Chapter Ten Coming of Age Taiji

The land remained unchanged, and the people were the same as before. Yet the hearts of men and women had shifted, their inner worlds transformed.

Li Yu looked at Zhao Ji, her back turned to him, knelt on one knee, and raised a wooden box in his hands. “Empress Dowager, I am guilty!” he declared.

Zhao Ji did not turn around. “What guilt is there? Speak, let me hear it,” she said.

Seeing that the Empress Dowager refused to face him, Li Yu remained kneeling. Otherwise, wouldn’t his gesture be wasted?

“My guilt is threefold: First, I promised the Empress Dowager I would visit the next day, but I failed, delaying for seven days. I broke my word. Second, you wished to name me your adopted son, but I refused…”

He paused, and after a while, Zhao Ji, curious, turned around and saw him still kneeling. “Why do you refuse to be my adopted son?” she asked, not in the best of moods.

Li Yu stared at her directly, rising to his feet, warmth in his eyes. “My refusal is tied to my third guilt—the reason for it.”

He moved closer. “Is it not obvious? Do you not see what is in my heart?”

Zhao Gao’s jaw dropped in shock—Li Yu’s audacity was astounding! Did he know who he was provoking? There truly were no limits to his boldness.

And Li Yu’s feelings for the Empress Dowager—how had no one noticed before? He had hidden them well.

Hastily, Zhao Gao sent the palace maids away and quietly closed the door. Such was the awareness of a eunuch in the harem.

With the room cleared, Li Yu wasted no time. Ever since he had confirmed that Lao Ai was the mysterious Yan Ri, he had resolved to throw caution to the wind.

“My third guilt lies not with me, but with the Empress Dowager.”

“What guilt have I?” Zhao Ji laughed lightly.

“Your guilt is—”

“The Empress Dowager is too beautiful. Her beauty is captivating, breathtaking, impossible to resist, and incites crime.” Li Yu stepped forward, pressed Zhao Ji against the wall.

She glanced aside. “You little scoundrel, you truly do not fear death!”

Li Yu gently turned her face toward him, locking eyes. “To die beneath the peony, even as a ghost, I would not regret it.”

Then, with dominance, he kissed her fiercely, his arms holding her tightly, showing his passion and seriousness.

Zhao Ji, at first struggling, soon wrapped her arms around him.

The feelings Li Yu gave her were unlike anything anyone had ever brought her before—a satisfaction of the heart’s deepest longing.

At this point, retreat was impossible. Li Yu scooped Zhao Ji up and carried her inside, closing the door behind him.

The room became a mess—a world-weary woman and a passionate youth, their stormy union shaking heaven and earth.

What matter kingship or riches, what matter moral law—in this moment, all was swept aside.

Even if ahead lay an abyss, they pressed forward, for the world contained only the two of them.

It was as if heaven itself blessed them—the sky over Xianyang changed color, radiance poured forth, birds filled the air.

With a shriek of ecstasy piercing the clouds, Zhao Ji slowly closed her eyes, a faint smile of satisfaction curling her lips.

Li Yu, holding the sleeping Zhao Ji, pondered what had just happened.

Unbeknownst to him, at that very moment, the sky over Xianyang turned a deep, mysterious purple, dazzling under the sunlight. As people marveled at the auspicious omen, a flash of white light erupted from Li Yu’s mansion, vanished in an instant, and the sky returned to normal.

Though none knew what had happened, instinctively, they felt it was connected to Li Yu, fueling wild speculation.

Inside, Li Yu was fulfilling his life’s greatest event, oblivious to anything else.

At the peak of his union with Zhao Ji, a faint white glow appeared on his chest, hazy and fleeting—no one noticed.

Throughout Xianyang, only these two remained unaware of what had just occurred.

……

Li Yu admitted to himself he was quite the scoundrel—even though an hour ago he was still a virgin.

But there are different kinds of scoundrels.

