Crossing the Tide: My Reborn Life as a Temporary Hire in Ancient Times

The Great Jing had stood for 163 years, and the throne had passed down to the seventh ruler, Emperor Jingxuan. The imperial court had a system of officialdom unlike any other in the world, divided into “rank, title, and assignment.” Rank determined one's grade, title one's designation, and the assignment was the work one actually did. The three were independent of one another. A person could hold all three designations, or have an official rank without an assignment, making them an idle sinecure collecting a salary for doing nothing.

One of the most delicate kinds of assignment was called a “temporary secondment.” When an office was short-staffed, it could borrow someone from another office for a time. The duration was indefinite, and there was no agreement on when the person would leave. Their performance was assessed by their home office, which often gave them a mediocre or poor rating because they were absent. The borrowing office could assign them work, but had no power to promote them. No matter how well they performed, they could never enter that office's promotion track. Those on temporary secondment had a special title: acting officials. “Acting” meant provisional. The title itself made it clear: you weren't really one of them.

He was reborn at the very moment he was asked to sign the document. This time, he did not refuse, but he set conditions, written in black and white and sealed with a stamp. He knew the tide would recede, so he drew a line before it did. But he also knew that drawing a line was easy and holding it was hard. Looking out for oneself alone was no victory. The true way to break the deadlock was not to win the game, but to change the board.