Han Fei's Flowing Sands, Qin's Luo Net, Ji Wuye's Nightfall, the Hundred Yue's Tian Ze, King An of Han, and the Qin King. This modest little Korea had become a nexus for so many shadowy powers.
Han Fei sought the Seven States' order; he craved ninety-nine realms. Luo Net aimed to assassinate the Qin ruler; Ji Wuye schemed to seize Korea outright; Tian Ze plotted restoration. All hunted the secret behind Duke Zheng's meteoric rise—the copper box tied to Korea. But what of its two key claimants, King An of Han and Qin King Ying Zheng? What drove their contest?
Had Ying Zheng truly come to Xin Zheng just for Han Fei? Nonsense. A king risking his neck for a fan meetup in an enemy capital? That'd be madness—especially with so many foes baying for his blood. No, Han Fei was mere happenstance.
What, then, lured a unifier of the world and his advisor Li Si into such peril? Only one answer: King An of Han—the true puppet-master of Korea. He was the kingdom's iron fist. Between him and Ying Zheng, what invisible forces clashed? Even Ji Wuye knew the Qin King had arrived; King An must too—yet he stirred not a finger. What, then, did the old fox conceal?
Fresh from his encounter with Han Fei, Ying Zheng brought Ge Nie to meet Li Hai Mo. Others might miss the Daoist Ren and Tian sect grandmasters' presence in Xin Zheng, but not him. From his ascension, the Daoists had backed him unwaveringly—partners in blood and ambition from the start.
"Ying Zheng greets Grandmaster Wuchen Zi and Grandmaster Xiao Meng," the young king said, bowing deeply at once. His swift grasp on Qin's nobles and court owed everything to the Daoists' endorsement—Old Qin rallied to him because of it. Meetings rare, their counsel flowed constant: mentor and ally in one.
"No need for such formality, Young Master Shang. Xue Nu, tea for our guests," Li Hai Mo replied with a smile.
Ge Nie settled nearby. Here, no guarding needed—if these two Tian Ren He Yi masters couldn't shield the king, one more blade changed nothing.
"What brings Young Master Shang to Han this time?" Li Hai Mo cut straight to it. Even the Daoists couldn't pierce every veil—like the mysteries of the Azure Dragon's seven mansions.
"Seven states, seven boxes, one secret: the Azure Dragon's seven lodges!" Ying Zheng declared.
Li Hai Mo shook his head. "I've one here—Wei's. Want it?"
He slid over the box Yan Lu had given him.
Ying Zheng paused, then chuckled, producing Qin's own. The two artifacts lay casually on the table, as if roadside pebbles.
"The boxes may hold vast power, but Qin needs no such crutch to claim the Seven States," Ying Zheng said, his voice ringing with unyielding resolve.
"Merchant prince Zi Xin—what's your take?" Li Hai Mo asked. He'd botched raising Xue Nu into uselessness, but Li Si? The man shone. Maybe I just suck at teaching women.
"Di Xin?" Ying Zheng frowned. Qin's records of pre-Zhou eras were thin—thickest on Zhao, Han, Wei: old Jin's shards.
"Li Si told me: Di Xin's day saw seventy-two feudal lords, yet he quelled them single-handed. That's why Li Si pushes county-prefecture rule over enfeoffing Ying bloodlines—mutual checks, no unchecked clans," Ying Zheng explained.
"I mean your view of Di Xin the man—his deeds, his choices," Li Hai Mo clarified.
Di Xin, Qin Shi Huang, Sui Yang Di—all shared the same downfall: iron-fisted central rule, birthing grand works that bled the realm dry. Di Xin razed and rebuilt Chaoge and Mount Qi, sparking the seventy-two lords' revolt. He nearly crushed them alone—till betrayal felled him, dooming Shang. Qin Shi Huang's Great Wall, E Fang Palace, Ling Qu, straight roads—all wonders, all drains—igniting Dazexiang Uprising, toppling Qin. Sui Yang Di's Grand Canal, Goguryeo campaigns—then the realm rebelled, Sui shattered.
Strip the ruinous end, and their first halves crowned them peerless sovereigns. But those monuments? Empire-breakers. Li Hai Mo aimed to plant the seed now, while ears still bent—not after the king's heart hardened to stone. No soil for wisdom then.
"Guidance, sir—if you will." Ying Zheng leaned in, earnest. Di Xin to now: near a millennium. His lore? Scant lines in the Documents.
"As Human King, Di Xin's valor stands unmatched—even in this age," Li Hai Mo began. The man chased Lü Shang across wilds; if the Classic of Mountains and Seas held true, he tamed mythic beasts as livestock. That level? I'm still green—outclassed.
