Will of Heaven Vol 1 Prologue

Prologue I

The day was grimly cold, without a trace of impending spring.

 

A young man sat alone on the banks of the creek, fishing rod in hand. The cold cut through his thin clothes; he was curled up tight, legs pulled to his chest, knees tucked against his chin. He seemed to be gazing fixedly at the fishing float bobbing on the water, but at the same time, seemed to be gazing at nothing.

 

Distantly, from the shadowy cover of the woods, a black-robed man inspected him with icy eyes.

 

The youth knew this. His gaze never wavered towards the woods, but he did not need to look to sense that cold stare upon him.

 

But he neither cared, nor wondered why.

 

His luck couldn’t worsen more than it already had, after all. No one could peel another sc.r.a.p of gain off of him. He didn’t even know how he was going to eat tonight-- the returns from his fishing, of late, had been dismal.

Will you beg another meal from Town Marshal1 Yao? 
 

He sighed to himself and shook his head no.

 

He could face Old Yao just fine, but how was he supposed to face the man’s wife? That day, she’d cooked a veritable feast, purposefully early, then had the family eat while they were practically still in their beds. By the time he went, that woman had cleared every morsel out of the pot, leaving him with nothing but a frosty glare.

 

What was he supposed to do? Still try to hang around until they chased him out with a broom?

 

To tell the truth, he hadn’t felt particularly angry or frustrated then. An idle hanger-on like himself learned to brush off others’ contempt sooner or later. If he’d felt anything, it was pity for Town Marshal Yao, for marrying such a shortsighted woman. He had planned on rewarding him lavishly, eventually, but his wife cost him any such goodwill. Old Yao would get only what he deserved when the time came.

 

It’s their fault for dismissing me as nothing more than a waste of food, he’d thought with cold satisfaction then.  

 

Repay gentlemen like gentlemen, and petty men like petty men, he believed.

 

He’d always trusted that, with his talent, he would one day achieve power and wealth enough to richly repay those who’d helped him, awe those who’d held him in contempt, take revenge on those who’d mocked and humiliated him. Ah, yes! He’d make sure to properly reward that old laundress from the east side. She’d fed him, a complete stranger, for ten straight days at his most desperate2 ...

 

But now, cold and starving, he was forced to wonder: would he really reach that day?

 

He’d never seen a single sign of any opportunity, any omen of greatness to come.

 

In the eyes of those around him, who was he? A useless, pathetic beggar of sc.r.a.ps, who didn’t even have the money to bury his mother and father properly when they died, who’d at one point crawled between the legs of the local bully in full view of the townspeople3... what right did someone like him have to the sympathy of the heavens?

 

He didn’t consider himself useless, but really, what abilities did he have? He thought it beneath him to be a farmer, some b.u.mpkin bending his back over a plow; he lacked the merchant’s apt.i.tude for haggling over pennies; he loathed the idea of being a scribe, writing out the same doc.u.ments day after day; he despised the fawning, flattering ways of government officials. Hah! He didn’t have even one of the skills needed to get ahead in his world, and he dared to think...

 

The bobber dipped. A fish!

 

He hauled in the line. The hook was bare-- he’d gotten distracted and missed his chance yet again. He sighed, jabbed a new piece of bait onto the hook, tossed it back into the water.

 

He gazed at the rippling rings that spread across the surface of the creek.

 

Did he truly have no abilities?

 

No. Not truly, and that was the problem.

 

He’d learned some extraordinary skills. That, of course, had been long ago...

 

“I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing, teaching you this.” The old man looked at him with sad eyes. “This may only hurt you, child.”

 

“How could it, master?”

 

“If you’d never learned these things, you could live out an uneventful life, a normal life, with no regrets.”

 

“But now... ai!” The old man patted his head, sighing.

 

The old master’s predictions had been correct as usual, it seemed. Before, he’d been socontent! Grubbing for food in the creeks and ponds, shouting with joy whenever he found a snail or winkle bigger than the usual. He could never know that sort of mindless happiness again. Why did his master have to teach him, if he knew it was going to be like this? Why couldn’t he let him live out this wretched life with peace in his heart?

