The royal study fell silent again. Like the darkest hours before dawn—when the sun rose above the land, to when the warm morning light was obscured by the dark clouds and the patter of autumn rain came down—during this time, the sounds in the royal study were like the weather. Sometimes large, and sometimes small. Sometimes violent, and sometimes as quiet as a glacier. The atmosphere was the same. At times it was tense and harsh, and then silent and bloody. At times it was perplexed by the recall of past events, and sometimes it was chilled by the speaking of past matters.
The Qing Emperor and Chen Pingping were not common ruler and official to start with. The battle between the two of them was different to common battles. Until now, Chen Pingping had only spoken, perhaps only about things that represented his thoughts. He stabbed and poked toward the raised wheat, hoping to draw blood from the other's naked and tender heart to form fresh wounds.
