"One currency," he whispered, his voice rasping from disuse. "One weight. One script."
A young clerk entered, his face pale in the dim light. "Master Li, the inspectors are at the gate. They are checking for 'useless books.' They say the Emperor only wants works of medicine, farming, and the history of our own house." The Cambridge History of China, Vol. 1: The Ch'...
The oil lamp flickered, casting long, dancing shadows across the bamboo slips spread over Master Li’s desk. Outside, the winds of the Wei River valley howled, but inside the small study, there was only the scratch of a brush and the heavy scent of pine-soot ink. "One currency," he whispered, his voice rasping from disuse
Li felt the weight of the Ch'in —the sheer, uncompromising force of a state that sought to start time itself at year zero. He looked at the poem. If he hid it, he risked the execution of his entire lineage. If he burned it, the spirit of that mountain died forever. "Master Li, the inspectors are at the gate