Meng Wu did not continue pressing him on that subject.
He picked up the pottery teapot and poured himself another bowl of water. The tea had already turned pale.
If it steeped any longer, the flavor would disperse.
He did not refill Yitu's bowl. More than half of Yitu's tea remained, gone completely cold, the leaves plastered to the bottom like a rotten dead leaf soaked to mush.
There was no need to refill it.
"Over in Donghu,"
Meng Wu held his bowl and blew at the foam floating on top. "How much have you heard?"
Yitu raised his gaze from the rim of his bowl.
His lips moved. The line they had been pressed into loosened slightly, as though he were waiting for Meng Wu to continue first. But Meng Wu did not look at him. He lowered his head to drink his tea, his expression casual, as if they were merely making small talk.
"I heard," Yitu said after weighing his words, "that you took it."
"Took it, and then?"
Yitu did not answer.
He had never been to the former Donghu lands. At present, the royal court's scouts had only reached the border; they could go no farther east.
As for what things were like over there now, he had heard Bode mention it in passing at the royal court.
He said the Qin Army was stationed there, yet the herdsmen had neither fled nor made trouble. Everything was quiet.
When Bode said that, he had frowned, as if pondering something that made no sense no matter how he turned it over.
"Lord Wuwei set a policy."
Meng Wu set down his bowl, his palm spread across his knee. His tone was not heavy, yet every word was laid down with steady weight.
"The Donghu herdsmen will