Chapter Six: The Grand Camp of Wu Sui

Wusui, a land of war and military strategy, once belonged to the Han state. During King Zhao of Qin’s reign, the territory was ceded to Qin as compensation and had since remained under Qin’s dominion.

As soon as Li Yu and his entourage arrived at the borders of Wusui, they were intercepted by Qin’s black-armored scouts, who swiftly surrounded them and demanded to know their identities, origins, and intentions.

At this moment, it was Li Si’s turn to step forward. Holding the envoy’s staff, Li Si dismounted from the carriage, startling the Qin soldiers present. After all, those qualified to serve as scouts were especially sharp and discerning. The staff of a Qin envoy was unmistakable.

“Greetings, my lord!” the Qin soldiers saluted.

Li Si gave no reply, merely shifting aside to reveal the carriage. At the same time, Gai Nie, sword in hand, stepped into view. His sharp, commanding gaze swept over everyone present, making it clear that this handsome and refined youth was not to be underestimated.

When Gai Nie displayed his token, the scout captain’s pupils contracted as he looked intently into the carriage. As Gai Nie lifted the curtain, a young, handsome face of extraordinary bearing came into view.

The captain shuddered, hurriedly saluted, his voice quivering with disbelief and shock, hesitated for a moment, and then exclaimed, “Th—this humble servant pays respects to the King!”

His voice trembled with awe. Why would His Majesty appear here?

“Summon Wang Yi to see me,” Ying Zheng commanded, his expression calm, exuding authority without anger, his gaze steady as he addressed the scouts.

“Yes, my lord!” The lead scout responded in a low, respectful tone, not daring to disobey. He immediately left a few men to guard the convoy and hurried back to the camp with the rest to report.

Inside the carriage, Li Yu watched the silent Qin soldiers outside and, struck by a sudden thought, disembarked, climbed into Ying Zheng’s carriage, and sat down with a grin. “What does Your Majesty think of these soldiers?”

Ying Zheng started slightly, not understanding Li Yu’s meaning.

“Soldiers are always the most lovable people in the world. They are far simpler than the powerful and wealthy. Some fight simply to fill their bellies, while others risk their lives in hopes of attaining honor and fortune. For them, fairness matters most,” Li Yu said softly.

“Fairness? Do you believe there is still fairness in this world?” Ying Zheng asked, frowning.

“There are two kinds of fairness: the idealized absolute fairness, and relative fairness. Some are born into noble families, others into humble homes. To demand equal birth is the fantasy of ideal fairness—unrealistic. Relative fairness, on the other hand, is what I spoke of before: rule of law. When a noble errs, he must be judged by law; when a commoner achieves merit, he must be rewarded by law. At the very least, Your Majesty can guarantee this. As the sovereign, power is represented by the throne; the law is the instrument with which the realm is governed. To wield this tool, the ruler must first and foremost hold military power and win the support of the soldiers. In the game of power, authority and force are complementary.

“In chaotic times, strong rule is needed. The reason why Qin stands above all is because of its military might. I once heard a saying, which I find profoundly true: there is a world of difference between having a sword and not having one, even if you choose not to use it.”

As Li Yu spoke, the image of an idol from his memory surfaced. In the future, it was the selfless dedication of a generation that allowed China to stand at the pinnacle of the world. They accomplished in one generation what would have taken many. All to surpass the great powers, to bring peace and prosperity to their homeland, to restore the dignity of their people so none would dare oppress them again.

“I understand what you mean,” Ying Zheng replied, his eyes shining as he looked at Li Yu and nodded. What he lacked most now was a sword sharp enough to intimidate the court. If the throne alone was not enough, then let it be supplemented by a sword.

To suppress all dissent!

The wait was long. Li Yu, meanwhile, bantered with Ying Zheng, their conversation drifting farther afield, even touching on how to handle the six conquered states in the future, such as the unification of script, vehicles, and weights and measures. As they discussed these topics, Li Si, waiting outside, listened in silence, stunned by Li Yu’s vision.