 

“It’s hard to say, though. Heaven has granted you too much talent. Even without me, perhaps you’d sooner or later...”

 

Heaven-sent talent, was it? He wished he’d never had such a thing. It had brought him nothing but pain, knowing he was meant for something he’d never see happen. He could have been another ignorant peasant, content to live a humble life in poverty, finding happiness amidst the hardship.

 

“…You are a truly matchless sword. They could bury you in the deepest reaches of the earth without hiding your shine.”

 

No, master, here you were wrong, he thought. If a sword remains buried for too long, it will rust. It will die. He would rather be a piece of coa.r.s.e rock. At least rocks didn’t rust. Even if a rock was thrown into the worst filth, to be stepped on by everyone, it wouldn’t feel pain or curse its fate.

 

Really, why did his master even feel the need to teach him such things, and teach them with such pitiless pa.s.sion? Didn’t he understand that the times that required such knowledge had pa.s.sed?

 

The six states had fallen, and the future had settled with their ashes. The Qin empire had tidily organized what remained-- filled every position and planned every development, perhaps to the third or fourth generation to come. Those in power didn’t need to recruit amongst the peasants and rabble for talents anymore; now, their main goal was to consolidate their own ranks.

 

Which made the promise all the more strange.

 

Before he left, his master had made him vow: he would never use what he had learned, unless the world truly fell into chaos.

 

His master had taught him such extraordinary things, yet seemed to hope they’d never be needed. Why? Had his master truly intended to forge him into a matchless sword just so that he could be buried away, never to see daylight, watching the years corrode at his keen edge bit by bit?

 

His master, the enigma. He’d never even told him his real name. Once, he’d actually claimed that his name was Wei Liao4 , astonishing his pupil. Admiration for his teacher’s bravery soon mingled with the astonishment. He may have been in hiding, but he’d still dared to take the name of the emperor’s own advisor for a pseudonym!

 

But what was the point of thinking about such things now? The youth violently shook his head, forcing his thoughts away from his memories: those surreal encounters were meaningless to his life now, and the sooner he could forget about them, the better. He needed to save his attention for his fishing if he didn’t want to go hungry today.

 

He focused on the fishing float.

 

Was all that truly meaningless?

 

Yes, he thought.

 

Truly?

 

Yes.

 

Those hopes you’d had...

 

Laughable self-delusion, and nothing more! Toss it all out of your mind.

 

And you would be content to silently endure your life of poverty?

 

Yes. he thought stubbornly. Yes, I would!

 

But if he’d been so fated to waste his life, why had Heaven seen fit to grant him such talent? Why had it let him learn such skills? Why had it inflamed his already abnormal hunger for success...

 

No, no, he couldn’t keep on thinking like this. Give into your fate! Heaven may have crafted him with its infinite care and artistry, but, buried so deeply, couldn’t he let himself return to the dust from which he came?

 

But what about all the past contempt he’d already endured? All the generosity and kindness he’d never be able to repay? And that time, that unforgettable humiliation.

 

Ah, humiliation! It beat at his chest, carved itself into his heart with the sharpest knife.

 

How could he forget it? And even if he could, could anyone else? All of the town of Huaiying had heard, and laughed at him. If he’d preserved his own life only to be unable to prove anything with it, what point was there in enduring that? He should have put up a fight, then. With his sword technique, he could have killed that bully easily enough...

 

Heaven had made him, had given him life, but for what?

 

He raised his head, gazing towards the sky, hoping for an answer.

 

The sky was starting to dim-- the sun had set. He sighed and pulled in his line.

 

Another useless day.

 

He stood up, rubbing his numb legs. He picked up his rod and empty fishing basket and began the walk home.

 

“Please wait,” someone called out from behind.

 

He knew who it was without turning-- that man in the woods, who’d been spying on him-- but he had no interest in him. Certainly not now, when he had to get back to town before the gates closed. “Are you talking to me?” he asked, turning without enthusiasm.

 

“What, is there a third person here?” The other man sauntered over. He was a thin-faced, middle-aged man with an air of world-weary indifference that contrasted with his apparent age.

 

“Who are you? What do you want with me? I don’t think I know you.” He made as if ready to leave.

