A scream that didn’t sound human echoed across the fields.
Zhao Gao collapsed to the ground, clawing wildly at his face and neck with both hands.
His complexion was rapidly turning the color of a pig liver, visible even to the naked eye.
Tears and mucus poured out uncontrollably.
He opened his mouth, but could not form a single coherent syllable—only guttural, beast-like “heh heh” sounds squeezed out from his throat.
His entire body rolled and twisted in agony on the ground.
There was not the slightest trace of the cold authority of the Chief Eunuch of the Palace.
He looked like a wild dog thrown into boiling water.
“Ah!”
Ying Ziye let out a startled cry, his small face full of “panic.”
He quickly ran over on his short legs toward Zhao Gao.
“Uncle Zhao Gao! Uncle Zhao Gao, what’s wrong with you?”
He stretched out his small hands, as if wanting to help him up, yet too afraid to touch him.
“I didn’t mean it! Don’t scare me like this, Uncle!”
His soft, childish voice carried a trembling sob.
Ying Zheng stood where he was, unmoving.
He simply watched Zhao Gao rolling on the ground, then glanced at his “at a loss” son.
A cavalry officer of the imperial guard finally reacted and rushed forward with a waterskin.
“Chief Zhao! Drink some water!”
Zhao Gao, as if grabbing onto a lifeline, snatched the waterskin.
He tilted his head back and desperately gulped the water inside.
Gulp! Gulp!
But—
“Aaaah—ugh ahhh!”
An even more miserable scream erupted from his throat.
The fire was not extinguished.
Instead, it was as if oil had been poured onto it, burning even more fiercely inside his throat and stomach.
He hurled the waterskin away and clutched his own neck tightly, his eyes bulging and covered in bloodshot veins.
The officials accompanying the procession all felt their scalps go numb.
Everyone subconsciously took a step back.
At that moment, Qinglong walked out from the rear of the formation.
In his hands was a ceramic bowl filled with a white liquid.
He knelt on one knee before Zhao Gao and raised the bowl.
“Your Highness, Chief Zhao’s condition requires cow’s milk.”
His voice was calm and emotionless.
Only then did Ying Ziye “suddenly realize.”
“Right, right! Milk! The immortal said so! This thing is afraid of milk!”
He quickly took the bowl and carefully brought it to Zhao Gao’s mouth.
“Uncle Zhao Gao, drink quickly!”
Zhao Gao had already lost the ability to think. Sensing the faint milky smell, he clung to it like a drowning man grasping driftwood and began gulping it down.
After finishing the bowl of milk—
The roaring in his throat gradually subsided.
He lay on the ground, gasping heavily like a fish out of water.
His face was swollen, red, and covered in tears and dirt—utterly miserable.
Ying Zheng’s gaze shifted away from Zhao Gao and landed on Ying Ziye.
“What is that?”
Ying Ziye wiped away the “tears he had cried from fear.”
“Father Emperor, this is called chili powder.”
He picked up a pinch of the red powder from the small cloth bag that had fallen to the ground.
“I got it from a foreign merchant.”
He held it out in front of Ying Zheng.
“That merchant said it can keep you warm in winter, and make food taste better.”
Ying Zheng added seriously, his small face full of sincerity.
“He also said this thing can be used to deal with bad people!”
“Oh?”
Ying Ziye’s tone revealed nothing.
“How do you use it?”
Ying Ziye turned back and waved at Qinglong.
“Uncle Qinglong, show Father Emperor the ‘Warm Little Skin Pouch’!”
Qinglong took out a small pouch from his chest, made of tanned animal hide and only the size of a palm.
At the front of the pouch was a thin copper tube.
“Father Emperor, please watch carefully!”
Ying Ziye pointed at a straw man standing on the ridge in the distance, used to scare away birds.
Qinglong understood.
He walked ten steps away from the straw target and stopped.
Then he raised his hand and gently squeezed toward the straw man’s head.
“Pfft—”
A faint reddish mist shot out precisely from the copper tube of the small leather pouch.
In an instant, the mist covered the straw man’s “face.”
No flames.
No sound.
But all the generals who witnessed this scene straightened their posture instantly.
Wang Jian stepped forward, his voice trembling with uncontrollable excitement.
“Your Majesty!”
He pointed at the straw man.
“If this is used in defending a city—sprayed down from the walls!”
“Or in street fighting, suddenly unleashed!”
“Even warriors of unmatched valor would lose their combat ability the moment this touches their eyes, nose, or mouth, and become at our mercy!”
The old general’s face flushed red.
“This… this is simply a divine tool for defending cities! A god-tier weapon for street combat!”
Meng Yi also stepped forward and bowed to Ying Ziye.
“Your Majesty, what the old general says is correct!”
“The Great Qin cavalry is unmatched, but siege warfare still brings some losses. With this item, our soldiers’ casualties could be reduced by thirty percent!”
Thirty percent!
Ying Ziye’s gaze fell upon the small leather pouch.
After a long silence, he spoke a single word:
“Good.”
One word determined the value of chili pepper.
And also determined Zhao Gao’s fate.
“Your… Your Majesty…”
Zhao Gao struggled to crawl up from the ground.
He wanted to speak, to defend himself, to make a final attempt.
But the moment he opened his mouth, only a hoarse, wind-leaking “heh… heh…” sound came out.
His throat had been completely ruined.
Ying Ziye looked at him with a face full of “concern.”
“Uncle Zhao Gao, are you feeling unwell?”
“Father Emperor, maybe you should let Uncle Zhao Gao go back and rest. Don’t overwork him.”
On the surface, it sounded like concern.
But it was like an invisible knife stabbing into Zhao Gao’s heart.
Ying Zheng glanced at Zhao Gao.
His gaze carried no warmth at all.
“You may withdraw.”
Zhao Gao’s body stiffened.
He wanted to kneel and beg for mercy, to declare his loyalty.
But under Ying Zheng’s emotionless eyes, he could not utter a single word.
Unwillingness.
Malice.
Fear.
All emotions finally turned into dead ashes.
Two imperial guards stepped forward, one on each side, and lifted him up.
They dragged him toward the imperial carriage.
At the moment he was being dragged away—
He turned his head back and stared fixedly at Ying Ziye.
That gaze looked as if it wanted to swallow the eight-year-old child alive.
The field fell silent again.
Ying Zheng watched Zhao Gao’s disappearing figure without speaking.
Then he suddenly lowered his head and looked at Ying Ziye, who was still holding onto his sleeve.
“Ziye.”
“Yes, Father Emperor?”
Ying Ziye raised his head, his large eyes pure and clear.
Ying Zheng stared into his eyes.
“Do you have any grievance with Zhao Gao?”
Ying Ziye blinked and shook his head firmly.
“No.”
“I think Uncle Zhao Gao is quite a good person.”
Ying Zheng looked at him—and said nothing further.
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