No one had imagined that the Eastern Campaign would go so smoothly.
Luo State, with only Zhao City and tens of thousands of fighting men, had held out for three years.
Yan State and Qi State, with their combined territories spanning thousands of li, over a hundred cities, and millions of subjects, had not even held out for a year and a half.
Which of these nobles' ancestors had not ridden rough carts in ragged clothes, fighting countless barbarians through a thousand hardships and ten thousand dangers to establish the foundations they now possessed?
Had there not still been a monarch like the King of Qi, who died for his Altars of State, these unworthy descendants would truly have stripped away every last shred of dignity belonging to that generation of All Xia's nobles who had once rendered such great service.
The nobles of Yan and Qi returned to Xianyang with the Qin Army. Wang Jian treated them reasonably kindly, but the Qin Army was deeply displeased with these nobles.
The nobles of Qi State, in particular, had surrendered far too quickly. After all the trouble of marching out here, the soldiers had not earned a scrap of merit.
Cutting off a man's livelihood was like killing his parents.
For the Qin people, being unable to kill anyone or take any heads had far graver consequences than having their livelihood cut off.
Had Wang Jian not reacted quickly, these Qin people, whose resentment pierced the heavens, might have attacked the nobles outright.
Wang Jian did not care whether these nobles lived or died.
Even a noble as exalted as the King of Yan had to tremble before him, as though treading on thin ice.
But Wang Jian always kept one thing firmly in mind.
Only the King of Qin Zheng