Chapter Twelve: The Final Blow

There are thousands upon thousands of people in this world, countless affairs to unravel.
Some people are alive, yet already dead inside.

Year six of King Zheng of Qin, ninth month, twenty-first day.

Li Yu gazed upward, where sun and moon shone side by side.
The newborn sun cast faint rays as if announcing its arrival, while the high-hanging moon radiated stubborn silver light, unwilling to fade, revealing its inner defiance.

Li Yu straightened his garments, feeling awkward in his first official robe—loose and baggy, seemingly tailored for the corpulent.

Qinchuan Palace
The site of today’s morning court.

When Li Yu arrived, many had already gathered.
Lu Buwei stood at the fore, followed by Lord Changping, Lord Changwen, and a host of others.

Led by the palace attendants, Li Yu was placed in the sixth position—quite near the front; to move further up required enduring years of seniority.

Observing his surroundings, he noticed nearly all were men past fifty, even the so-called new generation like Lord Changping were at least forty-five.

Standing among them, Li Yu felt distinctly out of place.

Today’s court focused on the issue of Zhao invading Wei and whether Qin should intervene.

Lu Buwei deemed it unnecessary; the time was not ripe for Qin to move east. This expedition would bring no benefit.

Yet the cunning Lord Changping advocated strongly for military action against Zhao, a stance supported by Meng Ao and his generals…

Li Yu glanced at Changping, unsure what scheme he plotted this time.

Historically, Lord Changping had badly sabotaged Qin, causing grievous harm. Li Yu suspected that Fan Yuqi’s defection may have Changping’s shadow behind it, though lacking proof.

Still, this didn’t prevent Li Yu from suspecting Changping—he always seemed implicated in mischief.

The debate ended unresolved, so the matter was set aside for now.

King Zheng of Qin would not act alone; centralization was a concept born after the supremacy of Confucianism.

In the pre-Qin era, who dared centralize power? Who would rally behind you? If not, they'd simply flee.

At its core, the court was a gathering of nobles seeking warmth in unity, each securing their interests, while the king served as their figurehead.

Later ages turned this into “all under heaven belongs to the king,” a product of generations of centralized rule.

The originator sat at the apex: King Zheng of Qin. Yet he had not yet unified the realm, lacking that ambition.

The final topic was proposed by Ying Zheng, concerning the establishment of an academy.

With paper-making technology now mature, Ying Zheng wished no further delay.

He gestured to his close attendants,
Three palace attendants entered, carrying trays displaying three types of paper: one thin and soft like rice paper, one earthy yellow resembling toilet paper, and the last akin to Li Yu’s A4 sheets, though slightly yellowed but perfectly usable.

“The first batch of paper is ready. What does my brother think?”

Li Yu, unreserved, stepped forward and examined the papers: bamboo, hemp, and leather, each crafted with fine texture.

No longer would anyone’s bottom suffer indignities.

Li Yu stroked the papers, a sigh of emotion rising within.

“Excellent!”

He couldn’t help but praise from the heart, knowing this was the first step—he had left his footprint in this era. The annals of history would surely record his name, and in time, many events would center around him.

And the entanglements with Qin would only deepen.

“More manpower will be allocated; large-scale production can begin early next year.”

Lu Buwei’s eyes glinted with a smile as he stroked his beard and spoke slowly.

The advent of paper benefited him as well. His “Annals of Lü” could now be printed on paper, abandoning cumbersome bamboo slips—eliminating its greatest shortcoming. Beyond personal gain, paper could also draw the scholars of various schools.

“In that case, my pace can quicken. The academy’s construction is imminent, and I lack a team of teachers. I plan to raise a tower that can house the learning of all schools, open to scholars of the realm, to attract talent to Qin’s service!”

Li Yu laughed lightly.

“Agreed.”

Ying Zheng replied without hesitation—this matter had already been discussed with Li Yu, needing no input from the ministers.

Moreover, it was purely beneficial to Qin.

For Ying Zheng, it was also timely; his coming-of-age ceremony neared, and he needed to bolster his prestige. This was ideal.

Lord Changping’s eyes flickered; he glanced at Li Yu, realizing the impact if this succeeded: it would transform Qin, perhaps even shake the seven states, given the multitude of scholars.

