Jinghe Year Fifteen, Sixth Day of the First Month, after noon.
In the rear hall of the Suzhou Prefecture Office, the charcoal fire blazed.
The imperial messenger from the Capital had left half an hour earlier.
He Yanming occupied the seat of honor, cradling a cup of cold tea, his face ashen.
He had awaited today's Imperial Decree for three days, for six days, for the whole closing stretch of the year.
Ever since word of the court assembly reached Suzhou on the twenty-ninth day of the twelfth month, he had craned his neck in anticipation.
Waiting for the Court's judgment, for the emperor's vermilion endorsement, for the blade suspended overhead to fall.
At first, he had thought the blade would fall elsewhere.
Only when the Imperial Decree had been read to the end did understanding suddenly dawn...
The blade had already fallen upon his own neck.
A single Imperial Decree had settled his standing.
He retained his office, but more than half his authority had been stripped away.
His title remained, but his power was gone.
This was harsher by far than dismissing him outright.
Had he been dismissed, he could still have taken the Ten-Thousand-People Umbrella and departed with dignity.
He could have withdrawn unscathed amid the pleas of Suzhou's people for him to stay.
But now...
He still sat in the Suzhou Prefecture Office, yet the affairs of Suzhou Prefecture no longer had anything to do with him.
"My lord, your tea has gone cold."
Xie Lin sat in the guest's seat, cup in hand, his tone mild.
That day, he wore a slate-blue Zhiduō Robe beneath a silver-gray Crane Cloak, his hair secured with a wooden hairpin, his appearance neat and composed.
His expression was unchanged, without the slightest panic or anxiety, and a