When Zhu Xiang returned to Xianyang, it was already early winter of 256 BCE.

Before long, time ushered in the year 255 BCE. Ying Zheng turned eight years old, and the old King of Qin had reached the age of seventy—an age Confucius once described as “following the desires of the heart without overstepping the bounds.”

Once one is old, each winter becomes a formidable hurdle.

During the journey out and back, the old King of Qin appeared vigorous and in good health. But upon his return to Xianyang Palace, without sufficient rest, he immediately began working around the clock reviewing the state documents handled by Crown Prince Zhu during his regency. Not long after, he suddenly caught a chill and fell ill.

Illness strikes like a landslide. Even though the old king had maintained a tall and sturdy frame despite his age, his body suddenly became hunched. His face lost its vitality and turned pale and waxy.

This time, Zhu Xiang had intentionally brought Bian Que with him upon returning to Xianyang, intending to conduct thorough health checkups for the elders around him.

While Qin’s royal physicians were highly skilled, one more renowned physician meant one more layer of safety.

When the old King of Qin fell ill, Bian Que joined the royal physicians in diagnosing and treating him.

“Overexertion has severely drained his vitality,” the royal physician said cautiously, fearing to alarm the king. But Bian Que was direct: “At the King’s age, if he doesn’t rest properly, I fear this illness will be very difficult to recover from.”

The old King of Qin responded calmly, “I understand.”

Zhu Xiang knelt at his bedside, head lowered, feeling a deep gloom in his heart.

He was thinking—when was the old King of Qin originally supposed to pass away?

Certainly not now.

Why had this change occurred? Was it because of him?

It might really be. Ever since he appeared, the old King of Qin had been too busy.

In the original history, although the old king faced setbacks after the Battle of Changping, he mostly lived in relative peace afterward, staying in Xianyang and never leaving the palace.

From the palace, his duties largely consisted of continuing existing policies and ordering military actions at opportune moments—tasks that didn’t overly tax his strength.

Moreover, staying in Xianyang spared him the fatigue of long travels.

But after Zhu Xiang entered Qin, everything changed.

Zhu Xiang wanted to farm, so the old king reorganized a massive bureaucracy to support and promote new agricultural technologies and scraped together funds for irrigation works.

Zhu Xiang said the Xianyang Academy could attract talent, so the old king stayed up multiple nights in discussion with officials and quickly constructed a towering academic institution with detailed supporting policies.

When Zhu Xiang went south, the king was burdened with even more: from Li Bing’s construction of the Dujiangyan irrigation system to Li Mu dividing the waters with Chu, all of it required the king’s constant late-night oversight.

Every “new thing” in Qin was spearheaded by Zhu Xiang, but all the tedious, heavy-lifting was borne by the old king and the officials of Qin’s court.

Yes, the old King of Qin could be suspicious, could give veiled threats—but in practice, he gave Zhu Xiang the utmost support and trust, fulfilling his promise: As long as it’s good for Qin, speak freely. Don’t worry about obstacles—I will handle it.

When Zhu Xiang met him, the king was already over sixty—an age considered retirement even in modern times. His stamina and energy were in decline.

But it was precisely at this time, as Qin entered a phase of rapid development, that this aging monarch drove the high-speed chariot of the Qin state across rugged, perilous terrain.

Even with the delicacies Zhu Xiang provided to nourish his body, even with the joy of seeing Qin thrive, how could that possibly compensate for the energy he spent?

Zhu Xiang was just one person. Even with a golden finger (cheat ability), he was still a mere mortal. He couldn’t even cure illness—how could he prevent the inevitability of aging and death?

The better Qin became, the more brilliant the king’s achievements—yet it seemed his lifespan was being shortened as a result.

Especially when, at the age of seventy, the old King of Qin traveled thousands of miles to inspect Jiangdong. That alone might have blown out the candle of his fragile life.

When Zhu Xiang traveled to the countryside, even modern cars bumping along unpaved rural roads left his bones aching after hours.

Ancient roads and carriages, no matter how cushioned, could still jolt people to the point of dizziness. If the carriage moved slightly faster, the passenger’s head could easily start banging rhythmically against the roof.

Traveling by boat was slightly better, but after rocking on the water for long, physical stamina still drained away. Excessive dampness, in particular, could be harmful to the elderly.

The old King of Qin rode in a carriage first, then transferred to a boat upon reaching the Han River. His journey spanned from west to east, north to south—diagonally cutting across the map of China.