He admired Li Yu’s boldness—to unite the learning of all schools under one roof.

But was he not concerned with their attitudes?

Not all would willingly expose their teachings, especially with Li Yu’s method.

Regardless, Changping could not stop it; Li Yu wielded momentum, and Ying Zheng and Lu Buwei’s support was clear. Changping could neither trip him up nor halt the plan.

Soon, the matter was settled in harmonious atmosphere.

Details began to be discussed.

Meanwhile, Li Yu, the protagonist, gently stroked the white paper. He felt a surge of pressure—now that paper existed, he had much more to write. Glancing at the sheets, he muttered inwardly, feeling a shortage of talent around him.

For instance, physicians…

Time ticked by as the conversation deepened, touching on salt and iron.

Li Yu could not remain silent, stating, “Salt and iron are vital to the nation. Salt is essential for health, iron critical for development—agriculture relies on iron tools, as does the army.

Both must be state-controlled in pricing, production, and sales.

I suggest cooperating with merchants: though often unreliable, their trading networks are well-established and can be leveraged, reducing state investment…”

As he explained, Li Yu became increasingly involved, imparting economic knowledge—years ahead of his era.

“Merchants are useful, but difficult to control!”

Lu Buwei stroked his beard, speaking slowly.

“No need to control—tempt them with profit. Merchants pursue gain; grant it, and they will serve Qin, even those from other states. The reason for establishing chambers of commerce is this: the power of one or two merchants may be negligible, but imagine gathering the wealthy of all seven states—can you fathom the force?”

Li Yu spoke calmly.

If it ever came to that, he could wage economic war, destroying three or four states without a single soldier.

Money, when amassed, is formidable—almost as powerful as force.

“Are you not afraid of raising a threat?”

Lord Changping stepped forward, unable to restrain his astonishment at Li Yu’s ideas; he dared to conceive and execute them.

“Raising a threat? You are right, Lord Changping. Everything has two sides; used well, chambers of commerce are sharp tools for Qin’s benefit; used poorly, they can undermine the state. Ultimately, it depends on the controller and the country.

At least for now, the benefits outweigh the drawbacks.

As for the future…

Let the future worry about itself! Why fret over things yet to happen? Does Lord Changping think Qin cannot suppress a handful of merchants?”

Li Yu countered softly.

He left unsaid: should it come to that, he would show no mercy—what else to do with a fattened duck but slaughter it?

Chambers of commerce are a risk-free venture from the start.

Qin need not invest anything; it is a state, merchants are mere individuals.

How can individuals contend with the nation?

If obedient, fine; if not, replace them with compliant ones.

The state need not reason with merchants—it only needs to set the rules.

Within the rules, merchants may jump as they please; outside, one leap earns death.

Li Yu had already discussed this with Ying Zheng and Lu Buwei and received their support, so he feared no opposition.

Changping fell silent; to argue further would contradict his persona.

Yet unease stirred within him.

He sensed the chamber of commerce would become a formidable challenge in future.

But for now, he could not stop it.

“This is settled; no further debate. It is the will of myself and the prime minister. My brother is merely the executor.”

Ying Zheng spoke softly.

His words silenced those who wished to object.

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“Understood,” Lord Changping answered, bowing and stepping back.

Li Yu glanced at Changping’s impassive expression; he grew wary, sensing Changping’s increasing interest in him. Being the focus of such a man inspired a chill down his spine.

Court affairs turned into a symposium,
stretching from dawn to noon, with all still energetic.

Li Yu rubbed his stomach, amazed at these elders’ stamina.

If not for his upcoming plans, he might have dozed off.

The world of Qin’s anime was anything but straightforward; many events diverged from history.

Those who should be dead lived on.

For example, Meng Ao, grandfather of Meng Tian, should have passed two or three years ago, yet was still full of vigor.

This forced Li Yu to rely on guesswork for many things.

“Zhao Gao should be making his move now,” Li Yu thought as he watched the ministers discuss state affairs, his mind drifting to Lan Zhi Palace.

He had agreed with Zhao Gao to act at noon today.

“Let everything go smoothly,” he murmured, glancing at Lu Buwei in meditation.

