Zhangzi had left; Wei Zi remained alone.
Outside the window, fine rain whispered its lament; inside, the ink lay dark as an abyss.
Wei Nisheng closed the door and returned to his seat at the desk.
The blank memorial paper still lay on the desk, with the yellow silk envelope set to one side.
He took a sheet, spread it flat, and weighted its corners with a white jade paperweight.
The old ink in the inkstone had dried.
He added a few drops of water, picked up the ink stick, and slowly ground it.
The fragrance of ink gradually spread through the misty damp of the rain, leaving the room cool and fresh.
After a long while, Wei Nisheng set down the ink stick, lifted his brush, and poised it above the paper.
Yet the tip did not descend. His wrist hovered over the sheet, its blank expanse seemingly waiting.
It was not that he did not know what to write. He had thought it through all too thoroughly.
Every word and sentence, the source of every allusion, the intent of every phrase-he knew them all by heart.
This memorial ostensibly concerned an investigation of the temples; in truth, it requested authority to deploy troops.
But military authority was not the goal. He intended to cast a new net over Suzhou.
A net He Yanming could not contain, Xie Lin could not calculate his way through, and Li Jin could not escape.
To cast this net, he needed a justification both rightful and unassailable.
That justification lay in the temples.
When Emperor Taizu first founded the dynasty, he launched the Northern Expedition against Khitan. Years of bloody warfare left countless soldiers dead or wounded.
To steady the people's hearts, Emperor Taizong promoted Buddhism in the Southern Capital.
Because the