Life was never smooth sailing. Most things going against one's wishes—that was the true melody of life.
Though he desperately wanted to hurry back to Xianyang and use the various mysterious devices within Afang Palace to adjust the magic circuits in his body, Qin Shi Huang's health continued to deteriorate day by day.
Inside the carriage slowly traveling westward, Qin Shi Huang stared blankly as the imperial physician examined him, yet a thought involuntarily surfaced in his mind.
His time was running out.
No matter how optimistic he tried to be, the weakness within him grew worse by the day. If this continued, he would never make it back to Xianyang. It would not even take long before he weakened completely and died.
Qin Shi Huang was not afraid of death.
He simply could not bear to die.
Wasn't it far too regrettable to waste such wonderful times on death?
I still want to make Great Qin stronger! More secure! I want to seize the lands beyond the Central Plains! I want the whole world to bow in submission! I want—
"Cough, cough, cough—"
A fit of coughing interrupted Qin Shi Huang's thoughts, dragging his frail soul back from fantasy into reality.
He was going to die.
Pain. Weakness. Weakness.
Setting fantasy aside, he naturally had to consider practical matters.
That was, if he passed away, who would steer the vast territory of the Qin Dynasty?
To be honest, not one of his sons truly pleased him. Among his descendants, the one he found most agreeable was instead his legitimate grandson, Ziying, Fusu's eldest son.
However, passing the throne to a grandson rather than a son ultimately went against convention. Besides, Ziying was still young; his immature shoulders absolutely could not bear the weight of such a vast realm.
Therefore,