After Chang Fan was restored to the status of a free commoner, he remained in service at the Earl’s residence, signing an employment contract. Like Shen Da and Shen Er, he became a junior steward, responsible in his daily duties for procuring brushes, ink, paper and inkstones, and also for overseeing a medicinal herb garden on the outskirts of the city.
During the day he worked at the Earl’s residence, and on evenings when he did not need to stand watch, he could return to his own small two-room courtyard.
That day, Chang Fan came in high spirits and said to Pei Shaohuai with excitement: “Young Master, Young Master — this morning I went to check on the herb garden, and all the farmhands there called me Steward Zhang!”
“Very good.” Pei Shaohuai nodded and smiled. “Steward Zhang should also change his way of speaking — no more ‘this servant, this servant.'”
Chang Fan scratched his head and said with an embarrassed smile: “This serv — ah, no — understood.”
With that, Chang Fan went off to instruct the newly arrived manservant, carefully explaining in detail what he ought to keep in mind from day to day.
“The year nears its end, the night nears its close; at each return of spring, one’s bright complexion fades another shade.” New Year’s Eve was approaching, and the east wind had returned once more.
With the parting so near, this Spring Festival brought little of the usual liveliness to the Earl’s residence.
On the evening of the ninth, Shao Jin broke off a few branches of winter plum and brought them to his elder brother’s room, arranging them on the small window ledge of the writing table, and said: “By rights it should be willow branches, but the early-spring willows have not yet turned green, so younger brother brings a few sprigs of plum blossom for elder brother instead.”
He then said with quiet wistfulness: “At last year’s New Year’s Eve, when the two of us brothers were drinking and playing the flower-quote game with ‘cold plum’ as the theme, elder brother recited the line: ‘A cold and brilliant beauty, one spring branch in hand — the friend has gone far away, to whom shall I send my longing?’ Who could have known it would be of use so soon.”
Shao Jin looked around his elder brother’s room — many of the objects had been packed away, leaving it clean and rather cold and bare. He asked: “Is elder brother all done packing?”
Pei Shaohuai nodded and replied: “Once I have sorted through these old manuscript drafts, I shall be nearly finished.” He pointed to a small stack of old paper scrolls on the writing table.
“Elder brother, just attend to what you need to do. I shall sit here a while.” Shao Jin said.
The room was quiet. The paper scrolls either remained in Shao Huai’s hands or fell one by one into the wastepaper basket, with a soft, rustling sound.
Half a stick of incense later, the sorting was complete.
Shao Jin said: “There is really nothing in particular I needed to say to elder brother. I only wanted to come and sit here in elder brother’s courtyard — just being here quietly like this is good enough.”
“Have you already been to Father’s room?” Pei Shaohuai asked.
Shao Jin nodded and said: “Father said the Earl’s residence will be quiet and peaceful these next few years, and urged me to treasure my time and study diligently, to aim for a good result in the provincial examination this autumn.” He paused and then added: “I know — this peace did not come easily.”
Pei Bingyuan, as the only son of the line, had been personally appointed by the Emperor to his outgoing post — and during that posting, anyone who dared openly stir up trouble for the Earl’s residence would be rebuffing the Emperor’s own face.
Surely no one would dare court that kind of trouble.
Pei Shaohuai looked at his younger brother beside him. He saw that Shao Jin had grown to nearly the same height as himself; the baby softness of his early boyhood had receded, and he had inherited their birth mother’s complexion, pale as white jade, with a pair of eyes and brows that carried the inky depth of a landscape painting.
Shao Jin had grown up too. He too was now a refined young gentleman.
“Do not put too heavy a burden on yourself.” Pei Shaohuai said, patting his brother’s shoulder.
He took a plum branch down from the window, and the faint, quiet fragrance drifted toward him. He smiled and said: “You have always had such a good memory — how is it that you remember the River City Plum Blossom Song, yet forget Wang Changling’s line: ‘One road through the green mountains, shared rain and cloud — has the bright moon ever made two different lands of us?’ ” He spoke lightly, to ease the sorrow of parting.
He added, in a teasing tone: “Doing your scholarship like this — your elder brother really must take you to task a little.”
“Elder brother’s rebuke is right.” Shao Jin also broke into a smile and said: “The moment elder brother speaks, the whole sense of it opens right up.”
Pei Shaohuai said: “Why don’t the two of us brothers make a pact — three years from now, in the spring and autumn examinations alike, we aim only for first place, yield to no one, take what is rightfully ours. What do you say?” Being a pact, the words had to carry some ambition.
Each now had something to look forward to — three years would pass quickly.
