one source.’ Practised accordingly, the state and its military will necessarily become strong… The schemes I have laid were all drawn from this text; the Jin dynasty’s governance of its armies was likewise drawn from this text. How could it possibly fail?”

As it turned out, the feeling Pei Shaohuai had sensed earlier was not mistaken. The Jin people had obtained from somewhere what was known as the Treatise on Imperial Statecraft — in truth, the Book of Lord Shang — and had taken to heart its policy of weakening the people, attempting to rapidly accumulate military power through a system of merit-based military rewards, and swiftly strengthen themselves.

On one hand, Pei Shaohuai felt a chill down his spine — had the Jin truly succeeded and, emboldened by this taste of victory, vigorously promoted this policy of keeping the people ignorant across this land, treating countless ordinary people as nothing more than tools for farming and paying taxes, leaving them hungry and illiterate… in the long run, with a ruling class of exalted nobility and commoners degraded as low as ants, could this land have escaped the fate of being trampled underfoot by others?

On the other hand, Pei Shaohuai also found the old Wanyan villain’s ignorance and arrogance laughable. In the era of the Spring and Autumn period when no war was righteous, that Shang Yang and his followers could write such a remarkable book was a genuinely impressive achievement. Though “rule by law” had its limitations, it also had its progressive aspects. And yet here they were, two thousand years after the Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods, still fixing their gaze on treatises of imperial statecraft — abusing the people for the sake of monopolizing power?

The great vessel of history would always move forward. No one can truly keep the people ignorant.

Pei Shaohuai understood: even with half their bodies sunk into the farmland, the people of this land would still have those who held up scrolls, who read thousands of years of rise and fall, who called out “all under heaven as one” in a loud voice.

Only it was too tragic and too harrowing.

“You would not merely fail — you would ultimately fail utterly and completely, crumbling beyond all recovery,” Pei Shaohuai said. “Using the thinking of Da Qing’s people from over two thousand years ago to turn around and try to govern Da Qing’s people — how laughable is that? You speak of the Book of Lord Shang, and yet you do not know that among the Legalists there is also Han Feizi, whose Five Vermin contains the story of ‘guarding a stump waiting for a hare,’ and writes: ‘To try to govern the people of today with the policies of ancient kings is to be of the same sort as those who guard a stump.’ What you call your airtight scheme is ultimately nothing more than the farmer guarding his stump, waiting for a rabbit.”

Pei Shaohuai continued: “Da Qing’s rules and laws of governance can in the end only be written by Da Qing’s own people. Whatever is taken directly from others, whatever is borrowed — none of it can touch the root.”

The old villain had lived his entire life inside his own dream; even facing death he refused to relent. Seeing Pei Shaohuai walking toward the exit, he kept shaking the cell bars and shouting: “You little wretch, don’t you leave — my great Jin will not fail…” He wanted to continue arguing with Pei Shaohuai.

Then he shouted again: “People are like locusts — born in ever-growing numbers. The farmland is not enough; people turn on each other for food. A hundred years of peace, a hundred years of great chaos — the Yan family has sat on the imperial throne far too long. It is time for a change of dynasty. Without the great Jin, there will be the Tatars. Without the Tatars, Da Qing will tear itself apart. The current of a great river cannot be reversed — haha — the great Jin may have lost, but Da Qing will not win either…”

The voice of the old Wanyan villain gradually faded. Pei Shaohuai at last walked out of the prison cells and returned to the sunlight.

The autumn day was mildly cold, making the warmth of the sun on one’s body feel all the more pleasant.

Let the guilty receive no pardon, and all under heaven will flourish — this was Pei Shaohuai’s own understanding of “the current of a great river cannot be reversed.”

……

……

The next day, when the execution was carried out at the Meridian Gate, Pei Shaohuai did not go to watch. Instead, he entered the palace to play chess with the Emperor.