Such a journey—how could a seventy-year-old man possibly endure it?

In the Song dynasty, emperors once promised not to execute scholars. So when they wanted them dead, they just kept reassigning their posts—from south to north, from east to west—until the endless travel wore them out, killing them with exhaustion and illness on the road.

That alone shows how cruel long-distance travel could be to a person.

“Why are you crying? I’m not dead yet,” the old king grumbled.

Zhu Xiang wiped his tears and said, “I was just thinking, like grandfather, like grandson. Xia Tong is just like you—even knowing he should rest, he still won’t sit still.”

The old king snorted, “I’ve lived past seventy. You think that Xia Tong can live to seventy? Don’t compare me to him—you’re insulting your king.”

Zhu Xiang kept wiping at his eyes, but the tears wouldn’t stop.

The old King of Qin reached out, letting Zhu Xiang help him sit up. Looking at Zhu Xiang’s swollen, tear-filled eyes, he felt helpless.

He knew Zhu Xiang feared him, perhaps even resented him. Zhu Xiang’s friends certainly distrusted him. But right now, Zhu Xiang’s sorrow and panic were deeply sincere—perhaps even more genuine than that of his own son, the Crown Prince.

After all, Crown Prince Zhu had been crown prince for too many years. He surely harbored bitterness in his heart.

Maybe Lord Fan (Mister Fan) would shed sincere tears for him too—but how many years had they served as monarch and subject? And how many years had Zhu Xiang been by his side?

This foolish child felt emotions so deeply—it was both touching and somewhat troubling.

“I’m over seventy already. Stop crying.” The old king gently patted Zhu Xiang’s back.

He was the one who was ill, yet here he was, comforting someone else. The feeling was strange—but not unpleasant.

The old King of Qin felt death drawing near. Yet in this moment, his anxiety and restlessness seemed to melt away.

Even if he hadn’t accepted it, what choice did he have? He was already past seventy.

Now that he had accepted death, the old king could finally put aside the gaze of a monarch and, for once, see Zhu Xiang through the eyes of an elder toward a remarkable younger generation.

“The King of Zhou and Lord Xizhou still won’t behave, and the war with the Zhou royal court isn’t over yet. Chu may be quiet for now, but I hear whispers that the other five states may once again form an alliance to strike Qin. If Chu hears of it, they might stir again. Qin’s territory is larger, yes—but with so many borders to defend, our frontlines are stretched too thin. It may be harder to resist the Six States…” The old king muttered on, “This illness really came at the worst possible time.”

Zhu Xiang complained, “Your Majesty shouldn’t have gone south.”

The Old King of Qin chuckled, “But I wanted to see the sea.”

Zhu Xiang was speechless. The monarch always said I’m afraid of death, yet always seeking death—aren’t you the same? Clearly you fear death so much, so why would you still choose to go south, knowing the strain would damage your health?

“That’s enough,” the Old King of Qin withdrew his somewhat stiff and awkward smile and returned to his usual affable demeanor. “Do not spread word of my illness.”

“Of course,” Zhu Xiang choked up. “It’s only exhaustion. As long as Your Majesty rests well, you’ll surely recover quickly.”

The Old King of Qin smiled without replying, waving his hand to dismiss Zhu Xiang.

Zhu Xiang left Xianyang Palace with a heavy heart. The very next day, he returned with a cart full of luggage, saying he was going to be the royal cook for the Old King.

The Old King of Qin set aside the documents in his hand and sighed deeply.

“Zhu, if I pass on, Zhu Xiang will be devastated,” said the Old King. “I never thought he would be this heartbroken.”

Crown Prince Zhu immediately said, “Royal Father will live for a long, long time.”

The Old King shook his head. “You should prepare to be the King of Qin.”

Crown Prince Zhu was dumbstruck.

He should have been joyful in this moment.

No crown prince doesn’t wish to be king—especially one who had been crown prince for far too long.

But any joy he felt was drowned by confusion and unease, making his expression appear utterly foolish.

The Old King spoke calmly, “Now that Qin has seized vast lands in the south from Chu, and with Li Mu and his new naval forces posing a great threat, even the most foolish among the Six States will regroup and join forces to resist Qin’s advance. The transition between the old and new Qin Kings will be their opportunity to strike. I won’t give them that chance.”

Crown Prince Zhu trembled and knelt, kowtowing without a word.

