Since Huai and Jin had formally begun their education, relying solely on their grandfather and father to teach them was clearly insufficient. Besides, Pei Bingyuan had to focus on preparing for the imperial examinations in the coming autumn.
After careful consideration, the Earl’s mansion hired two private tutors for the brothers—Master Ge and Master Cao.
Master Ge was a gentle old man of about sixty. Though he had no official rank, he was a skilled calligrapher with a refined technique. His mastery of posture, wrist control, and brush tip techniques followed his own system, closely imitating the styles of the Yan and Liu schools. His library-style (guange) script was also very well executed.
Although it was imitation, it was more than sufficient to teach Huai and Jin to write beautifully.
By contrast, Master Cao was much more aloof and serious, rarely smiling. He was a long-time scholar who had never passed the civil exams, only becoming a tutor late in life. Having taught many children of wealthy families, he had gained a certain reputation in the capital.
Every day, the two masters rotated: Master Ge taught literacy and calligraphy, while Master Cao focused on reading and writing practice.
On the first day, Master Ge tested the brothers and discovered they already recognized all the characters in the Thousand Character Classic and Zhu Xi’s Elementary Learning. Surprised and delighted, he exclaimed, “Incredible! At such a young age, you already know all the characters—your potential is limitless.”
He then began teaching them how to hold the brush.
“When writing, the fingers control the details, the wrist moves the strokes, and the elbow ensures steadiness. If finger, wrist, and elbow cooperate correctly and exert proper force, you can write beautifully.”
Even just practicing the correct brush posture and lifting the wrist and elbow properly caused the brothers considerable struggle.
Huai, accustomed to hard-pen writing in his previous life, found correcting his posture especially difficult. One slip, and the old habits would show. He had to empty his mind and start over repeatedly, knowing that mastering calligraphy was essential for success in the imperial exams. Jin, equally diligent, held his brush until sweat ran down his forehead, enduring until the master called a halt.
“Within each character, what do you think is most important?” Master Ge asked.
Huai, having never formally studied calligraphy before, answered according to his understanding: “Student thinks it is the strokes; each stroke forms the character.”
“And you?”
Jin replied, “I think the same as my elder brother: one stroke at a time, from simple to complex.”
“No,” Master Ge patiently explained. “If we compare a character to a house, the strokes are like the beams. No matter how good the wood, if placed incorrectly, the house collapses. Strokes form the shape, but the structure makes it beautiful. Therefore, the most important aspect of writing is understanding the structure.”
In later lessons, Master Ge carefully introduced the structural rules of various character types, and the brothers finally understood.
Regarding which copybook to practice first, Master Ge also had his opinion: “Scholars preparing for exams favor rounded, upright guange-style script, with restrained strength—it’s practical for the examination hall and widely admired. That’s fine. But I think there’s no need to start with guange immediately. If you first focus on wrist strength and brush technique, learning guange later will come naturally.”
He said this because he could see the boys had talent. For less gifted students, starting directly with guange script would have been most efficient.
At the end of each lesson, Master Ge gave them a sheet of paper stamped with his seal in the bottom right corner. “Practice the characters I assign thoroughly. Copy them only onto this paper. Do not alter it. Bring it to class next time. If I see sloppiness, you will be punished.”
Thus, every day after class, the brothers practiced diligently, only returning to their quarters once they had completed the work. At the end of the month, Master Ge would lay out all the papers together: “Look for yourself. Have you improved?”
Under this regimen, Huai and Jin steadily advanced in their calligraphy skills.
As for Master Cao, who taught reading and writing, his method was far more traditional. He applied the same techniques he had used with other children directly to Huai and Jin.
Following Pei Pu’s instructions, Master Cao skipped elementary texts like the Three Character Classic and Disciples’ Rules, moving directly to the Four Books.
Master Cao’s method, called the “book-cover method,” resembled the later rote-learning approach.
At the start of each lesson, after formal salutations, he would take a book, turn to a specific section, and lead the brothers in chanting the text with rhythm and inflection—without explanations. They would repeat this three times before class ended.
“Go home and memorize today’s text carefully. I will quiz you tomorrow.”
This method focused on memorization in early childhood. Once the children grew older, the meanings could be explained and understood more deeply.
Huai didn’t object—this method was common in the Da Qing era, and memorization was essential for the imperial exams, where candidates often had to reproduce texts exactly.
However, both brothers disliked the head-bobbing chanting.
Jin said, “Shouting like this makes me feel like a rooster on a roof, crowing until the sun rises.”
Huai said, “I feel like a pestle pounding clothes—it knocks my head dizzy.”
