Chapter Thirteen: Fury

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Endless autumn leaves. Frosted blades test the sword. It is precisely the best season to see blood.

As Li Yu gazed at the distant autumn scenery, sighing, an attendant was stopped at the door by Ge Nie. With Ge Nie’s intense stare, the attendant hurriedly led him toward the inner palace to meet the King of Qin.

Upon seeing Ying Zheng, the attendant immediately knelt, his face filled with terror, voice trembling, “Your Majesty…something has happened at Ganquan Palace!”

“Hm?” Ying Zheng was momentarily stunned, then his gaze sharpened, his expression turning cold and frosty. He stared at the attendant on the ground, his voice utterly devoid of emotion. “Was the Empress Dowager disturbed?”

Li Yu also looked at the attendant, his demeanor growing serious. Though he knew what had happened at Ganquan Palace, he had to maintain the facade—history teaches us not to be too arrogant, those who flaunt too much are quickly brought down.

“Tonight…the Empress Dowager was bathing in the Yao Hall. An impostor disguised as an attendant attempted a crime. The Empress Dowager was frightened, but the culprit has been seized by Zhao Gao.”

The attendant trembled under Ying Zheng’s gaze, stammering his report.

“What?!” Ying Zheng’s pupils contracted, his fists clenched inside his sleeves, cold murderous intent barely restrained. He could no longer maintain his composure, glaring angrily at the kneeling attendant, demanding, “How is the Empress Dowager now?”

“She was merely frightened. Fortunately, Zhao Gao arrived in time, and the criminal failed.”

The attendant suppressed his panic, trembling as he spoke.

Silence fell around them—all waited for Ying Zheng’s command.

Ying Zheng took a deep breath, his emotions settling a bit, though the coldness in his eyes only deepened. He questioned sternly, “How did the criminal infiltrate Xianyang Palace and enter Ganquan Palace? Has this been investigated?”

How could such a thing as a false attendant occur in the palace, and how could he get into the Empress Dowager’s chambers? It was inconceivable.

“I…I do not know.”

The attendant prostrated himself, trembling.

“Where is Zhao Gao now?”

Ying Zheng’s authority radiated, his question ice-cold.

“He is guarding the Empress Dowager at Ganquan Palace.”

The attendant replied respectfully.

Once the attendant finished, Li Yu, standing beside Ying Zheng, spoke quietly, “Brother King, should your servant withdraw?”

“No need. Since Mother has accepted you as her adopted son, there is no need to avoid suspicion. Come with me and see who dares such boldness.”

Ying Zheng was silent for a moment, then spoke coldly, striding out, with Li Yu following closely.

…

Soon, the group arrived at Ganquan Palace.

At the palace gates, Li Yu did not enter, mainly fearing that Zhao Ji would lose her composure upon seeing him, ruining the act.

He waited outside with Ge Nie.

“Truly, autumn is a season of troubles.”

The mastermind behind the entire event, Li Yu, tilted his head, gazing at the tranquil night, sighing from the depths of his heart.

That Lao Ai was seized by Zhao Gao did not surprise him.

After all, though Lao Ai was skilled, his greatest strength lay in his Sun-Shield Sword, but he could not bring it into the palace—such a dangerous weapon would never be allowed in Xianyang Palace.

Without his sword, a swordsman’s strength drops by ninety percent.

Not everyone could match Ge Nie, who had entered the realm of Sword Sage, turning anything into a sword and disregarding the usual power boost.

Thinking this, Li Yu glanced at the impassive young Ge Nie beside him, marveling at his innate talent for the sword. At this period, Ge Nie truly possessed an invincible presence—walking the path of the sword, pushing all before him with a single blade.

In pure combat, he was even stronger than Wei Zhuang, though in later years Ge Nie’s temperament changed, his murderous aura diminished, and he was less sharp than in youth.

In the original story, Ge Nie never harbored murderous intent towards Wei Zhuang—otherwise, Wei Zhuang would never have survived to the later stages.

These two brothers, rivals in love and conflict, were indeed fascinating.

…

Sensing Li Yu’s changing gaze, Ge Nie looked over in confusion, unable to understand why Li Yu was staring at him.

“I have a feeling an earthquake is coming.”

Li Yu shook his head slightly, speaking in a low voice.

“Does the Grand Craftsman know who is behind this?”

Ge Nie’s gaze sharpened, questioning Li Yu.

