A dangerous bridge, a written pledge of military orders: everyone said not to touch it, but he stopped the scissors meant for the ribbon-cutting ceremony.
Yue Zheng, a doctor of agronomy and a selected government trainee, started from the paths between the fields of Fir Bay. In his arms he carried his grandfather's “clear accounts,” and with the words “A bridge is for people to cross, not for people to cut ribbons on,” he forcibly rewrote the procedures for the dangerous bridge and judged the imposing “System” to be nothing more than blank paper. Starting with the villagers' joint signatures, he climbed the steps upward, one by one: stopping the bridge, sealing the site, restoring flood defenses, the bridge collapsing, dismantling authority, removing the window…
His own lover once wrote in the Mochuan News: If I truly admit that it was wrong, then I have no mountain achievement of my own. What he wanted was not a world belonging to Yue Zheng alone.
The great way is simple. His staircase was a broad road reaching the heavens, leading toward the central government.
I will manage the accounts on this side.
One ledger and one staircase sent him step by step to the center. Ninety levels. One hundred thousand words. Sixty volumes.
Every mile has footprints, and every level has its numbers.