Some, like Duan Zhengchun, pursue woman after woman, never wanting responsibility, always seeking to escape—leaving Qin Hongmian to raise her daughter alone, forcing Gan Baobao to marry an ugly man, and Kang Min, practically a reincarnation of Pan Jinlian.

Others, like Wei Xiaobao, are sincere to every wife, rushing to aid them in trouble, never hiding.

Thinking of this, Li Yu kissed Zhao Ji’s forehead.

He resolved to be a Wei Xiaobao, not a Duan Zhengchun. In truth, Duan’s character sealed his fate—many believe his end was accidental, but it was inevitable, every time.

There must be affection between people; a cold heart is a form of suffering.

……

Zhao Ji felt that all her years had been wasted, for the first time truly savoring life.

And to her surprise, this little scoundrel—it was his first time.

She recalled how awkward and hurried Li Yu had been when they were honest with each other, making her want to laugh—she had to guide him in the end.

“You talk such sweet words, but who would’ve thought you were still a virgin!” Drawing circles on Li Yu’s chest, she teased, “Honestly, do you regret it?”

Li Yu rose to leave the bed, but Zhao Ji pulled his hand, nervous. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to find a knife, to cut open my heart for you to see!” he said solemnly.

Zhao Ji was instantly moved to tears, hugging him tightly, trembling with emotion, her bare body uncared for.

Li Yu understood—Zhao Ji loved these gestures, she was hopelessly romantic.

He embraced her, his youthful body quickly responding—youth was a blessing!

Their battle lasted until the moon was high; had they not been in the palace, Li Yu felt he could have gone another round.

From then on, the king neglected morning court. Li Yu finally understood the saying: “A hero’s grave lies in a gentle embrace.” Growing up felt wonderful!

Satisfied, he left the courtyard, only to find Zhao Gao, sporting his eccentric hairstyle, bored and playing with his nails.

Li Yu patted Zhao Gao’s shoulder. “Brother Zhao, you’ve worked hard!”

Zhao Gao’s mouth twitched. “You can’t leave through the main gate—I’ll take you out another way,” he said, leading Li Yu in the opposite direction.

Crossing the thick city walls, Li Yu’s heart was in his throat—who could have imagined Zhao Gao would take him over the wall? His legs were weak already, and this leap nearly made him collapse…

Clearly, controlling the Net was vital; jumping walls like this every time was not sustainable.

……

Sixth year of King Zheng of Qin, the seventeenth day of the ninth lunar month.

Li Yu planned to visit the Supervision Division, and to see the Qin-era Gundam he so admired.

The head of the division was, of course, the current master of the Gongshu family, Gongshu Chou.

Gongshu Chou’s status in Qin was unusual; his formidable mechanical arts were beloved by generals. Whether it was improved crossbows, ballistae, or war chariots, his inventions were popular in the army, their lethality unmatched.

No soldier disliked powerful weapons—the stronger the weapon, the heavier the enemy’s casualties, and their own losses reduced.

It also increased the odds of victory.

Especially the mechanical beasts—invincible in siege and conquest, one could rival thousands.

Of course, they were expensive, requiring rare metals, not common bronze or iron. Most crucially, every use caused significant wear—after one operation, parts degraded, durability declined, making prolonged use impossible.

This was why mechanical beasts never appeared in large numbers.

Otherwise, thousands of mechanical beasts would render soldiers obsolete.

Despite this, they remained the tools of war.

The Supervision Division existed for this, forging weapons.

Upon entering the division, Li Yu felt the heat all around—furnaces lined the area, waves of heat raising the temperature, like summer; shirtless men forged weapons everywhere.

The most eye-catching, naturally, were the mechanical beasts assembled in neat rows.

Most were Earth-breaker Model Three, exquisitely crafted, with parts refined to perfection. Looking around, a dozen were exactly identical, without a single difference—a testament to the craftsmen’s skill.

Even without complex instruments, their experience and hands could rival modern workmanship.

