Fine snow drifted outside the window; inside, the charcoal fire burned bright.
Wei Nisheng did not hurry him. His hands rested on his knees, his back straight, his gaze fixed on Feng Yan's face as he waited quietly.
He knew Feng Yan was weighing his words.
This question was not as simple as "Should I submit the memorial?"
Behind that memorial stood Shen Duan and the Ministry of Revenue.
The forces tangled like roots throughout the court were bound up with Great Zhou's most pressing national policy.
With even one word poorly chosen, what he submitted would not be a memorial, but a knife.
A knife that cut not others, but himself.
"Zi'an, you asked just now whether this memorial should be submitted." Feng Yan spoke in a serious tone.
"I will tell you. It should. But not now."
"Your student will heed your instruction."
Seeing Wei Nisheng answer so decisively, Feng Yan frowned.
"Aren't you curious why not now?"
"Because of the Ministry of Revenue." Wei Nisheng thought for a moment, then added, "And because of Shen Duan."
Seeing that Wei Nisheng understood this much, Feng Yan nodded.
"It seems your three years at the Hanlin Academy were not spent toiling in vain."
"You're right. The Ministry of Revenue is no longer what it was three years ago.
"In the tenth year of Jinghe, the year you killed Jiang Yu, I could still wrestle with Shen Duan in court.
"Once Li Yuanzhen lost his position as Shaanxi Governor, half my foundations in Shaanxi were cut away.
"Over these past few years, Shen Duan has used the fall of the Gansu Three Prefectures as his pretext
"to wrench the Ministry of Revenue from my hands, step by step.
"How many men has he planted there?
"Vice ministers, bureau directors, assistant