Li Si had never expected Li Yu to think so far ahead.

“The scripts of the seven states are indeed cumbersome. There are a dozen ways to write a single character. When I was learning them, it was maddening!” Ying Zheng laughed, recalling the past. He paused, then continued, “But you think too far ahead. Let’s leave these matters for the future. There will be opportunities.”

“Just passing the time,” Li Yu replied with a light laugh.

Ying Zheng smiled and did not press the issue, though Li Yu’s words made him more grateful for having such a man at his side.

Li Si, observing their growing rapport, felt some heaviness in his heart. It was clear to him that Ying Zheng’s appreciation for Li Yu was deepening. When they first left Xianyang, Li Yu was still respectful; after just a day, the relationship had obviously grown much closer.

Travel, it seemed, was not just for romance.

They did not wait long. After about a quarter of an hour, the scout who had left returned—alone. The old general Wang Yi did not come, nor was there even any formal reception.

“Where is Wang Yi?” Ying Zheng asked through the window, his tone serious.

“The general instructed us to keep Your Majesty’s presence confidential. To prevent any leaks, he requests Your Majesty’s forgiveness and asks that you come to the main tent. The general has arranged everything to ensure Your Majesty’s safety,” the scout said, bowing low.

Ying Zheng frowned and glanced at Li Yu, sensing something amiss. Li Yu nodded slightly.

“Very well. Lead the way,” Ying Zheng replied coldly, his tone unreadable.

The scout breathed a sigh of relief and hurried to make arrangements.

“Wang Yi did not come to greet us, and is even keeping my identity secret. Is this caution or something more?” Ying Zheng asked, his gaze heavy as he looked at Li Yu and Li Si.

“We’ll know soon enough,” Li Yu replied calmly. He was well aware of Wang Yi’s intentions, but that did not mean they would avoid the game.

“So be it. I want to see what this old general is up to,” Ying Zheng said after a moment of silence. He was unwilling to believe that the old general, who had served Qin for decades, would betray him, for he could not fathom a motive.

Without further words, they proceeded to the general’s tent. To conceal their movements, the scouts took a detour and brought the convoy in from the far side of the camp. The area was nearly deserted except for a handful of personal guards.

When Ying Zheng and his group alighted, they beheld a spacious main tent, the emptiness around it somewhat eerie, as if by design.

Gai Nie gripped his sword and drew closer to Ying Zheng.

“Please, Your Majesty,” the scout said, bowing low and speaking in a hushed, respectful tone.

Ying Zheng said nothing more, resigned to see what Wang Yi intended.

Li Yu instructed Yan Fei and the others to wait outside in case of trouble, while he and Gai Nie accompanied Ying Zheng inside. With their group, unless surrounded by an army, they could easily escape. Besides, Li Yu had other thoughts. If memory served, in the original story, the old general’s attempt on Ying Zheng’s life was to avenge Lord Bai Qi, who had been assassinated by the Peasant School. This differed greatly from history, and Li Yu was curious to unravel the mystery.

“You’re here, come in, come in,” called a steady, powerful voice from inside the tent before they even entered. The speaker was clearly aged, but his voice was still strong, indicating robust health not often found among the elderly.

There was no need to guess his identity. Only the Left Chief, Wang Yi, would greet them so.

As the curtain was drawn aside, the group entered, led by a few soldiers, and saw a burly figure clad in heavy armor. His graying hair marked him as an old general, but his aura remained dominating and fierce—a force of nature, even his back exuding an oppressive presence bred from years of battle.

“Well preserved for his age,” Li Yu thought, appraising the man.

Soldiers in the army often practiced external martial arts to strengthen their bodies for the rigors of war—endurance, strength, and resilience. In battles lasting from dawn until deep into the night, physical stamina was crucial for survival.

In this, those who practiced external arts far outstripped those who pursued internal cultivation.

