After the teacher’s birthday celebration—
Early the next morning, before lessons began, Old A’du called Pei Shaohuai over, saying that Master Duan wished to speak with him.
When Pei Shaohuai entered, the master was seated in his wheelchair, head tilted back, gazing fixedly at the painting of pine trees against the mountain by the old Daoist. He was lost in thought, as if his mind had drifted into those rugged peaks, unable to return.
Pei Shaohuai waited quietly. Only when the master came back to himself did he step forward, bow, and say, “Master, you sent for me.”
Master Duan withdrew his gaze from the painting and asked, “Master Wu is a reclusive gentleman who seldom gives away his works. How did you obtain this painting?”
A painting with such depth—how could he fail to see the intention behind it? This was clearly a piece given sincerely, painted specifically for him.
To move such a hidden master to this extent was no easy matter.
Pei Shaohuai replied, “The reason for the gift does not lie with me, but with you, Master.” After a pause, he added, “A fine painting should be given to one who truly understands it—that is where it belongs.”
He then recounted in detail how he had sought the painting at the temple on Mount Mang.
Finally, he said, “I merely spent some effort traveling back and forth.”
Master Duan nodded. “Your thinking is clearer and more perceptive than that of your peers, and your writing reflects the same. Among the three of you—Shaojin, I worry he is too rash; Yancheng, I worry about his indulgence and careless dealings with others… Only you—there seems to be nothing for me to worry about.”
He rolled his wheelchair closer and said earnestly, “Yet this leaves me uneasy. I do not know whether this is a good thing or a cause for concern.”
In truth, it was not only the master who felt uneasy—Pei Shaohuai did as well. The master’s insight was sharp; even his family had not noticed anything unusual, yet the master had perceived something.
Pei Shaohuai replied, “Not knowing is itself a kind of concern. So you do still have something to worry about, Master.”
He could only continue presenting himself as naturally gifted.
“Good,” the master said, and did not press further.
Turning back to the painting, he grew emotional and softly recited:
“One man, one path, one chest of books,
Half a life in verdant hills, half in hardship.
At fifty, I yield to Heaven’s will,
Yet still know the old pine clings to the steadfast mountain.”
When he finished, his eyes were red with tears. Yet these were not tears of sorrow—they seemed instead to wash away the dust in his heart, leaving him more at ease.
Though he had never met the old Daoist, their hearts seemed connected.
He then asked, “Shaohuai, what title do you think this painting and poem should bear?”
“I am unworthy to say, but I think ‘The Pine Asks Heaven’ would be fitting.”
“Good.”
…
Since Master Duan had said the three boys could take the preliminary examinations next year, it was time to teach them how to write formal examination essays.
“In the past, I did not teach you the structure of the eight-legged essay—how to begin, develop, turn, and conclude. I let you write freely, for fear that learning the rigid form too early would constrain your understanding,” he explained. “Now that your foundations are solid and your minds mature, it is time to impose structure.”
He carefully taught them each part of the eight-legged essay—how to open the topic, expand it, introduce the argument, and develop each section—likening it to dancing with shackles.
At the same time, he reviewed with them proper sentence construction, parallelism, tonal balance, and the use of classical references.
Finally, he brought out essays from past provincial and metropolitan examinations to analyze with them.
“Why not use the palace examination essays of the top scholars? Because those focus on insight and originality, often bold and unconventional. But for craftsmanship and refinement, the essays from the earlier examinations are more suitable for study.”
In other words—only by mastering the standard form and passing the earlier stages could they think about originality later.
After each day’s lessons, he assigned them writing tasks based on passages from the classics, reviewing them the next morning.
With their solid foundations, the three boys progressed quickly. After several months, they could each complete a full eight-legged essay within the allotted time.
They had taken the first step toward the county examination.
From then on, their focus shifted to improving quality and refinement.
One day, after returning their corrected essays, Xu Yancheng leaned over to peek.