After all, poor work could cost them their lives.

“Truly exquisite,” Li Yu mused.

As a young man, he loved these steel giants, especially those with transformation features. What boy could resist? His eyes shone, but after a while, he shook his head, muttering, “Too bad they’re not very durable.”

…

Gongshu Chou appeared, hunched, his mechanical hand stroking his chin, smiling as he approached with two disciples.

Seeing his arm, Li Yu recognized him at once—the master of the Gongshu family.

Li Yu smiled. “Forgive my unannounced visit. Greetings, Master Gongshu!”

Gongshu Chou stroked his beard, pleased with Li Yu’s humble attitude. “To hold such high position at your age and remain modest is rare. What brings you here today? If you need assistance, just say the word!”

Li Yu smiled. “The Gongshu family’s arts are famed. I have come to admire them.”

Gongshu Chou nodded with increasing approval. “Please, tour as you wish. If you have suggestions, do not hesitate to share.”

People should respect each other; give an inch, receive a mile.

Li Yu produced several blueprints from his chest. “Master Gongshu, please study these for me.”

He then handed over another paper. “I won’t let you help for nothing—this is the formula for yellow gunpowder. Its power is ten or twenty times current gunpowder.”

He added solemnly, “Only the king, you, and I know this formula. It is of great importance—handle with care.”

Gongshu Chou examined the formula, realizing its immense power. If true, it could split mountains or shatter cities.

Li Yu handed over another paper. “This is a cannon design. It requires high-grade steel, but if you can make it, its power—nothing will survive within a kilometer.”

With these two formulas, Gongshu Chou’s heart was stirred. His mechanical arts were already geared towards offense, but technical bottlenecks limited progress. Li Yu’s arrival was a timely gift.

After Li Yu left, Gongshu Chou studied the blueprints. As he examined them, his expression became awkward.

“These seem to be musical instruments…”

…

At Zhangtai Palace.

When Li Yu entered, Ying Zheng was bent over his desk, writing furiously, with Gai Nie assisting him, passing papers, quite heartwarming. And what they held was paper.

The best things in Qin always went to the king first, Li Yu thought. Paper had only existed for a few days—he hadn’t even used it himself.

Seeing Ying Zheng busy, Li Yu wandered the study, waiting, almost losing patience, about to leave when Ying Zheng finally put down his pen, stretched, and noticed Li Yu.

“When did you arrive, brother? You should have announced yourself,” Ying Zheng smiled.

Li Yu awkwardly rubbed his nose. “Brother… I just got here.”

Awkward as could be—he regretted coming.

Ying Zheng assumed Li Yu was unused to the address, and asked, “What brings you?”

“I just returned from the Supervision Division, met Gongshu Chou, gave him the yellow gunpowder formula and some items needed for Korea—didn’t tell him their purpose.”

Ying Zheng nodded seriously. “You’ve worked hard! I’ve instructed Chancellor to send Li Si to assist you. Did you see him today?”

Li Yu: “I haven’t—perhaps we missed each other.”

Ying Zheng let the matter drop, gestured to the papers. “What do you think?”

Li Yu picked up the paper, feeling its thinness—it was early days, after all, and a process was required.

It would serve well for toilet paper, he mused.

“It’s a good start. With time, it will mature,” Li Yu said.

Ying Zheng: “Last time you spoke of state enterprises. Tell me more—I am interested.”

Li Yu paced in thought. “Agriculture is the foundation of the state, commerce its lifeblood. All goods must pass through merchants—their labor is essential.”

“With the right policies, you can make merchants serve the state.”

“You need only control basic resources—like an angler, seated firmly. Your basic resources are policy and authority.”

“Policy—merchants need more than effort to succeed; they need good policies. For example, tax reductions for new merchants, or foreign traders, which may seem a loss at first, but as they profit, taxes rise naturally.”

“Merchants can stabilize supply. If grain yields are low and prices high, merchants will flock to grain trade, lowering prices.”

