Chapter Eleven: Lao Ai Enters the Palace

Year Six of King Zheng of Qin, Ninth Month, Nineteenth Day

The weather was mild, with a gentle breeze and radiant sunshine. The sky stretched endlessly, not a single cloud in sight. On this very day, Lao Ai was sent into the palace by him.

…

Indeed, Lao Ai entered the palace, and it was none other than the familiar face from the Net—Zhao Gao—who received him. Zhao Gao stood with his hands folded, his pallid face betraying not a hint of emotion. His lifeless, indifferent eyes regarded Lao Ai with customary detachment, though inwardly, stormy waves crashed. He was astonished that Lao Ai would appear within the palace, and even more so in these inner chambers. Especially upon seeing Lao Ai’s current attire, he could scarcely believe his eyes, for Lao Ai was dressed as a palace eunuch.

“I hope I can rely on your guidance in the days to come, Chamberlain Zhao,” Lao Ai said, his lips now free of their former stubble, which lent his face a softer look. Nevertheless, the masculine air about him could not be concealed. He smiled at Zhao Gao as he spoke.

“I dare not presume,” Zhao Gao replied, bowing his head, gradually suppressing his astonishment. Yet countless questions surged within him. Was this truly arranged by Chancellor Lü? But obviously, Zhao Gao had neither the right nor the need to ask Lü Buwei, for Lao Ai stood before him now, bearing Lü Buwei’s own command. From this day forward, Lao Ai would serve at Ganquan Palace, attending to the daily life of the Queen Dowager.

No matter what Zhao Gao thought, the deed was already done. He had no choice but to escort Lao Ai before the Queen Dowager.

“The Queen Dowager’s temperament is unpredictable. You would do well to be cautious,” Zhao Gao murmured, offering a quiet warning before leading the way.

“Thank you,” Lao Ai replied with a light laugh, untroubled. However exalted she might be, the Queen Dowager was but a lonely woman. If Lü Buwei had managed her all these years, why could Lao Ai not do the same? Should Zhao Ji’s restraint fail but once, that would be his opportunity. With his mastery of illusion, he was confident he could ensnare Zhao Ji within a world of his creation, blurring the line between reality and fantasy, rendering her utterly captive.

The future, then, would be his.

Lao Ai soon followed Zhao Gao through layers of palace guards, arriving at the most imposing and honored quarters of the harem. As they stood in the empty hall, Lao Ai’s eyes flickered—he could not help but feel some anticipation at meeting Zhao Ji. Though his looks were ordinary, he had faith in the masculine vigor that women found so irresistibly alluring.

Could Zhao Ji withstand such a presence for a lifetime? If even once she yielded, Lao Ai was certain he could make her his.

Such was his confidence.

Soon, word reached the inner chambers, and Zhao Ji emerged slowly, supported by her maids. As the figure drew near, Lao Ai could not help but be captivated by the beauty before him—not for lack of will or experience, but because of the forbidden possibilities that excited his senses. This woman was, after all, the birth-mother of the King of Qin.

A noblewoman in a crimson palace gown appeared, her dress trailing the floor, the collar adorned with broad brocade. Her silken bodice rose in proud peaks, a hint of creamy skin and deep shadow visible beneath. With each step, her figure shifted ever so slightly, and Lao Ai found himself swallowing involuntarily.

Her slender waist accentuated the grandeur of her bosom, a golden embroidered cloak draped over her shoulders, the patterns regal and exquisite. Her raven hair was coiffed into a cloud-like chignon, a delicate golden hairpin set askew, adding an air of elegance and dignity. Her fair cheeks were set off by enchanting eyes that now gleamed with cold impatience. She fixed Lao Ai with a frosty stare and parted her lips:

“What has Lü Buwei sent you here for?”

Lao Ai dared not look further. He bowed his head respectfully and replied in a measured tone, “The Chancellor has sent me to attend upon Your Majesty.”

“Attend? What need have I of you?” Zhao Ji swept her long sleeves, hands folded at her abdomen, suspicion flickering in her eyes as she regarded Lao Ai. She could not fathom Lü Buwei’s intent—why send a eunuch in his stead? Was she wanting for attendants in her own palace?

Her annoyance grew more pronounced. Her mood had been foul of late, especially since Li Yuhuan had vanished for days after their tryst. Her already fragile temperament had become volatile, the emptiness within leaving her irritable and restless—a modern physician might call it hormonal imbalance.

Lao Ai replied deferentially, “I am unlike other palace attendants. I can relieve Your Majesty’s boredom.”

“Unlike them? In what way?” Zhao Ji asked, surprised. Could Lü Buwei truly have sent someone interesting for her amusement?

“I am… still whole,” Lao Ai said quietly.

“…”

Zhao Ji was momentarily stunned, not understanding, but realization soon dawned. Her eyes went blank, her complexion turning ashen, disbelief and confusion warring within her. She recalled the words Li Yu had spoken to her just days before, words that now resounded in her ears like thunder.

