Pei Bingyuan drained his cup of wine in one gulp and forced a faint smile. “At my age, going into the Imperial Academy alongside those young lads… perhaps it isn’t appropriate.”
Many older scholars only received a tribute examination spot in their fifties and then entered the Academy. Pei Bingyuan, still under forty, was far from the eldest—there was no reason it was inappropriate. He was just thin-skinned and had thought of an excuse on the spot.
“It doesn’t matter,” Lord Xu said calmly. “There’s no rush to decide immediately. Take a few days to think it over, and when you’ve made up your mind, just let Zhan know.”
This left Pei Bingyuan room to maneuver.
After Xu left, Pei Pu advised his son: “Bingyuan, three years and more, you’ve tried the autumn exams. There’s also the spring exam. If time has slipped by, it may be better to enter the Academy for three or four years of study… When you graduate, your rank may be lower, but you will have officially embarked on the path of office.”
Graduates of the Imperial Academy received only the eighth rank upon appointment.
Pei Pu continued: “Even those who pass the jinshi exams, if they cannot stay in the capital, receive only the seventh rank.” The matriarch added, “Lord Xu is offering a good opportunity—you shouldn’t refuse it.”
By their reasoning, they all hoped Pei Bingyuan would accept and study at the Academy.
“My parents know, but it isn’t for that reason,” Pei Bingyuan sighed. “Lord Xu, now my father-in-law, is already a fourth-rank official. My cousins Bingsheng and Bingming graduated jinshi and now serve in the Ministries of War and Works at sixth rank. Most of my peers have either passed exams and taken office or left studies early to manage family estates. Only I… for so many years, I’ve persisted in studying. I became a xiucai at sixteen, and now, nearly forty, I am to take a tribute examination spot and enter the Academy. How can I accept that?”
How could he let go of his pride? How could he abandon his obsession? Pei Bingyuan had to give himself an explanation.
The main hall fell silent.
After a long pause, the old master said, “You’ve taken exams for so many years—it’s enough…”
“Not enough!” Pei Bingyuan’s emotions flared, veins on his forehead standing out. “I would rather be called a stubborn donkey than a coward.”
Seeing this, the matriarch intervened: “Let’s leave it here for today and discuss it later.”
That night, it wasn’t just Pei Bingyuan who couldn’t sleep; young Huai was restless as well.
In the original story, Lord Xu securing a tribute examination spot for Pei Bingyuan didn’t exist. Perhaps his intervention brought the two families closer, prompting this scene.
People and circumstances around them were subtly changing… and Huai would face more and more unknowns.
Huai, just beginning his studies, felt the impact of his father’s dilemma strongly. If he were in his father’s place, how would he choose? On one hand, the thorny path of decades of diligent study, uncertain future; on the other, an easier, attainable alternative.
He didn’t know what decision he would make, so it was no wonder his father hesitated.
Huai resolved to cherish his youth, work harder, and lay a solid foundation, so that in the future he could avoid such difficult choices.
A few days later, Pei Bingyuan still lingered, sometimes alone in his study, sometimes gazing at fallen leaves and bare branches in the courtyard, showing no sign of making a decision.
The old master and matriarch sighed repeatedly; there was nothing they could do.
That day, after Master Cao dismissed class, Huai and Jin, as usual, stayed behind. First, they muttered to themselves, reciting the Analects until they had memorized most of it. Then, they took up brush and ink to copy what they had just recited.
It was both transcription and calligraphy practice.
They did not rush—every stroke was deliberate and careful.
As the late afternoon sun stretched the shadows outside, eventually casting them into the classroom, the brothers noticed their father’s shadow—tall and upright. Pei Bingyuan had been standing quietly outside the window, hands behind his back, watching them study and write.
It was as if he were seeing his sons as he once was, learning as a child.
“Father,” the brothers stood and greeted him.
“I hope I haven’t disturbed your studies.”
“Not at all.”
Seeing his young sons so talented and diligent, Pei Bingyuan felt comforted. His previously furrowed brows relaxed as he asked, “Which volume of the Analects are you on?”
Jin, embarrassed, tugged lightly at his elder brother’s sleeve.
Huai answered honestly, “My younger brother has finished four volumes. I’m slower, only up to the Wei Zheng chapter of the third volume.”
“Wei Zheng chapter?” Pei Bingyuan remembered clearly and recited slowly: “The Master said: At fifteen, I set my mind on learning; at thirty, I stood firm…” His voice trailed off.
