Jinghe Year Fifteen, Fourth Month, Twenty-Third Day. The sky was clear, the breeze gentle.
The scent of ink suffused the Ministry of Personnel's Duty Room. Outside in the corridor, clerks hurried past with bated breath, not daring to make a sound.
Wei Nisheng sat at his desk reviewing documents, the piled files nearly exhausted.
Since he had joined the Selection Bureau, seventy or eighty percent of its six-month backlog had been cleared, and the speed at which documents circulated had abruptly increased by thirty percent.
Without accumulating half steps, one could never travel a thousand miles.
Without gathering little streams, one could never form rivers and seas.
The Ministry of Personnel's officials exchanged silent glances, their hearts gradually yielding to admiration.
Before long, Wei Nisheng set down the Vermilion Brush, rubbed his slightly aching wrist, and glanced up at the water clock.
Only then did he realize that Horse Hour was approaching.
He rose to put things away, preparing to find himself a meal.
Meanwhile, out in the corridor, Qiu Heng walked along carrying a celadon food box, rehearsing his words under his breath:
"Lord Wei, my wife prepared an extra food box today.
If you do not mind humble fare, might we share lunch and take a brief rest?
There are no rare delicacies, only the flavors of home."
Having finished reciting, Qiu Heng gathered himself and smiled. "Yes, that is exactly how I should put it!
As Du of Former Tang wrote in his poetry: 'The market lies far away, so my platter holds no varied fare; my household is poor, so my wine jug holds only an old brew.'
This meal of mine has neither a restaurant's refinement nor a banquet's pomp.
Judging by all my years of experience navigating the court...
This home cooking, with