Ji Sun Yin: "..."
Why did it feel like someone—no, some deity—had stolen his corner?
The young man looked worriedly at the cloth letter in his hands.
This was his regular monthly correspondence with his strategist, Wei Lou.
Previously, aside from various exchanges and suggestions on government affairs, the letters had also contained covert expressions of his evaluation of Her Highness—twisted with a touch of admiration, tangled with a touch of conflict, a complexity of emotions that left Ji Sun Yin secretly amused.
Today, he had received another reply.
The letter now contained only a response resolving the issue from their previous correspondence, along with the next-step strategy. There was nothing more about Her Highness.
It was not that Ji Sun Yin had any opinion of Shen Tang.
He simply knew his own strategist.
Wei Lou was obsessive to the bone. Once he formed an opinion of someone, he was the sort to obsess over it, refusing to turn back even after smashing through the southern wall. He would not be easily persuaded by others, much less readily change his existing perceptions and judgments. Unless he himself figured things out.
For Wei Lou to figure things out on his own...
That was incredibly difficult.
And yet, Wei Lou had figured it out.
Ji Sun Yin: "...He seems to have thought it through too far."
When a normal person figured something out, they would conduct themselves in a strictly businesslike manner when communicating with their superior, evaluating Shen Tang's strengths and weaknesses fairly, and discussing what should be avoided and what should be learned. But when it came to Wei Lou, as a strategist, he had gone so far as to avoid even discussing matters within his duties, omitting reports related to Her Highness. What did that mean? It meant Wei