"The towers of Xianyang Palace rose dense and steep; the terraces of the six states shone with silks and finery."
"The Heavenly Emperor must have been drunk back then; it had nothing to do with Qin's mountains and rivers."
Elsewhere, Song Yan gazed into the distance. The outline of Xianyang Palace had already appeared before him, its walls massive and its halls towering.
Even before entering, he could feel its imposing grandeur.
It was as though Immortal Qin from thirty thousand years ago stood right before his eyes. Stirred by the sight, Song Yan could not help playing the literary gentleman and borrowing a few lines of poetry.
"Brother, I never expected you to be accomplished in both letters and arms." King of Qin Zheng laughed heartily.
"But what do those two lines mean?"
"Uh... I'm not too sure either. Someone else wrote them."
A certain dynasty had built palaces on a grand scale, spending enormous sums and wringing wealth from the people until public resentment boiled over.
A poet had written these lines as a veiled warning to the ruler not to follow the Qin dynasty's old path of plundering the common people.
The eager learner asking this question was precisely the ruler whom the poet had used as his cautionary example.
Naturally, Song Yan could only say he did not know.
The two chatted idly as they headed toward Xianyang.
Before they could enter, they suddenly heard someone crying for help.
"Help! Help!"
The voice screamed heartrendingly. It was impossible to tell whether it belonged to a man or a woman, but it sounded somewhat familiar.
Song Yan looked toward the voice, a little surprised.
Not far away, a tiny figure wearing a Cat Mask was fleeing in panic.
Who else could it be but Idle-Fishing Boy?
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