“When Zichu returns, you will ascend the throne next New Year’s Day,” the Old King made his final decision. Then, with a sigh, he added softly, “I will guide you for one more year… if I have a year left. The rest of the journey, you must walk alone.”

Crown Prince Zhu knocked his head on the ground, unable to utter a single word.

He was finally going to be King of Qin, yet the joy wasn’t as intense as he had imagined.

Zhu Xiang came in, bringing that day’s meal.

He saw the bed piled with official documents, and also noticed the dazed expression on Crown Prince Zhu’s face. But he said nothing and quietly served the Old King his meal.

If only the Old King of Qin could get proper rest, maybe he could regain a bit of vitality, maybe live a few more years.

But the Old King still worked late into the night under the lamplight, often until after midnight.

He coughed constantly, yet his mind remained sharp—sharper than ever, even.

Battle reports from the frontlines poured in. Not only had Wei, Yan, and Zhao dispatched troops to support the Zhou royal court, even the small state of Han had sent reinforcements.

Qi and Chu were still watching from the sidelines, but based on their military movements, it seemed they wouldn’t stay passive for long.

Qi had always distanced itself from conflict with Qin, being geographically far away and its court nobles addicted to comfort and indulgence. Many had already been bribed by Qin and stayed out of the Five States’ resistance.

But news of Li Mu’s naval fleet reached Qi, and suddenly they grew nervous.

Even though they had never seen a navy capable of traveling long distances along the coastline and marching north, they still feared Qin’s fleet might land along their coast via sea. So for once, Qi began mobilizing.

Qin had grown stronger—and indeed, had forced the Six States into cooperation.

At such a time, how could the Old King rest?

He insisted on personally reviewing every movement of the Six States and countering it with over fifty years of kingly experience.

Messages galloped into Xianyang, while decrees galloped out—like a never-ending cycle of flowing water.

The entire state of Qin was in motion.

Soon, the entire world moved.

All the states had their own talents. Besides the ones recorded in history books, many brilliant minds who went unrecorded devoted themselves to their monarchs, using all their intellect and strategies to stand against the overwhelmingly powerful Qin, which now seemed poised to devour the world.

Fan Ju and Bai Qi—both old and retired—were summoned back to Xianyang Palace by the Old King.

Even Lian Po went to the palace. After returning home, he would polish his armor and sword whenever he had time—it seemed he had finally made up his mind.

Bai Qi looked regretful—he was ill.

Although he finally had a chance to return to the battlefield, his body couldn’t endure it. He could only enviously watch Lian Po eat heartily every day, his sour gaze giving Lian Po great satisfaction.

After Ying Zheng’s eighth birthday, he and Xue Ji moved into Xianyang Palace with Zhu Xiang to accompany the ever-ill yet never-resting Old King.

The Old King would sometimes hold Ying Zheng in his arms and have him read out imperial decrees.

After Crown Prince Zhu’s coronation, Zichu would be named Crown Prince.

Ying Zheng was still too young to receive a title, so the Old King used this method to subtly inform the court of the boy’s future position.

In the blink of an eye, it was early summer of 255 BCE.

In actual history, by this point the Qin army should have already breached Luoyi, captured King Nan of Zhou, and transported the Nine Tripod Cauldrons back to Qin.

After that, the Qin King would demote the Zhou King to a feudal lord, seize the Duke of Western Zhou, and bring about the complete fall of the Zhou dynasty—historians later called 255 BCE the First Year of Qin.

But in this timeline, even though Qin was stronger than before, its assault on Eastern Zhou failed.

Wei’s Prince Xinling sent envoys to persuade Yan and Zhao to put aside past grudges and temporarily ally with Wei to rescue King Nan of Zhou.

Then Han and Qi also sent troops. Five states entered Luoyi and, under King Nan’s witness, signed another vertical alliance treaty to resist Qin together.

Chu had originally wanted to join too—but Li Mu suddenly crossed north and captured several Chu cities, threatening the capital of Chen.

Startled, the King of Chu hurriedly gathered troops to stop Li Mu. But Li Mu sent a message: he would withdraw unconditionally—on the condition that Chu remained still. If Chu dared to send troops north, he would immediately cross the river again and invade.

Under Li Mu’s threat, the King of Chu swallowed his pride and abandoned the alliance, choosing to stay put.

