William Thompson did not call him, so Edward Harris quietly waited to the side.

Time slipped by unnoticed, drop by drop, and the imperial study was unusually quiet; for a while, only the sound of pages turning could be heard.

Brian Clark seemed long accustomed to this, only occasionally changing the tea for others, making no other sound.

Edward Harris stood until his legs were numb and his head was spinning.

He truly didn’t understand the point of William Thompson summoning him to serve at court every day—

Was it to have him, dressed in red, sit before the desk to ward off evil?

He stood motionless for a while, then recalled the matter of Minister Geng, and gradually stared off into space, lost in thought... until his body swayed and he lost his balance, stumbling half a step to the side.

Tap—a soft sound.

Edward Harris snapped back to himself, just in time to see William Thompson look up from behind the desk, his calm gaze landing directly on him.

Edward Harris shifted his stiff legs and pleaded guilty, “This subject has behaved improperly before Your Majesty, I beg Your Majesty’s forgiveness.”

William Thompson replied lightly, “David Harris dares even to deceive the emperor; what does this little offense matter?”

Edward Harris: ?

He leaned forward slightly, genuine confusion in his eyes. “When did I ever...”

“I hear David Harris misses Us greatly, unable to sleep day or night?”

“...” Edward Harris glanced sidelong at Brian Clark, who was hurriedly ducking his head. You again, you big blabbermouth.

William Thompson said coldly, “Flattering words for your sovereign come so easily to your lips.”

Edward Harris quickly wetted his lips and gently argued, “Every word I spoke was true. I really didn’t sleep all night. If Your Majesty doesn’t believe me, you can ask the steward at my residence.”

William Thompson was almost amused to anger. “You can even blame your sleepless night on Us—” He broke off mid-sentence. After a subtle pause, he spoke again, “Come here and grind ink for Us.”

“?”

The troublesome topic was inexplicably brushed aside.

Edward Harris blinked. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

…

The inkstone on the imperial desk was a rare treasure, and the ink stick was the famed Tongyan Hui ink, worth thousands in gold.

Edward Harris’s technique at grinding ink was not exactly skillful.

But his fingers were beautiful—long and jade-like. With his sleeves lifted, holding the ink stick, he was a pleasing sight to behold.

Unfortunately, the one being served seemed not to appreciate it.

After calling him over, William Thompson buried himself in his work again, saying nothing related to court affairs, not even letting Edward Harris glimpse the memorials in his hand.

As Edward Harris ground the ink, he glanced over the memorials on the desk.

He was sneaking a look when suddenly he caught sight of the words “Ministry of Revenue,” “Geng Yue,” and “corruption and malfeasance.”

As expected, the impeachment was severe.

Judging by William Thompson’s comments, it seemed no verdict had been given yet. But if Minister Geng couldn’t come up with the silver or an explanation, public opinion would not be satisfied, and he’d end up in prison sooner or later...

Edward Harris found himself absorbed in reading.

William Thompson had been turning a blind eye—he’d put the man right under his nose just to see what he would do.

He hadn’t expected him to be so brazen.

Apparently, to get a better look, he even turned his head halfway around, nearly reaching out to grab the memorial!

“...” William Thompson gave a low warning, “Henry Harris.”

Edward Harris snapped out of his thoughts and looked up, meeting the emperor’s piercing gaze.

His heart skipped a beat, and he bowed low. “This subject has overstepped.”

A hush fell before the desk.

Edward Harris knelt beside the imperial desk, staring at the cold, hard corner and the thick carpet. His breath quickened as he wondered how to talk his way out of this, when suddenly—smack—a soft sound landed before him.

A memorial was tossed in front of him, black ink on white paper.

Edward Harris looked up. “Your Majesty?”

“What do you want to see?” William Thompson looked down at him, his tone calm. “I permit you to read it.”

Edward Harris grew wary:

If the emperor isn’t scolding, he must be setting a trap.

He pushed the memorial away. “This subject does not dare...”

“Read.”

A few steps away, Brian Clark was already drenched in cold sweat, not daring to utter a word.

Edward Harris, “...”

Fine, since you insist.

“This subject obeys.” He obediently pulled the memorial back, straightened up, and sat on the floor to read it carefully.

The contents were much as he’d glimpsed: an impeachment of Geng Yue for corruption and bribery, embezzlement for personal gain, and by law, his property should be confiscated and he should be exiled—

To serve as a warning, to uphold discipline.

The bold strokes of ink caught his eye, and Edward Harris pressed his lips together.

“Finished reading?” The emperor’s voice came from above.

Edward Harris looked up, holding the memorial, his mind still a bit unsettled. He met William Thompson’s gaze and gave a soft “Mm.”

The scene was rather improper: a young minister kneeling before the throne, black hair and crimson robe trailing on the floor, holding a memorial, not even uttering a word of respect.

But the improper Edward Harris himself was unaware.

And the emperor William Thompson didn’t seem to care, either.

His deep gaze met Edward Harris’s clear but slightly dazed eyes, and suddenly he spoke, “I hear David Harris is quite close with Minister Geng’s son, and speaks without reserve...”

Edward Harris came back to himself and met William Thompson’s gaze: So?

William Thompson looked at him with unhurried composure. “Why not have David Harris tell Us—how should We deal with Minister Geng?”

“…”

Author’s note: