The jade ring in the hand of the crown prince of Dayuan shattered.
Because he had seen it clearly.
That endless “gray tail” stretching for dozens of miles, with no visible end, was not supply wagons at all.
It was people.
Living, breathing people.
“Ten thousand… twenty thousand… fifty thousand…”
The Dayuan prince’s lips trembled. Even his tongue felt tied as he tried to count.
He couldn’t.
It was impossible to count.
This was not a triumphant returning army—this was an entire steppe being emptied and hauled away.
More than two hundred thousand people.
Not a single one spoke.
They all kept their heads lowered, backs bent, thick hemp ropes as thick as wrists looped around their necks.
Dozens of people were strung together in a chain.
Like a herd of gray, foul-smelling livestock.
No—worse than livestock.
Their straw sandals had long been worn away. Bare feet stepped on gravel roads, leaving behind bloody footprints.
Yet none dared to stop.
Because on both sides, Qin cavalry held whips tipped with barbs.
“Crack!”
A sharp snap echoed.
A strong Xiongnu man who slowed down was whipped to the ground.
He didn’t even dare scream. He scrambled up on all fours and desperately forced himself forward again.
This numbness.
This despair.
It was like a thick layer of decaying gray moss, slowly swallowing the vitality of the Central Plains.
“Ugh…”
Behind the Dayuan prince, the envoy from Qiuci finally couldn’t hold it back.
He leaned over the railing and vomited out everything he had eaten that morning.
Not because it was disgusting.
Because he was terrified.
If these gray “moss-like” masses were piled in their capital, they would crush their city walls.
The Dayuan prince’s legs were shaking uncontrollably.
He gripped the railing so hard that his fingernails split, blood seeping out.
“So this is… Qin?”
His pitiful pride shattered into dust before those two hundred thousand walking corpses.
The cavalry he had once been proud of now looked like nothing in front of demons who could drag an entire people back like livestock.
“Rumble—”
The sound of rolling wheels came like muffled thunder.
Six pure black warhorses pulled a massive bronze chariot slowly forward.
It was the carriage of the First Emperor of Qin.
The curtains were tightly closed.
Yet wherever it passed, the people of Qin on both sides of the street dropped to their knees.
A reverence carved deep into their bones.
No one dared raise their heads.
Except for one person.
The Dayuan prince, stiffly looking upward—his gaze landed on the roof of the carriage.
There sat a child.
Wearing an ill-fitting set of small black armor, without a helmet.
In his hand… a sugarcane stick.
Crunch.
The child took a bite, cheeks puffed as he chewed with great enthusiasm.
Ying Ziye sat on the carriage roof, swinging his short legs.
While chewing, he looked toward the roadside.
Just then, he saw the group of terrified envoys on the tower of the post station.
Ying Ziye stopped chewing.
He spat the sugarcane residue into his palm.
Then—
Right in front of the Dayuan prince.
With a flick of his wrist.
“Pa!”
The lump of chewed sugarcane residue struck the plaque above the post station gate with perfect accuracy.
Having done this, he didn’t even bother looking at them again.
It was a gaze that treated them like trash.
No—worse than trash. Pure indifference.
The Dayuan prince felt as if his face had been slapped hard.
Burning hot.
But he didn’t dare move.
Not even a fart.
Because he saw the young man riding beside the carriage.
Fusu.
The Dayuan prince had once seen portraits of Fusu.
Gentle as jade, a refined scholar, always wearing an exquisite white jade pendant at his waist, smiling like a spring breeze.
But now.
That man rode a thin horse.
Black armor covered his body, filled with knife marks and arrow holes.
Where the jade pendant once hung… now there was a string of something else.
The Dayuan prince narrowed his eyes.
Teeth.
Wolf teeth.
Each one as long as a finger, pale and chilling, clattering “click-clack” with the horse’s movement.
Fusu wasn’t holding the reins.
He held a sword.
The scabbard was gone—no one knew where.
The blade was coated in thick, dark-purple dried blood.
As if it had just been pulled out of a blood pool.
The most terrifying thing was his face.
There was no expression.
No mercy, no gentleness—no trace of human warmth.