Li Mu returned to the south side of the river, stationing his troops along the riverbanks and eyeing Chu like a tiger, preventing them from breaking the agreement.

When the Old King of Qin heard the news, he burst into hearty laughter, finally setting aside his documents and sleeping a whole night peacefully.

It was Zichu who brought this report back to Xianyang.

He had rushed back day and night. When Zhu Xiang saw Zichu’s pale and haggard face, he wanted to say something but ultimately held his tongue.

In a moment of crisis for Qin, what good were words like rest or health? Better to do more and lighten the burden on the Old King and Zichu.

After Zichu returned, the Old King ordered preparations for the succession ceremony. Regardless of whether he passed away, Crown Prince Zhu would inherit the throne on the first day of the new year.

But before that, he still had one more score to settle—with the Chu royal in-laws.

Crown Prince Zhu was honest and kind. Even if he swore up and down that he would never be manipulated by Chu’s royal relatives, the Old King remained worried. So, in his final days, in the last stretch of his reign, he would personally eliminate those obstacles for his son.

Although this did not affect Lady Huayang and her brother—since they had only ever indulged in luxury and never meddled in politics—Lady Huayang was still so frightened she fell gravely ill.

She forced herself to stay conscious and sent gifts to Xue Ji to thank her. If not for Xue Ji’s early warnings, she and her brother might have been in danger.

Seeing Lady Huayang like this, Lady Xia too grew fearful, a natural reaction upon witnessing another’s misfortune.

She finally began to reflect—perhaps she really should distance herself from her maternal family and stop doing things for Han.

Even the powerful Chu-affiliated relatives who occupied half of Qin’s court were now teetering under the rule of the aging King of Qin. What were the Han-affiliated relatives, who had never held a position of power in the Qin court, compared to them?

The Chu-affiliated relatives themselves were also shocked. They had never expected the old King of Qin to be this audacious.

The old king had long been dissatisfied with the Chu faction, so why had he continued to rely on them? Of course, it was because Qin lacked native talent.

In the eyes of the Central Plains, Qin was a barbarian land. It had established the keqing (guest scholar) system precisely to attract talented people from the Six States to serve Qin.

In terms of warfare, Qin people were fierce and unyielding, perhaps unafraid of the other six states. But when it came to governing, without the Chu-affiliated relatives, the Qin court was nearly crippled.

Although the old King of Qin’s journey south this time had seen some of the Chu-affiliated relatives overstep to the point of virtual treason, they still thought they wouldn’t be purged so soon.

Yet, the old King of Qin acted anyway.

It was only when he struck that they realized why he dared to be so bold.

Because of the Xianyang Academy.

After the King established the Xianyang Academy, countless talented individuals across the land, drawn by the reputation of Zhu Xiang and Xunzi, came to Xianyang to study. Many of them were already well-known figures.

When Zhu Xiang went south, he took a group of excellent students with him. These students, through real-world experience, integrated what they had learned with the needs of the people and adopted the Qin people’s pragmatic approach. They filled the talent gap in the Qin court.

Despite his illness, the King pushed himself and, based on the proposal from Zhu Xiang and refined by his ministers, held a palace examination in Xianyang Palace. He tested students from the academy who were reputable or had achieved results under Zhu Xiang, assigning them ranks and minor official posts on the spot.

Proximity brings advantage. When the academy was first established, the Qin nobility had already sent their promising sons there to study.

Therefore, the King’s selection of officials from the academy did not threaten their interests. On the contrary, they fully supported him.

Thus, with a single palace examination—even though he only appointed mid- to lower-level officials—the old King had already shattered the Chu faction’s years of influence in court and severed the court’s reliance on Chu-affiliated talent.

Afterward, the King recalled Cai Ze and appointed Xunzi and Cai Ze as Left and Right Prime Ministers.

When Cai Ze had first returned to Xianyang with Zhu Xiang, he had drawn the attention of many nobles. But after Li Mu and Lian Po entered Qin, Cai Ze remained in Changping, quietly building strength in the highlands of Shangdang. Over time, the Qin court had gradually overlooked his presence.

Now the King suddenly recalled Cai Ze and appointed him Prime Minister, catching everyone off guard.

They hurried to gather information on Cai Ze and speculated on his political philosophy.

Aside from Cai Ze, they were even more alarmed by the appointment of Xunzi as Prime Minister of Qin.

