The vermilion ink has not yet dried.
I stared at the memorial in front of me and tapped my fingers on the armrest of the dragon chair three times. Outside the window, it was late at night in the 30th year of Wanli. I was the only one left in the Qianqing Palace - even the eunuchs who were serving me were asked to leave because it was really not a suitable place for others to see me.
