"H-Hey!" Lord Lin shouted, trying to sound authoritative but mostly just sounding like a panicked child. "You! Vanguard! I am the son of the Minister of Rites! You are sitting in my favorite spot!"
Chijen slowly paused his writing. He looked up, his cold, dead eyes locking onto the terrified teenager. He remembered his new father's specific instructions from that morning: Mathematically prove to them that their families are fundamentally useless.
"Ah. The Minister of Rites," Chijen murmured, resting his bearded chin on his hand. "Your father is Lin Yao, correct?"
"Y-Yes!" Lord Lin puffed out his chest.
Chijen's eyes narrowed into a dark, highly judgmental squint. "Your father's latest tax proposal to the Ministry of Revenue cited a three percent deficit in the southern grain yield. But his calculations failed to account for the leap month in the lunar calendar, which means his entire logistical framework was off by twenty-two tons of grain."
