Song Jing said just one word: "Submit."
He said it lightly, as though it were nothing, but Liu Min could no longer sit still.
"Come now, think this through.
Once this memorial goes in, the Shen Faction will leap up in fury.
The Directorate of Transmission is a quiet, neglected office that merely forwards documents.
With you and me serving here, why must we poke this hornets' nest?"
"Besides..."
"Hmm?"
Song Jing glanced sideways at him, and Liu Min faltered.
"This memorial was composed by Wei Zi."
"And Wei Zi belongs to the Feng Faction!!!"
Song Jing said nothing. He picked up his teacup again and took a sip.
The tea had gone completely cold, leaving a faint bitterness on his tongue.
Then he raised his eyes, fixed them on Liu Min, and suddenly asked,
"Min, I was personally promoted by His Majesty's imperial decree.
But how many years have you sat here in the Directorate of Transmission?"
Liu Min froze, unsure why he had suddenly asked this, but answered truthfully:
"It has been more than eight years since I entered the Directorate of Transmission."
"Eight years." Song Jing nodded slightly.
"In those eight years, at least several thousand memorials must have passed through your hands.
Tax revenues from the provinces, military reports from the frontiers, accusations from remonstrance officials, counsel from the Hanlin Academy...
In your judgment, how many of them stirred even a ripple at Court?"
Liu Min opened his mouth, but could not answer.
"Not a single one."
Song Jing answered for him.
"The Grand Secretariat drafts its recommendations, the Chief Minister endorses them in vermilion; those to be retained in the palace are retained, those to be referred to the ministries for deliberation are referred.
Like stones cast into water, they make one splash, then sink.