Once Xiong Hui had left, silence returned to the Postal Station.
Wei Zi stood at the window, watching him disappear. Only then did he ease the shutters closed, lean against the window, and exhale a stale breath.
"That was close."
During their clash, he had appeared as calm as drifting clouds in a light breeze. In truth, his inner robe was soaked through.
A fighting man cared nothing for reason, only strength.
Speak of righteousness, and he could not understand.
Speak of gain and loss, and he would not believe.
Yet it was precisely such men who commanded great armies and held sway over entire regions.
Offend a civil official, and one could argue, negotiate, strike a bargain.
Offend a fighting man...
All it took was a wicked impulse, and out came his sword!
"Has he gone?"
"He has."
"This Commander Xiong certainly knows how to throw his weight around."
Zhang Zai sat down opposite Wei Nisheng and snorted.
"He slammed the desk the moment he entered and started shouting abuse the moment he opened his mouth.
I thought, since he'd fought the Khitans with his life on the line on the Northern Frontier,
he ought to know where to draw the line. But who would have thought..."
"It isn't that he doesn't know where to draw the line."
Wei Nisheng lifted his teacup, found the tea had gone completely cold, and set it down again.
"He simply understands too well, yet doesn't understand at all."
"Hmm?!"
"He understands all too well that civil officials never use knives to kill.
But he doesn't understand how it works, or why."
Wei Nisheng leaned back in his chair, his gaze resting on the ceiling beams, his voice low and measured.
"Military commanders in the border garrisons lick blood from their