“But you must maintain balance—never allow a monopoly, or prices will be set by merchants, not the market.”

“Merchants can help solve national problems—building infrastructure, roads, bridges. The court might spend a hundred taels, but merchants can do it for fifty and still profit.”

“Authority alone is not enough; profit is essential. To truly win merchants’ loyalty, reward them. Institute a system where those who contribute greatly may be ennobled.”

Ying Zheng’s eyes narrowed, pondering. “Since Shang Yang, we have valued military merit. If merchants are as you say, ennoblement is possible.”

Li Yu smiled. “And more—King can auction rights for cement, refined salt, soap, paper. Whoever wins becomes a state merchant. Not only do you gain the auction revenue, but a share of their profits—much better than killing the goose for its eggs.”

He showed a cunning merchant’s grin.

Ying Zheng: “Then I entrust it all to you. No one else would I trust.”

Li Yu was stunned—he’d been trapped. What he feared most were trivial affairs; now, a newly minted man, he only wanted to idle with Zhao Ji—such a weak-willed notion.

He had come to Xianyang Palace mainly for Zhao Ji; Ying Zheng was incidental, yet now he was ensnared.

But it wasn’t urgent, Li Yu thought.

Ying Zheng seemed to remember something. “What do you think of yesterday’s auspicious signs?”

“I do not know! It must be heaven’s blessing for Qin,” Li Yu replied. He had only heard about it from Xiao Tao’s excited, incoherent chatter last night, finally clarified by Xiao He.

He had discovered the jade that brought him to Qin had vanished from his backpack, though everything else remained.

Li Yu wasn’t so foolish as to claim the omen for himself.

Thinking of his backpack, Li Yu remembered something. “Brother, could you have someone make a sheet of paper?”

He surveyed the study, pointing to a wall. “About this size.”

Ying Zheng was curious. “What do you want such a large sheet for?”

“I wish to draw a map.”

He continued, “Brother, do you know there is a crop in the world that can yield six thousand per mu?”

Ying Zheng stood, excited, gripping Li Yu’s hand. “Is this true?”

Li Yu tried to withdraw, but could not, so he smiled confidently. “Of course! I saw it myself, passing through Arabia, with my teacher aiding a native, who revealed it.”

He fabricated the tale to reassure Ying Zheng.

“And besides that, another crop yields two thousand per mu—both in the same place.”

“To succeed, we will need the Gongshu family’s help—no single person can accomplish it. If successful, Qin’s dynasty will endure forever.”

Afraid Ying Zheng would assign him to oversee it, Li Yu hurriedly added, “I only want to draw the map for the Gongshu family’s convenience. That’s all I can do—no need to thank me.”

Ying Zheng understood his concerns; he would not send Li Yu on such a dangerous, lengthy journey, risking his talents.

He smiled. “Rest assured, your merit will not be forgotten. I cannot bear to let you leave.”

He patted Li Yu’s hand in appreciation.

Li Yu shivered—such quirks these ancients had.

He left Zhangtai Palace at noon.

Ying Zheng invited him to dine, but Li Yu declined. Two men eating together—what was the point?

What others saw as a reward, Li Yu dismissed, making Ying Zheng see him as exceptional.

…

Seeing Zhao Gao still at the door, Li Yu smiled. “Brother Zhao, any good news?”

Zhao Gao bowed. “You are too polite. What would you like to know?”

“Have you forgotten about Jing Ni?” Li Yu asked.

“After your last instructions, I inquired widely and found she is in Qi, though details are unclear.”

“Who’s in charge of her now?”

“Yan Ri—Lao Ai,” Zhao Gao replied.

“That meddler again—needs to be dealt with soon.”

Having the answer he wanted, Li Yu said no more, patting Zhao Gao’s shoulder and heading into the courtyard.

Today, Zhao Ji was visibly radiant, her skin smoother and firmer—a noticeable difference.

She saw Li Yu enter and, instead of greeting him, boldly turned in a circle, showing off her beauty.

