“Your Majesty, Xianyang is right ahead.”
Inside the imperial carriage, Zhao Gao knelt at the side, his voice sharp and thin, carrying a barely concealed excitement.
“That unfilial son has acted tyrannically—killing court officials, raising private troops. He has long incurred the wrath of heaven and the resentment of the people.”
“By now, Xianyang City must already be flowing with blood, awaiting Your Majesty’s divine judgment to restore order.”
Qin Shi Huang kept his eyes closed, leaning back against the cushions, saying nothing.
But the veins on his clenched fist bulged clearly.
Zhao Gao lowered his head, a venomous smile curling at the corner of his lips.
He could already imagine it—the scene of that eight-year-old brat being torn apart by chariots under the Emperor’s furious decree.
Suddenly.
A strange fragrance drifted in through the gap in the carriage curtain.
It was an unfamiliar scent—sweet, roasted, and overwhelmingly rich.
Zhao Gao sniffed.
“What is that smell?”
Qin Shi Huang also opened his eyes.
The fragrance was too intense… too abnormal.
Zhao Gao immediately explained, “It must be that the rebellious child knows his death is near and is now indulging with his faction in the city—roasting food and enjoying one last frenzy.”
The Emperor said nothing, only lifting the carriage curtain slightly.
The road curved around its final bend.
Xianyang City came into view.
Boom.
It was as if Qin Shi Huang had been struck in the head by a heavy hammer.
Zhao Gao’s smiling, sinister face also froze completely in that instant.
There was no slaughter.
No screams.
No banners of rebellion.
Outside the city gates, along the ten-li imperial road, people stood packed densely like a black tide stretching beyond sight.
They were the subjects of Great Qin.
They did not kneel—only stood quietly in place.
Each face carried a strange expression, a mixture of nervousness and pride.
Most bizarre of all—every single one of them was holding high a… green plant.
The sea of emerald leaves swayed in the morning breeze, forming a vast ocean of hope.
“…W-what is going on?” Zhao Gao’s voice cracked.
The color drained from his face at a visible speed.
“A curse! Your Majesty! This must be witchcraft!”
“He… he has bewitched the people!”
Qin Shi Huang looked past that green sea.
He saw another sea—one of steel.
Three thousand soldiers.
Their armor was worn and mismatched, not standard issue at all.
Yet every halberd, spear, and sword in their hands gleamed with a chilling cold light under the morning sun.
Their horses were unarmored, but strong and robust, stamping restlessly, exhaling hot white breath.
A silent, fierce, wolf-like aura surged toward them.
This army… carried more killing intent than the imperial guards behind him.
“Private soldiers! Your Majesty, look!”
Zhao Gao screamed as if clinging to his last lifeline.
“This is the privately raised army! They are rebelling! They are rebelling!”
Qin Shi Huang ignored him.
His gaze swept across the front of that army.
Wang Jian.
The old general stood there in the same worn armor as the soldiers, hand resting on his sword.
At the very front of the formation stood the Chancellor of Qin—Li Si.
He wore brand-new official robes, his posture respectful, bowing deeply toward the imperial carriage.
There was also Shangqing Meng Yi, along with dozens of civil and military officials who should have been in Xianyang overseeing governance.
They were all there.
And none of them looked like they had been coerced.
They… were all there to welcome the imperial presence.
Zhao Gao’s voice cut off abruptly.
The fear on his face turned into complete, utter ashen despair.
It was over.
Everything was over.
This was not the script he had imagined.
This was not the scene of Ying Ziye being denounced by thousands, waiting for death in despair.
This was—
This was the unprecedented, empire-scale… offering prepared by that eight-year-old child for the First Emperor!
“Rebel—!”
Inside the imperial carriage, the roar of Qin Shi Huang finally erupted.
He had already been ignited by Zhao Gao’s constant slander, his rage burning to the limit.
With a violent motion, he tore open the carriage curtain.
He wanted to see for himself what kind of madness his son had prepared to meet his “death.”
However.
The moment the curtain was pulled aside—when everything outside flooded into his vision without restraint—
The command “kill without mercy” froze in his throat.
What did he see?
He saw the people lining the imperial road.
What they held were not weapons—but living hope.
The overwhelming fragrance came from baskets beside countless civilians.
Inside those baskets were golden roasted corn and sweet potatoes releasing a rich, sugary aroma.
On every civilian’s face, there was no hunger, no pallor.
Only the simplest, most genuine satisfaction—belonging to those who are truly full.
He saw the so-called “rebellious army.”
Tattered clothing, yet disciplined formation, killing intent restrained and contained.
This was not a rebel army.
This was the gaze of Qin’s most elite tiger-wolf soldiers.
He saw officials bowing in respect.
He saw Li Si and Wang Jian—respectful, yet carrying a faint pride.
Everything.
Was the complete opposite of what Zhao Gao had described.
There was no rebellion here.
No famine.
No resentment.
Here was only a Qin Empire that was stronger, richer, and more prosperous than ever before.
Qin Shi Huang’s gaze was pulled forward by an unseen force.
Through the sea of people.
Past the officials and the army.
Finally landing at the very front.
A lone figure standing there.
His ninth son—Ying Ziye.
He wore a solemn black robe completely unsuited to his age.
His small body looked extremely insignificant beneath the vast imperial carriage and tens of thousands of gazes.
Yet he stood perfectly straight.
Alone, facing the peak of imperial power—facing his father, who held life and death in his hands.
Qin Shi Huang searched that childish face for fear, remorse, or pleading.
There was none.
The child simply looked up.
His clear eyes were pure, without a trace of impurity.
There was no rebellion.
No fear.
Only something else—
Something like a child showing his father a beloved toy after scoring well on a test.
Pure expectation.
Creak—
The enormous imperial carriage slowly came to a stop.
Outside Xianyang City,
The breathing of tens of thousands seemed to cease in that instant.
Between heaven and earth,
All gazes converged on those two figures—one large, one small.
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