Wang Yi did not rise, but calmly poured wine, seemingly in no hurry to pay respects to Ying Zheng. This made Ying Zheng’s expression darken, his displeasure evident—was the old general forgetting his place?

Wang Yi poured wine into a goblet and said, “You all did well. Thanks to you, the King has arrived here safely and without notice.” As he finished, he turned to face the group, his features coming into view—white hair, a face etched with age, a goatee lending a scholarly air, but his tiger-like eyes gleamed with a soul-piercing brilliance. With a stride, he approached the scout captain and handed him the goblet.

“Here, a reward for you,” Wang Yi said, his voice momentarily gentle.

“This… I dare not!” the scout stammered, bowing deeply.

“Take it,” Wang Yi ordered, thrusting the goblet into the soldier’s hands, his gaze turning cold. “This is your wine for the road.”

At that moment, a murderous aura surged forth. With a flash, Wang Yi’s sword left its scabbard and sliced through the goblet, the cut clean and sharp, wine spilling everywhere—along with the blood from the scout’s neck.

Blood splattered.

Gai Nie reacted faster than anyone; the instant Wang Yi moved, his sword was drawn, its intent locked on the old general, razor-sharp energy swirling about the blade.

Ying Zheng’s eyes grew icy, silently fixing Wang Yi with a piercing stare.

Li Yu frowned, his fingers twitching, but he held himself back. With Gai Nie at his side, there was no need to call for help, and besides, Wang Yi’s actions were odd—was this simply to silence witnesses?

As if confirming Li Yu’s suspicion, Wang Yi, after killing one, ran through two more in quick succession, then drew his heavy halberd and swept it in a wide arc, slaughtering the remaining scouts with brutal efficiency, as if the plan had long been set.

With all the scouts dead, the tent was thick with the stench of blood. Wang Yi slammed his halberd to the ground, knelt on one knee before Ying Zheng, and said respectfully, “Forgive me for the abruptness, Your Majesty.”

“Wang Yi, what is the meaning of this!” Ying Zheng demanded coldly.

“Your Majesty does not realize how many spies there are in the camp. Should Your Majesty’s identity be revealed, those people will not hesitate to act against you. For Your Majesty’s safety, I had no choice but to kill these scouts. Only by erasing all traces of Your Majesty’s presence can your identity remain hidden. It was a necessary evil.”

“So, you claim you did this for my safety?” Ying Zheng’s icy gaze softened slightly after a moment’s thought.

“Your safety is paramount, Your Majesty. For them to die for you is an honor,” Wang Yi replied calmly.

“To prevent any word of Your Majesty’s presence from leaking, I beg Your Majesty to disguise yourself as Li Si’s attendant, and send an urgent message to Xianyang for someone trustworthy to come to your aid.”

“I just left Xianyang—why would I return now?” Ying Zheng retorted.

“Your Majesty is the foundation of the state; you must not be moved lightly. Li Si allowing Your Majesty to leave the palace is a capital offense, but as he serves the Chancellor’s office, I beg Your Majesty to send for aid from Xianyang. Should anything happen to you, I will accept execution without complaint.”

“This… How can that be?” Li Si, who had remained silent, suddenly realized the fire had reached him. Seeing that things were turning dangerous, he looked anxiously between Wang Yi and Ying Zheng, trying to decline.

Being no fool, Li Si now saw the danger clearly—Li Yu’s suspicions about Wang Yi’s intentions might be justified. Li Yu had subtly warned him before, but he had not believed it until now. At this point, there was no way out but to face it.

Li Yu, finding amusement in Li Si’s nervous performance, thought to himself that, were it not for their brief acquaintance, he might have been fooled by the man’s frightened expression.

Ying Zheng ignored Li Si and, meeting Wang Yi’s gaze, said flatly, “As you suggest.”