Perfectly symmetrical complaints. Yet if they didn’t move their heads, Master Cao would scold them for poor posture and even strike them.
One day, Master Cao tested them on the Gongye Chang chapter of the Analects.
Huai recited it first, with minor stumbles, but completed it. Jin followed, speaking quickly and fluently.
Huai thought wryly: when he first came to this world, he wondered if he should hide his talent to avoid being seen as a prodigy. Now he realized it was unnecessary—Jin’s genius made him look like a mere “old fox” in comparison.
Jin’s memory was remarkable—and his work ethic even more so.
When Huai daydreamed, he suddenly heard Master Cao say, “Stop.”
Jin halted.
“What passage was I asking you to recite?”
“Master, the Gongye Chang chapter.”
“Where are you now?”
Jin hesitated, then replied, “The Yong Ye chapter.” He silently held out his hand, expecting a slap.
He had recited too fast, inadvertently skipping ahead. Master Cao hadn’t taught the Yong Ye chapter yet.
Master Cao paused but did not punish him. He asked, “Which other chapters have you recited?” Jin slowly picked up the second volume of the Analects.
Huai stared in disbelief: Jin had already memorized the second volume before they even finished the first.
Realizing his mistake, Jin put it down and picked up the third volume, saying, “I’m already at the Wei Ling Gong chapter.”
Huai went silent. Master Cao went silent.
“I had a stomach upset last night, or I’d have memorized the Ji Shi chapter too.”
Huai wanted to rush forward and cover his brother’s mouth: “You’ve done enough, dear brother. Give me a break—no need to compete. Brothers shouldn’t compete like this.”
Of course, he was joking. He realized that excelling in exams was difficult. In this world, Jin was not the only genius, so he had to work harder—playing to his strengths while improving his weaknesses.
As expected, after class, Master Cao told Huai, “If you have energy left, continue memorizing.”
“Yes, Master.”
After the tutor left, the brothers stayed in the study to complete their lessons.
“Jin, you’re ruthless—working hard at night is one thing, but showing it to the tutor drags me into it too,” Huai stretched and complained jokingly. “Looks like I’ll be burning the midnight oil tonight.”
Having grown up studying together, the brothers teased each other. Jin said, “When I return to my quarters, I’ll have the servant send some oil for your lamp, so you don’t run out before dawn.”
“Shameless Jin! You got me in trouble and now make fun of me?” Huai replied. “From now on, don’t ask me about words you don’t understand—ask Master Cao yourself. Maybe he’ll tell you to memorize the Zhangju Jizhu immediately, haha…”
With that, the brothers bantered on their way back to their own quarters.
From that day on, Master Cao found himself trapped in a dilemma: he had prepared lesson plans, but the brothers kept saying, “We’ve already learned this.”
He had no choice but to reconsider how to teach these two prodigies.
The following autumn’s imperial examination brought news as Huai remembered: his brother-in-law, Xu Zhan, performed exceptionally well, taking first place and earning the title of Jieyuan.
At the same time, Lian gave birth to a son, named Xu Yan Gui—double joy. Mrs. Xu praised both daughters-in-law to everyone, highlighting their composure and maturity, ensuring the household’s harmony, so the sons could focus on studying and achieve top ranks.
As for the Earl’s mansion, the news of the exam and a new grandson should have been celebrated, but the atmosphere was tense. Pei Bingyuan had also taken the examination and failed again, despite feeling he had performed better than ever.
He tried to remain composed and even congratulated his son-in-law, but his family could see his disappointment.
Huai sighed inwardly. Years of failure must mean his father’s writing lacked refinement, yet improvement wasn’t simply a matter of more study or memorization—talent and timing were also crucial. This was the harsh reality of the imperial exams.
A few days later, Father-in-law Xu personally visited the Earl’s mansion. Xu, now an official of the Honglu Temple (fourth rank), had previously served in the Ministry of Rites after two years at the Imperial Academy.
Given his responsibilities, taking the time to come personally indicated urgency.
During the banquet, after a few drinks, Xu told Pei Bingyuan: “A few days ago, an old friend at the Imperial Academy mentioned that a vacancy appeared in the tribute examinations this year. If the spot were simply filled, there would be disputes among the local governments. So he asked for my help.”
He left the rest unsaid—but it was clear: Xu had gone to great lengths to secure this spot.
The tribute examination was a route to officialdom, even if the starting rank was lower. Many scholars who had not passed the civil exams queued for these openings.
Such an opportunity would have been immediately accepted by anyone else—but Pei Bingyuan hesitated, cup in hand, uncertain and silent for a long while.