 

But the black-robed man didn’t seem to notice his att.i.tude. “You can call me the Guest of Canghai5,” he said by way of introduction, unruffled. “I am a divine messenger from the East Sea--”

 

“What?” he said, unsure if he’d heard right.

 

“I am a divine messenger from the East Sea, obeying my G.o.d’s command to seek out a certain person...”

 

It wasn’t his ears that were at fault, apparently. The youth laughed, and said “Sir, you have the wrong person. I live on the left side of Huaiying Gate.” He turned to leave. Really, he hadn’t expected anyone to play that sort of game with him!

 

The self-proclaimed Guest of Canghai stared blankly at him. “The left side of the gate? What are you talking about?”

 

“The left side for the lowly, the right side for the rich. You don’t even know that? Go find someone from the right side. They’re the ones who’ll be your clients.” Exasperating, to have to waste his breath on this sort of person.

 

“Wait! You think I’m one of those incense-waving frauds?”

 

The youth didn’t bother to respond, continuing to walk away.

 

“I really am a divine messenger. Perhaps you aren’t the sort to believe in ghosts and G.o.ds--”

 

“Let’s say you’re right,” the youth tossed back.

 

“--But does something necessarily not exist if you don’t believe in it?”

 

Seeing that the youth showed no signs of halting his steps, the Guest of Canghai continued: “If I really were a fraud, what would I have to gain from someone as penniless as you?”

 

The youth walked on.

 

The Guest of Canghai said, idly: “Young man, have you given up your quest to become a conqueror, then?”

 

That gentle voice hit him like a thunderbolt. He froze, his fishing basket tumbling to the ground from paralyzed hands.

 

No, no. He’d hidden away his most lunatic thought deep in his heart. He’d never dared to reveal his terrible ambition to anyone. This stranger couldn’t know something like that.

 

The Guest of Canghai caught up to him unhurriedly. “Your talent would be sufficient, but the time is wrong. If you’d been born a hundred years earlier, your achievements could have rivaled that of Duke Huan of Qi and Duke Wen of Jin6 . But in this age, what a pity, you’re doomed to live and die a commoner, huddled amongst the weeds and brush. Unless you had my master’s help...”

 

“Bulls.h.i.t!” The youth turned around slowly, eyes fixed on the Guest of Changhai. “I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous.”

 

“You can deny it,” the Guest of Canghai said. “Whether I spoke truly, your heart knows better than mine. But don’t worry, I’m not a court official.”

 

No, he wouldn’t be a court official. The court of today guarded against its people and administered its punishments with unprecedented ruthlessness. If he were a court official and had the slightest doubt about his loyalties, they wouldn’t be standing here talking. But who was he, then?

 

“Are you working for one of the six fallen states?” he asked, an idea flashing into mind. He’d heard stories recently about underground resistance groups hiding amongst the commoners, plotting to restore their states. They supposedly made use of wandering fortune-tellers and charlatans to find talents for their cause.

 

The Guest of Canghai shook his head. “No, I work for my G.o.d.”

 

“Are you serving the Chu cause?” Of the various stories and rumors, the most infamous was: “If Chu has but three households left, it will destroy the Qin Empire7 !” And this had been Chu territory before the unification. To the youth, this seemed the most likely.

 

“I serve my G.o.d.” The Guest of Canghai sighed. “Is it really this hard for you to believe? I can see that you’re intelligent, quick to deduce the most probable answer from the information you’re given. But some things under heaven won’t submit to that sort of logic. There are limits to what humanity can know, after all. Why must you try to explain away what you don’t understand with your incomplete prior knowledge?”

 

“Fine.” The youth hugged his arms in front of his chest. “Then use what I don’t know to explain all this. Why do you claim I’m so ambitious? Do I appear to be that sort of person?” He looked down self-deprecatingly at his feet, half-exposed in tattered shoes.

 

The Guest of Canghai hesitated before saying: “I know from your behavior. From your deeds.”

 

“My deeds? What did I do?”

 

“Nine years later, you will join a rebellion. Your behavior then is enough to prove that you’ve long harbored great ambition.”

 

“Nine years later?” He stared, then laughed. “You can see the future.”

