On the first day Lu Zijin reported to the Ministry of Industry, someone ransacked his house.
In the rain alley, a man in gray stopped him: "The shelf at the back of Xierku. When looking for something, look carefully. Don't trust anyone named Zhao."
He did so and pulled out an unnamed gray book.
There is no official seal on it, only a few lines of words: Zhou surname, three hundred. Zheng surname, two hundred.
Further on, it is written: "The old wood is replaced, and the stone is thinned. The river has eyes. There are people crossing it at night."
That's not an account.
That is a life still soaked in water.
Later, the floating corpse emerged from the Yangzhou River.
Half of the straw rope was wrapped around his feet, and his wrists were covered in bruises.
Zhao Tongpan sighed: "The people are suffering."
Lu Zijing stood behind the crowd and slowly put his hands into his sleeves.
In the capital, the sixth prince Xiao Jamel was leaning on a soft chair and spinning walnuts, smiling casually:
"The more you hide it, the more others will know you care."
He handed over a copper whistle.
"Next time someone comes out of the city in the middle of the night, blow the whistle. I'll know where you're going to die."
One is a general who knows how to count wood and look at pile foundations, but he wants to get into the bad debts of the Ministry of Works.
One is a powerless prince who pretends to be a slut and a bastard, but he can even tell whether the soles of your shoes are wet or not.
Neither one tells the truth.
But someone has to go to this half-river situation.
River works, hidden piles, floating corpses, old cases.
What he wanted to check was Nan Wu, but there might be more than just a section of embankment buried under Nan Wu.
Purpose: Dedicate yourself to fighting corruption and pursuing true love for the country