Pei Shao Jin nodded and said: “If elder brother holds such bold ambition, how can your younger brother afford to fall behind? It is agreed.”
Then Shao Jin added: “Elder brother, rest assured. Your younger brother will guard this home well here in the capital. I shall be right here waiting for elder brother to return from his studies, and waiting for elder sister to be released from the palace.” He said it with all the earnest conviction of an oath.
“I believe you.”
“I have already begun to look forward to the cassia blossom fragrance three years from now.” Shao Jin said with a sense of eager anticipation. “It is sure to be especially rich and full.”
Only let three years pass, and in autumn the provincial examination list, and in spring the metropolitan examination list, with the two brothers’ names towering above all others on the boards — who would still dare look lightly upon the Jingchuan Earl’s household?
In early spring, with the rivers still locked in ice, Pei Bingyuan could only travel by post road as he set out to take up his post, switching to the waterway partway along. The whole journey would take about a month.
Outside the post station, along with the people from the Earl’s residence, the Chen, Xu, and Lin Families had all come to see them off.
Because the road was long and far, Pei Bingyuan did not dare take too many things along — he kept everything simple. The larger items and valuables were entrusted separately to an escort agency for transport.
Lian Jie’er and Ying Jie’er told their parents not to worry — even though they had already married out, they would often come back to look after the family home. Their in-laws were all people of good sense and would certainly support them in doing so.
Their two sons-in-law seconded this.
The Old Madam held her son’s hand in her left and her eldest grandson’s hand in her right, urging them over and over: “Bingyuan, Shao Huai — take care of yourselves while you are away. Do not worry about things at home. Once you arrive, you must write to tell us you are safe…” Eating properly, dressing warmly, managing official duties — there was always something more to say, always the fear that one last reminder had been left out.
Pei Shaohuai bowed to Xu Zhan and Chen Xingchen and said: “I leave you to trouble over things here, elder brothers-in-law.”
“Brother-in-law is too formal about it — rest assured.” The two brothers-in-law replied.
Thinking of his teacher, Pei Shaohuai’s heart grew a few shades heavier. He said to Yancheng and Yan Gui: “Please say farewell to the Master on my behalf, and take good care of him.”
“You may rely on it.” Xu Yancheng said. “I may speak carelessly, but I act carefully enough.”
Young Yan Gui was already a boy of over ten years, no longer as plump and round-cheeked as in his childhood days, but out of old habit, Pei Shaohuai still pinched his cheek and instructed him: “Now that you are the only one left in the Master’s school room, whenever the Master needs anything, remember to tell elder brother and Maternal Uncle Jin.”
“Maternal Uncle Huai, I understand.” Young Yan Gui nodded.
Even in the midst of all that reluctance to part, a parting moment always comes. Pei Bingyuan, Lin Shi, and Pei Shaohuai boarded the carriage and left the post station, heading south.
Xu Zhan and Chen Xingchen mounted their horses and followed alongside, escorting them all the way to the southern gate of the capital’s outer district before waving farewell and turning their horses back.
The post roads of the Da Qing dynasty were fairly smooth by the standards of the time, yet the carriage still jolted and swayed. Sitting inside for long stretches, Pei Shaohuai found himself growing drowsy and listless, with no energy for anything else.
Two days in, he had finally reversed his sleeping hours entirely — resting and dozing in the carriage by day, and at night, when they stopped at a post station or inn, lying awake to read or compose poetry.
When he was alert, he tried to take in the scenery along the way, but found that the post roads were mostly built on flat and open ground, and looking out in any direction, one saw mostly farmland. In early spring, the farmland was still at rest, still asleep.
More than twenty days later, they crossed the Huai River. Ice and snow disappeared from the land, and so they transferred to the waterway, which was much faster. They sailed south all the way to Hangzhou.
The family of three paused briefly in Hangzhou to take in the splendor of the region.
It was indeed very different from the splendor of the capital. The land of Jiangnan seemed more bustling and animated, more varied and possessed of its own distinct character — quite unlike the strict and orderly manner of the capital.
Setting out again, three days later they arrived within the borders of Taicang Prefecture.
Officials from the prefectural office — the Vice-Prefect Zhu, the Assistant Prefect Liu, along with the secretaries and yamen runners — had received word from the post station ahead of time, and were waiting at the city gate well in advance to welcome the newly appointed Pei Zhizhou.
Word had it that the new arrival was a hereditary noble’s heir apparent, a junior fifth-rank official personally dispatched by the Emperor — and the officials’ faces showed a trace of eager anticipation.
