Li Yan moved forward with the line, turning matters over in his mind. Marshal Hong's gaze from the viewing platform had been fixed this way. Perhaps there was more to this tent than merely registering recruits. Could there be some other consideration? But the tent did not seem very large—there was hardly room to stretch one's arms and legs. Could the army be testing literary talent as well?
With his head lowered as he walked and pondered, Li Yan suddenly felt the space before him brighten. The last person ahead of him had entered the tent, leaving a much wider gap in front of him. Yet by the time he raised his head, that person had already gone inside and the curtain had fallen, so he could not see what lay within. Li Yan thought no more of it and simply stood where he was, waiting quietly.
A few dozen breaths later, someone lifted the curtain and emerged—the very person who had just gone in. One hand was pulling down the sleeve over the other wrist, but his face was full of bewilderment, as though he could not make heads or tails of it. Urged on by the soldier beside the entrance, he walked toward the end of the line in the middle of the drill ground. One of the soldiers then pointed at Li Yan. "You, go in." Li Yan obeyed and walked toward the tent entrance.
Lifting the curtain and entering the tent, Li Yan found his vision darkening. He closed his eyes briefly and, after adjusting to the light, opened them again. There was only a low table inside. Behind it sat a man cross-legged on a small rug. He appeared to be around forty, wearing a scholar's cap and a loose black robe whose hem spread