 

The Guest of Canghai said seriously: “Not me, but my master. I am only another ordinary person.”

 

“A rebellion, nine years later?” the youth said, still laughing. “Interesting. With Qin Shihuang’s governance skills and a crown prince as capable as Fusu, the Qin Empire will know at least fifty years of peace and prosperity. Nine years? Ha!”

 

The Guest of Canghai didn’t smile. His face remained impa.s.sive, cold.

 

“Fine, then. Your master is a G.o.d who can see the future. If he knows that there will be a rebellion in nine years, then surely he knows how it will end?”

 

“Yes,” said the Guest of Canghai.

 

“Then does it succeed or fail?” He realized suddenly that his heart was speeding. Why? When had he begun to believe in this charlatan’s nonsense?

 

“I’m sorry.” The Guest of Canghai shook his head. “My master has said before, revealing too much will cause unpredictable changes...

 

“It would twist the course of heaven itself. And regardless, that’s not why I came here.”

 

To his surprise, the youth felt a pang of disappointment at his answer. “Then why are you here?”

 

The Guest of Canghai said: “To make a deal with you.”

 

He hadn’t been expecting that. “A deal?” Was the man trying to get money out of him after all?

 

But as he’d said earlier: what could he take from someone as penniless as him?

 

The Guest of Canghai said: “You’re a rare talent, but not everyone with talent can get a chance to use it, as you’ve seen. Twelve years later, you will meet with a difficulty that no mortal power can overcome, a crisis that will drive you to despair and doom your quest. The only one who can save you from it will be my master. You’ll need my master’s help, and coincidentally, my master needs your help for a certain task.”

 

“A difficulty?” he asked curiously. “What kind of difficulty? And what does your master want me to do?”

 

“I cannot tell you now, and there would be no purpose in telling you now. You will understand when the time comes.”

 

The youth looked at the Guest of Canghai for a while, and suddenly laughed. “If your master is so powerful, able to help me overcome a challenge no mortal can defeat, why does he need a mere mortal like me to aid him? Surely that’s too much of a stretch?”

 

The Guest of Canghai didn’t anger, and simply said: “Who says that G.o.ds are omnipotent?”

 

“Everyone in the world?”

 

“And which of them have seen a real G.o.d?”

 

The young man paused. Then, slowly, he said: “How can you prove that your master is a real G.o.d?”

 

The Guest of Canghai said: “I don’t need to prove it, when time will prove everything for you. I only want to arrange this deal with you...”

 

“And if I refuse?”

 

“Refuse?” The Guest of Canghai looked taken aback, but at the same time, looked as if he’d expected that answer. He nodded. “My master was right, it seems, when he said you wouldn’t be easy to persuade. You’re too outstanding a talent, and outstanding talents always think they can do everything by themselves, always dismiss others’ offers of help...”

 

“It’s not a matter of dismissing others’ help, but a matter of preventing others from having power over me,” the youth said. “A debt of grat.i.tude is just like any other debt-- that I know only too well, and I despise that feeling. My future is mine alone, and I’m not selling it to anyone, not even a G.o.d.”

 

A strange look drifted into the Guest of Canghai’s cold eyes, but it was hidden in an instant. “Very well,” he said in the same cool tone as before. “Your youth and talents are your capital, to invest as you wish. You have twelve years to consider the deal I offered you. After the twelve years have pa.s.sed, I will find you again, and you can tell me your decision then.”

 

The youth said in equally chilly tones: “Don’t bother. I’ve made my choice already, and I don’t think I’ll be changing it.”

 

The Guest of Canghai slowly turned in the direction of the shadowy woods, and said, equally slowly: “Young man, don’t vow such things so quickly. Who you are in the present isn’t necessarily who you’ll be in the future; what you decide in the present, too, is not necessarily what you’ll decide in the future.”

 

His words left the youth feeling oddly uncertain. To rid himself of his discomfort, he called out towards the retreating silhouette: “What do you mean by that? The present me? The future me? Do you think you understand me better than I understand myself?”