Xunzi was a Confucian scholar. Qin had always been ruled by Legalist thought. Confucianism and Legalism were almost diametrically opposed. There had even been an unspoken rule that “Confucians do not enter Qin.”

How could a grand Confucian become Qin’s Prime Minister? Had the King lost his mind?

Xunzi was nearly sixty years old. At his age, he wouldn’t be able to change much in Qin’s current political system. But the significance wasn’t in what he could do—it was in what his appointment symbolized.

In the face of everyone’s probing, Xunzi remained calm as a still lake, continuing to refine the rites for deifying the Qin state’s gods.

Xunzi showed no anxiety. It was those probing him who grew anxious.

These changes in Qin unsettled not just its people, but all six states.

They hoped the King of Qin had indeed lost his mind. But Cai Ze was a close friend of Zhu Xiang, had once cooperated with Li Mu in repelling the Xiongnu, and was instrumental in persuading both Li Mu and Lian Po to defect to Qin. His abilities could not be underestimated. Xunzi’s reputation and talent were also world-renowned.

With both men appointed as Prime Ministers, no one could convincingly argue that the King of Qin was senile.

While everyone was still panicking, the King of Qin appointed Lian Po as Grand General.

The states of Zhao and Yan turned pale.

How had Lian Po not died of old age yet?! How could he still be fit to command troops?!

If even Lian Po had returned, would Bai Qi—rumored to be on the brink of death—also suddenly appear like in the Battle of Changping, one day hoisting the commander’s banner and saying, “Surprise, I’m the general!”?

A person’s name casts a long shadow. Lian Po’s fierce reputation had solidified after his campaign against Yan. In Yan, his notoriety likely surpassed even Bai Qi’s. Now that he was leading troops east out of Hangu Pass, Yan’s military morale immediately plummeted.

Lian Po had a deep grudge against Yan, but upon hearing of his appointment, the people of Yan were not emboldened by hatred—instead, they were seized by fear and hesitation.

Even Zhao’s morale dropped.

Everyone knew that both Lian Po and Li Mu had been “sold” to Qin by the King of Zhao.

Especially Lian Po. After his campaign against Yan, his stature in Zhao rivaled that of Bai Qi’s in Qin. Now that their beloved general, who had led them through countless crises, had become the enemy commander, the Zhao soldiers couldn’t even muster the courage to face him.

They weren’t cowards. They simply didn’t want to, and couldn’t bring themselves to, fight Lian Po.

He was their Lord Xinping, the Xinping of Zhao, the one who had staked his own reputation to save many Zhao citizens from starvation. How could they turn their spears against him?

The commander-in-chief of the coalition, of course, was Prince Wei Wuji of Xinling.

When Wei Wuji learned that Lian Po would be commanding Qin’s army, he couldn’t help but drink himself into a stupor.

He deeply regretted not coming to Zhao earlier to save the King. If he had, perhaps the King of Zhao would never have agreed to send Lian Po and Li Mu to Qin.

But no matter how much regret he felt, he had to pull himself together and tell the Zhao people that Lord Xinping was now their enemy, the one they must defeat.

He even had to slander the old general, claiming that Lian Po was too aged to command and that the King of Qin had only appointed him to demoralize the Zhao army.

“Lian Po is old. He can’t fight anymore. Don’t be afraid of him!”

This speech helped stir the morale of Yan, but Zhao’s morale remained low.

Because Zhao’s soldiers did not fear Lian Po—they admired him. Regardless of his age or whether he could still fight, their reverence for him remained unchanged.

Wei Wuji could only smile bitterly.

He could only console himself that at least the King of Qin hadn’t gone mad enough to let Zhu Xiang lead troops. If word ever got out that Zhu Xiang was coming to the battlefield, this group of Zhao soldiers would likely lose all will to fight.

Regardless of whether Lian Po could still fight, just revealing his appointment was enough to shatter at least half of Zhao’s morale—the most battle-hardened force among the Five-State Coalition.

Before even engaging the coalition directly, Qin had already won the first round.

Cai Ze said to the King of Qin: “Your Majesty, allow me to win the next round—as a gift to celebrate the new king’s ascension.”

The old King of Qin nodded.

Cai Ze, though serving as a governor in the territory of the Three Jins, was not just helping Zhu Xiang manage the matter of Changping.

He was a master of diplomacy and subterfuge, having taken over the intelligence operations from Fan Ju and continuing Fan Ju’s work. Back when he was in Shangdang, Cai Ze had already planted countless spies and sown the seeds of discord across the Six States. Especially against Qin’s most formidable hidden threat, Lord Xinling—he had long made preparations.

