The imperial palace, the duty room of the Directorate of Ceremonial.
Wang Cheng sat upright at his desk, a cup of strong tea resting to his right.
The tea had gone completely cold. He neither drank it nor had it replaced.
He had followed Emperor Jing of Zhou since the emperor's days as heir apparent, rising from steward eunuch of the Crown Prince's Residence to the Directorate of Ceremonial.
He stood at the pinnacle of the inner palace's eunuchs, the final gate through which all affairs passed before reaching the emperor.
Even the Grand Secretaries at court, upon seeing him,
had to address him politely as "Eunuch Wang."
Thus, in all the years Wang Cheng had presided over the Directorate of Ceremonial, what sort of memorial had he not seen?
Impeachments from remonstrance officials, urgent dispatches from the border, reports from the Six Ministries-
dozens passed through his hands each day. One glance at the heading told him how much weight they carried.
But this memorial was different.
It was not heavy, but scorching.
Not a stone, but a coal freshly plucked from the furnace.
Just then, a junior eunuch crept quietly over and topped up his tea with hot water,
then stole a glance at the memorial on the desk and ventured cautiously,
"Patriarch, all three Memorial Draftings say to submit it. Do you think..."
"Think what?" Wang Cheng lifted his eyelids and swept him with a cold glance.
The junior eunuch shuddered in fright, nearly losing his grip on the copper kettle.
"Memorial Drafting is the Grand Secretariat's business. Passing them on is the Directorate of Ceremonial's business.
"The Grand Secretariat sends its Memorial Drafting here, and the Directorate of Ceremonial submits it to the emperor. That is the rule."
"Since when was it your place to judge