Huai continued in his small, clear voice: “At forty, I was free from doubts; at fifty, I knew heaven’s mandate; at sixty, my ear was obedient; at seventy, I followed my heart’s desire without overstepping the rules.”
Everything aligned perfectly. Pei Bingyuan had come just in time; Huai had recited just this passage.
Pei Bingyuan picked up Huai’s paper—it bore exactly these lines. Confucius only told the world: “Fifteen for study, thirty for standing firm…” People often overlook that fifteen years and thirty years, though brief in writing, span a long life—from a spirited youth to a restrained middle-aged man.
Though these words had been read countless times, they now struck Pei Bingyuan deeply.
“Well done,” he praised. “Continue your studies; I won’t disturb you further.”
“Yes, Father,” the brothers responded.
The next morning, the Earl’s mansion prepared a carriage. Pei Bingyuan personally visited the Xu household and accepted the tribute examination spot.
Back home, he explained to his father: “Huai and Jin are rare talents. The aspirations I have not fulfilled, let them carry on. Their future glory will be mine as well. Now that I have reached this age, I should try another path.”
The old master smiled: “It’s good you’ve come to understand.”
A month later, Pei Bingyuan set out for the Imperial Academy. Though still in the capital, Academy rules permitted him to return home only on the first and fifteenth of each month.
After bidding farewell, he told Madam Lin: “These years, thank you for managing the household.”
“It is my duty, my lord. You need not worry.”
Finally, he spoke to Huai and Jin: “While I am away, obey your grandfather and tutors. Study diligently and do not slack off. Finish today’s work today; do not postpone.”
“Yes, Father,” the brothers replied.
Life in the Earl’s mansion continued as usual.
Elder sister Ying, three years older than Huai, was now nine—a young girl with increasingly striking features. She preferred simple clothing, which suited her natural beauty.
As she grew, her personality became more apparent. Along with sister Zhu, she had already mastered the characters. Madam Lin arranged for an elder nanny to refine their manners and for female teachers to rotate in, instructing them in calligraphy, music, chess, and painting.
Madam Lin worked diligently, but Ying showed little interest.
That day, Ying was happily tending her plants in the backyard with her maid.
Soon, Madam Lin hurried over. “I knew you’d be here! The female teacher just left, and sister Zhu is still practicing the zither. Why have you secretly come to play with the plants?”
“Mother, I’ve done as I promised—practice zither in class. Why do you go back on your word and scold me here?” Ying muttered.
“And after more than half a month, why hasn’t your skill improved at all?”
Ying argued cleverly: “Learning doesn’t guarantee understanding; understanding doesn’t guarantee mastery. Improvement takes time. Mother, please don’t worry too much about me.” She continued loosening the soil around a Huangling herb.
Madam Lin, both amused and exasperated by her daughter’s spirited behavior, said, “After all the effort finding a teacher for you, you’ve learned nothing. Meanwhile, third sister Zhu picks up everything and does it well.”
“That’s because sister Zhu has talent and works hard,” Ying replied.
“If you refuse to learn, fine. But then learn to manage the household estate, so you won’t be helpless later.”
Madam Lin had said this many times; Ying could recite it by heart.
Ying placed a pot of jade bamboo in a shady corner. “If learning meant going to country estates, medicinal gardens, or southern apothecaries to study management, I would gladly go. But if it’s sitting indoors staring at ledgers all day, I’m afraid the ledgers will know me before I know them.”
Smiling, she added: “By the way, if you want to teach bookkeeping and arithmetic, it’s better to teach sister Zhu. Last time, cousin demonstrated the abacus, and sister Zhu’s eyes went wide watching. If Madam Shen hadn’t stopped her, she’d have rushed forward.”
“You watch sister Zhu day after day, yet you don’t show half her diligence,” Madam Lin said.
“I’m your daughter, not sister Zhu. Naturally, I’m not as ambitious.”
“You speak with less and less decorum. People will laugh at you,” Madam Lin scolded.
“I won’t say such things in front of outsiders… only you hear it,” Ying giggled.
Madam Lin laughed, letting the matter go, but still worried: “Ying, you can’t play the zither or paint well, and your calligraphy is only passable. How will I find you a match in the future?”
“Brother said, there are families who don’t care about zither or painting. If not, he’ll back me up. If I like a family, he’ll make them accept me regardless.”
“How can you plan that at your age?” Madam Lin teased.
“Because he’s my brother.”
Ying filled a small ceramic pot with fresh soil and carefully planted a little green sprout.
“What are you planting now?”
“Brother dug up some snow-in-summer grass for me.”