Earth.
The Great Qin Empire.
Shaqiu Palace.
A vast army stood arrayed around Shaqiu Palace, its ranks orderly and solemn.
But at that moment, every veteran of Qin wore a trace of sorrow, alarm, and fearful unease.
There was no other reason.
Their great emperor had fallen ill that day, and he would probably never recover.
The emperor had toured the realm five times, and wherever he went, all bowed before his might.
The nobles of the Six Kingdoms thought of restoring their kingdoms every day, yet as long as the emperor lived, none dared raise their heads.
At last, the emperor had fallen.
Inside Shaqiu Palace.
Ying Zheng lay in bed, countless lengths of white gauze hanging throughout the hall.
His temples were white, his hair like withered grass, his face haggard.
Wind blew in from outside the hall, stirring the white gauze and softly ringing the bells, as though mourning the sovereign's twilight years.
After a long while, he used all his strength to prop himself against the head of the bed and called out.
"Zhao Gao."
Zhao Gao hurried to his bedside, knelt, and wept.
"Your Majesty!"
His sorrow was genuine.
He and Ying Zheng had met in their youth and walked together ever since.
Before others, the sovereign was supremely imposing, yet he seldom treated Zhao Gao with stern, ruthless measures.
Even when Zhao Gao had committed a grave mistake, the emperor had done everything in his power to protect him.
"Raise your head."
Zhao Gao raised his head to look at the emperor.
At that moment.
The emperor was utterly haggard, but his eyes were extraordinarily bright, as though shining with divine light.
His voice sounded faint and distant.
"Zhao Gao, you and I have been together for almost forty years, haven't we?"
Zhao Gao