“Shaohuai got the most praise,” he said, then looked at Shaojin’s. “And Shaojin made the most progress.”
Finally, he opened his own—and froze.
“My essay… has the most red marks.”
…
…
A few days after Mid-Autumn Festival, in the General’s residence, Lan’er went into labor that night.
Both the Earl’s household and the General’s residence placed great importance on this child. Everything had long been prepared.
As soon as Lan’er was carried into the room, Madam Chen and the concubine rushed in with a group of servants, crowding the birthing chamber. Madam Chen personally stood guard at the door and ordered, “Stop him when he returns from the training grounds. Do not let him enter before the child is born.”
She also had all the servants sent by the Pei family detained.
From the looks of it, if Lan’er gave birth to a boy, she might not even get to hold him before Madam Chen took him away.
Lan’er writhed in pain, repeatedly asking, “Has he returned?” Seeing the commotion outside, she understood Madam Chen’s intentions.
The only person in this household who might protect her was her husband. Without him, what could she do?
The midwife urged her, “Don’t think about such things now. Childbirth is like passing the gates of death—focus on your strength.”
Lan’er clenched her teeth, bit down on a cloth, and began to push.
…
On the road, under dim moonlight, her husband rode hard toward home.
Yet when he finally arrived, he was stopped at the courtyard gate.
“Second Young Master, Madam has ordered that you wait until the child is born.”
Hearing nothing from inside, his anxiety surged. Without hesitation, he snatched a blade and shouted, “Let’s see who dares stop me tonight!”
He struck one of the guards, forcing the others to retreat.
He rushed in just as the midwife came out—without a child in her arms.
Madam Chen’s face fell.
“It’s a girl,” the midwife said.
Madam Chen cursed angrily and left without even looking at the child.
When the husband learned the reason, he laughed loudly and shouted after her, “A daughter is fine! I like daughters! Next time, and the time after, daughters are just fine—as long as they’re mine!”
Madam Chen walked away, more agitated than ever.
…
That night, news reached the Earl’s residence.
“The mother and child are safe—that’s all that matters,” the old madam said with relief.
Madam Lin, however, felt lingering fear. Had it been a boy, he might have been taken away.
…
Before the New Year, Pei Bingyuan completed his assessments and graduated. Soon after, the court order for his external post arrived.
He would depart before the New Year.
Madam Lin set aside all her business to prepare for him—selecting supplies by day and sewing clothes by night.
Seeing her exhaustion, Pei Shaohuai urged her to rest, but she shook her head. “Since you were born, I haven’t made him clothes myself. Now that he’ll be away for three years, let me do this much.”
She also arranged for trusted servants to accompany him.
Two days before the Laba Festival, he set out.
Before leaving, he told his sons, “The master says you may take the county exam next year. Do not slack off.”
“Yes, Father.”
As his carriage disappeared down the road, the old madam wept the hardest.
…
After he left, two letters arrived.
The first said all was well.
The second spoke of busy preparations—registering households and distributing land.
But reports from others told a harsher truth: the county office was in ruins, with no funds and no staff. Only through great effort had it become barely livable.
Madam Lin hid her worries, showing a cheerful face outwardly.
When Pei Shaohuai learned the truth, he comforted her, then suggested purchasing property in Dongyang Prefecture—both as a foothold for his father and a place for the family to visit.
Though she agreed, she reminded him to focus on his studies.
…
After the New Year, preparations began for the examinations.
The county exam would be held in February.
All candidates had to register at their local county office.
Though they lived in the capital, they belonged administratively to Wanping County.
Thus, they registered there.
The old clerk, seeing their young ages, was astonished.
After completing the paperwork, Xu Yancheng peeked at their descriptions.
“Short, fair-skinned, thick brows…”
Then he looked at his own—and sighed.
“Of course, I’m always the different one.”
His description read:
“Has a pair of prominent ears.”