 

The Guest of Canghai was almost invisible against the backdrop of the darkening woods, but his voice floated out like that of a spirit’s: “In the present, you believe that you hold your fate in your own hands. In the future, you will know what they mean by ‘the will of heaven is difficult to disobey.’ “

 

Silence fell again. The heavy darkness enveloped him, accompanied by an all-pervading chill in the air. Though he stood on open ground, the youth suddenly felt as if he was suffocating.

“The will of heaven... the will of heaven...” he muttered. “If my unfulfillable quest really is the will of heaven, then doesn’t that mean I’ll still lose everything a G.o.d can help me gain, in the end?”

--------------------------------------------------------------

Some daring a.s.sa.s.sin tried to ambush the First Emperor at Bolang Sands![1]

 

The news spread, shocking an empire.

 

A carriage in the First Emperor’s entourage was smashed to splinters. Enraged, the emperor promptly ordered a nationwide manhunt. The a.s.sa.s.sin was said to be Zhang Liang, a native of Hann[2], but no one could catch the man to close the case.

 

There were many strange stories about the a.s.sa.s.sination itself. According to the strangest, the a.s.sa.s.sin’s weapon had been a giant metal hammer, a hundred and twenty catties[3] in weight! Too ridiculous. But no other explanation existed for the astounding destruction that single blow had caused, and most accepted the story in the end.

 

In the thirty-fifth year of the First Emperor’s reign[4], an even more alarming piece of news spread from Xianyang: the emperor had ordered more than four hundred and sixty alchemists and scholars buried alive! They’d wasted tens of thousands in expenditures without creating the immortality potion they’d promised him, and so they died.

 

Crown Prince Fusu, for his objections to the ma.s.sacre, was exiled to the northern garrison at Shanjun.

 

There, far away from the capital, they were constructing a border wall on a ma.s.sive scale.

 

Ying Fusu, sitting unhappily by the watchtower, watched the endless flow of convict workers below, ears filled with the undulating clamor of horns and the “peng-peng” of earth being rammed into blocks.

 

Commander Meng Tian patrolled for a while longer, then slid his whip back through his belt and came to sit beside Fusu. “Crown Prince, don’t worry. This is only a brief lapse in His Majesty’s great wisdom. He’ll summon you back soon.”

 

Fusu gazed at the Great Wall, winding unbroken into the distance. “Maybe,” he said. His voice sounded uncertain.

 

He held no grudge against his father for his loss of favor. All he felt was worry and deep fear.

 

As the son closest and dearest to the First Emperor, he alone realized that his father’s order had not been a rash, spur-of-the-moment misjudgment. He was sick, terribly sick. More terrifyingly, his father himself did not know.

“We wish to become a Real Being.” The First Emperor sat upon his bed, in high spirits as he gazed upon the Immortal-Gazing Shoes the servant had slipped onto his feet. “Have you heard of Real Beings?”

 

Li Si, standing at his side, shook his head blankly.

 

“They enter water without wetting, enter fire without cooking. They can fly upon clouds and vapor, live as long as heaven and earth themselves live. Ah---” He sighed regretfully, voice full of longing. “We truly admire Real Beings. From now on, call us ‘Real Being’ instead of ‘Your Majesty’. Also, we need peace and tranquility. Cease your attempts to get our servants to inform you of our movements.”

 

Inwardly, Li Si startled. “I would not dare,” he said, head down.

 

“You would not dare?” The First Emperor snorted. “You’ve already dared!”

 

Li Si knelt, not daring to raise his head. The First Emperor stood as his servant dressed him in a newly-tailored Smock of Cloud-Thickets. “The last time we were at Liangshan Palace, looking at the escorts you’d sent out below the mountain, we’d said: ‘Such an ostentatious parade!’ No more than an offhand remark, but you decreased the escort the very next day, no? Ah, Li Si, you’re too smart for your own good. Have you heard the saying: ‘so sharp you cut yourself?’”

 

Li Si, in a cold sweat, prostrated himself. “I... I have committed a misdeed worthy of death,” he said shakily.

 

The First Emperor turned towards the mirror, examining his new attire from every angle before nodding in satisfaction. Glancing towards Li Si, he said: “Stand up. We’ll let it pa.s.s this time. But only this time. If it happens again, we can’t promise what we’ll do with you, understand?”