Li Yu shook his head, saying nothing more, his expression growing solemn. As the director and planner of the entire drama, and its protagonist, he had rehearsed this countless times. From the moment he entered Xianyang Palace at noon, he was already in character.

He and Ge Nie did not have to wait long.

Soon, Ying Zheng, with a face ashen, led the bowed Zhao Gao out.

As they emerged, Ying Zheng’s voice was cold and calm, suppressing his fury. “Zhao Gao.”

“Your servant is here.”

Zhao Gao bowed, hands crossed respectfully.

“This matter ends here. No one with knowledge of it shall remain.”

Ying Zheng commanded coldly.

“Yes.”

Zhao Gao replied respectfully.

Ying Zheng closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and strode out of Ganquan Palace.

Ge Nie and Li Yu exchanged glances, then followed.

Before leaving, Li Yu exchanged a reassuring look with Zhao Gao, signaling he would handle things.

Zhao Gao watched Ying Zheng and his party depart, and only when all had gone did a faint smile appear on his lips. He spoke softly, “Keep it quiet—the Empress Dowager prefers peace.”

At his words, the Six Sword Slaves hidden in the shadows began their work.

First, they dealt with the people of Ganquan Palace—there might be spies of Lü Buwei among them. Better to err on the side of caution.

Next, they moved through the entire Xianyang Palace.

The process was not easy, but one night was enough.

For the Web, killing was never difficult.

…

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All the way, Ying Zheng said nothing.

Li Yu and Ge Nie naturally dared not ask, following until they reached a garden and stopped.

“Ge Nie, guard the perimeter. Let no one enter. If anyone does, kill them.”

Ying Zheng instructed Ge Nie coldly, then walked toward the pavilion.

Ge Nie stopped, silent, closing his eyes in meditation, senses spread wide.

Li Yu followed Ying Zheng into the pavilion.

The autumn wind was cold.

But Ying Zheng’s heart was colder still. After anger and murderous intent faded, only endless loneliness remained. He gazed coldly at the rippling lake, silent for a long time before speaking to Li Yu.

“Grand Tutor, do you know who arranged the false attendant?”

Li Yu remained silent; he knew he need only listen patiently now.

“I never imagined my foster father would do such a thing.”

Ying Zheng took a deep breath, revealing a shocking possibility to outsiders.

He also hinted something to Li Yu.

Li Yu appropriately showed a touch of surprise—acting required the full performance.

Ying Zheng truly trusted Li Yu. Without trust, he would never reveal such things to him.

“Many years ago, rumors about my mother and foster father circulated outside. I heard of it but never investigated. Whether gossip or truth, it never mattered. Mother lived a bitter life. Those ten years in Zhao—she kept me alive.

In those years, we were alone, without Qin, without father, without foster father—only each other, dependent for survival.

Some things I guessed, but I never wanted to dwell on them.

As I said to you today: I am the King of Great Qin; I cannot allow my personal joys and sorrows to dictate affairs.

But Lü Buwei—of all his sins—should never have insulted my mother!”

As his words grew cold, Ying Zheng’s expression darkened, his voice low with rage—his reverse scale touched.

Li Yu had guessed right—Zhao Ji was Ying Zheng’s reverse scale, affecting the fate of Great Qin itself. When the First Emperor refused to establish an Empress, it was because of Zhao Ji, leaving Ying Zheng disillusioned with all women. Without an Empress, there was no Crown Prince; when the First Emperor died, chaos followed, allowing Zhao Gao and Li Si to seize opportunity.

He could accept some improper relations between Lü Buwei and Zhao Ji, even pretend not to see, for he never truly had a father. That so-called father never fulfilled his duty, only a man who abandoned wife and child.

Returning to Qin, his mother and he found that man had another woman, even children.

Ying Zheng remembered clearly Zhao Ji’s gaze that day—he would never forget it.

So.

Ying Zheng’s tolerance for Zhao Ji was immense, for his father mattered less than his mother.

He could tolerate anything Zhao Ji did, but could never tolerate Lü Buwei’s abuse of her.

“Your Majesty, what you need now is calm.”

Li Yu was silent for a moment, then spoke for the first time, soothing Ying Zheng.

He knew Ying Zheng’s emotions were near breaking.

He had endured too long.

Whether in court or regarding Zhao Ji.

Ying Zheng seemed to have vented, taking a deep breath, suppressing his emotions, regaining composure, though his gaze remained icy. “I know now is not the time to break with Lü Buwei. I still need him.”

