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Chapter 8: A Meaningless Farce
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Chapter 10: A Cup of Tea
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... es for less than two hours when a yamen runner knocked on his door.
“Milord, someone is beating the drum.”
The county magistrate rolled over, but otherwise didn’t move.
“Milord, someone is beating the drum.”
The county magistrate crawled out of his bed, extremely reluctant. He put on his official uniform and boots, dragged his feet to the hall with his eyes still closed, and hit the desk with the gavel.
“Who is beating the drum?”
Two men, both dres ...
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