Baozhu stood in the corridor outside the Hall of Returning to Impermanence, crying until her face was drenched in tears.
Personnel, Revenue, Rites, War, Justice, and Works-the Ministry of Works ranked last among the six ministries and scarcely had any opportunity to make its voice heard at court. Officials with family connections did everything they could to leave, and those who remained were quiet, dutiful fellows. At banquets, never mind sparkling conversation-even their dancing was stiff and clumsy.
Yet this lowest of the six ministries was also the one closest to the people's livelihoods. An official like Tanlin, who had spent decades doing practical work on the front lines, could pluck a few figures from the records to support his arguments, and Baozhu, who lived up in the clouds, was no match for him. Within a few exchanges, his rebuttals had brought tears spilling from her eyes. Unwilling to show weakness before her opponent, she could only get up and run outside to cry.
Wei Xun took out a handkerchief to coax her. "You're supposed to trade an investigation for his grain, not golden beads of tears. Keep crying and you'll be taking a terrible loss."
"I just can't help it..." Baozhu sobbed.
Years of debating scripture and preaching made many eminent monks excellent speakers. But what made Tanlin so infuriating was not his flawless eloquence-it was the substance behind his words. He had years of practical experience in government famine and disaster relief; he even knew exactly how many times Luoyang's Tianjin Bridge had been rebuilt after floods. Besides, when it came to the number of people suffering from famine, even Wei Xun, who had spent his life among society's lowest ranks, had offered no objection.
Compared with a seasoned expert like Tanlin, her ideas were not merely naive