 

Li Si stood. “Yes. Thank you, Your Majesty...”

 

“Oh?” The First Emperor growled.

 

Li Si hesitated, then understood: “Thank you... Real Being.” The words sounded unnatural in his voice.

 

The servant started on the First Emperor’s Crown of Rising Firmament. The First Emperor tipped up his chin to let him tie the straps. “There were forty-two servants and aides at my side that day, at Liangshan Palace. I’ve-- ai, loosen the straps a little! Zhao Gao, are you trying to strangle me-- I’ve executed them all. Too much work to interrogate them one by one. Remember that they died because of you.”

 

Chill after chill crawled up Li Si’s back.

 

The First Emperor walked over. He patted Li Si lightly on the shoulder and said gently: “Well, things aren’t that serious. We know you’re loyal, that you were only trying to better cater to us. But we wish to become a Real Being now. If you know of all our movements, too much of the mortal world’s dust will cling to us, and that will hinder the divine spirits when they try to appear. So it has to be this way. You understand, don’t you?”

 

Seeing the First Emperor in his strange clothes, so calmly airing his madnesses, Li Si felt fear to his bones.

 

The First Emperor made a gesture. The servants scurried to his side, escorting him towards the palace doors. Li Si hurried after him. “Your M... Real Being, the pet.i.tioners in Xianyang Palace...”

 

The First Emperor waved a hand, not bothering to turn his head. “We told you already, you and Feng Quji can work everything out between the two of you!”

 

“But there are some things that only... only Real Being can decide.”

 

“We trust you.” The First Emperor turned, said impatiently: “Do as you’d like!”

 

Li Si said: “It’s been three months since we held court. There are issues of governance...”

 

“Governance! Governance!” the First Emperor snarled. “We higher beings have things more important than governance to take care of, understand?” He left with a toss of his sleeves.

 

Li Si could only watch the First Emperor depart into the distance. Was this the same fierce, ambitious young ruler who’d received him when he presented Memorial Against the Expulsion of Foreigners?[5]

 

“Chancellor, we’d best go back now,” Li Si heard someone behind him say.

 

“Oh.” Li Si turned. “Grand Historian Zhong.”

 

Grand Historian Zhong Xiu approached to Li Si. “Chancellor, you should go back,” he repeated. “With things as they are, there’s nothing we can do.”

 

Li Si’s heart ached. “I long for the King of Qin from before.”

 

Zhong Xiu sighed. “We all feel the same. You should follow the example of Military Minister Wei-- if the roads are impa.s.sable, retreat. Save yourself this grief.”

 

Li Si turned his head back to gaze at the empty corridor from which the First Emperor had left. For a while, he was silent in melancholy. Then he stamped his foot, said with fury: “It’s all because of that demon! The Military Minister was right. Demons doom a state-- thus it has always been.”

 

Puzzlement flashed across Zhong Xiu’s eyes. “Who knows? I’ve run the archives for over thirty years, and I’ve never heard of anything like it. Perhaps he truly was a divine spirit...”

 

“A demon! He could only have been a demon!” Li Si said through gritted teeth. “What divine spirit corrupts a ruler like this? What divine spirit sows chaos in the land like this?”

---
 

While the First Emperor eagerly awaited immortality, ill omen after ill omen manifested, as if to spite him. Mars had intruded into the Belt of Orion, the astrologists reported-- a warning!

 

A meteor landed in the east, and on it was written: “The First Emperor shall die and the land shall divide.”

 

A demonic creature appeared on the Huaying-Pingshu road, only to disappear without a trace. “This year, the Dragon Forefather shall die,” it had said. Taboo words to the First Emperor, all of them. His temper grew worse, and his close ministers grew more fearful.

 

The ma.s.s executions he ordered afterwards did nothing to improve his mood. In the end, the First Emperor decided to embark on another tour of his empire, to cleanse the ill omens wherever he found them, and clear the ire from his heart.

 

Accompanying the First Emperor were Chancellor of the Left Li Si and the young prince Huhai. No one expected that these two guests in the entourage would rewrite the fate of an empire.

