For an entire morning, everyone just sat there. The Viceroy didn't issue any orders, and they all seemed like lifeless clay statues.
A servant, who appeared to be the steward, entered the government office and proceeded to the secretariat, the administrative heart of the yamen. He walked up to his master and whispered something into his ear.
Immediately, a glimmer of hope and excitement flickered in the old man's turbid eyes.
He grabbed his official hat from his head with trembling hands and placed it on the desk.
The King's army! The King's army is returning!
The old man's heart surged with emotion.
But soon, his hand began to tremble again, and fear crept into him.
Because, although he had been coerced, he had indeed worn this official hat. Having navigated the treacherous currents of officialdom for many years, he knew: this hat, even if worn for a single day—no, merely by having worn it once—could never be removed for the rest of his life.