The Emperor’s study had become much more uncluttered — the incense smoke that used to drift and swirl was gone, several windows had been opened, and without a single lamp lit, the room was still bright and clear.

The great upheaval had been quelled and the villains had all been put to death, yet the Emperor had been listless and dispirited these past days, and had aged considerably.

On the imperial writing desk sat a dish of Suzhou-style mung bean cakes, made by the old imperial chef — the flavor was unchanged, yet the Emperor had no appetite.

It was only upon hearing that Pei Shaohuai had come especially to keep him company for a game of chess that the Emperor roused some interest, smiling as he personally arranged the chessboard.

The palace was quiet. The ruler and his official played chess and talked idly as they went.

After two rounds — Pei Shaohuai winning one and losing one — the Emperor was putting away his white stones when he asked: “Boyuan, what is your view of the Crown Prince? And the Imperial Crown Prince’s son?”

His tone was mild, like an elder resting beneath a great tree asking how his own children and grandchildren were getting on.

Pei Shaohuai answered directly: “The Crown Prince is benevolent and generous. The Imperial Crown Prince’s son is sharp and astute.”

The Emperor nodded and said: “You are right. The Crown Prince, though benevolent and generous, is also indecisive and lacking in grand strategy and great vision. Young Zhen, though sharp and astute in his youth, has a disposition that is overly calculating, and is confined and constrained by the palace walls… Young Zhen is very much like We were in Our younger years.”

Pei Shaohuai could not find a suitable reply and simply listened attentively as the Emperor continued. He could see that the Emperor had been safeguarding the Crown Prince all along — not solely because the Crown Prince was the eldest legitimate son, but because the Emperor had his own considered assessment of his children and grandchildren.

“We know that you are single-mindedly devoted to the people and harbor not the slightest treacherous ambition — We have never doubted that,” the Emperor said. “When the Crown Prince ascends the throne, he may be somewhat mediocre, but his character is good; he understands the principle of loving the people as one’s own children. With you by his side to assist him, helping him distinguish right from wrong, you may give full expression to your abilities, and he too may contentedly serve as a ruler who preserves the existing order.”

“As for young Zhen…” A look of concern crossed the Emperor’s face. Knowing that Yan Zhen’s intellect far surpassed his own father’s, the Emperor said: “We hope you can become young Zhen’s teacher. We do not wish to see father and son turn against each other and become enemies, as We and the Prince of Huai did.”

The Imperial Crown Prince was still young. Having Pei Shaohuai go and teach him was both a means of guiding him onto the right path and a way of using Pei Shaohuai to place a check on him.

To serve at the side of a ruler is to walk beside a tiger, and moreover people change — to accomplish this would not be easy. The Emperor looked toward Pei Shaohuai with an expression that carried a degree of seeking consent. “Boyuan, are you willing to help Us?”

“Your subject will certainly not fail what Your Majesty has entrusted to me.” To do more things, one would have to remain in the court. Pei Shaohuai smiled to lighten the mood and said: “However, Your Majesty speaks of this now — is it not a little too early? The road we travel together as ruler and subject is still long.”

Even as he spoke, he moved first and placed a stone down, opening a new game.

The worried look that had been on the Emperor’s face cleared away completely, his mood brightening, and he said with a cheerful laugh: “You are right — you still owe Us many more years of chess.” Then he added: “We have made a promise: no matter what time it may be, there shall always be a lantern to see you out of the palace. You may go about your work with boldness.”

Another half a game passed, with black and white stones interlocked on the board, the two players’ chess skills steadily and slowly improving.

The Emperor raised a new topic: “Boyuan, there is a piece of land beyond the capital called ‘Wenqing.’ We find this name a fine match for you, and wish to bestow it upon you as your fief. What are your thoughts?”

To bestow a fief was to confer a title of nobility.

Pei Shaohuai was already the heir of the Earl of Jingchuan. To be elevated further would mean being ennobled as a Marquis.

