Chaoge Royal Palace, main hall.
King Zhou sat upright on the Dragon Throne, his body leaning slightly back, one hand resting on the armrest, five fingers hanging loosely, his entire person giving off an innate, overwhelming pressure.
The assembled ministers stood below the steps, arranged in two rows.
Each of them stood with hands lowered and heads bowed, their gazes fixed on the floor tile three inches before the tips of their toes, as if a blade hung above their heads, ready to fall at any moment.
Throughout the entire great hall, there was only the sound of stifled breathing; it was so quiet that the crackle and pop of the candle flames could be heard.
King Zhou swept a weary glance over those lowered crowns below. One hand rested on the armrest, his five fingers long and slender, the joints distinct, the pads of his fingers slowly rubbing the pigeon-egg-sized red gemstone at the end of the armrest.
What? No one wanted to speak today?
No one answered.
The great hall was so quiet that one could hear the sound of one's own heartbeat.
King Zhou rose from the Dragon Throne and walked downward, step by step.
The Tax Reform Decree that I approved yesterday—you have all read it?
The hall remained silent for two breaths. An elderly minister with white hair stepped forward and bowed.
Your Majesty, the Tax Reform Decree increases the tax burden on the nobles. I fear it will harm the foundation of the state—
The foundation of the state?
King Zhou tilted his head slightly, like a leopard that had finally waited for its prey to emerge from its burrow.
This foundation of the state you speak of—is it the foundation of the Shang Dynasty, or the foundation of your family's three thousand mu