It was autumn, the twelfth year of Emperor Gao of the Han Dynasty.
The cracks in the floor tiles of Changxin Palace are still embedded with wet mud brought by this summer's rain. Wu Daye knelt on the cold ground, the tip of his nose almost touching the green bricks. The nostrils were filled with a musty smell and an indescribable smell of spices. The mixture was very much like the scene of a supermarket food complaint she had handled in her previous life - chaotic, with a sense of hopeless decay.
"Keep your head up."
The female voice coming from above was not high-pitched, but it was as penetrating as ice. Wu Daye subconsciously tensed the back of her neck - this was a conditioned reflex she developed when she was the leader of the apology team. Whenever the complaining party raised her voice, she would first adjust her body posture and use her body language to convey the signal "I am listening carefully."
