This sudden inquiry about taking a wife caught Pei Shaohuai entirely off guard.

In his previous life, knowing that he suffered from a rare and incurable illness and would not live long, he had not dared to indulge in love and thereby delay another person. This habit of restraining all feeling and desire seemed to have carried over, shaping him imperceptibly in this life as well.

He lived in the Da Qing dynasty, and was born into the hereditary nobility — at his age, it was indeed time to be thinking about marriage. Yet somewhere in Pei Shaohuai’s subconscious, he had not yet put the matter on his agenda.

Pei Shaohuai replied: “This student has just turned fifteen this year. My parents have not yet arranged a betrothal on my behalf.”

Minister Zhang looked Pei Shaohuai up and down, and only then recalled that this tall and upright young man standing before him truly was only fifteen years old. He smiled and said: “It is this official who has been too hasty. At such a young age you have already won the Provincial First Scholar title — your heart and mind must be entirely devoted to your studies… Good — marrying a little later is also a fine thing.” He left unsaid what he had originally intended to say.

For Minister Zhang Lingyi’s youngest daughter was already seventeen — two years older than Pei Shaohuai.

To speak of it would put his student in an awkward position, and that would not have been pleasant at all.

Minister Zhang then offered Pei Shaohuai some guidance: “Taicang Prefecture was originally a military garrison, governed under military authority for a long stretch of time. It was only converted into a civil prefecture some ten-odd years ago. It is not an easy place to govern.”

Pei Shaohuai took his meaning at once.

Taicang Prefecture — that place lay on the eastern seaboard, at the mouth of the Yangtze River, with the great north-south Grand Canal running to the north. Its position was exceptional — strategically vital to any military campaign. And lying within the jurisdiction of Suzhou Prefecture, in close proximity to Yangzhou Prefecture, Nanjing Prefecture, and other such places, the literary culture there was quite flourishing.

A fine place it was — but not an easy one to govern.

“Once you have arrived south in Taicang Prefecture, whenever you encounter something you cannot resolve on your own, if there is any way this official can help clarify it, do not hesitate to write to me.” Minister Zhang said. “The problem in Taicang Prefecture — the military outpost growing dominant over the civilian population, with soldiers encroaching on and harassing the people — has been entrenched for a long time. Every successive Prefect has been timid and hesitant, some even turning a blind eye, concerned only with getting through their term of office without incident… If Lord Pei is able to bring about genuine results in governing the place, the Ministry of War will certainly submit a truthful memorial commending his merits.”

Since claiming a son-in-law was not to be, Minister Zhang had simply found another way to render a favor to his student.

Governing Taicang Prefecture well would be to the benefit of both the Ministry of War and the Pei Family.

“This student will relay it faithfully to his father upon returning home.” Pei Shaohuai said.

Zhang Lingyi, knowing that Pei Shaohuai’s understanding of military affairs was keen and incisive, was momentarily curious, and could not help asking one more question: “In your estimation, with the military outpost’s dominance over the civilian population in Taicang Prefecture — how should it be governed?”

Pei Shaohuai replied: “Within the Da Qing dynasty, military garrisons and military-farmed lands are found in abundance everywhere. It has always been the case that military households envy civilian households. In Taicang Prefecture, however, exactly the reverse is true — and the reason can be none other than the simple fact that the military households there live better than the civilian ones.”

Zhang Lingyi nodded approvingly: “Straight to the heart of the matter.”

After Pei Shaohuai had bowed and taken his leave, Zhang Lingyi paced about his courtyard, thinking back over the views on military affairs Pei Shaohuai had expressed, and reflecting on how the young man’s character and conduct were both above reproach. He felt it increasingly regrettable that he had not managed to secure him as a son-in-law.

He had a nagging sense that he had overlooked something somewhere — that his thinking had not been quite thorough enough — yet for the moment he could not quite work out where the gap was.

After some time, the realization came to him — if not a son-in-law, could he not serve as a husband for a granddaughter, or a nephew by marriage? In a few years’ time, the ages would align just right.

What a pity. What a pity indeed.

There was another person marrying before the year’s end besides Chen Xingchen. That day, Jiang Ziyun came personally to deliver a wedding invitation, and told Pei Shaohuai: “A village wedding is simply arranged — just a few tables of tea and food and wine to welcome the bride into the home. I am sending word to let you know, younger brother Huai.”

Pei Shaohuai accepted the invitation with delight and congratulated him: “Congratulations, elder brother Ziyun.”

Jiang Ziyun introduced his bride of his own accord: “I am marrying the second daughter of my mentor’s family.” The two had known each other since childhood — Second Miss Xie had genuine feeling for Jiang Ziyun.

