The thing Cui Yan regretted most before his death was not getting off work early that night.
After working overtime for seventy-two consecutive hours, I fell asleep on the keyboard, and then opened my eyes again - my leg was broken, and I was lying on the edge of a smelly ditch in the Tang Dynasty.
A crying little maid told him: You are the eldest son of Mr. Cui, the secretary supervisor. Last night, you were fighting for a woman with the son of the censor Zhongcheng in the red light district and fell from the second floor. In anger, the master broke your other leg with his own hands.
Cui Yan looked through the memory of the original owner and his vision went dark.
The fighting cock owed him 30 guan, he borrowed 20 guan for the wine money, and he also offended the chief official.
In modern times, this is a three-crime crime of causing trouble under the influence of alcohol, damaging property, and fighting, and administrative detention begins.
But now is the Tang Dynasty.
His father was a gangster in the court, and his political opponents were worried that they had nothing to do.
Cui Yan looked at his broken leg and took a deep breath.
Let's write a rectification report first.
Later, several strange things spread in Chang'an City——
That good-for-nothing from the Cui family suddenly became able to write official documents after breaking his leg.
Not only can he write, he can also write better than his father.
Not only is he better than his father, even the emperor said after seeing it: There is something about this man.
Later, Li Bai came to him for a drink with a wine flask, and he took out a form.
"Brother Bai, I did some statistics on your poetry output data and found a problem."
"What?"
"Your poetry writing rate when you are drunk is actually lower than when you are sober."
Li Bai:... Say it again?