"So in Shang's prime, no king chased immortality's riddle. What their own might couldn't grant, no elixir could," Li Hai Mo added.
"Immortality?" Ying Zheng blinked. A warning against the chase?
"Count the ways: empires and the Hundred Schools diverge most in forging heirs," Li Hai Mo pressed on.
"Heir-training?" Ying Zheng echoed. I've just seized the reins—sons? One babe, Fusu.
"An empire's heirs aren't kings alone—viziers, generals, the folk at large. Once you unify, Young Master Shang, and birth Great Qin, you'll hand it off: to your blood, your lords' lines, the realm's masses. Grant them chances to stand solo, to rise. Your wars end then; heir-crafting begins. Like grooming Wang Jian's sons, Meng Ao's—teach your own princelings to build their strength. Eldest son ascends: Qin's clan law. Crown Fusu prince from the cradle—quell sibling rivalries before they sprout. Smooth the throne's pass, and your heir, backed by ministers, learns to steer the imperial chariot unswerving."
Ying Zheng sank into thought. Clan strife was no jest—pre-Duke Xiao, five reigns of chaos, all heir-born. Xiao's law: eldest inherits. Now, one son: newborn Fusu. Name him crown prince outright? Dash future plots. Even if Fusu faltered, Li Hai Mo's grooming barred tyranny. No chaos then.
"Upon return, Ying Zheng crowns Eldest Prince Fusu heir apparent—craft a Crown Prince's Hall for regency and governance study!" he vowed.
Li Hai Mo's brows shot up. Crown regency? Tang dynasty stuff—here, now? These days, kings roamed while chancellors ruled.
"Now, Di Xin's path as king," Li Hai Mo steered back.
"Guidance, sir." Ying Zheng's admiration swelled. Near my age, rare meetings—yet his deeds, his angles, strike the core every time.
"How long for the Zhengguo Canal, in your eyes? Manpower doubled—time halved?" Li Hai Mo asked. Qin's war-stall: that very project.
"Engineers plot ten years, three hundred thousand hands. Double the crew? Swifter, aye," Ying Zheng guessed. Not my wheelhouse—but more backs, less drag!
Li Hai Mo nodded, sending Xue Nu for a jar of salt.
Ying Zheng puzzled—what now?
"Try it, Young Master Shang." Li Hai Mo pinched some for him to taste—then Xue Nu, Ge Nie. Xiao Meng? A trap—lick that, and you'd taste the floor's chill first.
"A touch sweet," Ying Zheng said, licking his palm. The others agreed.
"And now?" Li Hai Mo added a half-spoon more.
The three hesitated—Not masochists—who mainlines salt? But his gaze held; they gritted and sampled. Salty, bitter hell. Li Hai Mo barred water—savor it.
"Hold that," he said, then poured tea at last.
"Heaven's workings have rhythms—like that salt: a whisper, sweet nectar; excess? Bitter brine. Folk and wealth? Same law. Balance the load for twice the yield; overtax, and labor doubles for half the gain. Heed this, Young Master Shang: the people's root is all. Uproot it, and your grandest schemes wither in toil." There—the heart of my counsel today.
Ying Zheng went still, then claimed another spoonful, letting it linger—etch this burn. Long after, he drained a pot, rinsing the scourge.
"Your words, sir—Ying Zheng brands them eternal!" He returned the bow, scholar to sage.
"Remember: unifying the world? History's yours already. But Great Qin's march endures. Your heir needs deeds from you—legacies to etch his name beside yours. Some works suit your reign; others, his—let him lead the court, command the ministers. Thus, Great Qin stands ten thousand ages strong."
History proves it: Qin Shi Huang's vanity—E Fang, roads, walls, canals—devoured all. Fusu? Nothing left to build. The realm, bled dry, festered into revolt; no hands to mend. Root woes: no named heir, folk crushed to breaking. Crown Fusu early? No fratricide fears, no suicide. Spare the people? No universal ire.
Walls alone? Borders bless them—none rebel. Fusu crowned, legions loyal: eight Xiang Yus couldn't bury their bones.
So: meals bite by bite, paths step by step. Hoard glories for kin, let the masses recall the throne's grace—that wins devotion. See Han's end: one Liu clansman sparks hordes of worthies and commons. Qin toppled six—disaffected plenty. But folk content themselves quick: fed, clad, a coin spare? Who'd stir revolt? They'd drag the rabble-rouser to the yamen for bounty.
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