The bamboo slips pressed against my chest.
This is not a metaphor, there are really seven or eight bamboo slips, which were tied together with hemp rope and pressed firmly against the sternum.
I struggled to get up, but the back of my head hit something hard, and there was another squelching sound. When I opened my eyes, I saw that the room was full of bamboo slips. There were piles on the ground, leaning against the wall, and several bundles hanging above their heads, dangling like dried bacon.
"Zhao Wujie!"
A loud shout came from outside the door, shaking the ashes on the beams and falling down.
Before I could react, a middle-aged man wearing a black official robe had already opened the door and walked in. He grabbed a bamboo slip and slapped it on my shoulder.
There was a snap, which made me gasp in pain.
"It's been three days! You've copied this much in three days? Your Majesty asked for 120 chapters of the Qin Code, but you haven't even finished ten of them. Do you want to kill me?"
I rubbed my shoulders and looked at him, and a bunch of memories that didn't belong to me suddenly came into my mind.
Zhao Wuxie. A small official from Xianyang. He is nameless and has no surname. His ancestors have been farmers for eight generations. Because of his good calligraphy, he was recruited into the Yushi Mansion to copy bamboo slips.
To put it bluntly, it was the printer of the Qin Dynasty.
The person in front of me, whose surname is Li Mingsi, is the Prime Minister of the dynasty and is also my nominal immediate superior.
No, wait.
Li Si? Qin Dynasty? I?
I lowered my head and looked at my hands. The joints were distinct and there were thick calluses at the tiger's mouth. It looked like they were worn out by holding pens for many years. Look at the clothes on his body again. They are made of coarse linen and are dirty. There are two holes in the cuffs.
Did I travel through time?
