Chapter 11: with translation of chapter title

When Wang Jin walked out of the armory director's public quarters, the entire office seemed to fall silent for a moment.

Everyone's gaze fell upon him like iron filings drawn to a magnet, all at once.

There was too much mixed in those looks.

There was surprise, there was incomprehension, and more than anything, a scrutiny of one who is different.

The goatee-bearded colleague Zhao De hurried over, his gloating expression utterly undisguised; he lowered his voice, but it was just loud enough for everyone nearby to hear clearly.

"Officer Wang, you… you actually turned that thing in?"

Wang Jin calmly glanced at him.

"To eat the ruler's stipend is to serve the ruler."

Zhao De choked a little on those righteous words, then put on a "you're too naive" expression and exaggeratedly shook his head.

"Oh my, Officer Wang, are you trying to rise in one leap?"

He circled Wang Jin, clucking his tongue, as if appraising a rare antique.

"Do you know that Minister of War Lord Zong and the Prince of Liaoyang are not allies? By submitting this memorial, you're clearly trying to smear the prince's face, saying his people are unruly and meddle in state affairs."

Several nearby colleagues also gathered around, echoing his words.

"What Brother Zhao says is true, Officer Wang—you've handled this too rashly."

"Yeah, in our armory office, wouldn't it be better to just stay steady and keep watch? Why stir up this muddy water?"

"Young man, having spirit is good, but don't become someone else's blade."

These words, whether mocking or admonishing, surged toward Wang Jin like a tide.

Wang Jin (Wang Xiu)'s heart, however, was crystal clear.

That was exactly the effect he wanted.

He wanted everyone to think that he, Wang Jin, was a hotheaded fool who dared to charge into the court on pure passion alone.

He wanted everyone to think that he was causing trouble for his patron, Li Duozuo.

His facial expression showed no change; he merely gave the crowd a faint clasped-hand salute.

"Thank you all for your concern."

Having said that, he ignored everyone, walked straight back to his desk, picked up a dusty, neglected volume, and sat down.

He sat ramrod straight, his spine like a pine.

He opened the bamboo slips, his eyes falling on the ancient characters, but he didn't absorb a single word.

All his mind and spirit were devoted to sensing the surrounding atmosphere.

The whispers grew softer, but the glances aimed at him became more frequent.

Mockery gradually turned into aloofness.

As if he carried something ominous.

Wang Xiu knew that from the moment he submitted that memorial, he had drawn an invisible chasm between himself and these colleagues.

They sought a peaceful daily life, while he sought to carve out a future amidst history's tumultuous waves.

Time trickled by in the almost-still air.

The sun shifted from the eastern window to the western eaves.

The drowsy atmosphere in the office made even falling dust seem to drift slowly.

Wang Xiu's heart, however, grew tighter and tighter as time passed.

He was waiting.

Waiting for a signal.

Just as he was about to lose patience, thinking today's wait would come to nothing, a sudden rush of footsteps sounded at the office entrance.

A young man in the attire of a minor Ministry of War clerk burst in, his face panicked, his forehead beaded with fine sweat.

He didn't even bother to greet the guard at the door, sprinting straight for the armory director's quarters.

"Bang bang bang!"

He pounded on the door.

"Sir! Urgent summons from the Ministry of War! The Minister of War requests your presence!"

The office's silence was completely shattered by that shout.

Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared in shock toward that direction.

Wang Jin (Wang Xiu) held the bamboo slip, his knuckles whitening slightly.

He had come.

He controlled Wang Jin, slowly raising his head, his gaze seemingly casually sweeping over the young clerk's attire.

He is the Minister of War, a follower of Zong Chuke.

Wu Sansi's chief aide.

The fish took the bait he had cast, precisely.

The armory director's door creaked open.

That usually listless old official now had a deathly pale face, his lips trembling slightly.

He looked at the young clerk outside, then instinctively turned his head, his gaze sweeping through the crowd and locking firmly onto Wang Jin.

That gaze was extremely complex.

There was fear, anger, resentment, and even a trace of awe he himself had not noticed.

"Understood, I… I'll go right away."

The armory director hastily adjusted his hat and almost trotted out of the armory office, following the young clerk.

After he left, the entire office fell into a deathly silence.

Zhao De and the others who had been surrounding Wang Jin, criticizing him, were now like ducks with their necks choked, each huddled in their own seats, not even daring to breathe.

Their gazes toward Wang Jin had completely changed.

No longer mockery and incomprehension.

But pure fear.

It was as if Wang Jin were not a colleague, but a madman who had just set off explosives and yet remained unharmed.

They finally realized that what this young man had submitted was not an ordinary memorial.

but a memorial that could prompt the Minister of War to personally issue an urgent summons... a death‑summoning talisman.

Wang Jin (Wang Xiu) slowly set down the bamboo slips in his hand.

He rose to his feet and brushed off the nonexistent dust on his official robe.

He knew what would happen when the Arsenal Commandant went there.

Zong Chu Ke would surely take that memorial and interrogate him severely.

And for self‑preservation, this old bureaucrat's only choice was to push everything onto Wang Jin, clearing himself completely.

This was exactly what Wang Xiu wanted.

He wanted to be completely isolated.

To become an independent, dangerous target who had no background yet had written a shocking memorial.

He stepped forward and walked toward the outside of the office.

Wherever he passed, the crowd parted like Moses parting the sea, automatically stepping aside to both sides.

No one dared to meet his gaze.

When Wang Jin stepped out of the Arsenal Bureau's gate and the evening cool wind brushed his face, the tension that had gripped his body all day finally eased a little.

He lifted his gaze to the horizon.

The setting sun was deep, stretching his shadow long and long across the blue‑stone tiles.

The first step of the storm had been perfectly achieved.

What he awaited next was the thunderous strike from the Wu San Si faction.

And the sole path of survival he had prepared for himself.