DLERB -Chapter 51 Father Emperor, Can Sorcery Make the People Eat Their Fill?

The door of the imperial carriage opened.

A black cloud-patterned boot, embroidered with a black water dragon motif, stepped out.

It landed firmly on the ground.

With just this single motion, the breathing of tens of thousands of people lining both sides of the imperial road seemed to stop.

Qin Shi Huang’s towering figure descended from the carriage.

He stood there in silence.

That invisible pressure, like a tangible mountain, weighed down on everyone’s heads.

Li Si and Wang Jian lowered their heads even further.

The three thousand Shen Ce Army soldiers tightened their grip on their weapons; sweat seeped from their palms.

Zhao Gao, following behind Qin Shi Huang, could not hide the smug look on his face.

He waited.

Waited for the Emperor’s command—to cleanse this absurd farce with blood.

A small black dot moved from the front of the civil officials and army.

Ying Ziye took his short little steps forward.

Then he started running.

Not fleeing—but rushing straight toward the source of that overwhelming pressure, toward the supreme ruler of the world.

Everyone was stunned.

A cruel smile curled at the corner of Zhao Gao’s mouth.

“He’s seeking death!”

However…

Ying Ziye was not struck down by the imperial guards along the way.

He rushed all the way to the dragon carriage and stopped only three steps away from Qin Shi Huang.

Then he hugged Qin Shi Huang’s leg.

His small body only reached the Emperor’s knees.

He looked up, his exquisitely delicate little face filled with pure, radiant joy.

“Father Emperor!”

His milk-soft voice rang out clearly, like jade pendants striking each other.

“You’re finally back! Your son missed you so much!”

The entire world fell into absolute silence.

Li Si froze.

Wang Jian’s hand slipped off his sword hilt.

Even Qin Shi Huang’s face, as cold and unchanging as eternal ice, showed a faint crack.

“Your Majesty!!”

A shrill scream shattered the eerie calm.

Zhao Gao dropped to his knees with a thud, pressing himself flat against the ground beside the Emperor’s feet.

He slammed his forehead against the ground repeatedly.

“Your Majesty! Do not be deceived by him!”

“This child is deeply scheming and extraordinarily cunning! Everything he has done is an act for you to see!”

Qin Shi Huang did not look at him.

He only looked at the small child clutching his leg.

Ying Ziye also heard Zhao Gao’s voice.

He let go, stepped back a pace, lowered his head, and stared at his own toes. His small shoulders trembled as his voice turned filled with grievance.

“Father Emperor…”

“Why does Zhao Gao uncle hate me so much?”

“Did… did I do something wrong?”

Zhao Gao’s body froze.

Qin Shi Huang finally moved his gaze away from Ying Ziye.

He glanced at Zhao Gao lying on the ground, then slowly swept his eyes across the dense crowd lining both sides of the road.

Finally, his gaze landed on the green plants being held high in their hands.

That rich fragrance was drifting from the crowd.

“What are these,”

Qin Shi Huang finally spoke, his voice deep and unreadable.

“things?”

Ying Ziye’s grievance vanished instantly.

As if presenting a treasure, he ran back and grabbed Qin Shi Huang’s large hand.

“Father Emperor! This is the surprise your son prepared for you!”

He pulled Qin Shi Huang along, his short legs moving quickly, directly heading toward the crowd.

The imperial guards tried to stop them, but Qin Shi Huang raised his hand slightly, signaling them to stand down.

Before the people of the realm, Ying Ziye came to a stop.

Ying Ziye let go of his hand and ran to an old farmer holding a basket.

Standing on his tiptoes, he reached into the basket and took out something—baked until its skin was golden brown, still steaming hot.

He ran back to Ying Ziye and held it up high.

“Father Emperor! Try this!”

“This is called a sweet potato. It’s really sweet!”

With both hands, he forcefully broke it open.

Crack.

The golden interior was exposed to the air, releasing an even richer, intoxicating sweetness that made people’s mouths water uncontrollably.

Ying Ziye looked at the “sweet potato” but did not take it.

Seeing this, Ying Ziye didn’t mind.

He turned around and pointed at the vast green fields, announcing in an extremely proud tone—like a child showing off his favorite toy.

“Father Emperor! The immortal grandfather told me that this sweet potato, and also that potato, can yield three thousand jin per mu!”

“Th—three thousand jin?!”

Among the crowd, an official who had returned with the imperial procession cried out in shock.

Li Si stepped forward and bowed deeply.

“Your Majesty, what the young prince said is absolutely true.”

“Spreading false doctrines!!”

Zhao Gao suddenly sprang up from the ground like a madman!

He pointed at Ying Ziye, then at the surrounding people, his voice hoarse and twisted.

“Your Majesty! This is sorcery! This child must have used some kind of witchcraft to deceive the masses!”

“Three thousand jin per mu—never in all history has such a thing been heard of! This must be an evil omen! A sign of a collapsing nation!”

His screaming echoed across the imperial road.

The common people’s faces turned to anger.

Yet Ying Ziye simply turned to look at the frantic Zhao Gao.

He tilted his little head, his big eyes filled with innocent confusion.

Then he asked clearly:

“Uncle Zhao Gao.”

“Can sorcery make everyone eat their fill?”

Just one sentence.

The entire area outside Xianyang fell into a brief, deathly silence.

The next moment.

“BOOM—!”

Someone shouted first.

“The little prince is right!”

Immediately after, a thunderous wave of voices surged into the sky like a tidal wave.

“We don’t care what sorcery it is! We just want to be full!”

“Whoever tries to take our potatoes and sweet potatoes, we’ll fight them to the death!”

“Protect the little prince!!”

“Protect the sacred crops!!”

The sound merged into a roaring torrent, shaking even the imperial carriage.

It was not fanatical delusion.

It was the most primal resolve of survival—people willing to stake everything for food, for survival itself.

Ying Ziye stood there.

He felt that overwhelming tide of public will almost swallowing everything.

He looked at the simplest, most genuine expressions on the faces of the people.

Then slowly lowered his head to look at the small figure clutching his sleeve.

Zhao Gao’s screaming was still continuing.

But no one was listening anymore.

In Ying Ziye’s eyes, the raging fury had unknowingly extinguished.

In its place was an unprecedented, deeply complex light.

He stared into Ying Ziye’s eyes.

For a long time.

So long that it felt like time itself had stopped.

Finally, Ying Ziye spoke slowly.

His voice was not loud—but it suppressed all noise.

“Lead me.”

“To see your ‘divine crops.’”

Thud.

Zhao Gao’s legs gave way, and he collapsed onto the ground.

Not a trace of color remained on his face.