Xu Feng: "A book of strange tales? Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio?"
Xu Feng spotted a booklet on the desk, its ink still wet. The official documents had all been piled to one side. Shen Jicheng could not even be bothered to pretend he was working!
Then again, that made sense.
After reporting for duty, Shen Jicheng was still here in the Ritual Office. That alone put him ahead of plenty of people.
The office was a brick-and-tile building with three desks out front.
Two stood empty.
Behind a screen, there was probably another desk.
Four desks, three empty. Only Shen Jicheng's had anyone beside it. At that moment, the veteran Yamen Runner was the highest-ranking person in the building.
The ones coming and going on errands were a group of literate assistants.
Shen Jicheng waved Xu Feng into the seat beside him and handed him some tea, along with the booklet he had written.
Xu Feng opened it and breathed in the fragrance of the tea.
Then he said, "Good tea, good book!"
Shen Jicheng was delighted. "Yes, both good! Both good!"
But after Xu Feng leafed through the booklet, he felt an ache in his teeth.
Xu Feng said, "But Uncle Shen, the hero of this book is me. Isn't this a little too—"
He wanted to grind his teeth and click his tongue, but even after searching for an adjective, he could not find one.
Mainly because the book opened with a tale of an extraordinary man.
And that tale began with the legend of him, Zhao San.
Looking at this plainly embellished and rather inaccurate account, Xu Feng felt embarrassed.
The praise went much too far.
And that was not all.
Right from the start, Xu Feng saw Shen Jicheng tearing one man down to