 

The First Emperor traveled to Yunmeng, performing sacrifices to Yu Shun at the Jiuyi Mountains.[6] Then he followed the flow of the Yangtze river, in high spirits as he admired the pa.s.sing scenery. Across the banks, past Danyang, to the Qiantang River, then across Zhejiang, and up Kuaiji Mountain, where he sacrificed to the Great Yu.[7] Like before, he left plaques and steles to sing of his own deeds as he made his way towards the sea. Past Wu County, another river crossing at Jiangcheng County. From there he traced the coastline north towards Langya.

 

The alchemists led by Xu Fu had claimed that there existed a magical mountain in the sea, populated by immortals who also held the secret of bestowing immortality. They’d failed to obtain the secret after much expenditure, yes, but that was the fault of the giant sharks that attacked them every time they ventured into open water. The First Emperor, who’d been so disillusioned by the promises of the alchemists, still found it in him to believe this laughable explanation. On this expedition, he had ordered men to bring ma.s.sive versions of various fishing gear, and a heavy crossbow for himself, in antic.i.p.ation of the giant sharks.

 

They saw no large fish on the voyage from Langya to Rongcheng Mountain. On the voyage to Zhifu Mountain, they saw some bigger fish, and shot one, but they couldn’t tell if it was the same kind that Xu Shi had warned them of.

 

The accompanying ministers and officials saw the First Emperor less and less on the return trip. After Shaqiu, not even his aides met with him. Only Chancellor Li Si, his servant Zhao Gao, and a few trusted others ever entered the emperor’s carriage.

 

A fast horse and messenger galloped towards Shangjun.

---
 

The edict, written on light silk, floated to the ground from Fusu’s hands.

 

Trembling, Fu Su reached for the sword that had accompanied the edict and slowly drew it. The messenger stood to the side, watching coldly.

 

Meng Tian rushed through the door and seized Fusu’s hand. “Crown Prince, what are you doing?”

 

Fusu pointed to the edict on the floor. “See for yourself.”

 

Meng Tian picked up the edict, read it. His head snapped up. “Crown Prince, you can’t kill yourself! This edict can only be a fake!”

 

Fusu stared emptily into the distance. “It’s my father’s handwriting, my father’s seal, my father’s sword. What part of it is fake?”

 

Meng Tian grabbed Fusu’s shoulders forcibly, shouted: “The seal and the sword could have been stolen! Either Li Si and Zhao Gao could have imitated His Majesty’s handwriting! Crown Prince, think about it. His Majesty gave me three hundred thousand good troops to garrison here and named you as supervisor. He granted us such great authority, and now he suddenly wants us to kill ourselves? Don’t you find this suspicious?”

 

The messenger impatiently feigned a cough.

 

Fusu slowly shifted his gaze to Meng Tian. His smile was full of grief. “No, this truly is my father’s intent, I know.”

 

Fu Su obeyed his father’s edict and committed suicide. Meng Tian refused, but agreed to surrender his command, and was taken prisoner.

---
 

They revealed the news after the carriages returned to Xianyang. Only then did everyone learn: the First Emperor had pa.s.sed away on the return journey.

 

Chancellor Li Si announced the First Emperor’s dying edict: his eighteenth son, Huhai, would succeed him as emperor.

 

More than pa.s.sing strange, that the First Emperor would order his eldest son to commit suicide, and give the throne to a much younger son, when he’d never shown the slightest intention of such a plan before. Why had he suddenly made such an unusual decision in the last days of his life?

 

Some began to suspect: the First Emperor’s dying edict had been tampered with.

 

Some began to speculate: Li Si and Zhao Gao, who’d been closest to the First Emperor, were hiding something.

 

But regardless of the suspicions and speculations, Huhai was still the Crown Prince. And so he ascended the throne and became the Qin Dynasty’s Second Emperor.

 

The new emperor soon revealed his cruelty and incompetency. Immediately, he ordered that all of the former emperor’s childless concubines be buried with him in his tomb. Under Zhao Gao’s persuasion, he executed the great ministers who’d served his father, and a few dozen of the other princes and princesses, so that none living had the authority to challenge his right of rule. To prop up his prestige, he imitated the First Emperor and toured the land in great expeditions, carving steles of self-praise wherever he went-- though he had no achievements to praise.

