Outside the Xianyang palace gates.
The cold stone pavement cut deep with a chilling bite.
Kong Fu was thrown to the ground like trash by two guards.
His scholar’s robes were covered in dust and wrinkles.
The former leader of Confucian scholars now looked as miserable as a dog.
Around him, commoners passing by pointed and whispered.
After a long while,
Kong Fu’s fingers moved.
He slowly propped himself up with his elbows.
His old face was smeared with blood and dust.
He raised his head, staring blankly at the imposing imperial palace.
Then slowly turned toward the direction of the Xianyang Academy.
There—once the center of Great Qin’s intellectual lineage.
In his hollow eyes, something reignited.
Hatred.
Madness.
“Cruel Qin…”
“Tyrant…”
His lips trembled as he spoke, his voice hoarse.
Several academy disciples rushed over crying.
“Teacher!”
“Teacher, are you alright?!”
They hurriedly helped him up.
Kong Fu looked at them, and the faint madness in his eyes turned into two lines of murky tears.
“Help me… back to the academy.”
……
Xianyang Academy.
Inside the lecture hall, the floor was packed with kneeling figures.
Three thousand students, all in white robes.
The atmosphere was oppressive, like a funeral.
Kong Fu, supported by others, stood on the high platform.
He pointed at his torn official robe.
“Do you see this!”
His voice carried grief like bleeding wounds.
“This is the fate of Confucian scholars in Great Qin!”
“That eight-year-old demon child tore up the Crown Prince’s blood letter and forced the Clan Court Minister to his death in court!”
“He created the demonic object ‘paper’ and the heretical technique ‘printing’!”
“He is trying to sever the roots of Confucianism and destroy the teachings of the sages!”
The hall fell into dead silence.
Then—a thunderous roar erupted.
“Too much bullying!”
“We swear to stand against that demon child!”
Kong Fu raised both hands to calm them.
The cries and anger gradually subsided.
“This old man has long prepared to sacrifice his life.”
“But the way of the sages cannot be destroyed! The teachings of the world cannot perish!”
He raised his voice.
“Tomorrow, follow me… and offer death remonstration!”
“Death remonstration!”
“Death remonstration!”
The voices of three thousand students surged like a tidal wave, shaking the entire academy.
The next day, dawn.
The streets of Xianyang were drowned in white.
Three thousand students, dressed in mourning white, wearing high caps.
Each carried bamboo slips, faces solemn.
Following the staggering Kong Fu behind them, they formed a white river surging toward the imperial palace.
“Abolish the tyrant prince!”
“Ban the hundred schools, honor Confucianism alone!”
“No return to ancient rites, Great Qin will fall!”
Their chants were uniform and deafening.
Citizens along the streets hurriedly stepped aside.
Their faces filled with fear and confusion.
“Something big is happening!”
“This looks like rebellion!”
A city defense unit with halberds stepped forward to block them.
The leading officer looked at the dense crowd, palms soaked in sweat.
These were scholars!
Future officials!
If he killed them, he would become a criminal of Great Qin for all eternity!
“Move aside!”
Kong Fu shouted angrily.
The soldiers actually stepped back subconsciously.
The white river flowed through without obstruction.
Straight to the palace gates.
Thud!
Thud!
On the wide palace square outside the gates, three thousand students knelt down in unison.
Silent.
Unmoving.
Unwilling to eat or drink.
A vast, silent pressure enveloped the entire Xianyang Palace.
Above the palace walls—
Dressed in a black dragon robe, Ying Zheng stood at the balcony railing.
He looked down at the sea of white below—at those righteous, “ready-to-die” faces.
On his young face, a sharp killing intent surfaced.
“A bunch of corrupt scholars.”
His voice carried no emotion.
“Back then, I should have buried them all.”
He suddenly turned and shouted at Zhao Gao behind him.
“Deliver my decree!”
“Deploy the Black Bird Guards!”
“Bury all rebels outside the palace gates alive. Leave none alive!”
“Yes… yes!” Zhao Gao trembled all over and hurriedly tried to crawl away to pass the order.
“Your Majesty! No—absolutely not!”
Chancellor Li Si rushed forward in panic.
He clutched Ying Zheng’s leg, tears streaming down his face.
“Your Majesty, these three thousand students are the foundation of Great Qin’s civil administration!”
“If they are killed, the remnants of the Six States will surely rise again—chaos will return to the world!”
“Get lost!”
Ying Zheng kicked Li Si away.
“A bunch of useless silver-tongued fools—how are they the foundation of my empire?”
He was about to issue the order again.
Then—a small greasy hand tugged at his robe.
Ying Zheng lowered his head.
Ying Ziye was looking up at him with an innocent face, still holding a half-eaten chicken leg.
“Father Emperor.”
His childish voice was soft and sweet.
“Don’t rush to kill them.”
Crunch.
He took a big bite of chicken, chewing as he continued vaguely:
“Killing them is no fun at all.”
Ying Zheng’s rage instantly eased by half.
“Then tell me—what should we do?”
Ying Ziye swallowed, licking his fingers.
“They want to be ‘martyrs’ and be remembered in history.”
A mischievous smile appeared on his face.
“I simply won’t let them die so comfortably.”
“I’m going to take them for a little… game.”
Li Si’s heart jumped into his throat watching this.
Outside were three thousand students staging a hunger-driven death protest.
Inside, the Emperor was ready to massacre them.
And this nine-year-old prince… actually wanted to play games?
Ying Ziye ignored everyone.
He waved at Qinglong, the commander of the Jinyiwei.
“Uncle Qinglong.”
“Go prepare two things for me.”
“First, bring that iron loudspeaker from the Heavenly Works Workshop.”
“Second, set up a few big cauldrons outside the palace gates. Fill them with water and boil it.”
Qinglong obeyed without hesitation.
“Yes, Your Highness!”
Li Si panicked even more and rushed forward.
“Ninth Prince! Absolutely not!”
“Boiling water and cauldrons… this will provoke a mass uprising! These are the seeds of scholars of the empire…”
Ying Ziye took another bite of chicken and looked up at him innocently.
“Uncle Li Si.”
“If the seeds are rotten, what grows out will only be poisonous weeds.”
He tossed away the chicken bone casually.
“Today.”
“I’ll give them a very practical ‘social lesson’.”
Then he clapped his hands.
“Someone, bring my grandmaster chair out.”
With a heavy creak, the palace gates slowly opened.
All the kneeling students outside immediately focused their gaze.
They expected armored guards.
They expected the Emperor’s wrath.
Instead—two tall Jinyiwei carried out a huge grandmaster chair.
And sitting on it…was an eight-year-old child in luxurious robes, legs crossed lazily.
Under the stunned, angry, and confused gazes of three thousand students, a voice—amplified countless times, childish yet piercing—echoed across the square:
“Hey—!”
“Hey—!”
Ying Ziye cleared his throat.
His small finger pointed directly at the elderly figure in front.
“You old man leading them!”
“Yes—you, Kong Fu!”
“Didn’t yesterday’s lesson hurt enough?”
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