In the quiet night of Luocheng, the distant and aged voice of the night watchman echoed, "The weather is cold and the roads are slippery. Be careful."
It was the hour of Yin, the time to rise.
If this were the capital, the high-ranking officials of the court would already be gathered at the gate of the Wenyuan Pavilion inside Donghua Gate, exhaling white breaths as they waited for the senior officials to issue their commands.
Chen Ji lifted the curtain and looked out at the faint light of dawn and the thin mist outside the carriage window.
He thought to himself that he needed to hurry back to Anxi Street, or he would be late for school again today.
He gently lowered the curtain.
Inside the swaying carriage, Jin Zhu was slowly reminiscing:
"That year, the assassination of the Minister of Revenue caused a great stir. The Emperor gave the Dali Temple seven days to capture the culprit. If they failed, all officials above the fifth rank would be demoted by three levels, and those below the fifth rank would be dismissed and never employed again."