Morning, the twenty-first day of the fourth month, Jinghe Year Fifteen.
In the Ministry of War's duty room, Song Yue sat alone over the official documents.
The dispatch was ready, its ink dry and its seals affixed. Only the envelope remained to be sealed.
Song Yue studied it for a moment, then melted sealing wax over the flap and pressed his seal into it. His hand steady and his mind focused, he completed the task in one smooth motion.
It was just like commanding troops.
Before a decision, weigh everything again and again. After a decision, all that remained was execution.
After decades of rising and falling in the sea of officialdom, Song Yue had long since learned not to look back once a decision was made, nor doubt himself once a letter was sealed.
Once this dispatch was sealed, it would be like an arrow loosed from the bowstring. There would be no turning back.
Rely on leverage, not trust, Song Yue sighed inwardly.
He did not trust Wei Nisheng's promises. He trusted only the game he had laid out.
He had long known Zhou Quan's courage. Left languishing as a Garrison Vice Commander in Datong, the man was like a blade in its sheath, rusting rather than sharpening.
Better to borrow Wei Zi's hand to hone that blade. In any case...
Wei Zi wanted to use Zhou Quan as a wedge. If he remained merely a nail, he could be pulled out in a single day.
If he became a beam, however, the Ministry of War would gain another pillar.
With that sigh, Song Yue handed the sealed dispatch to a Ministry of War clerk and spoke evenly.
"Send it to the Selection Bureau. Use the Ministry of War's official dispatch channel."
"Yes." The clerk accepted it, bowed,