Inside the storeroom.
Old Man stood before Ren Ye with a thick stack of brand-new xuan paper in his arms, puzzled. "Your Highness, what do you need these for?"
"I need you all to help me write down an answer."
Ren Ye looked at him quietly and asked softly, "How many times have you met the strategist?"
Old Man paused. "Only once, on the day of your wedding."
"Mm, good."
Ren Ye nodded slightly. "Now, write down everything that happened when you saw the strategist that day, from beginning to end, in great detail. Don't leave anything out."
"?!"
Old Man could not understand Ren Ye's behavior or motives at all. The more he looked at him, the more he resembled Yang Sanlang, who had burned himself alive. He dropped to his knees with a thud and cried out tearfully, "Your Highness, Your Highness! Have you been overworking yourself lately? You must take care of your health! The hundred thousand and more people of Qingliang Prefecture City are all hoping for that peaceful, prosperous age you spoke of...!"
Ren Ye frowned and waved impatiently. "Enough, enough. Stop mourning. I'm not dead yet. I told you, I haven't gone mad. I'm just a little abnormal. Hurry up and write."
"Yes, I obey."
"Send in the next person," Ren Ye instructed.
"...!"
And so, minute by minute, time passed. Hidden in the Archives' storeroom, Ren Ye called the people outside in one at a time for private conversations. Then he had each of them take some xuan paper and write down their answers separately, forbidding them from talking to anyone else.
At first, only the dozen or so residents Old Man had randomly brought in from the city wrote down their answers, one after another. Afterward, Ren Ye specifically ordered Old Man