“Your Majesty…” Pei Shaohuai was about to decline. Being made a Marquis at his age would draw far too much attention in the court.

“Boyuan, We know you seek neither high office nor wealth. Do not be hasty in refusing — in ennobling you as the Marquis of Wenqing, We have Our own considerations,” the Emperor explained. “For one, those who have rendered meritorious service are to be rewarded. This round of honors is not for you alone. Adorning you with meritorious distinction is both an affirmation of your contributions and a response to all those scholars beyond the capital who have championed your cause.”

“For another…” The Emperor heaved a sigh; the next topic was somewhat grave. He said: “This palace coup not only rooted out the treacherous villains who were lurking in the shadows — it also laid bare every one of Da Qing’s deep-seated, long-standing ailments. Had the opening of maritime trade not filled the imperial treasury, had it not been for ship after ship of grain returning to provide ample provisions for the frontier armies, had it not been for the people still finding a thread of hope amid the chaos… when the wind and rain came and the vessel rocked, we could hold out once — but how can we hold out every single time? The inspection and appointment of officials, the taxation of commerce and industry, the garrisoning of the frontier, foreign trade, the cultivation of talent through education — every matter is riddled with deep-rooted ailments, all of which have reached a point where they absolutely must be treated.”

“We understand: if you wish to accomplish things, you cannot take a single step without standing and rank. Yet if your standing becomes too high, you will easily arouse suspicion and wariness. We ennoble you as the Marquis of Wenqing — We wish to see your answer to this task.” The Emperor’s final words settled upon him.

Pei Shaohuai held a chess piece and paused. In that instant, he suddenly found an answer to a question.

How could one use the great vessel of imperial rule to overturn imperial rule itself?

Having come from a future age, he understood full well that Da Qing’s path forward would inevitably require overturning imperial rule before a new road could be forged. Yet he could not overthrow the court, because overthrowing the Qing dynasty without adequate preparation and at the wrong moment would only result in another emperor replacing the current Son of Heaven, giving rise to yet another feudal dynasty.

What pushed history forward was the forces of production — and the awareness of countless ordinary people.

Pei Shaohuai stood on the old and creaking vessel, and before the new vessel was ready, he could not destroy the old one by brute force. But he could help this old vessel smoothly complete the remainder of its journey and link up with the new one.

Change it, little by little — enlightening the people’s minds, bringing them to a state of plenty — and eventually the time of readiness would come.

The heroes of future ages would have their own heroes to push history forward. What Pei Shaohuai wished to do was to spare this land from some measure of suffering — so that change would not be forced upon it in a blaze of cannon fire.

There was no need to hope to live to see the new vessel arrive. It was enough simply to make one small change at a time while living.

As long as the words on the page did not change, “all under heaven as one” would forever be nurtured within this land.

Pei Shaohuai bowed and replied: “Your subject is grateful for Your Majesty’s bestowal.”

He was grateful for having become part of this present world — and equally grateful for having been able to hold firm to his own heart.

……

……

The new official evaluations and the new performance assessments were once again placed on the agenda.

His eldest brother-in-law Xu Zhan was commissioned to preside over the Autumn Examination for the Northern Metropolitan Region. In line with the new official evaluation and performance assessment systems, he made certain adjustments to the examination questions — while still centered on essays as before, the emphasis shifted toward assessing the candidates’ strategies for governance and their practical abilities as officials, with “substance” as the guiding principle.

The questions became more detailed and specific, no longer composed for the sake of composing examination prompts.

The examination results had been posted for many days, yet the scholars of the capital were still discussing and debating without end. Everyone had realized that the imperial examinations would change in accordance with the court’s shifting approach to appointing officials.

And scholars would have to change in accordance with the examinations if they hoped to seize an opportunity.