Those eyes were like two ancient dry wells that had been empty for a hundred years.
Just looking at them made one feel cold.
“Great Prince!!”
Suddenly—
Several people suddenly rushed out from the crowd.
They were dressed in Confucian robes, wearing tall hats.
A few disciples of the Confucian school who had been left in Xianyang because they were unqualified to follow the army.
The leader, an elderly Confucian scholar, threw himself in front of Fusu’s horse while crying and wailing.
“Great Prince!”
“How have you become like this?!”
“This killing… this killing is far too heavy!”
“The teachings of the sages say benevolence and love for all people—how can you face all under heaven covered in such blood and killing intent?!”
The old scholar knelt on the ground and slammed his head repeatedly.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
He tried to grab Fusu’s stirrup.
He assumed Fusu would, as before, hurriedly dismount, help him up, and apologize in a gentle voice.
Everyone was watching Fusu.
On the carriage roof, Ying Ziye took another bite of sugarcane, watching the show.
Fusu reined in his horse.
He lowered his head and looked at the old Confucian scholar covered in tears and mucus.
Those eyes, like dead wells, showed not the slightest ripple.
“Saints?”
Fusu’s voice was hoarse, as if filled with sand.
“Can saints stop the blades of the Xiongnu?”
The old scholar froze.
His mouth opened, but no words came out.
Fusu raised his sword.
The tip pointed directly at the old scholar’s nose.
The thick smell of blood surged straight into the man’s skull.
“Can saints bring back the people who died on the border?”
Fusu asked again.
The old scholar instinctively recoiled.
“This… this…”
“If they can’t,”
Fusu sheathed his sword.
He didn’t even look at the scholar again. Instead, he waved casually at the soldiers behind him.
The motion was light—like shooing away a fly.
“Too noisy.”
“Drag him away.”
“Make him a foreman over those 200,000 Xiongnu.”
“If even one inch of road is built short, bury him into the foundation.”
The soldiers did not hesitate.
Two burly men rushed forward and dragged the old scholar away like a dead dog.
“Great Prince! I am a friend of your teacher!”
“You cannot do this!”
“This is an insult to scholarship! An insult!”
His screams echoed sharply amid the orderly marching of the army.
Then, abruptly, they stopped.
Someone likely slapped him for being too loud.
On the post station tower, the Dayuan prince collapsed onto the ground.
His legs had completely gone weak.
It was over.
Even their own people were treated this harshly.
The Qin… are all madmen!
Madmen who crawled out of hell!
The army continued forward.
The killing aura made all of Xianyang feel icy cold.
The people along the streets, once filled with awe, now burned with fanatic excitement.
No cheers.
Only countless shining eyes fixed on the 200,000 captives.
These were their enemies.
Now they had become their slaves.
That silent satisfaction was more intense than any roaring celebration.
The carriage slowly entered the palace square of Xianyang.
Qin Shi Huang pushed open the carriage door and stepped down.
He looked at the towering palace and took a deep breath.
The air carried the scent of home.
“Finally… we’re back.”
He stretched his somewhat stiff body.
Ying Ziye jumped down from the carriage roof.
He brushed the dust off his backside and casually tossed away the sugarcane stick, now chewed down to nothing.
“Father.”
He looked at the blue-tiled, gray-walled palace complex.
Though magnificent,
in the eyes of this eight-year-old transmigrator, it was still far too crude.
Gray and dull—no trace of immortality.
“This place is too shabby.”
He shook his head in disgust.
Qin Shi Huang glared at him.
“This is my Xianyang Palace! The greatest palace under heaven!”
“It’s trash.”
Ying Ziye reached into his robe.
Inside lay a glowing blue orb.
The spiritual spring eye.
Even through the fabric, one could feel its overwhelming life force.
He patted his chest lightly.
“Since we’re back, things need to change.”
“The Great Qin will eventually conquer the stars.”
“Living in a place like this is embarrassing.”
He looked up and grinned at Qin Shi Huang, showing two rows of small white teeth.
“Father.”
“Tell someone to pry up the floor tiles in the square.”
“Today, we’re renovating.”
“I’m turning Xianyang into the Heavenly Palace in the sky.”
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