The elimination of Lao Ai would affect many matters.

Only by removing Lao Ai could Li Yu, through Ying Zheng, purge the palace and seize control of the Net—a sharp tool best wielded by himself!

Afterwards, dealings with Lady Zhao need not be so clandestine.

……

Ganquan Palace

Night descended, red lanterns hung high, casting a rosy glow over the corridors and adding a unique ambiance.

Lady Zhao favored red, so the palace’s decor was mostly crimson.

The vast hall was empty, filled with unspeakable chill and loneliness.

Tap, tap—

Suddenly, faint footsteps shattered the corridor’s calm.

A maid led a palace attendant toward the depths of Ganquan Palace. The maid was plain, but the attendant exuded masculinity, his eyes bright and keen. On closer inspection, one could see the hunger and suppressed excitement in his gaze.

Just moments ago, Lady Zhao, who had kept him waiting for days, seemed to have forgiven him and summoned him again, this time to the Jade Pool Hall reserved for her baths.

The implications were obvious.

These days had been torment for Lao Ai—poor meals, restless nights, and, most crucially, no freedom.

Entering the palace was a gamble, especially seducing the queen mother.

Without Lady Zhao’s permission, Lao Ai’s schemes were useless; he couldn’t even approach her. This was, after all, Xianyang Palace, not the outside world.

Moreover, Zhao Gao was no pushover; acting rashly would ruin everything.

Thus, Lao Ai waited—until today.

A patient hunter, he had plenty of endurance.

Soon they arrived at the Jade Pool Hall, with attendants and maids seemingly dismissed, heightening the eerie silence. The lanterns’ red glow lent a sinister air to the palace.

Lao Ai extended his senses; with his cultivation, he could detect any ambush.

Though he had questioned the maid beforehand and learned via illusion that the invitation was genuine, his cautious nature kept him wary.

Until success, caution must prevail—one misstep could ruin the Net’s future plans.

He took a deep breath, calming his excitement. Though normally unmoved by external matters, Lady Zhao’s status was too extraordinary for any man to remain collected.

Besides, Lao Ai was not averse to women. Naturally, he coveted Qin’s most noble lady.

The maid opened the hall door, nodded to Lao Ai, and entered first.

Lao Ai squared his shoulders and stepped into the Jade Pool Hall.

As they entered, the doors gently closed behind them.

Inside,

Transparent red curtains hung every few meters, swaying with the breeze. At the center, a vast bath steamed gently.

At its heart, a seductive silhouette beckoned.

But one glance told Lao Ai something was wrong; he instantly tensed.

Almost at the same moment,

The alluring figure at the pool’s center shattered, splitting into two graceful forms, back to back—Soul Shatter and Spirit Vanish of the Six Sword Slaves. Chains linked to short swords whipped through the air, aiming to bind Lao Ai’s waist.

Simultaneously,

Warm water exploded from the pool, four figures leapt forth, each wielding a sharp sword, thrusting at Lao Ai. Killing intent peaked instantly; their aura transformed from concealed to explosive in a heartbeat.

Their attack meant certain death; not a word wasted.

Like the most precise killing machines.

“Six Sword Slaves!”

Lao Ai was shocked and furious, immediately grabbing the stunned maid as a shield and retreating at lightning speed.

The leader, True Steel, paused not an instant, as cold and merciless as a slaughtering machine. His sword cleaved the maid in two, blood splattering, and continued toward Lao Ai.

The other five leapt, forming a deadly encirclement.

Most chilling was the figure that appeared behind Lao Ai—

Zhao Gao.

“Her Majesty commands you be shredded and fed to the dogs.”

Zhao Gao’s dead fish eyes betrayed no emotion as he watched Lao Ai, battered by the Six Sword Slaves, his voice drifting like a summons from the underworld.

Spurt!

One of Lao Ai’s hands was pierced by Spirit Vanish, pain twisting his face. He stared in disbelief at Zhao Gao, unable to grasp why Zhao Gao would do this—he was, after all, Lu Buwei’s man. Was Lady Zhao turning against Lu Buwei?

Even if so, Zhao Gao should not act against him.

Nominally, both belonged to the Net.

In mere moments, the Six Sword Slaves crippled Lao Ai.