Had Lü Buwei truly discarded her, as she had once been cast aside in Zhao, left to fend for herself with her child, despised as a burden? How could he? How dare he! She was still the Queen Dowager of Qin! Without her, could Lü Buwei have risen so high? Did he now see her as valueless—worse, a liability to his position?

A bitter, self-mocking laugh escaped Zhao Ji, her beautiful eyes filled with scorn—both for herself and for Lü Buwei. Her gaze grew colder as she looked at Lao Ai. Did Lü Buwei truly see her now as a wanton to be shared at will?

“...Your Majesty, I…” Lao Ai sensed her stormy mood and tried to offer comfort.

“Out! Leave! Go back and tell Lü Buwei that I am not so desperate for a man!” Zhao Ji’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding, her authority crashing over the hall like a storm. Her fury was unmistakable. Of course, Li Yu’s absence these days contributed as much to her rage as did Lü Buwei’s affront.

She recalled the two previous times Lü Buwei had abandoned her: first sent away as a gift, then left in Zhao to suffer alone with her child. And now, he had thrown her aside yet again, and so cheaply, as if she were nothing.

Did she truly mean so little to Lü Buwei? Was there no place for her at all?

Chancellor’s Residence.

Lü Buwei had been keeping close watch on the palace. News of Zhao Ji dismissing Lao Ai reached him soon enough. Reading the report, he sighed in resignation. After a moment’s thought, he instructed the kneeling shadow before him, “Send word to Lao Ai to remain at Ganquan Palace and wait. When the Queen Dowager’s anger cools, he may approach her again. There is no need to rush.”

No one knew Zhao Ji better than Lü Buwei. She might possess beauty, but her temperament was no different from most women’s—in some ways, she was even more foolish. Lü Buwei knew how to soothe her. Once her anger passed, she would eventually accept the new reality, unless she truly wished to remain chaste for the rest of her years.

He believed he was acting for their mutual benefit.

If there had been another way, he would not have taken such a step. But matters had come to a head; there was no turning back. Lü Buwei knew well what he wanted—he could not let Zhao Ji destroy him.

“Yes,” the man in black replied, bowing before slipping from Lü Buwei’s sight.

Lü Buwei lingered in silence for a while, feeling a pang of guilt toward Zhao Ji, but it quickly dissipated. Compared to his grand ambitions, Zhao Ji was insignificant. She was, after all, only a woman.

…

The sky was awash with sunset’s glow, reflected in the jade-green waters; autumn clouds drifted above a thousand mountains.

Year Six of King Zheng of Qin, Ninth Month, Twentieth Day

Morning sunlight poured into the courtyard. Amid a gentle breeze, Li Yu slowly lowered his arms from their practiced motions—inhale, exhale. After two days of practice, he was finding his rhythm with Tai Chi; its essence, he realized, was to move with ease, not force. The more anxious one was, the less effective it became—a lesson as true for the heart as for the body.

From the corner, little Tao approached and handed him a towel. “Master, Li Si is here!”

“Let’s go meet him,” Li Yu replied.

Since his arrival at Marquis Wu’an’s residence, Li Si had reported in daily. Li Yu had told him to wait at home and that he would be summoned if needed, but Li Si persisted in coming every day. Li Yu let him be.

Seeing Li Si waiting at the gate, Li Yu said, “In the future, just come inside and have some tea. Don’t linger outside—it makes me look harsh. Passersby might get the wrong idea.”

Li Si saluted. “Thank you, Grand Director.”

“Today, I plan to visit the Directorate of Works. Prepare the information on Qin’s wealthy merchants for me—I’ll need it.”

“Yes, sir,” Li Si replied and departed at once—ever the diligent assistant, much to Li Yu’s satisfaction.

By the time Li Yu reached the Directorate, it was already noon. Looking at the rows of unfinished instruments, he marveled at the power of the state—so much accomplished in just three days.

Gongshu Chou soon arrived. “Are you satisfied, Grand Director?”

“They look well-crafted,” Li Yu smiled. “But only testing will tell.”

“The trouble lies with the strings,” Gongshu Chou said. “The materials are difficult to find.”

“It’s not the materials but the process,” Li Yu replied. “Let me show you a method: try using sheep gut or silkworm silk. I’ll write out the steps for you later.”

He also checked on the gunpowder experiments, but the frigid conditions sent him fleeing after a quick glance.

…

After two days without seeing Zhao Ji, Li Yu found himself missing her. Upon arriving at Xianyang Palace, he first reported to Ying Zheng as a matter of propriety before seeking out Zhao Ji.

Each time he saw Ying Zheng, the king was always hard at work, making Li Yu feel awkward—when the boss is so diligent, it hardly seemed proper for the staff to slack off. Li Yu suspected this work ethic was part of why Ying Zheng died young—the other reason, perhaps, being his reliance on medicines.