“Your Majesty can use this incident to force Lü Buwei to relinquish power, accelerate the process of assuming authority. You must do two things: first, purge Xianyang Palace, truly seize control for your own safety.

Second, Lü Buwei must not be killed, no matter how angry you are. The impact would be far too great.

Over the years, Lü Buwei’s faction has permeated the entire court. Qin is full of his followers, which must be dealt with gradually, not all at once.

Even if you must kill him, it should wait until you are firmly in power, when your authority is unchallenged.

And, Your Majesty, don’t you think there are too many Chu faction followers in Qin? Even when you assume power, you will need Lü Buwei’s influence.”

Li Yu advised solemnly.

“…Brother, do not worry. I will not be blinded by anger. Speaking with you has eased my heart.”

Ying Zheng’s gaze grew calmer, looking at Li Yu, pausing before continuing,

“Great Qin is fortunate to have you, and I am fortunate as well.”

…

Li Yu felt inexplicably guilty, not sure how to respond. Ying Zheng’s sense of luck stemmed from Li Yu’s talent and ability, and from the feeling he gave.

For someone like Ying Zheng, friends were a luxury—no one dared treat him as such. Kings are always lonely, especially emperors. Since ancient times, emperors called themselves ‘the lonely one’—for good reason.

But Li Yu gave Ying Zheng a different feeling, a sense of friendship. Though he was respectful, the sensation differed.

Hard to describe, just a feeling.

But for Ying Zheng, it was novel and attractive, especially since Li Yu had talent.

Especially the journey to the frontier at Wusui—Li Yu planned everything, enabling Ying Zheng to seize military power. Though prepared, it carried risks.

Ying Zheng was willing to gamble for his future, and Li Yu for him.

This built Ying Zheng’s trust, and he was willing to share his heart.

Li Yu was embarrassed by this trust, though he knew he’d done nothing wrong, and that affairs with Zhao Ji in this era were not so scandalous. Still, before Ying Zheng, he felt a bit like a thief.

Regret?

Certainly not.

For Zhao Ji, Li Yu felt it was worth it.

The wonders of an older woman can only be understood by experience. Those who know, know; those who don’t, won’t understand even if told.

If Lao Ai had succeeded, only then would Li Yu truly regret acting too slowly.

At worst, each would go their own way.

Li Yu thus comforted himself, facing Ying Zheng’s gaze with more composure. His relationship with Zhao Ji had nothing to do with Ying Zheng.

He said, “Brother King, what do you think of my suggestions?”

“As you say, brother.”

Ying Zheng’s expression darkened, pondering before coldly saying, “How do you intend to deal with Prime Minister Lü?”

“This concerns the Empress Dowager; the fewer who know, the better. Prime Minister Lü is a wise man—he will understand your intentions.”

Li Yu replied softly.

Though the matter was settled, Li Yu could use it to build credit with Lü Buwei, making him owe a favor. From the start, Li Yu never expected to topple Lü Buwei with a single Lao Ai.

Because Ying Zheng had not yet assumed true power; it was not time.

Qin still needed Lü Buwei.

Ying Zheng nodded, saying no more, but Li Yu could sense that Lü Buwei’s path was at its end.

The day Ying Zheng assumed power would be Lü Buwei’s day of dismissal.

As for Lü Buwei’s future, much depended on his own sense and actions; if he did anything foolish, none could save him.

Whatever foster fatherly affection remained vanished with Lao Ai’s affair.

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“A single wrong move, and the whole game is lost.”

Li Yu couldn’t help but mutter to himself.

He simply couldn’t understand Lü Buwei’s choice—was Zhao Ji really so entangling, so exhausting, a wild beast no one dared approach?

Clearly, youthful Li Yu could not comprehend the troubles of older men.

…

Xianyang Palace, in the dungeon.

Li Yu soon saw Lao Ai. The sight startled him—this fellow was utterly miserable, knees shattered, bone fragments mixed with blood dripping slowly, the dark blood gruesome. His collarbone was pierced, his body bathed in blood, a wretched shadow of his former self.

Zhao Gao truly was ruthless—a formidable enemy, indeed.

He couldn’t help but admire the work.

No wonder he called him his ‘big brother.’

“Brother Zhao, is he still alive?”

Li Yu came closer to inspect, unable to resist asking Zhao Gao.

“He’s alive, but barely, only a breath remains. To investigate what lies in his mind, we had to use certain methods. His consciousness is nearly destroyed; even if he wakes, he’s finished—no valuable information to be extracted.”

Zhao Gao stood with hands crossed, dead-fish eyes as cold as ever, speaking indifferently.