With their ambush, Lao Ai—weaponless—was no match. Barehanded, he lost a hand, had the other pierced, legs broken, collarbone skewered by chains, kneeling, blood-soaked, hair gripped by Chaos, forced to look at Zhao Gao across several meters.

“Why? Aren’t you afraid Lu Buwei will find out?”

Lao Ai asked, voice muffled, bewildered.

Even if Lady Zhao rejected him, for Lu Buwei’s sake she wouldn’t harm him—at most, eject him. That courtesy existed between them.

That was why she had previously told him to leave.

But days later, Zhao Gao suddenly acted with the Six Sword Slaves—so inexplicably, with no apparent reason.

Didn’t he fear Lu Buwei learning of this?

Lao Ai was still Lu Buwei’s man!

How did Zhao Gao dare?

“You should not have entered the palace—this is not your place. You crossed the line.”

Zhao Gao’s fingers traced Lao Ai’s face, eyes cold and unfeeling, words slow and deliberate.

Since Lao Ai entered the palace, Zhao Gao had intended to kill him. Sadly, as Lao Ai said, Lu Buwei was a towering obstacle; without Lady Zhao’s command, Zhao Gao dared not act. If Lu Buwei learned, the consequences would be unpredictable.

But with Li Yu’s unpredictable presence, everything changed. Especially after Li Yu and Lady Zhao became involved, Zhao Gao knew whom to support.

Lu Buwei, aged and lacking ambition.

Li Yu, youthful, trusted by Lady Zhao and the king.

The choice was clear.

Zhao Gao had to consider his own future.

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……

Lao Ai did not beg for mercy, only stared at Zhao Gao in utter confusion, unable to fathom his confidence.

Zhao Gao did not bother to explain. He gripped Lao Ai’s skull, channeled his internal energy—purple-red at his fingertips—slowly invading Lao Ai’s mind, squeezing his soul, entering his body.

Zhao Gao was interested in the secrets within Lao Ai’s mind; his cultivation specialized in such matters.

He wanted to know the secrets of the Net.

Within the Net lay deep secrets Zhao Gao never had the chance to explore. Now, he seized the opportunity.

Lao Ai, once a top assassin (“Covering Sun”) and former controller of the Net, surely knew much.

Lao Ai began convulsing, blood pouring from his wounds, his breath weakening, soon lapsing into unconsciousness.

“This…”

Zhao Gao’s eyes flickered with surprise as he looked at the limp, half-dead Lao Ai, murmuring to himself, as if he had learned something astonishing.

After a moment’s silence, Zhao Gao’s demeanor returned to calm.

He spoke quietly, “Don’t let him die. He’s still useful.”

With that, Zhao Gao walked out, needing to report to Lady Zhao and collaborate with Li Yu on their plan.

As for what he learned from Lao Ai’s mind, he was keen to know if Lu Buwei was aware of these things.

Because the Net’s “Covering Sun” had two holders.

One in the light, one in the shadows.

The true master was the hidden “Covering Sun,” not Lao Ai, who was merely a decoy.

Lao Ai existed to draw attention.

Even Lao Ai himself did not know the identity of the hidden master.

Essentially, Lao Ai was just a tool, like the Six Sword Slaves, discarded at any moment.

“How interesting, the Net…”

Zhao Gao’s lips moved, his eyes growing colder.

Qinchuan Palace

The meeting continued, after a brief rest, resuming discussion of border warfare, split between two opinions.

One advocated attacking Wei, the other attacking Zhao.

Attacking Zhao needed no explanation; Qin and Zhao were mortal enemies, countless battles waged over the past century, especially the blood feud of Changping. Moreover, Ying Zheng and his mother Lady Zhao had served as hostages in Zhao, deepening their hatred—no matter how Qin struck at Zhao, it was justified.

Ying Zheng was a king, not a saint.

His time as a hostage in Zhao had been harsh, often bullied.

Attacking Wei was due to the country’s recent instability; the old king of Wei was gravely ill, presenting a prime opportunity to seize cities.

Wei, as Qin’s eastern gateway, needed to be weakened. The more cities Qin took, the broader its strategic options, whether marching north or south.

Li Yu, unfamiliar with military tactics, remained silent.

