The official document sent to the capital sank like a stone into the sea.
Yang Ge waited on the left without news, and on the right without a stir, and the latest editions of the gazette that arrived still depicted an idyllic scene of peace and harmony, of "flowers in the breeze and the moon in the snow," indicating a tranquil world.
He grew more anxious and irritable as he waited.
Every day, after the peak business hours at the inn, he would throw off his apron and run to the upper-right government office.
Every day, he returned disappointed.
"Shopkeeper, I'm stepping out..."
On the nineteenth of the first month, with most of the guests at the inn who had stopped for a meal gone, Yang Ge untied his apron and called out to the old shopkeeper sunbathing at the door with his teapot, ready to head to the upper-right government office.
But the old shopkeeper, who had never inquired about his personal matters, called out to him that day, "Young man."
