The academy office.
The quill in Ulasang's hand trembled incessantly.
He was writing his second masterpiece—
Ulasang's One Thousand and One Apologies.
As his crowning achievement, Praise had already collected a thousand years' worth of taxes on the road of flattery. Writing a second volume would only tarnish his reputation and cost him the nobles' favor.
To secure his position as dean, he needed to set off down an entirely new path.
The noble lords needed to vent, too. How to let them "curse to their hearts' content" had become his current subject of study.
Once inspiration struck, Ulasang felt himself enter a state of boundless energy. His desire to express himself poured forth like floodwater bursting through a dam.
Knock, knock, knock—
But a sudden flurry of knocking interrupted his train of thought.
He stamped his feet in fury, even knocking his wig askew.
"Who's disturbing me?!"
"Mentor! Mentor!"
Geya's anxious voice called from outside the door.
"I have something extremely important to report!"
"I'm absorbed in my writing. Whatever it is, tell me tomorrow!"
"It's about the Stone of Oblivion!"
"He's updated it again?!"
Ulasang frowned deeply, took a breath, and sat back down.
"Come in."
The Stone of Oblivion was more important, after all.
Geya rushed into the room, forgetting even to close the door, and slapped the sheets of manuscript in her hands down in front of Ulasang.
"Mentor, please take a look at this..."
Ulasang took them and asked:
"Didn't I tell you to visit Tang Qi today? How is that boy doing?"
"He hasn't gone home."
Geya had clearly run all the way here and still hadn't caught her breath.
"But—"
Before she could finish, Ulasang hastily interrupted:
"Still didn't understand, did he? That boy is terribly dull, and he isn't very skilled, either.