In the carriage, father and son drew back the curtain and looked carefully upon this strategically vital coastal territory — stretches of fertile farmland, with people who could also go out to sea to fish. It was a fine place. Yet quite at odds with this was the sight of one simple and crude dwelling after another, many of them without black roof tiles, covered only with thatched rooftops.
Pei Bingyuan’s brow furrowed deeply — he had already foreseen that this would not be an easy post.
Reaching the city gate, his subordinates came forward to meet him, bowing in succession, and all called out: “Your subordinates pay their respects to the Prefect.”
The prefectural yamen of Taicang Prefecture was considerably superior to the county yamen of Yuchong County — it had proper front offices and a rear residence as it should, and appeared bright and spacious. But the officials and runners of the yamen — every single one of them looked wan and listless, without any trace of energy or spirit.
And this was their bearing with a new official just arriving. One could well imagine how slack and indolent they were on ordinary days.
After a brief introduction to the state of the prefectural office, Vice-Prefect Zhu said: “Your subordinate has reserved a private room at the Watching Sea Tower, and has prepared a modest spread of food and drink to welcome Your Excellency and offer a banquet in your honor. We hope that the Prefect, the Madam, and the young master will do us the honor of attending.”
They were all to be colleagues from now on — Pei Bingyuan did not refuse outright. He said: “The journey has been tiring, and my body is somewhat out of sorts. Please allow this official to rest for two days before we gather.”
Vice-Prefect Zhu was quite a few years older than Pei Bingyuan — already past fifty — and he had probably read a fair measure of Pei Bingyuan’s character by now. He therefore replied: “Your subordinate obeys.”
As he was turning to leave, Vice-Prefect Zhu hesitated for a few steps, then turned back after all, and said: “Your Excellency is new to this place and is still unfamiliar with much of it. Your subordinate takes the liberty of offering a few words of caution.”
“Please speak, Vice-Prefect Zhu.”
“Taicang Prefecture faces the sea, and pirates and foreign brigands are rampant. They often seize on the darkness of stormy nights to sail their vessels to shore, come ashore into the city, and plunder the people’s grain and livestock. Your Excellency should remember to keep the gates firmly shut at night and post guards. If you are woken by a commotion in the middle of the night, before the situation is clear, it is better to keep to yourself and not go outside.” Vice-Prefect Zhu thought for a moment and then added a vague and equivocal remark: “Before Taicang Prefecture was established as a prefecture, this place was originally the Zhenhai Garrison.”
A garrison — that is, a military outpost.
“Thank you for the warning, Vice-Prefect Zhu.”
After Vice-Prefect Zhu had gone, Pei Bingyuan and Pei Shaohuai looked at each other, lost for words — they knew that the southeastern coast was troubled by pirates and foreign brigands, but the Da Qing naval forces were militarily powerful. Would these brigands truly dare act with such brazen impudence? And if they truly did, why had the Southern Metropolitan Region Governor-General reported peace year after year, and why had the Zhenhai Garrison Command Office never reported any major disturbance?
The family of three settled temporarily in the rear residence of the prefectural yamen. Lin Shi directed the servants they had brought with them, and quickly had the courtyard put in proper order.
Pei Shaohuai was lodged in the east side room. Having just arrived in a new environment, he found it difficult to sleep.
Though his body was thoroughly exhausted, his mind kept turning over Vice-Prefect Zhu’s words. Silently he thought: if tonight there really were brigands in the city, it could not be coincidence — it would mean Vice-Prefect Zhu had foreseen this all along, and had offered the advance warning for precisely that reason.
He tossed and turned, unable to sleep.
“This place was originally the Zhenhai Garrison…”
Taicang Prefecture had been an important maritime grain depot during the previous dynasty, responsible for transporting naval forces and provisions. When the Da Qing armies had overthrown the old regime and seized Nanjing, they had secured this place immediately, stationing heavy troops to hold it. Once the land was at peace, the soldiers who had been garrisoned here remained, and the court established the Zhenhai Garrison.
The Zhenhai Garrison had governed this area for decades, before the court eventually reorganized it as a directly administered prefecture.
Pei Shaohuai thought to himself: “It appears the conflict between the prefectural yamen and the Zhenhai Garrison has already reached the point of being nearly irreconcilable. They are simply treating Taicang Prefecture as a piece of fat meat to carve up between them.”
At the third watch of the night, Pei Shaohuai was exhausted to the point of collapse, and only then drifted into a hazy, fitful sleep, still restless even in slumber.
Just as he had anticipated, in the fourth watch, a succession of rapid footsteps reached him from outside the courtyard, followed by the sound of crashing gates and the clamor of plundering, mingled with the wailing cries of the people — countless sounds all jumbled into chaos together.
