DLERB -Chapter 80 Ying Ziye: My Sword Should Also Drink Blood!

Underground, Xianyang City.

A damp, moldy smell mixed with an inescapable sense of fear filled the air.

It formed a completely different world from the overwhelming aroma of cumin and chili drifting above ground.

“Creeeak—”

A stone door was pushed open.

A scout stumbled and rolled as he rushed in.

On his body, there was still a faint trace of French fries’ aroma.

Xiang Bo suddenly stood up.

“How is it?”

The scout knelt on the ground, trembling violently like a sieve.

“C-confirmed…”

“In the outskirts imperial forbidden garden, one mu of land…”

His voice was choked with tears.

“It… it really produced three thousand jin!”

“Boom!”

Xiang Bo’s mind went completely blank.

He staggered back a step and slammed into the stone wall behind him.

“Three thousand jin…”

“How is that possible… how is that possible…”

The scout raised his head, his face full of despair.

“Not only that!”

“That monster… no, that divine crop—its food is unbelievably fragrant!”

“I saw it myself—countless refugees were willing to curse the Xiang clan publicly just to get a bite!”

“The people’s hearts… we’ve lost the people’s hearts completely!”

“Clang!”

The white jade teacup in Xiang Bo’s hand slipped free.

It shattered into pieces on the ground.

He slumped down in a daze.

“It’s over.”

“Everything is over.”

He muttered to himself.

“If the Qin people can all eat their fill… who will still follow us?”

“Our cause of restoration… has become a joke!”

The entire secret chamber fell into deathly silence.

Only Xiang Bo’s heavy breathing remained.

“Useless coward!”

A furious roar exploded like thunder.

Xiang Zhuang kicked over the table in front of him.

His eyes were bloodshot, like a beast driven into a corner.

“Before we’ve even fought, you’re already surrendering?”

He grabbed Xiang Bo by the collar.

“So what if it’s three thousand jin?”

“So what if they’re full?”

“As long as we kill Ying Ziye! Kill that little brat! The Great Qin will fall into chaos again!”

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Xiang Zhuang’s face twisted into a kind of manic madness.

“This is exactly our last chance!”

“Because everyone thinks the situation is settled, their defenses are at their weakest!”

Xiang Bo was stunned by the shouting.

“You… what are you planning to do?”

Xiang Zhuang released him and pointed at a classified report on the wall.

“Tomorrow, the Qin Emperor will hold a sacrificial ceremony to heaven!”

“To pray for that so-called ‘auspicious omen’!”

He lowered his voice, filled with venom like a poisonous snake.

“I’ve already made arrangements. I can disguise myself as a performing swordsman and get close to Ying Ziye!”

Xiang Bo’s face changed drastically.

“You’re insane! The Xianyang Palace is full of experts!”

“Experts?”

Xiang Zhuang sneered.

“Ying Ziye has long been hollowed out by wine and indulgence—he’s nothing but a spent force!”

“That so-called Qinglong of the imperial guards—he was forced back by my sword last time. He’s nothing to fear!”

“As for that eight-year-old brat…”

Xiang Zhuang’s expression turned utterly dismissive.

“Just lucky. He only got some so-called divine tricks!”

“As long as I get close, one strike will finish him!”

He scanned the others in the room.

“Kill the father and son, and Xianyang will fall into chaos!”

“The spread of potatoes will collapse on its own!”

“Then the refugees of the world will once again be our blade!”

“This is our only chance!”

Xiang Zhuang’s voice carried a hypnotic, seductive power.

In the chamber, the extinguished flames in everyone’s eyes seemed to reignite.

Xiang Bo opened his mouth, wanting to say something more.

But seeing Xiang Zhuang’s resolute “success or death” expression, he swallowed his words.

Perhaps…

Perhaps this really was their last chance.

……

Qilin Hall.

Warm sunlight streamed through the window lattice.

The air was filled with a rich milky aroma and the scent of fried food.

Ying Zheng sat behind the imperial desk.

In front of him was a mountain of memorials.

He picked one up, glanced at it twice.