Now, at the perfect moment, the contingencies Cai Ze had set in motion were finally activated.

The King of Wei had always been jealous of Wei Wuji’s talent and fame. After taking over Fan Ju’s duties, Cai Ze spent a fortune spreading Wei Wuji’s reputation across the Six States. He even used Zhu Xiang as a foil to elevate Wei Wuji, saying that while Zhu Xiang was impressive, he was far inferior to Wei Wuji.

Zhu Xiang came from humble origins and had risen only by latching onto the Qin royal relatives. But Wei Wuji was the King’s own brother—the second most noble man in all Seven States after a sovereign himself.

Zhu Xiang only knew how to farm. Wei Wuji, on the other hand, could do everything—especially governance and warfare. That was what made a real talent. Zhu Xiang, despite his nationwide fame, had no followers—this showed his reputation was hollow, and true talents disdained serving under him. Wei Wuji, by contrast, had many retainers, all of them men of great ability. That was what it truly meant to be “renowned throughout the world.”

Cai Ze heaped Wei Wuji with praise, saying: “Qin has attacked the Three Jins many times—why has it never clashed heavily with Wei? Because the King of Qin fears Wei Wuji.”

The King of Wei might be mediocre, and the state lacked ministers or generals capable of resisting Qin—but Wei Wuji alone offset all the weaknesses of Wei’s monarch and court, making the King of Qin hesitant to act rashly.

If not for Lord Xinling, the State of Wei would’ve been destroyed long ago. “It’s a pity the King of Wei is not Wei Wuji—otherwise, Wei might’ve become Qin’s greatest internal threat.”

That was what Cai Ze had people saying far and wide.

The King of Wei himself heard these rumors and often said to outsiders, “Thankfully I have Wuji as my brother, otherwise the Qin armies would already be at our gates.”

Wei Wuji was greatly comforted by his brother’s words. The King of Wei appeared to trust him completely, and Wei Wuji came to believe that his brother’s former jealousy had been erased by Qin’s growing power, replaced by trust and regard.

It was with the King’s support that Wei Wuji was able to become the commander of the Five-State Allied Forces.

Thus, Wei Wuji didn’t take Cai Ze’s excessive praise to heart. He was a proud man. While some of the praise was exaggerated, most of it was based in truth.

Cai Ze was indeed speaking truth. And nothing destroys more effectively than flattery built on truth, with just a touch of exaggeration. Because it was mostly true, those jealous of Lord Xinling felt it even more keenly.

Now came the time for Cai Ze to reap what he had sown.

Qin sent an envoy to the Five-State Allied Forces to propose peace, offering to help make Wei Wuji the next King of Wei—on the condition that he not interfere in Qin’s conflict with the Zhou royal court. Simultaneously, Cai Ze leaked this offer to the King of Wei.

Qin promised that if the allied troops withdrew, they would support Wei Wuji’s ascension to kingship, sign a permanent peace treaty, and never attack Wei again. Even if Qin unified the world, Wei would remain a vassal state, and its kingship would be preserved.

This news shocked the entire court of Wei.

Cai Ze activated his spies in Wei, spending heavily to spread rumors that the scholars and gentry of Wei were in favor of this plan. They argued it was a wise deal: Qin’s rise was inevitable, and this Five-State campaign might still fail. But if they accepted Qin’s proposal, Wei could live in peace forever—even if dynasties changed, Wei would remain, and its nobility would retain their status. What difference did it make whether they were a vassal to the Zhou or to Qin?

Besides, Wei Wuji was clearly stronger than the current King. Even if Qin went back on their word, having Lord Xinling as king would still benefit Wei greatly. Who didn’t want Lord Xinling to become king? The people of Wei certainly did.

The King of Wei knew how popular his brother was. He also knew that many people wanted Wei Wuji to be king. Deep down, he himself believed that Wei Wuji might make a better king than he did.

And precisely because of that—he would never allow it to happen. Otherwise, what did that make him?

The seed of discord had finally sprouted. The years of rumor-spreading by Cai Ze now bared its fangs and struck deep into the relationship between the King of Wei and Lord Xinling.

The King of Wei ordered the troops to retreat and summoned Lord Xinling home to explain the matter.

