In Zhangtai Palace, candle flames flickered.
Ying Zheng had just taken his seat, before the attendant could serve tea, when he raised his eyes to look at his eldest son standing below the steps. His tone betrayed neither joy nor anger, yet carried a weight that pierced straight to the heart: “Fusu, speak truthfully—do you also think I am a tyrant?”
Fusu’s body stiffened abruptly, his hands hanging at his sides unconsciously clenching his robes.
Immediately, he lifted his robes and knelt, pressing his forehead to the ground. His voice was clear and bright, yet filled with sincerity: “Father Emperor, your son would never dare to recklessly use the term ‘tyrant’ to discuss his sovereign father!”
When he raised his head, his eyes held no trace of flattery, only respect for achievements and concern for the people’s welfare: “Father Emperor destroyed the six states, ended the war chaos, unified the script and standardized axle lengths, allowing the common people of the world to be spared the suffering of warfare. This is an unprecedented great achievement that will shine through the ages!”
“But your son also worries that now the world is newly stabilized, what the people hope for is peaceful living, not continuous corvee labor and harsh laws. Building the Great Wall in the north, garrisoning the five ridges in the south, constructing Epang Palace—though these are long-term plans, they exhaust the people’s strength and gradually give rise to complaints.”
He kowtowed again, his tone growing more earnest: “What your son says is not to blame Father Emperor, but truly fears that unstable popular sentiment may shake the foundations of Great Qin.”
“If Father Emperor could slightly ease the corvee labor, reduce punishments, and nurture all people with benevolent virtue, you would both preserve your unparalleled achievements and win the people’s hearts. Only then can Great Qin’s foundation be passed down for ten thousand generations.”
“In your son’s heart, Father Emperor is a sovereign whose achievements surpass the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors. I only wish your sacred name could endure as long as the rivers and mountains, rather than leaving disputes for later generations due to momentary urgency for success!”
Ying Zheng silently watched his eldest son prostrated on the ground, the candlelight casting alternating light and shadow across his face. He didn’t speak, only lightly tapped his fingers on the imperial desk.
The silence in the hall was more nerve-wracking than any reprimand.
Just as Ying Qingyue had said, the closer one observes words and actions, the clearer they become.
Ying Zheng couldn’t help but hesitate in his heart—was the Zhaosheng Emperor revealed by the sky screen truly his eldest son Fusu?
In other words, with Fusu’s current temperament, could he truly receive the posthumous title “Zhaosheng”?
Zhaosheng, what a excellent posthumous title.
Meaning brilliant and illustrious virtue.
Sheng, wisdom that transcends eras.
Thinking of this, Ying Zheng’s eyes darkened.
He knew he would only allow his eldest son to succeed him, so it couldn’t be any other prince. This could only mean that Fusu would indeed grow considerably in the future, becoming a generation’s Zhaosheng Emperor.
But what caused this change?
Could it be that…
He had considered after confining his eldest son today whether to send him to the border for experience—to see with his own eyes and experience firsthand, so he would understand what was in his heart.
Before this consideration could be implemented, the sky screen had appeared. He wondered if this was the reason his future eldest son was tempered into the later Zhaosheng Emperor.
“You may withdraw for now.”
…
Night.
Huayang Palace was brilliantly lit, gilded palace lanterns illuminating the hall as bright as day.
A family banquet celebrating the heaven-sent auspicious sign commenced as scheduled.
But unlike the usual lively banquets, today the air in the hall seemed permeated with an invisible, restrained pressure.
The princes and princesses at the banquet sat upright and proper, their breathing even lighter than usual.
Occasionally, when glances inadvertently met, they would quickly avert them as if touching hot iron.
The First Emperor Ying Zheng sat upright on the upper Dragon Throne, his black Crown with Dangling Beads concealing the specific emotions in his eyes, leaving only the mountain-like weight of his majesty that made people dare not look directly at him.
