Western Qin Governor’s Residence.
Deep in the night.
A single oil lamp was the only light in the entire estate.
A black shadow knelt on one knee, both hands raised high, holding a bamboo scroll sealed with red wax.
A secret messenger from the Black Ice Platform.
He had maintained this posture for an entire hour.
Ying Ziye sat in the main seat, idly turning a golden wine cup in his hand. Inside it was a deep red liquid.
Wang Jian and Meng Tian sat on either side, silent.
The atmosphere was as heavy as frozen iron.
“Smack.”
Ying Ziye set the cup down.
He stood, walked over, and took the bamboo scroll.
“Crack.”
He directly broke the wax seal and unfolded it.
The messenger lowered his head even further.
Wang Jian’s hand rested on his sword hilt.
Meng Tian held his breath.
Ten years.
The first official decree from Xianyang in ten years.
Ying Ziye read it rapidly.
When he finished—
He tightened his grip.
“Crack.”
The hard bamboo scroll shattered in his hand, fragments falling through his fingers.
He turned and returned to his seat.
“Father…”
“He finally remembered me.”
His voice was calm.
Wang Jian and Meng Tian exchanged a glance and slowly released their grips from their swords.
“Your Highness,” Wang Jian stood up. “Xianyang… may not be peaceful.”
Ying Ziye poured himself another cup of wine.
“Not peaceful?”
“I go back, and it becomes peaceful.”
……
The next day.
Before dawn.
Xihai City awoke.
But there was no sound.
No shouting from Li Dazhui.
No lessons from the academy.
No drills from the barracks.
Silence.
Wang Li, fully armored, rushed to the highest point of the Governor’s Residence.
He looked down—and froze.
Outside the residence.
Every street was completely blocked.
A dense sea of heads stretched all the way to the city gate.
Hundreds of thousands of soldiers and civilians of Xihai City—from white-haired elders to children who had just learned to walk.
All of them were kneeling.
Facing the Governor’s Residence.
Silent.
Motionless.
Like a black forest of silence.
They were staging a wordless protest of death.
“They’ve rebelled!”
Wang Li’s hand gripped his sword hilt.
“Prepare for battle!”
“Anyone who steps forward—kill without mercy!”
“Wait.”
Ying Ziye’s voice came from behind him.
Wang Li turned.
Ying Ziye, dressed in plain clothing, walked up beside him.
He looked down at the sea of kneeling people.
“They’re not rebelling,” Ying Ziye said.
“They’re afraid.”
He walked down the platform step by step, toward the main gate.
The gate opened.
He stood at the entrance.
The people in the front row began to tremble.
Ying Ziye said nothing.
He simply raised his hand and pointed at Wang Li, who had followed him.
“From today onward,” he said.
“Wang Li will be the Governor of Western Qin.”
“His words…”
“Are my words.”
The crowd remained kneeling. Many began to sob quietly.
Ying Ziye then pointed at Qinglong beside him.
“He will stay behind.”
“Half of the Embroidered Uniform Guard will remain.”
“They will watch. They will listen.”
“Anyone who forgets they are Qin…”
“They will help you remember.”
The crowd trembled violently.
Fear overwhelmed their reluctance to part.
The generals of the “New Qin Army” in the front row reacted first.
They turned toward Wang Li’s direction and slammed their heads to the ground.
“Greetings, Governor!”
“Greetings, Governor!”
The sound rose like a tidal wave, spreading rapidly from near to far.
The hearts of the people… were stabilized.
……
Three days later.
The harbor.
A massive fleet was fully prepared for departure.
Sails covered the sky like clouds.
Inside the Governor’s Residence, a finance official was reporting the return logistics list to Wang Jian and Meng Tian.
He held a long parchment scroll, his hands shaking uncontrollably.
“Reporting… reporting to the two generals.”
“The eastward fleet consists of 500 ships.”
The finance official swallowed hard, his voice trembling.
“Loaded with… one million jin of gold.”
Wang Jian’s beard twitched.
The official’s hands shook even more.
“Silver… ten million jin.”
Meng Tian’s throat bobbed.
“All kinds of jewels, agate, coral… enough to fill three thousand carts.”
“Blood-sweating horses from Persia, three thousand; heavy-armored warhorses from Gaul province, five thousand…”
“Beasts from Africa—lions, tigers, giant elephants, giraffes—130 in total, all caged and loaded.”
By this point, the official’s legs weakened and he nearly collapsed.
He forced himself to continue reading the final line.
“Additionally…”
“Accompanying personnel… 30,000.”
“Among them: 5,000 shipbuilding craftsmen, 3,000 master stonemasons for building great structures, 1,000 scholars skilled in calculations, and… and 2,000 of the most beautiful musicians and dancers…”
“Their registry designation given by His Highness is…”
The official’s voice was barely audible.
“‘Movable assets.’”
Thud.
The parchment slipped from his hands.
He dropped straight to his knees.
“G-general… the list… the list is here.”
Wang Jian did not look at it.
He turned his gaze toward the harbor outside the window.
After a long silence, he spoke hoarsely:
“He is not transporting wealth.”
Meng Tian followed:
“He is… transplanting the lifeblood of a nation.”
Wang Jian closed his eyes.
“The people in Xianyang wanted to see a disgraced prince exiled for ten years…”
“But what they are about to receive…”
“Is a beast capable of swallowing the entire Guanzhong Plain.”
……
The appointed time arrived.
At the harbor, tens of thousands of “New Qin Army” soldiers stood in formation to send them off.
The entire population of Xihai City once again knelt along both sides of the streets.
This time—it was a farewell of respect.
The doors of the Governor’s Residence slowly opened.
A man walked out.
Not the eight-year-old child.
Not the thirteen-year-old youth.
But a tall young man.
Eighteen years old.
He wore a custom-made black dragon-patterned armor, its lines smooth yet cold and sharp.
His long black hair was tied back simply with a leather cord.
His face was as if carved by the most precise blade—sharp, defined, without excess.
Ten years of Western wind and frost had not left fatigue on him.
Instead, they had forged a mountain-like presence.
He walked step by step down the stairs.
All surrounding soldiers lowered their heads, unwilling to meet his gaze.
As if even a glance would be disrespect.
A pure-blood red steed—majestic and extraordinary—was led before him.
It was his mount from ten years ago, now grown into a true king of horses.
Ying Ziye did not use a stirrup.
His left hand pressed the saddle, and with a light push of his right foot—
He rose like a great bird and mounted the horse effortlessly.
Smooth. Natural.
He reined in the horse and sat high upon its back, like a god looking down upon the mortal world.
He turned back.
One last look at the city he had personally transformed.
Then he turned his horse eastward.
He did not wave.
He said no farewell.
Only three words, cold and calm:
“Return to Xianyang.”
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