Pei Shaohuai’s eyes snapped open. He lit a lamp, threw on his robe, and stepped out the door, to find his father already at the main gate, arguing with the runners standing guard. Pei Bingyuan said sharply: “As the father-and-mother official of an entire prefecture, it is my duty to go out and see what manner of brigands are so brazenly bold.”
Two of the runners were determined to protect the Prefect’s safety and dared not open the gate, and were earnestly explaining and persuading.
“Where are the constables and runners of the yamen? Tell them to go out there with me — how can there be any reason to crouch inside the compound and not go out?”
Pei Bingyuan would not play the part of a turtle retreating into its shell.
One of the runners — whether his tongue had slipped or by some other reason — said: “Your Excellency, please be patient — the brigands will be gone in a moment…”
In the torchlight, Pei Shaohuai could see that the runner’s face held not a trace of tension. On the contrary, he looked entirely accustomed to it all, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.
Pei Shaohuai stepped forward and said quietly to his father: “Father, since this is a performance staged for us, we may as well watch it through to the end before discussing what to do. It need not be too late.” He was certain — his father’s insistence on going out to see was also rooted in having grasped the underlying strangeness of it all.
Before long, from outside the compound wall came the sound of heavy, powerful footsteps and the scraping of armor, the rasp of blades drawn from their sheaths — and the sounds of brigands scattering in every direction.
“This official arrived late and allowed Your Excellency to be alarmed!” A powerful shout rang out from beyond the main gate.
The gate warden reported to Pei Bingyuan: “Your Excellency, by the sound of it, it appears to be the Garrison’s commander of a thousand — Commander Leng.”
Pei Bingyuan’s brow creased into deep furrows. “Open the gate.”
Outside the yamen gate, soldiers clad in armor stood holding torches and bearing great sabers, already surrounding the prefectural compound in a ring. Commander Leng was a man of imposing build and a thunderous voice. He stepped forward, offered only a slight and perfunctory bow, and said: “Brigands attacked and entered the city. This official, acting on the orders of the Commander, brought troops to pursue and eliminate the brigands, and has now driven every last one of them out of the city. Please be at ease, Your Excellency.”
He then added: “We have disturbed Your Excellency’s rest. Your Excellency may return and continue sleeping. This official will have soldiers stand guard through the night at the yamen — please be at ease, Your Excellency.”
His tone was entirely ordinary, but Pei Bingyuan could hear the mockery beneath the surface.
He understood perfectly well what was happening, but Pei Bingyuan had no recourse whatsoever. On his first night in the post, he had not a single soldier or half a troop at his command — outside the empty title of Prefect, he had not a shred of support with which to contend against the Zhenhai Garrison.
What a welcome show of force this was.
The following day, the yamen constables and runners all finally appeared. Pei Bingyuan, at a complete loss, prepared to lead them out into the streets to assess the extent of the losses suffered by the people within the city overnight. He had not yet made it out the door when Commander Leng arrived again, carrying a long name register. Several dozen “wounded soldiers” followed in behind him. The moment they entered the yamen, he said: “Last night, in pursuing the brigands, the brigands drew blades and resisted, engaging the naval forces in close combat. Seriously injured soldiers number one thousand and ninety in total. In accordance with the reward precedents of the Da Qing dynasty, they are entitled this year to an exemption from grain taxation. I respectfully request Your Excellency to review this.”
The moment he had passed it over, Commander Leng immediately pressed: “If Your Excellency has no objection, please affix the prefectural yamen’s seal as a sign of proper authority.” He gestured toward the wounded soldiers behind him and said: “This official has brought along a few of the lightly wounded who are still able to walk. Your Excellency may inspect their injuries as you see fit.”
These several dozen wounded soldiers bore knife wounds — on the back, on the thigh, on the arm — all of them bleeding in a raw and harrowing fashion.
Pei Shaohuai leaned against the side door of the prefectural yamen, and caught two runners speaking in low voices.
“Tsk, tsk — they’ve really gone and done it this time. All genuine knife cuts… that’s their own people cutting their own people. And they can bring themselves to do it.”
The other replied: “What’s there that they can’t bring themselves to do? A knife cut in exchange for a full year’s tax exemption on grain — a whole family without a worry about food for a year. Go ask anyone out on the street — who wouldn’t?”
“True enough. In this city, it’s the military households who live the most comfortably.”
“And who else? They’ve got a firm grip on Taicang, this prized bit of territory. The higher-ups eat the meat in great mouthfuls — how can the men below them not get a bit of the broth?”