Head held high, she asked, “How do I look today?”

Li Yu stepped forward, affection in his eyes. “The clothes are beautiful, but you are even more so. Empress Dowager, you’re killing me.”

Zhao Ji loved his sweet words, though she pretended otherwise.

She scoffed, “You love to deceive me—I’m not fooled! Many speak ill of me outside—you think I’m stupid?”

Li Yu held her hand, gazing deeply. “If the whole world speaks harshly to you, I’ll speak love to you for a lifetime.”

The ultimate scoundrel’s skill is to make every word true—how you say it is an art.

Zhao Ji felt herself melting, weak in his embrace, inhaling his scent deeply.

Li Yu stroked her hair—thick, smooth, fragrant—ignoring the palace maids, as if the world contained only the two of them.

A rumble broke the tranquil scene.

Zhao Ji rubbed Li Yu’s stomach. “You’re hungry? I’ll have food prepared.”

Li Yu grabbed her hand. “What I want most is the Empress Dowager—will you grant my wish?”

She slapped his hand, turned to a maid. “Prepare food, I’m hungry.”

Then, pulling Li Yu close, she asked, “Yesterday you left a wooden box—what’s inside?”

Li Yu replied, “It’s a lantern that flies—legend has it, writing your wishes on the lantern and sending it skyward will grant them.”

He looked around. “Where’s the box? I’ll show you now.”

“Don’t rush—we’ll eat first.”

…

Faced with a table overflowing with dishes, Li Yu was speechless—it was enough to feed a pig, not a person.

“Why aren’t you eating?” he asked, seeing Zhao Ji resting her chin, watching him.

“I’m not hungry! You eat—is it tasty?”

Li Yu offered her a piece of chicken. “Are you dieting? That won’t do—too thin is unhealthy, and not beautiful. Health is best.”

He was right—Zhao Ji had planned to start dieting today, fearing Li Yu would tire of her. But he preferred her not too thin—if she gained weight, she’d have to exercise daily, though she’d never done so in Qin.

Li Yu smiled. “No need to worry—I have a method to keep your figure.”

Zhao Ji was curious. “What method?” Women are always interested.

“Yoga,” Li Yu replied.

“Yoga?” She grew more curious—it sounded impressive.

After eating, Li Yu assembled a Kongming lantern in the garden, materials prepared in advance. Zhao Ji abandoned all decorum, squatting beside him, watching with childlike curiosity.

For a long time—

As the lantern floated upward, Zhao Ji was as happy as a child.

The deep palace might be called carefree, but it was truly a cage—no freedom, no hope.

This was why the harem bred intrigue—not just from interest, but boredom.

Zhao Ji couldn’t recall the last time she was this happy—ten years ago, or twenty? At least not in recent years.

Watching the lantern drift away, she nestled against Li Yu. “Will my wish really come true?”

Li Yu gazed into the distance, thinking of her wish, and answered softly, “One day, I promise.”

……

From the courtyard came moans, making anyone blush.

“Are you done yet? I can’t take it.”

“Almost, just a little longer—nearly finished.”

“Oh, ouch!”

With a playful whimper, Zhao Ji knelt on one knee, the other leg stretched back, arms raised and pulled behind her.

Li Yu stood beside her, watching seriously—a pleasing sight.

Suddenly, Li Yu felt a chill on his scalp—a figure appeared at the gate.

He nearly stumbled—Ying Zheng had arrived.

Damn Zhao Gao, why hadn’t he warned him?

Luckily, Li Yu had restrained himself—had he been more intimate with Zhao Ji, he might have lost limbs or even his head today.

He shuddered at the thought.

Ying Zheng watched Zhao Ji’s odd pose with a strange expression. “Mother, what are you doing?”

Li Yu hurried to answer, “Mother has been feeling back pain and fatigue, and I thought of a method to improve her sleep, circulation, endocrine, and mood,” spouting terms that left Ying Zheng bewildered.