He slowly raised his hand, lifting the jade cup before him. His deep, resonant voice echoed through the vast hall, each word falling with weight and clarity: “The sky screen has manifested, revealing heaven’s blessing upon Great Qin. This is an auspicious sign, yet also a warning. I expect all of you to fulfill your duties diligently, to speak and act with caution, so as not to betray heaven’s mandate nor my expectations.”
“We heed Father Emperor’s teachings!” The assembled crowd rose in unison, bowing deeply. Their synchronized response crashed against the hall’s walls, reverberating layer upon layer, not dispelling the oppressive atmosphere but instead adding to its solemn gravity.
At this moment, Ying Qingyue in the corner also rose with the others, her eyes perpetually downcast, projecting a demeanor thoroughly cowed by the grand occasion.
Yet, had anyone observed closely, they would have noticed her slender fingers, resting at her side, lightly tracing the cool patterns along the rim of her cup, the pressure in her fingertips hinting at a certain carelessness.
Suddenly, a somewhat clamorous patter of footsteps disrupted the harmonious melodies.
The Eighteenth Young Master, Huhai, clad in brocade robes, his cheeks flushed from running, burst into the hall surrounded by a retinue of attendants. In his hand, he carried a small crossbow, and he strode directly before the imperial throne.
“Father Emperor! Father Emperor!” Huhai’s voice was clear, brimming with undisguised pride. “Your son just shot down a bird with extraordinary plumage in the gardens! This is the true auspicious sign! I’ve come specially to present it to you!”
Had anyone else been so unruly, they would have been dragged out long ago.
But Ying Zheng looked at this young, reckless son of his, a trace of nearly indulgent amusement flickering in his eyes. Though his tone held reproach, it lacked true severity: “Hai’er, being mischievous again. Hurry and take your seat.”
“Yes!” Huhai replied with a grin, turning and letting his gaze sweep over the banquet seats as if searching for some amusement.
His eyes passed over Fusu, and he curled his lip.
They skimmed over several other young masters and princesses with lowered eyes, finally landing precisely on his sixth elder sister in the corner.
Huhai swayed unsteadily over, his face wearing an undisguised, mocking smile, his tone thick with derision: “Tsk, I wondered who was hiding in this forgotten corner. So it’s my timid, mouse-like elder sister.”
His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried clearly to those seated nearby. Instantly, numerous gazes focused on Ying Qingyue.
Ying Qingyue shrank back appropriately, bowing her head even lower, burying half her face in her collar, revealing only a section of pale, seemingly fragile neck. Her voice was as faint as a mosquito’s hum, tinged with a noticeable tremble: “E-Eighteenth Brother… please don’t mock me…”
Seeing her so utterly timid and pathetic, the contempt in Huhai’s eyes deepened. He felt like he’d punched cotton—utterly unsatisfying and boring.
He waved his hand impatiently, as if shooing a fly, and scoffed, “How utterly dull!”
Then he turned, without another glance in her direction, and strode back to his own seat.
And in the corner, the moment the crowd’s attention shifted away, a faint flash of annoyance passed through Ying Qingyue’s eyes.
This Huhai was truly as foolish as history recorded, utterly irritating.
One need not fear a villain’s elaborate schemes, but rather a fool’s sudden ‘brilliant’ idea.
No wonder he later concocted so many disastrous maneuvers.
This eighteenth brother, Huhai, had relied on favor since childhood to act arrogantly and tyrannically in the rear palace, especially looking down upon and humiliating his less-favored siblings.
It was almost like a demon child descending upon the world.
Amid this slightly awkward atmosphere, the gentle chime of jade pendants sounded as the elder Princess Ying Yinman arrived gracefully, surrounded by palace attendants.
She wore a dark gown with crimson trim, its skirt trailing on the ground, her cloud-like hair piled high. Pausing her steps, she performed a flawless ceremonial bow to her father seated upon the imperial throne.
“Your daughter pays respects to the Emperor Father. May Your Majesty live ten thousand years.”