After a cup of tea, Ying Zheng finally stretched and noticed Li Yu. “I haven’t seen you for days, brother. What have you been busy with?”

Li Yu bowed. “Serving the state by connecting with our kingdom’s merchants, Your Majesty.”

“You have worked hard,” Ying Zheng replied.

Li Yu responded with solemn earnestness, “I am willing to give my all for Qin, to the very end!”

Not the least bit abashed—officialdom truly was the best training ground.

The two then discussed the particulars of state-sponsored commerce, and time passed swiftly until the midday meal. Li Yu, used to three meals a day in modern times, found the pre-Qin custom of only two rather meager; only the privileged few enjoyed a midday snack. Such was the mark of low productivity.

As he ate the pastries prepared by Ying Zheng, Li Yu resolved to do something for the people. An idea struck him, and he asked, “What do you think of pigs, Your Majesty?”

Ying Zheng was momentarily perplexed.

“Pigs,” Li Yu clarified, making a gesture by his ears.

Now understanding, Ying Zheng asked, “Why do you ask?”

Li Yu continued, “What do you think of their flavor?”

“Too gamey, lacking in savor,” Ying Zheng replied.

“If I could solve that problem, could pigs be widely raised?” Li Yu asked.

“Is such a solution possible?” Ying Zheng queried.

“It’s simple: castrate them when young,” Li Yu said.

“Is that so?” Ying Zheng replied.

“What’s more, a castrated pig matures in just ten months. Then—there will be no shortage of meat,” Li Yu declared. “Your Majesty should set an example and be the first to eat it. I have a recipe that will not disappoint.”

“If it benefits the people and the army, I will gladly do so,” Ying Zheng replied.

“Qin is fortunate to have you, Your Majesty,” Li Yu said with a smile.

“No, it is you, brother,” Ying Zheng responded.

They exchanged a warm look. Li Yu felt a mix of emotions toward Ying Zheng—guilt over Zhao Ji, gratitude for his trust, and a brotherly affection.

By the time he left Ying Zheng, the setting sun was golden.

Three days had passed since he last saw Zhao Ji. Any longer, and she might truly explode.

At the gates of Ganquan Palace, Li Yu encountered Zhao Gao again. Before Li Yu could question him, Zhao Gao spoke first, dousing his hopes.

“Lao Ai is here.”

In an instant, many thoughts raced through Li Yu’s mind.

“Where is he?”

“In Ganquan Palace.”

“Lao Ai must be dealt with,” Li Yu said.

Zhao Gao was growing desperate—partly because Zhao Ji was disengaged, and partly due to the Net’s involvement. His own position was precarious, and Lao Ai’s sudden rise threatened his own interests. It was like having someone snatch away a piece of his cake; no wonder Zhao Gao chose to confide in Li Yu now.

Li Yu had previously asked Zhao Gao to watch Lao Ai, but as they belonged to different factions, Zhao Gao hadn’t given it much thought. Now, in a low voice, Zhao Gao said, “I too was recommended to the palace by Chancellor Lü in those days.”

“And now?” Li Yu asked, his gaze sharp, a small smile on his lips.

“I have always been loyal to the Queen Dowager,” Zhao Gao replied flatly, head bowed. The meaning was clear.

Li Yu said no more and strode inside.

Soon, he was before the Queen Dowager Zhao Ji of Qin. Compared to their last meeting, there was a touch of haggardness to her beauty, no matter how splendid her attire. The sorrow in her brows could not be concealed; her grief was plain to see.

Zhao Ji was never one to hide her feelings.

Li Yu could only marvel at Lü Buwei’s blunder. For a man whose every move had been so calculated and successful, how could he have erred so disastrously when it came to Zhao Ji? For this mistake, he would lose everything—reputation, power, and even his life.

It was proof enough of the old saying: the older one grows, the more muddled one becomes. Or perhaps he had simply underestimated Zhao Ji’s capacity for destruction, and Lao Ai’s ambition. A string of coincidences had sown the seeds of Qin’s greatest crisis.

“Li Yu, at your service, Your Majesty!” he declared, dropping to his knees without hesitation.

Zhao Ji shot him an exasperated look. “What brings you here today?”

Clutching his chest in feigned agony, Li Yu replied, “I was overcome by sorrow at your suffering, Your Majesty, and came to visit.”

She eyed him sidelong. “Just days ago, you called me Mother. Now you switch to ‘Your Majesty’?”

“That was for Zheng’s benefit!” Li Yu grinned, taking her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “To him, you are Mother. To me, you are… well, let’s say he’s like my elder brother, and I am his foster father.”

Zhao Ji burst out laughing in spite of herself. “You’re bold, to say such things—aren’t you afraid for your life?”

“Your happiness matters most. It’s not worth grieving over someone who doesn’t care for you,” Li Yu said, drawing her into his embrace.

“Leave everything to me.”