 

From that April onwards, he ordered the continued construction of Epang Palace[8], as well as the relocation of fifty thousand troops to Xianyang. Though he called them a garrison, they were in reality meant to accompany the emperor on his hunts. The city ran low on food with the sudden population increase; therefore, he ordered other counties to ship supplies to Xianyang-- enough for the soldiers and laborers, as well as enough to sustain the transport crews on their long journeys.

 

Such a ma.s.sive project, coupled with such wastage, drove the common people into greater and greater poverty. Outrage seethed amongst the peasants, but the Second Emperor did nothing to ease their discontent; he only tightened the laws, enacted harsher punishments.

 

A dangerous thing to do, but no one dared to point this out.

 

Grim laws and ma.s.s purges had taught the ministers of the court to tread fearfully. To protect their own lives and livelihood, they’d learned to speak only flattery and share only heartening news. For this reason, no one had even dared to tell the new emperor: in the province that had once been the state of Chu, someone had begun a rebellion!

 

The first to revolt was a band of garrison soldiers led by Chen Sheng. He declared himself King of Chu afterwards, with the reign name of “Unfurling Chu”. The peasants, who’d long suffered under the oppressive rule of Qin, rose in droves in answer to Chen Sheng, killing the Qin officials in county after county.

 

Chen Sheng ordered his subordinate Wu Guang to attack Xinyang to the west; Wu Chen, Zhang Er, and Chen Yu to retake the territory formerly under Zhao rule; Deng Zong to conquer Jiujiang; Zhou Shi to retake Wei territory. More and more troops joined his revolt: Qin Jia of Ling County, Zhu Jishi of Fuli, Liu Bang of Pei County, Xiang Liang and Xiang Yu of central Wu...

 

East of Xiao Mountain[9], Qin authority soon crumbled away. West of Xiao Mountain, its control was no longer absolute: under Chen Sheng’s order, Zhou Wen marched west to attack Qin, and soon reached the main doorway to Xianyang-- Hangu Pa.s.s.[10]

 

Everyone believed now: the Qin empire would fall.

 

And yet, events took a rapid turn for the worse.

 

At Xiting, barely a hundred li[11] from Xianyang, the Qin Treasurer Zhang Han led an army to smash Zhou Wen. The rebels, so close to victory, were forced to retreat back through Hangu Pa.s.s.

 

And no one came to help this lone force, deep in enemy territory. The reason was simple: everyone knew that Qin was about to fall, so everyone had begun to consider how to reap the biggest gains afterwards.

 

As things currently stood, if Zhou Wen had succeeded in conquering Qin, Chen Sheng’s position would have soared. But ever since Chen Sheng named himself king, he’d become more and more arrogant, more and more volatile. When some of his old laborer friends visited and dared to treat him like an equal, he’d executed them. If a person like him gained control of the land, who’d be able to live in peace afterwards?

 

So the others only watched as Zhou Wen was defeated and then defeated again, until he finally committed suicide. Every rebel force was too busy carving out territory or infighting to help.

 

As those willing to fight for Chen Sheng dwindled, those willing to betray him grew in number.

 

In December, pursued by Qin forces, Chen Sheng retreated to Ruyin. He would die there. One night, as he slept off the evening’s drinking, one of his carriage drivers hacked off his head and presented it to the Qin army.

 

People have short attention spans in times of chaos; no one bothered to mourn this rebel, who’d been brave enough to lead the first struggle against Qin. Soon enough, a new King of Chu ascended the throne. Unlike Chen Sheng, this king was actually of the Chu royal bloodline. Xiang Liang and his nephew Xiang Yu had found him, the grandson of King Huai of Chu, hiding amongst the commoners. To call upon the nostalgia and patriotism of the people of Chu, they gave him the same t.i.tle as his grandfather; he, too, would be called King Huai.

 

The battle was still being fought, but not in the same way as before.

 

They were no longer rebels united against a tyrannical Qin. The six states toppled one by one at Qin Shihuang’s hands stood independent again, as if the clock had turned back twenty years.