On this day, Jiang Ziyun came with his son to pay his respects and express gratitude to Pei Shaohuai, and to bid farewell before heading south. His mourning period having concluded, the court’s imperial edict for his reinstatement had already been issued. Jiang Ziyun wished to depart southward before the winter snow sealed off the rivers.

His appointment: Deputy Prefect of Shuang’an Prefecture, Rank Six Senior Grade.

“Why is Brother Ziyun in such a rush to head south?”

“Once the heavy snow seals the river, one has to wait several more months. Not wishing to cause any delay, I thought it better to set out early.”

Pei Shaohuai urged him further: “The court is about to implement the new official evaluation and performance assessment systems, and after the great upheaval there are many genuine vacancies in the capital. Given Brother Ziyun’s learning and ability, if you were to try for a position, it would not be difficult to secure an appointment here in the capital.”

If Jiang Ziyun were to stay a few months longer, he would be able to await a new opportunity.

“No, I’m quite all right.” Jiang Ziyun smiled and shook his head. He was quite content with his appointment as Deputy Prefect of Shuang’an Prefecture, and said: “Last time I listened to Brother Huai speak of Shuang’an Prefecture’s great ships setting sail southward in the twelfth month and returning the following fifth month, laden with all manner of goods and wares — and new crop varieties from foreign lands being brought back aboard those ships. I have been filled with anticipation for a long time. Now that the opportunity has come, would it not be a pity not to go and see it for myself, not to venture out and explore?”

Jiang Ziyun still had the “new crop varieties” close to his heart, and hoped to be able to try out his ideas in Shuang’an Prefecture.

A capital appointment might be fine, but it was not what he sought.

“What is more—” Jiang Ziyun drew his son to stand before him, and said with evident pride: “Huaizhi here shows considerable aptitude for study. As a father, I must do all in my power to cultivate him — to let him see the landscapes of north and south, and broaden his horizons. In time, if Huaizhi can possess even a fraction of his Uncle Pei’s abilities, I will be more than satisfied.”

In heading south to serve as an official, he was doing it both for himself and for his son’s education through travel.

Upon hearing the name “Jiang Huaizhi,” Pei Shaohuai could not help but feel a momentary daze — briefly at a loss for words, he thought to himself: this world truly works in unexpected ways.

“Brother Huai?”

Jiang Ziyun called out twice before Pei Shaohuai came to his senses, and quickly covered for himself, saying: “Brother Ziyun’s far-sightedness is truly admirable. Since Brother Ziyun has made up his mind to go, I will urge you no further. I hope that in Shuang’an Prefecture, Brother Ziyun will accomplish great deeds and bring benefit to the people. I will be here awaiting good news.”

“May Brother Huai’s good wishes be fulfilled.”

After a pleasant exchange, Pei Shaohuai kept Jiang Ziyun for the evening meal. Several rounds of toasts were exchanged — this was Pei Shaohuai’s send-off for Jiang Ziyun’s journey.

That night, though much of the wine had worn off, the matter of Jiang Ziyun continued to circle through Pei Shaohuai’s mind.

He had already changed into his sleeping clothes and was about to go to bed, but instead Pei Shaohuai got up again and lit the room’s lamp, taking out from the cabinet the letter Wang Gaoxiang had written to his deceased concubine.

The yellowed paper was held close to the flame of the lamp. The fire leaped up, and the room was instantly lit bright. The letter, trailing flames, floated down into the fire basin and was reduced to ashes — not a single word remained.

Yang Shiyue draped a garment over her husband’s shoulders. She had read the contents of the letter and knew the truth of Jiang Ziyun’s origins. She said: “This way is better, too. The circumstances of his birth would have been far too cruel a thing for him to bear.”

Pei Shaohuai gazed at the ashes in the basin. After a long silence, he finally said: “What is most cruel is not Brother Ziyun’s birth and origins — it is… whether Jiang’s father and mother were truly killed by mountain bandits.”

The great upheaval had passed. Let the cruel truth be extinguished along with the letter.