Li Yu and his group were then assigned to a secluded tent to rest, the crisis seeming to subside for now. Soon, however, Gai Nie and the others noticed that they were being surrounded by Wang Yi’s personal guards. Judging by their numbers, every move would be closely watched.

“It appears we are being watched, not protected,” Ying Zheng said coldly after hearing Gai Nie’s report.

Li Yu considered and replied, “There are many prying eyes in the camp. If Wang Yi does not seal off the area, any leak of Your Majesty’s identity could ruin his plans. Of course, it is possible that he simply wishes to ensure your safety.”

“What do you think Wang Yi intends?” Ying Zheng asked, his suspicion evident.

Li Yu did not hesitate. “If Wang Yi truly means harm, there are only two possibilities: murder or imprisonment.”

Li Si’s eye twitched at these words, glancing nervously at Li Yu, astonished by his boldness in speaking so plainly. On one side sat the King of Qin, on the other, a veteran general, the Left Chief himself—such words were unthinkable.

“Wang Yi…” Ying Zheng mused, “I still cannot understand—Qin has treated him well, and he has devoted his life to the state. Why would he wish me harm?”

“The reason does not matter,” Li Yu replied calmly. “What matters is whether he will act.”

“This is the military camp,” Gai Nie said, his tone tense.

Li Yu shook his head. “The place is irrelevant. What matters is whether Wang Yi dares. If he truly has treacherous intent, he will act wherever he can. For us, this is also an opportunity—one move to settle matters once and for all. If Wang Yi is innocent, so be it. If not…”

He left the sentence unfinished, but all understood. If Wang Yi truly meant harm, he would have to be killed. Once Wang Yi fell, the elite Armored Troops of Pingyang would be leaderless, and Ying Zheng could step in to command them—a crucial advantage in consolidating his power.

Meanwhile, in another tent, the old general sat at his desk, his tiger eyes gleaming with murderous light as he listened to his subordinates’ reports.

“Go, continue the surveillance,” he ordered coldly after dismissing his aide.

Wang Yi rose, seized his heavy halberd, and swung it with powerful sweeps, the fierce wind whipping through the tent. After a long while, he stopped, his face flushed, breaths heavy, eyes glinting with killing intent as he muttered, “Lord Bai Qi, the Qin you gave your life for is now ruled by a child…”

Wang Yi’s loyalty to Qin was unparalleled. If a foreign state invaded, he would be the first to fight, laying down his life without complaint. Yet his passionate heart had died with Lord Bai Qi. Once, Wang Yi had been but a minor general by Bai Qi’s side, following him through countless campaigns, always shielded by Bai Qi’s towering presence—a pillar of the state, feared by all enemies.

Everyone believed that as long as Bai Qi lived, Qin would never fear any foe.

But this general, who had fought for Qin his whole life, did not die by the enemy’s hand, but by “suicide.” How absurd. Without the king’s pressure, Bai Qi would not have ended his life. With his unmatched martial skills, who could have killed him except by his own will?

Perhaps it was to set the king’s mind at ease, or to satisfy the world.

Bai Qi died, and Wang Yi’s loyal heart died with him.

Halberd in hand, Wang Yi’s breathing slowed, his eyes grew cold, and the last hesitation in his heart vanished. Since he had decided, why waver? He would not delay—if it was to be done, it would be done quickly. But first, there were complications to address.

Ying Zheng, though just a child, was still King of Qin. If he was to die, it had to be done secretly, leaving no trace. This venture out of the palace gave Wang Yi a rare chance—one that would not come again.

After donning his helmet and adjusting his armor, Wang Yi strode out, having just learned that someone was investigating the missing scouts and tracking Ying Zheng—someone who was, unfortunately, hard to deal with. Unless unavoidable, Wang Yi did not wish to act against him. A team of scouts could be easily covered up, but not this young man, who was not only a company commander but the direct grandson of Lord Meng Ao. If anything happened to him, his grandfather would certainly sense something was wrong, and then the truth would be hard to conceal.