Then quietly reached toward a golden plate beside him.

He quickly pinched a golden French fry and put it into his mouth.

“Crunch.”

Clear and crisp.

Ying Zheng narrowed his eyes in satisfaction.

Not far away.

Ying Ziye was lying on a huge sheet of white paper.

He held a specially made oversized brush, drawing and sketching intensely.

He was completely immersed in it.

Muttering as he worked.

“This is the hotpot base… we’ll use beef tallow…”

“This side is the dipping sauce section—separate sesame paste and oil-based sauces…”

“And this one—called mala tang—where all the ingredients are skewered together…”

Ying Zheng perked up his ears, and even the memorials in his hands no longer held his attention.

Ahem.

He coughed lightly.

Ying Ziye ignored him.

Ying Zheng coughed again.

Only then did Ying Ziye finally look up, clearly impatient.

“Father Emperor, do you have a throat problem?”

“Want me to prescribe you some medicine?”

Ying Zheng’s old face turned slightly red.

He pointed at the things Ying Ziye was drawing.

“Ziye… what is this?”

“Is it even better than these fries?”

Ying Ziye rolled his eyes.

“Father Emperor, your vision is too small.”

“Fries are just snacks.”

“What I’m designing is a national banquet that will make the people of Great Qin sweat even in winter!”

“Hotpot! Barbecue! Mala tang!”

“This—this is true culinary culture!”

Ying Zheng listened, utterly confused.

But he caught one sentence clearly.

Better than fries.

His throat moved slightly.

At that moment.

Qinglong’s figure silently appeared inside the hall.

He knelt on one knee.

“Your Highness.”

“Black Ice Platform intelligence report.”

“Several remaining Six Kingdoms factions in the city have shown unusual movement.”

“There is frequent personnel activity. It seems they are plotting something.”

There was a hint of battle intent in Qinglong’s voice.

“Please give the order. This subordinate will wipe them out tonight!”

Ying Ziye didn’t even lift his head.

He continued adding a new item to his “menu”: duck blood vermicelli soup.

Only after a moment did he lazily wave his hand.

“Why rush to arrest them?”

“If the rats haven’t even left their holes yet and you block the exit, where’s the fun in that?”

Qinglong froze.

“Your Highness means…”

Ying Ziye finally put down his brush.

He stood up and dusted off his little hands.

“Open the gates of Xianyang. Clear the roads.”

“Let them come.”

He grinned, revealing a row of small white teeth.

“I was just worrying that I didn’t kill enough last time and lacked a reason to clean up another batch of trash.”

“Let them stretch their necks out on their own—wouldn’t that be better?”

Qinglong immediately understood.

A chill rose from his spine.

This young prince intended to lure them in and wipe them all out in one net!

“Yes, Your Highness!”

Qinglong obeyed and vanished once again.

The hall returned to silence.

Ying Ziye walked over to Ying Zheng and tugged at his sleeve.

He looked up with an innocent little face.

In a curious tone, he asked:

“Father Emperor.”

“What if, during tomorrow’s Heaven Sacrificial Ceremony, bad people try to rush in and kill me?”

Ying Zheng’s hand, which had been secretly reaching for fries, froze.

He put the fry down.

His gaze shifted to the brush rack on the imperial desk.

He casually picked up a wolf-hair brush.

It was an excellent tribute item, its handle made of northern ironwood—exceptionally hard.

Ying Zheng did not exert any force.

He simply closed his palm around it.

Then he opened his hand.

An unimaginable scene unfolded.

The hard brush did not break, nor shatter.

Instead, it silently turned into a handful of ultra-fine black dust.

The powder slipped through his fingers like flowing sand.

It left a small black trace on the golden desk.

Ying Ziye blew gently.

The dust vanished without a trace.

As if the brush had never existed.

His voice was calm—so calm it carried no fluctuation at all.

Yet it contained an imperial authority capable of freezing heaven and earth.

“Then let them understand…”

“Why I am the First Emperor.”

He paused slightly.

“And let them see…”

“My sword… should also drink blood.”