“A few modest rooms, a household of barely anything, an aging grandmother above and younger siblings below — quite a sorry state of affairs it is. I had intended to wait a few more years before taking Second Niang into the household, so as not to have her come home to hardship. But after the provincial examination, matchmakers never stopped coming to the door — you could refuse them and still they would not be done — and Second Niang grew worried at the sight of it all. I could not very well let the matter drag on any longer, or let her feel uncertain.” Jiang Ziyun said, then sighed: “This world truly only asks after your examination titles, never after your years of hardship and study.”

“That elder brother Ziyun holds fast to his heart is something truly to be admired.” Pei Shaohuai said, and then offered comfort: “Second Miss Xie set her heart on elder brother Ziyun the person — she likely does not mind the hardship of the moment in the least. A husband and wife weathering difficulties together makes for a fine story as well.”

A villager turned provincial licentiate was, in truth, quite welcomed by the smaller officials and modestly wealthy households of the capital. Had Jiang Ziyun gone one step further and passed the metropolitan examination, marrying a secondary daughter from a family of standing was not beyond possibility.

That he had not showed he was a man who valued loyalty and feeling above all else.

After Jiang Ziyun learned that Pei Shaohuai was going south to study through experience, he grew a little sad and said: “Younger brother Huai, you must take good care of yourself on this journey.”

“Thank you for your concern, elder brother Ziyun.”

Jiang Ziyun had come simply to deliver the invitation and say a word of notice — he had not expected that on the day of his wedding, in the afternoon, Pei Shaohuai would actually appear, dressed in a plain and modest blue robe.

In winter, the wild geese had long since flown south, and finding a pair of them was no easy matter at all. The Jiang Family had used a pair of common mallard ducks in their place — but Pei Shaohuai had specially brought along a real pair of wild geese.

At the entrance to the small courtyard, one of Jiang Ziyun’s clansmen was serving as greeter in his stead, and did not recognize Pei Shaohuai. He asked: “Might I ask, honored guest, who you are?”

Pei Shaohuai smiled and replied: “A fellow student of Lord Jiang’s from the prefectural school. Surnamed Pei.”

Chang Fan presented the congratulatory gift. That clansman, seeing that Pei Shaohuai appeared young, called out loudly: “A fellow student, Young Master Pei, comes to congratulate — offering a pair of wild geese and two taels of silver.”

Jiang Ziyun, hearing the call from inside and scarcely daring to believe it — yet filled with delight — hurried out, and it truly was Pei Shaohuai. “Brother Huai!” he exclaimed.

Jiang Ziyun leaned close to the clansman’s ear and said a few words in a low voice. The clansman flushed red and quickly corrected himself, calling out loudly: “A fellow student of the prefectural school, Lord Pei, comes to congratulate—!” And this Lord Pei was a provincial licentiate even younger than Jiang Ziyun himself.

Pei Shaohuai stepped forward and bowed, saying: “Congratulations on your wedding, elder brother Ziyun.”

“The honor is mine, the honor is mine — your presence lights up this humble home.” Jiang Ziyun led Pei Shaohuai inside and called for tea to be served.

When the bridal procession returned, at the evening banquet, Jiang Ziyun came to drink with Pei Shaohuai with a slight flush of wine on his face. They drank three cups in a row. Draping an arm over Pei Shaohuai’s shoulder, he said: “Those of us who walked out of the rice paddies always went about with a book in one hand and mud on our legs, trying to hide, afraid of being looked down upon… With you, younger brother Huai, I have always felt perfectly at ease and unconstrained. I regard you as a true and trusted brother, and I wish to offer you three more cups.”

Pei Shaohuai returned three cups in kind and said: “When one is looked down upon, one need only bow one’s head and walk one’s own path well. There will always come a time to lift the head and chase after the wind. Elder brother Ziyun will surely accomplish great things — I too regard you as a true and trusted friend.”

When people look down on you, you need only lower your head and walk your path well — there will always come a time to lift your gaze and ride the wind.

After three rounds of wine, they parted ways.

The year’s end drew ever nearer, and the days Pei Shaohuai had remaining in the capital were few.

In these remaining days, he stayed at home in a quiet and settled state of mind, and composed several essays. He revised each through many drafts, and in the end selected two with the sharpest insights to be transcribed, finally signing them at the close with the pen name “Northern Sojourner.”

One of the essays was titled “Let the People Prosper, Then Teach Them.” The opening directly quoted Confucius’s words, “Only when the people prosper can teaching be applied” and “Only when the people are sustained can governance be reformed,” using these as the essay’s opening argument. It then went on to discuss in depth whether one should “first govern the people’s lives” or “first provide moral instruction,” targeting the practice found in certain prefectures and counties at the time, where officials undertook large-scale construction of prefectural and county academies, claiming this as their achievement in moral education.

This flaw was nowhere more glaring than in Dantu County of Zhenjiang Prefecture.