Ying Zheng was curious. “If it works so well, can you teach me? I’ve had headaches and insomnia lately.”

Li Yu relaxed, seeing Ying Zheng believed him. “It’s more suited to women—if you wish, I have another method for men, guaranteed to refresh and strengthen you.”

Ying Zheng was intrigued. “What method?”

Li Yu adopted a mysterious air, gazing upward. “Tai Chi.”

Ying Zheng liked the name—sounded dignified. “Who created it?”

Li Yu replied, “A sage named Zhang Sanfeng, who attained enlightenment at Wudang.”

“How does he compare to Donghuang Taiyi?”

Li Yu answered proudly, “Worlds apart.”

“And Beimingzi?”

“Heaven and earth separate.”

Ying Zheng grew excited, grasping Li Yu’s hand. “Such a master exists? Where is he now?”

Li Yu wondered at Ying Zheng’s interest—he was still young, but Qin’s rulers, except for King Zhaoxiang, tended to die young. Ying Zheng valued longevity.

This also explained the Emperor’s later trust in alchemists.

Li Yu had grown used to Ying Zheng’s way of holding his hand.

He wasn’t exaggerating Zhang Sanfeng’s reputation—few in Chinese history could match him.

He taught Ying Zheng, and practiced himself.

“Relax the neck, sink the breath to the abdomen…”

At first it went smoothly, but when he explained “when vital energy merges as one,” a strange breeze swept over Li Yu, rustling his clothes.

The air in the courtyard rippled outward from him, then returned to his body.

The courtyard was left in disarray, as if bandits had raided it.

Li Yu was stunned.

“So powerful?”

Even the stoic Ying Zheng stared in amazement.

Zhao Ji, finishing her yoga and rising, was knocked over by the wind, left in disarray.

Li Yu saw her reproachful eyes, hurried to help.

Mindful of Ying Zheng, he respectfully saluted Zhao Ji. “Mother, I’m sorry you were frightened.”

She brushed off leaves, waving her sleeve with feigned composure. “I’m fine.”

But her fierce little glare told Li Yu—just wait!

Adorable in the extreme.

Ying Zheng offered comfort. “I never guessed you were so skilled!”

Li Yu smiled awkwardly. “I wouldn’t dare deceive you—it was my first attempt.”

“Clearly you have talent!” Ying Zheng smiled.

Li Yu was excited—he was no longer a weakling in this high-martial world.

Ying Zheng, seeing the slow moves, was amazed at their power, and tried to imitate Li Yu.

Li Yu played the master, correcting his moves.

But after much practice, Ying Zheng saw no effect.

Li Yu grew anxious, demonstrating again.

But nothing happened.

Refusing to give up, he tried again—still nothing.

Zhao Ji watched, laughing until she doubled over.

Ying Zheng believed Li Yu’s claim that it was his first try.

He patted Li Yu’s shoulder. “This art is clearly profound. For you to have such a reaction on your first attempt shows great talent—don’t be impatient.”

He cared little for Li Yu’s martial skills, seeing them as merely a bonus to his scholarship.

Ying Zheng had no idea Li Yu’s ambitions went much further.

He suddenly remembered, “Just now I saw something fly from Ganquan Palace, glowing. Since you’re here, it must be your doing?”

Li Yu saluted. “It was a little invention for Mother’s amusement—she is lonely in the palace.”

Hearing this, Zhao Ji wiped her eyes, whether in emotion or grievance.

Ying Zheng sighed, feeling he had failed his mother. “In future, accompany her often—thank you.”

Li Yu replied earnestly, “It is filial duty, nothing to thank me for.” Inside, he was delighted, stealing a glance at Zhao Ji.

She met his gaze, blushing, turning away.

Because of Ying Zheng’s presence, Li Yu could not linger and took his leave.

Passing the gate, he sought Zhao Gao to talk, but he was gone—whether hiding or absent was unclear.