If he were to lead troops, he’d bombard with supplies—modern warfare dictated artillery as king.

Qin’s forte was crossbow barrages; if gunpowder were attached, full-scale bombing was possible.

Bombard three or four times before invading.

Victory would be assured.

With enough resources and national strength, this strategy was nearly invincible, ignoring tactics and rivals.

As long as the enemy had no terrain advantage and faced Qin directly, with proper scouting and weather consideration, no chance for ambush, Li Yu saw no way to lose, though the resource cost would be immense.

Ultimately, war was a contest of national strength.

At this moment,

The ministers reached a consensus: use Wei as a distraction, but focus on attacking Zhao. Zhao was belligerent and Qin’s deadliest foe—never allowing Zhao respite, always striking to the death.

Wei, on the other hand, had lost its spirit over recent years.

Once the central plains’ hegemon, Wei now barely survived, relying on ancestral legacy.

In national strength, it barely surpassed Han and Yan.

“In that case, send orders for Wang Jian to continue north against Zhao, have the heavy infantry stationed at Wusui to contain Wei and Han.”

Ying Zheng nodded, his gaze sharp, voice solemn.

Soon after,

Lu Buwei quietly added, “I have been planning to ally with Yan, to jointly attack Zhao. Now is the perfect opportunity—if we defeat Zhao, we can forge a Yan alliance.”

“An alliance with Yan?”

Ying Zheng’s eyes flashed, questioning.

“Yes, Your Majesty, do you remember Geng Chengjun Cai Ze? He has been in Yan for over a year.”

“Geng Chengjun?”

The ministers’ expressions changed—they all recognized him, including Ying Zheng.

“I have recently contacted him. I believe that joining forces with Yan and Wei increases our chances—at least it will severely wound Zhao and benefit Qin in the future.”

The meeting soon ended, ministers departed, but Li Yu was kept behind by Ying Zheng. It was clear the king’s mind was troubled, stirred by memories of Geng Chengjun.

Though Ying Zheng would become the immortal First Emperor, he was still human, with emotions.

The ruthless path of kingship was forged by endless blood and slaughter.

Atop the tall building,

Ying Zheng stood with hands behind his back, the cold wind blowing, black hair and cloak fluttering, his angular face stern and dignified, gazing into the distance. Sensing Li Yu’s approach, he raised a hand, pointing to a direction.

“My brother, that is where Zhao lies. Mother and I spent nearly ten years there.”

His voice was calm, as if watching from outside the scene.

Yet Li Yu heard the chill in his words—those ten years had left deep scars. From birth to youth, those formative years were spent in Zhao.

But it was thanks to Zhao’s trials that Ying Zheng became who he was.

Hardship is the best forge for a person.

Survive it, and you become strong.

If not, you are ruined.

Li Yu had not experienced this, but he understood—people are forced by circumstances.

“Does Your Majesty hate Zhao deeply?”

Li Yu approached, speaking as a friend.

Ying Zheng was silent for a moment, then slowly said, “I once hated them deeply. For a time, I swore that if given the chance, I would annihilate Zhao and slaughter its people.”

“And now?”

Li Yu was not surprised. Anger clouds reason, especially in youth—only with age and maturity does reason prevail.

“I am king of Qin; personal emotion matters little now. My foster father taught me not to let hatred cloud judgment. A king must look to the world, not let personal feelings harm the state. This time, perhaps my last indulgence before adulthood, I wish to reclaim what was lost.”

Ying Zheng turned to Li Yu, his eyes bright, speaking slowly.

Dignity and authority.

Nothing served as a better offering than the blood of Zhao’s crown prince. If possible, Ying Zheng wished it were the king himself.

But he knew the time was not yet right.

A war of extermination must not be started lightly.

“The chance will come.”

Li Yu was silent, echoing Ying Zheng’s words, offering no advice.

Without experiencing Ying Zheng’s childhood, he had no right to comment.

Standing atop the city, Li Yu admired the night view of Xianyang—a sense of cold isolation at lofty heights, much like Ying Zheng’s restrained emotions. Li Yu, too, could not act solely on personal preference.

Meanwhile,

Outside Qinchuan Palace, a palace attendant hurried forward…

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