At the year’s end, a large number of senior scholars from the Southern Metropolitan Region had jointly submitted a memorial to the Prefect of Zhenjiang Prefecture, extolling the current county magistrate of Dantu for his emphasis on the moral instruction of students — for the tremendous effort he had put into constructing two county academies and for hosting distinguished teachers with generous remuneration, enrolling all the county’s students into the academies so that they could study in peace.

They petitioned the Prefect to record this county magistrate’s achievements in moral education.

Yet it was also in that very same year that Dantu County was struck by flooding — half of its fertile farmland lay submerged for half a month, the autumn harvest fell by half, and some of the more severely affected people were driven from their homes as refugees. This matter was known to almost no one. The scholars and education officials of Dantu County regarded it as if it were no concern of theirs whatsoever.

Pei Shaohuai accordingly took “only when the people prosper can teaching be applied” as his opening argument and wrote the essay. He did not mention Dantu County by a single word, yet every line of the entire piece was a condemnation of Dantu County’s officials and education functionaries.

He placed the two essays into an envelope, summoned Chang Fan, and instructed him: “Same as before — have the courier post send them to the Chongwen Literary Society at the Donglin Academy in Suzhou Prefecture, Southern Metropolitan Region.”

Gathering the genuine insights of talented people from across the realm, meeting through writing to exchange scholarship, the resulting small circles of association were known as “literary societies.”

In the Da Qing dynasty, with the imperial examination system ascendant and literary culture flourishing, literary societies had naturally become popular in turn. In the Northern Metropolitan Region, the most renowned was the Ancient Well Literary Society; in the Southern Metropolitan Region, the most renowned was the Chongwen Literary Society. From the moment Pei Shaohuai made up his mind to travel south to study, he had begun sending manuscripts to the Chongwen Literary Society.

Chang Fan smiled and said: “The Ancient Well Literary Society has sent invitations to Young Master several times, yet Young Master hasn’t sent them a single piece. Instead it’s the Chongwen Literary Society a thousand li away that has got the advantage.”

Pei Shaohuai could not help but laugh, and said with a touch of self-deprecation: “Since I am going south, I cannot help sending a few knocking stones ahead of me, to build up some spirit for the journey.”

It was not that he was reluctant to spare the ink for the Ancient Well Literary Society — it was simply that the Ancient Well Society was right here in the capital, and he could not conceal his identity. Once an essay was out, it would inevitably be picked apart and twisted by those with ill intent, who would then spread distorted versions of it about and use them to pin unwarranted labels on him.

“This servant understands — it shall be properly taken care of for Young Master.”

Half a day later, Chang Fan returned, and just as he always had, helped tidy the young master’s room, brought in the meals, and went about his tasks with quick-witted care.

Chang Fan brought the books the young master had requested and placed them on the desk before him.

Pei Shaohuai set down his brush on the inkstone weight and paused his work, then called out: “Chang Fan.”

“Young Master, what is it? Did this servant bring the wrong books?”

Pei Shaohuai shook his head and asked: “That small courtyard of two rooms you have — that is already settled, isn’t it?”

Chang Fan’s hand, which had been polishing the table, went still. After a few breaths, he answered quietly: “Yes.” He understood what the young master meant.

Pei Shaohuai had already made up his mind. He said: “Then tomorrow we shall make a trip to the Wanping County Office. After all these years — you have worked hard. You ought to have your own name back.”

Chang Fan was six years older than Pei Shaohuai — past the new year he would be twenty-two. It was time to let him go out and start a family.

Chang Fan’s real name was Zhang Changyan. After being chosen to serve the young master, the old Earl had taken a dislike to the character “yan,” feeling it clashed with water, and had specially given him the new name Qingfa — meaning a bamboo raft drifting with the Huai River’s current.

At the time when five or six young manservants had been brought forward, Pei Shaohuai had only had eyes for Qingfa. The young Shao Huai had said then: “The ‘raft’ sounds too light and drifting — you had better keep your ‘chang’ generation character, and take ‘zhou’ as the second character.” From that day on, Pei Shaohuai gained a manservant called Chang Fan by his side.

Chang Fan’s presence had spared him a great deal of trouble. Chang Fan deserved to live better than this. So Pei Shaohuai thought to himself.

“Young Master — would you let this servant follow you south for another three years… Young Master is going south. How can there be no manservant to accompany you?” Chang Fan said, making a bid to change the young master’s mind.

“Your days are your own, and your marriage and family are equally important. Three years and then three more — time is plentiful, but it passes. Our bond of master and servant has come to a fitting close here.” Pei Shaohuai smiled and said. “A small courtyard of two rooms, a wife, children, then sending those children off to school — was that not what you thought about every day? And now that I am willing to let you go, you hesitate?”

“This servant is not hesitating — it is only that…”

“All right. Once I have spoken it, the matter is settled.”