But no one knew that Ying Zheng only liked this kind of mountain song and folk tune!
Even though he was already the emperor of the Blood Qin Empire, he had loved these mountain songs and folk tunes all his life. This was a secret known to him alone, one he had never told anyone—not even the founding ministers he trusted most. In truth, whenever he attended a lavish palace banquet, Ying Zheng wished he could exterminate the entire families of those court musicians who played such grand, imposing music.
"Empty and dull, and so tediously long." Ying Zheng lightly tapped the long table before him with his fingers and smiled leisurely. "I was but an idle man of the mountains and wilds. I cannot appreciate the lofty melodies of those noble clans and great houses."
One jar of aged wine had nearly been drained by the three-legged toad. The jade-colored toad, no bigger than a fist, extended a similarly crystalline long tongue, as though carved from white jade, and fixed its gaze firmly upon a direction to the southwest.
"The person you spoke with—their aura lies in that direction." The three-legged toad grunted lazily. "Any creature I have seen, whose voice, aura, or other traces I have sensed, cannot escape my tracking. He is on the Black Spirit Continent, and less than a thousand li away."
Just then, Donkey suddenly focused his gaze in this direction. The three-legged toad abruptly shuddered, instinctively shrinking to the size of a flea before turning completely colorless and transparent. "I suddenly have a bad feeling. Hey, Emperor, let's go back. You'd better bring more people—Master Yin, for instance, or those baldies from the Heavenly Temple. Bring eight hundred thousand or a million men. I have an extremely bad, extremely terrifying premonition."
Curled up