However, reality often did not follow their will!
The images flashed by quickly, finally freezing on the night.
A prompt sounded.
210 BC, the thirty-seventh year of Qin Shi Huang, the First Emperor Ying Zheng's fifth eastern tour...
Sandhill Palace...
Clouds covered the stars and moon at night, plunging heaven and earth into darkness.
An unusual atmosphere filled Sandhill Palace.
Inside the brightly lit palace hall, a burly middle-aged man in black imperial robes lay on a couch, coughing violently.
"Cough, cough, cough..."
His once-booming voice was long gone, and every cough revealed pain and weakness.
Ying Zheng coughed as his expression grew dazed.
He stared at the ceiling of the hall and sighed. "Is this how I die?"
At the same time, his heart was filled with bitterness.
In the end, he had received no response from Heaven or the gods...
"Cough, cough, cough..." He covered his mouth with a hand and broke into another fit of coughing.
"Your Majesty!"
Zhao Gao's face was full of panic as he watched the First Emperor cough desperately.
The sight of Ying Zheng nearing death filled him with confusion and fear.
Yet amid that confusion and fear, there was also an involuntary trace of joy.
His heart raced.
Zhao Gao hurriedly lowered his head, not daring to keep looking at Ying Zheng on the couch, afraid that something would be noticed.
Even a dead tiger retained its power, let alone when His Majesty was not yet dead. At such a crucial moment, he did not dare let the shrewd emperor see through him, or his fate would surely be grim.
And as long as His Majesty still lived, he did not dare do anything. But once His Majesty died...
Just wait a little longer...
The vast hall was very quiet, save for