“If he’s finished, so be it. Take off his head—I’ll need it later.”

Li Yu was unfazed. With Lao Ai’s veteran assassin’s temperament, interrogation would yield nothing, nor was he interested in Lao Ai’s secrets. So long as Lao Ai died, that was best.

As he spoke, Li Yu curiously untied Lao Ai’s belt.

Under Zhao Gao and the Six Sword Slaves’ shocked gaze, he pulled down Lao Ai’s trousers.

Even Zhao Gao’s composure faltered, his eyes dull, lips twitching, face as if he’d seen a ghost.

The Six Sword Slaves’ mouths twitched, their gaze strange.

Li Yu examined Lao Ai, stroked his chin, muttering to himself, “Not that big after all—books exaggerate, it’s all hearsay.”

The fabled wheel of legend, the size was nothing special—Li Yu’s own was better, still growing, proving the tales were all hype.

Not everyone was some demon from the Elysium Manual.

Zhao Gao: …

Six Sword Slaves: …

“By the way, did you get any useful information out of his mind?”

Li Yu soon lost interest, turning to Zhao Gao with thick skin, asking without a trace of embarrassment.

Zhao Gao’s mouth twitched, though he never complained. After a moment’s thought, he said, “Yes, there’s an interesting piece. The Sun-Shield in the Web has always been two people—one in the open, one in the shadows. Lao Ai was the public face, but the hidden Sun-Shield never showed themselves.”

“Two Sun-Shields? That’s clever!”

Zhao Gao’s next words shocked Li Yu: “At the frontier of Wusui, it was the hidden Sun-Shield who ordered Black and White Xuanzhan to assassinate the King.”

Li Yu’s eyes flashed with interest, a slight smile on his lips.

Though unexpected, it was not shocking.

The Web was never simple, especially in this world of Qin—chaos reigned, all manner of monsters and demons could appear, nothing was surprising anymore.

“Brother Zhao, do you think Lü Buwei knows?”

Li Yu asked, curious.

Zhao Gao shook his head, equally unsure. Lü Buwei was one of the Web’s managers, controlling its largest intelligence network, a net that could ensnare the seven kingdoms. The organization’s importance was self-evident.

From a state perspective, it was even more vital than the Web’s assassins.

“I’ll have to ask.”

Li Yu smiled, his eyes gleaming.

“The Empress Dowager wants to see you tonight.”

Zhao Gao suddenly spoke.

Li Yu was stunned, then a thought rose in his mind comparable to Lü Buwei’s: this woman really knows no bounds.

After such a major incident, how could they still…?

“Ganquan Palace will be cleaned up.”

Zhao Gao said calmly, reminding Li Yu that everything could be arranged.

Li Yu pursed his lips, hesitating.

He began to understand Lü Buwei’s feelings—Zhao Ji truly was a seductive problem.

Yet, he liked it.

…

Through the rosy curtains, Li Yu surveyed the ancient boudoir. Opposite the bed stood a dressing table inlaid with tortoiseshell and colorful shells, stunningly beautiful and dazzling.

Zhao Ji sat on the bed’s edge, quietly sobbing.

Li Yu approached silently, gently stroking Zhao Ji’s shoulder, speaking softly, “Is Mother grieving?”

Zhao Ji leaned into Li Yu’s embrace, sobbing, “I only feel my life is so bitter.”

Li Yu: “From now on, you have me. I will bring you happiness, never let you cry or sorrow. From now on, you shall know only joy and smiles.”

He gently lifted Zhao Ji’s face, saying, “Tears ruin your beauty. Let me draw your brows.”

Gazing at the dressing table, Li Yu was satisfied. Though it was his first time, his sketching skills made it easy.

Afterwards, he kissed Zhao Ji passionately, venting his longing.

Zhao Ji responded in kind, holding Li Yu tightly, afraid he would leave, yearning to merge completely.

Another round of earth-shattering passion.

Though autumn had arrived, sweat soaked their nightclothes.

“Tonight…can you stay, not leave?”

Zhao Ji asked breathlessly.

Li Yu answered with action, mounting her again.

…

At the fifth watch, by the palace wall, Li Yu leaned against the wall, gazing into the dark night.

Truly exhilarating.

No wonder the ancients said ‘a concubine is not as thrilling as an affair.’

It never lied.

He bid farewell to Zhao Gao, hurried home for sleep.

He’d have to train more—just one encounter and he was exhausted; truly disgraceful.