In front of the Vermilion Bird Gate.
The convoy stopped.
The thunderous “boom boom” that had shaken the tiles of Xianyang vanished.
The terrifying beast roars that had made countless people tremble also ceased.
In the vast square filled with tens of thousands of people—one moment it was roaring like a storm, the next it became so silent that even a falling needle could be heard.
Ying Ziye reined in his horse.
Behind him, the golden convoy became a frozen river of gold.
Beside him, the Western Qin iron cavalry stood like a silent black forest.
The gates of Xianyang Palace were wide open.
At the ninety-nine white jade steps stood a single figure.
Dressed in a black dragon robe of flowing water patterns.
It was Ying Zheng.
Behind Ying Zheng stood the entire imperial court.
Li Si stood at the very front, hands lowered, motionless.
Fusu stood to the side, hand resting on his sword hilt.
Further back, the nobles who had once plotted in secret all looked pale, their legs trembling.
Ying Ziye dismounted.
His movements were crisp and decisive, without the slightest excess.
He brought no Qinglong.
He did not even glance at Wang Jian or Meng Tian behind him.
He walked alone.
Toward the ninety-nine white jade steps.
Tap.
His boot stepped onto the first step.
The sound was not loud.
But it struck everyone’s heart like a heavy hammer.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Step by step, he ascended.
Neither fast nor slow.
His black dragon-patterned armor glimmered with a cold, eerie light under the sun.
The armor plates clinked softly and clearly with each movement.
That sound became the only sound in the world.
In the square, hundreds of thousands of citizens knelt, holding their breath.
None dared to look up.
They could only glimpse from the corners of their eyes a black silhouette climbing toward the heavens.
On the steps, the officials were watching as well.
They saw the eighteen-year-old youth walking toward a height they would spend their entire lives looking up to.
The same prince they had once called a “monster” in secret discussions.
Now—he had returned.
With a pressure capable of crushing all of Xianyang.
The Imperial Censor, Wang Wan, who had once loudly demanded Ying Ziye’s impeachment, was being supported at the back of the crowd.
A cloth bandage still wrapped his forehead—the wound left by Ying Zheng’s bamboo slip.
At this moment, he only felt the wound burning again, his entire body swaying.
Ninety-nine steps.
Ying Ziye finished them.
He stood before the palace gate, before the court officials.
Ten steps away from Ying Zheng.
Father and son—meeting again after ten years.
Ying Zheng looked at him.
At his son.
No longer the eight-year-old child.
His shoulders were broader, his frame taller, every line of his face carved with steel and slaughter.
The outline of a conqueror.
Ying Ziye also looked at Ying Zheng.
He restrained all his outward pressure.
The overwhelming aura that had suffocated the court vanished instantly.
Then—
Thud!
He dropped to one knee.
His armored knee struck the white jade ground with a heavy sound.
He lowered his head.
Performed a flawless military salute toward Ying Zheng.
“Father Emperor.”
His voice rang out—not loud, but it echoed clearly across the silent square.
“Your son, Ying Ziye.”
“Has returned under imperial decree!”
“To Have Fulfilled My Mission Without Shame!”
These sixteen short characters struck like iron hammers.
Each word crashed heavily onto the hearts of the scheming nobles.
“Returned under imperial decree!”
This was telling everyone present that all his actions were carried out by the Emperor’s will!
“Having fulfilled my mission without shame!”
This was telling everyone that everything he brought back was a meritorious achievement dedicated to the Emperor!
What “controlling private armies”?
What “establishing a new regime”?
Before this kneeling figure, all rumors had become a joke.
Li Si lowered his head even further, yet no one could see that his hands inside his sleeves were trembling slightly with emotion.
Fusu also released his grip from the hilt of his sword.
Ying Zheng stood there, looking at his son kneeling before him.
He did not immediately help him up.
His chest rose and fell violently.
Ten years.
A full ten years.
He had sent an eight-year-old child to a barbaric land thousands of miles away.
He gave him the greatest trust—and also the cruelest trial.
And now, his child had returned.
Bringing back a newly expanded frontier, and power enough to shake the entire world, kneeling before him.
Telling him:
Father Emperor, I did not disappoint you.
“Ha… ha ha…”
Ying Zheng suddenly laughed.
At first it was a low chuckle.
Then—
“HAHAHAHAHAHA!”
He threw his head back and laughed wildly, like thunder exploding above the Xianyang Palace, rolling across the entire city!
The people kneeling in the square heard it.
The nobles hiding in their homes heard it.
This was the purest, most unrestrained joy of an emperor!
Ying Zheng strode forward.
He grabbed Ying Ziye’s arm and pulled him up from the ground.
“Good!”
He struck Ying Ziye’s shoulder heavily—armor ringing with a dull “bang.”
“Good!”
He struck him again.
“Good!”
He wrapped an arm around his son’s shoulder, turned, and faced the ministers below the steps and the tens of thousands of citizens in the square.
“You are truly my Qin’s qilin son!”
His voice carried unmatched pride and dominance.
The entire court dropped to their knees in unison.
“Congratulations, Your Majesty! Congratulations, Your Majesty!”
A roaring wave filled the air.
Ying Zheng ignored them.
His hand remained on Ying Ziye’s shoulder as he looked him up and down, as though admiring his most perfect creation.
“You are eighteen now.”
Ying Zheng spoke, laughter fading, his tone becoming absolute and unquestionable.
“You are a man now.”
“As a man, you should establish a family line and continue the imperial bloodline of Great Qin!”
At these words, Li Si, still kneeling, stiffened slightly.
Even the descendants of Wang Jian and Meng Tian in the crowd held their breath.
Ying Ziye did not speak.
Ying Zheng removed his hand from his shoulder, clasped his hands behind his back, and returned to the posture of an emperor.
“I have already chosen for you.”
His voice echoed through everyone’s ears.
“Granddaughter of Grand General Wang Jian—Wang Ben.”
“Granddaughter of Grand General Meng Wu—Meng Yao.”
He paused, then glanced toward Li Si, who was kneeling in the front row.
“And the daughter of Chancellor Li Si—Li Yannran.”
“All three are outstanding women of this generation. In both talent and appearance, none can be faulted.”
Ying Zheng turned back and looked at Ying Ziye.
“Today.”
“You shall choose one of them as your consort!”
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