It had taken considerable effort to deal with Meng Tian, who was cautious and quick-witted. If not for his own higher status, Meng Tian might have uncovered Ying Zheng’s whereabouts.

With Meng Tian handled, Wang Yi ordered his men to contact Li Si. Though unfamiliar with Li Si, he knew the man was a protégé of Chancellor Lü. That made matters easier—some gentle warning would suffice. The wise always know which way to choose. Sometimes, choosing is more important than acting.

Deep into the night, Li Si had not yet retired when Wang Yi’s men summoned him—alone. Ying Zheng and the others, noticing his absence, were puzzled by Wang Yi’s interest.

“What do you think of Li Si?” Ying Zheng quietly asked Li Yu as Li Si departed.

“A great talent, his learning second only to Han Fei, but his character is problematic—cold, power-hungry. In Your Majesty’s current situation, you can offer him little and only endanger him. In such circumstances, it may be safer for him to align himself with Chancellor Lü,” Li Yu replied candidly.

Li Si, it seemed, had grown weary of hardship and cared only for his own interests—a gamble that would ultimately cost him everything.

By comparison, Gai Nie was far more likeable.

Li Yu smiled at Gai Nie, who looked back, puzzled by the sudden attention. Just as he was about to exchange a look, Li Yu turned away, presenting the back of his head.

Gai Nie fell silent.

“Much as I observed,” Ying Zheng said blandly. Li Si’s apparent sincerity was too polished—such artifice was familiar to Ying Zheng from his time in the palace, hence his lukewarm attitude toward Li Si.

After two days together, Li Si had yet to clearly stand by Ying Zheng, unlike Li Yu and Gai Nie.

“Your Majesty, perhaps you should write a letter to appease Wang Yi, lest we arouse suspicion,” Li Yu suggested.

“Is it necessary? Li Si has already gone—if he says anything, nothing I do will matter,” Ying Zheng replied, uncertain whom the letter should even be addressed to.

The vast Xianyang Palace held not a single person he could truly trust, save for Gai Nie, who was by his side as a bodyguard. His relationship with his mother, though improved after Li Yu’s advice and recent visits, was still not entirely mended. In Zhao, mother and son had relied on each other, but in Qin, especially after Ying Zheng ascended the throne, everything changed—more so as he grew older.

As for Chancellor Lü, his “uncle,” Ying Zheng respected him, for Lü Buwei was more of a father than his own had ever been—a mentor and elder.

Li Yu continued, “Rest assured, Your Majesty. Given Li Si’s temperament, he will not risk siding with Wang Yi right now. His best option is to remain neutral until the outcome is clear. As a Qin envoy, he will not commit until the dust settles.”

“Very well, I shall send a letter to my mother,” Ying Zheng replied after a long pause, though the thought of writing the letter left him troubled.

He pondered for some time before composing the letter, knowing it would never be delivered—merely a ruse for Wang Yi. Nonetheless, it needed to reflect his status and situation, expressing a plea for help to Zhao Ji, which left him conflicted.

Li Yu, observing Ying Zheng’s expression, saw through his feelings. It was a pity he could not write the letter himself—he was sure he would do a better job. After all, he had no shortage of drafts and was well-versed in coaxing a palace-bound woman.

Truth be told, Ying Zheng might be a capable ruler, but he understood nothing of women—even his own mother. He saw only her outward behavior, not her inner loneliness or the pain of abandonment. Had he shown more concern for her, perhaps their relationship would not have deteriorated so much.

Li Yu pitied Zhao Ji—a woman discarded by both Lü Buwei and King Yiren, left with an overwhelming sense of insecurity, trapped in the confines of Xianyang Palace. Such loneliness was unimaginable. Ying Zheng, as emperor, could not behave like a normal son, and his disposition made such gestures impossible. Over time, it was inevitable that Zhao Ji changed.

All relationships—familial, romantic, or friendly—require nurturing.

