Tián Wénjìng slowly straightened his hunched back. Those knees, bent for years by the crushing weight of official documents, knelt now as straight as iron.
The hem of his dark purple official robes was stained with mud, and the frayed edges of his cuffs fluttered gently in the wind, yet they somehow radiated an unyielding, backbone-of-steel dignity.
"I beg Your Majesty," he heavily kowtowed, his graying temples brushing the blue bricks, his forehead striking the ground with a dull thud, "just let this humble subject go!"
Chapter 208