The first few days were uneventful. He was responsible for grinding ink, and I was immersed in reviewing memorials. He served fresh tea, and I continued to write hard. However, when I saw the excerpt about the floods in the south of the Yangtze River, the anger in my chest almost burned through the back of the paper. The dam burst, leaving tens of thousands of refugees homeless, but the local officials' reports were still singing praises and full of blame.