From a historical perspective, Li Yu always felt Zhao Ji was a good mother; enduring torment in Zhao to raise Ying Zheng, she never let him stray, but after becoming Empress Dowager, she changed.

“Lü Buwei really is a scoundrel,” Li Yu muttered, sympathizing with the unfortunate woman, before his mind drifted to another notorious man—Lao Ai, said to be so gifted he could turn a cartwheel with his “talent.” He was curious to meet him, if only out of academic interest.

“Sir?” Ying Zheng called, noticing Li Yu’s absent gaze. “Is something on your mind?”

Li Yu, jolted from his reverie, coughed awkwardly and replied, “No, Your Majesty. I was just thinking about when Wang Yi might act.”

“These past days, you have worked tirelessly. But I don’t think anything will happen tonight—please rest,” Ying Zheng said, his tone gentler now.

“Sir, I’ll keep watch here,” Gai Nie said, lifting his sword in assurance.

With both urging him to rest, Li Yu knew it was best to comply. Smiling apologetically, he bowed and left. As soon as he stepped outside, the night wind revived him—he was wide awake, just like clocking off work, brimming with energy.

He sighed at the moon—neither Ying Zheng nor Gai Nie understood him. He was a night owl, most alert after dark, but tonight, there was no one to talk to. He decided to visit Yan Fei and chat, hoping to advance their budding relationship—after all, it was still early, and he couldn’t sleep.

He was a man of exceptional quality, after all.

Inside the tent, Ying Zheng and Gai Nie watched Li Yu’s departing figure.

“These days, Sir Li has worked hard,” Ying Zheng remarked quietly once Li Yu was gone. Since becoming king, he had never encountered someone like Li Yu—someone willing to work selflessly for him, trusting and encouraging him, a companion who was both mentor and friend. Especially during this time, when he had nothing but the title of King.

Li Yu had come, offering unconditional help for the unification of the realm, believing in Ying Zheng’s eventual success. The feeling was like a parched man drinking sweet dew—indescribable, and perhaps never to be felt again.

“Yes, Sir Li is extraordinary,” Gai Nie agreed, nodding with a knowing look.

In the dimly lit tent, with only a few oil lamps casting faint halos, Wang Yi’s figure grew more sinister as he rose, his shadow stretching long. His bowed head concealed his expression, his presence oppressive and chilling.

His sharp eyes fixed on Li Si, radiating a killing intent honed by years of warfare.

At that moment, the full force of his deadly aura pressed down on Li Si, who, under the cold, dim light, felt beads of sweat slide down his forehead. Wang Yi’s words were low and emotionless:

“My lord, think carefully. Now that you serve in court, do not be fickle. You are a man of Chancellor Lü, are you not? One cannot be two people, nor protect two people. What do you think, Lord Li?”

The words sounded bland, almost caring, but to Li Si, they were filled with menace and warning. Li Yu had been right—Wang Yi truly intended to act against the King. Most shocking of all, the force behind Wang Yi might be Chancellor Lü himself.

Li Si’s heart surged with turmoil—what choice should he make? Under Wang Yi’s gaze, he had no doubt that a single wrong word could mean his death.

He had never imagined Wang Yi would be so brazen as to forgo any pretense and confront him directly.

Meanwhile, as Li Si was tormented by Wang Yi’s threats, Li Yu was leisurely playing cards with Yan Fei—seriously, at that. In his travel bag, along with cumin powder brought from his time-travel, was a deck of playing cards. Originally, these were meant for the Empress Dowager, but plans changed, and he ended up in Wusui with Ying Zheng. He hoped the Empress Dowager would not hold it against him when he returned.

After all, he had risked much for her son—if not rewarded, at least he should not be punished.

Yan Fei, worthy of her reputation as the most remarkable woman of the age, mastered the game after just one explanation and only three losses, soon matching Li Yu move for move. Had she lived in modern times, she would have been a top student, just like Li Yu—a prodigy skipping grades.