Of course, on the surface, he said that rumors were spreading everywhere claiming Lord Xinling wanted to use his command of the alliance to forcefully seize the throne. He said he trusted Lord Xinling, but hoped he would return to clear things up. He didn’t doubt Lord Xinling—but if he refused to come back, then it would suggest a guilty conscience.

Wei Wuji had a clear conscience. He intended to return immediately to explain things and persuade the King to continue the campaign. After all, the Five-State Alliance had taken great effort to form—how could it disband so easily?

They had heard the King of Qin was gravely ill and a new king was about to take over. If they did not seize the moment during this transition, there might never be another chance.

But Wei Wuji’s retainers were unwilling.

Their fates were tied to Lord Xinling’s. If he died, they would either die with him or be forced to flee. More than concern for themselves—they didn’t trust the King of Wei. If Wei Wuji returned, he might be executed. How could they just watch the man they revered march into death?

Among Lord Xinling’s many retainers were both virtuous and less virtuous men—but all were thinking of his well-being.

Cai Ze exploited this division. He bribed the more timid and disillusioned ones to stir panic: “If Lord Xinling returns, the King will kill him! He’ll never leave Wei again!”

And it was plausible—hence how quickly consensus formed among the retainers.

Finally, Lord Xinling’s most trusted follower said to him: “If you return, the jealous King will surely kill you, and then Wei will truly be doomed. But if you take refuge in another state, wait for the King to cool his head, he will summon you back, and peace will be restored. Only then will Wei be safe.”

Wei Wuji, astute as he was, was persuaded.

He also suspected that the best outcome if he returned would be imprisonment; the worst—death.

He didn’t fear death if it meant protecting Wei. But if the King killed his own brother at this time, the fallout could shake the country—like how the King of Zhao’s killing of Zhu Xiang had destabilized Zhao.

For Wei’s sake, he couldn’t let the King commit fratricide. He could only flee.

And when the King of Wei came to his senses, he would call him back. But by then, they would have missed their best chance to strike at Qin.

Wei Wuji laughed bitterly. “Is the rise of Qin truly inevitable?”

He stared at his commander’s seal, his battle banner, and the flag bearing the character “Wei,” and tears streamed down his face. He had never intended to fight his brother for the throne. After all these years, hadn’t he done enough for him? Why didn’t his brother trust him?

“If Wei is destroyed by Qin, what’s the point of any of this fighting over the throne?” Wei Wuji covered his face, tears pouring through his fingers.

He knew that once he left here, all his ambitions would be for naught. Even if the King of Wei repented, Qin would never again give the Six States another chance.

“Lord Xinling, don’t despair. The Crown Prince of Qin is already old. Qin may change rulers again soon. There will still be chances,” a retainer tried to console him.

Wei Wuji gave a bitter smile: “The current Crown Prince is not the same as the next King. The future Crown Prince won’t be like the one now. There won’t be another chance.”

When the current Crown Prince ascended, he wouldn’t hold absolute power like the old King. Instead, power would immediately be shared with Prince Zichu, and later passed on to Zichu’s son.

When Zichu eventually died and his son became king, there would be no instability at all.

And if Zhu Xiang’s nephew, Prince Zheng, survived to adulthood, Zichu would pass the throne to him. Qin would remain unshakable.

Wei Wuji saw it clearly. Why had Qin changed so much in the days before the old King’s death? Because even the old King of Qin knew—his death signaled the end of Qin’s old regime.

When Crown Prince Zhu succeeded, a new ruling group would take over.

That transition period was bound to be full of gaps, errors, political confusion, and low morale.

And General Lian Po was still a general of Zhao. Even if Li Mu had shown he could lead Qin’s people, Lian Po might not.

This—this was the best opportunity. Perhaps the only chance for the Six States to weaken Qin, to push it back to Hangu Pass!

“Why, why…” Wei Wuji’s choking sobs turned into loud weeping. He could not understand.

Even if the King of Wei distrusted him—why not wait until after this war to do so? Why act at this critical moment? Couldn’t he see this was clearly Qin’s plot to divide them? Now that the Five-State Alliance had collapsed, only Qin would benefit!

Wei Wuji was in deep despair.

And in his blurred vision, a figure appeared—Zhu Xiang. That man he hadn’t had the chance to see much, or talk to often, yet already considered a friend.

When Zhu Xiang had left Zhao, had he felt just as hopeless as Wei Wuji did now, resigning his post and walking away?