Chapter One: My Teacher Han Fei

Winter in Xianyang was harsh, with biting winds sweeping in from the northwest, and thick snow still blanketing the myriad rooftops within the city. Whether it was the pedestrians within the Xianyang Palace or those living in the city itself, everyone seemed hurried and pressed for time.

To Fusu, the entirety of Xianyang appeared ancient and solemn; the city, supervised by Shang Yang in its construction, still retained its imposing grandeur. One hundred and thirty years had passed since Xianyang was built. This year, the Guanzhong region was colder than ever before.

Today, white cloth hung everywhere in Xianyang Palace. Most people passing through the halls walked with their heads bowed, for just two days prior, Empress Dowager Huayang had passed away. The funeral was still ongoing, and Fusu stood before the main hall of Gaoquan Palace, alongside a group of royal kin from Qin.

As for the identities of these relatives, Fusu knew hardly any of them; beneath their solemn expressions, he tried to maintain silence. Raising his head slightly, he caught sight of the coffin within the hall. Empress Dowager Huayang had been the wife of King Xiaowen of Qin; whether now or in the complicated web of relationships that once surrounded Xianyang Palace, she had always been a figure of unique significance.

For his father, Empress Dowager Huayang had played an immensely important role in his life. It was rumored that, whether before or after the death of Lü Buwei, she was the person his father respected most. Now that she was gone, his father grieved more than anyone.

Arriving in this world, Fusu had spent a long time adapting, especially when faced with these unfamiliar or perhaps vaguely familiar kin from Qin—some of whom had origins in Chu, Zhao, Yan, and other places. Closing his eyes, listening to the sound of his own breathing, Fusu could hear the low murmurs of conversation among the relatives behind him, and even the faint rise and fall of snoring—someone must have fallen asleep kneeling.

“Prince, His Majesty summons you.”

Hearing the voice from behind, Fusu stood, straightened his attire, and followed the attendant away.

Xianyang Palace was truly vast, exhausting to traverse. Zhangtai Palace, the largest hall on the southern side, was where the First Emperor usually handled state affairs. Nearing the grand hall, Fusu adjusted his garments once more before following the attendant inside, where he met his father—the reigning First Emperor.

Fusu entered and paid his respects, bowing with hands clasped, waiting for his father to speak.

His father remained silent; in the empty, quiet hall, Fusu could even hear him chewing venison. A few moments passed, but the First Emperor still said nothing, calmly chewing his meat.

Guided by a palace maid, Fusu took a seat at a nearby table, and a steaming dish of venison was placed before him.

The palace was quiet. Fusu ate by himself, father and son exchanging no words. In his memories, his father had always been taciturn. Fusu had never met his birth mother, but remembered she was from Chu.

The present atmosphere was markedly different from the Qin people after Shang Yang’s reforms. Even now, under the rule of the First Emperor, the Qin people retained their pragmatic and straightforward nature. The inhabitants of the former Six Kingdoms still clung to their old customs and ways of life.

The Qin were warlike and fierce, the Confucian culture of Qi and Lu was scholarly, Yan and Zhao were rugged and fond of battle, and the Chu people were enamored with romance. Among most Qin, Chu women were known for their romantic nature, and since Fusu’s mother came from Chu, it was said that his own name was inspired by that heritage.

To marry a Chu woman as Queen had nearly become a tradition in Qin; Empress Dowager Huayang was from Chu, so it followed that Fusu’s mother would also be Chu.

Fusu took a couple of bites of venison, glancing at his father seated in the place of honor. The First Emperor sliced a piece of meat, placed it in his mouth, and stared ahead, seemingly deep in thought. No words were spoken.

Since Qin had conquered the Six Kingdoms, the First Emperor was the heart of this vast empire—a cold, calculating political machine governing its bones and capillaries. Yet crisis still lingered; the old nobility from the Six Kingdoms endured.

Rebellions flared up across the land for various reasons of restoration, and in a few years, anti-Qin forces hidden throughout the regions might rise again—perhaps that man named Xiang Yan would one day shout, “Though Chu has but three households, Qin’s demise will come at Chu’s hands.”

In this era, just after the feudal system of the Zhou dynasty had ended, most people were uncertain of the future. The world had been unified, and all wondered how such a vast realm could be governed.

Seeing his father depart, Fusu hurriedly rose to bid him farewell. Watching the First Emperor’s figure disappear from view, Fusu left the silent Zhangtai Palace—father and son, strangers to each other, not a word exchanged.

So be it; after all, Fusu was no longer truly Fusu.

The chill of winter lingered. Soldiers stationed atop the distant drum tower spotted the figure walking before Zhangtai Palace, and those on duty whispered to one another: that was Prince Fusu.

Some said the prince was once different—a kind and gentle child, whose temperament only changed after turning fifteen.

Rumors about Prince Fusu abounded within the palace. It was said he was skilled in medicine, and that seven years ago, when Empress Dowager Huayang was gravely ill, he treated her and prolonged her life for several more years.

Empress Dowager Huayang’s most beloved child was Prince Fusu.

When Fusu returned to Gaoquan Palace, night had already fallen. The relatives and guests had all departed, save for one figure who remained.

This man, about forty years old, wore a short beard and a gentle smile, clad in a black-gray court robe.

“Prince.”

He saluted respectfully, and Fusu returned the courtesy.

Before him stood the current Minister of Justice, Li Si.

Fusu gazed at the coffin still set within Gaoquan Palace and said, “I just dined with my father.”

The funeral of Empress Dowager Huayang had reached its final stage; she would be buried at dawn.

Li Si stepped forward and inquired, “I hear the prince has recently been reading Han Fei’s works?”

“Yes.”

“I have also heard the prince studies Confucian classics?”

“Indeed.”

Fusu nodded in response.

“If the prince finds any confusion in Han Fei’s writings, I can offer explanations.”

As he spoke, Li Si maintained his gentle, friendly smile.

In Fusu’s impression—an impression shaped by a soul from another world—Li Si had always worn that same smile, year after year.

It was said Li Si and Han Fei studied under the same master, though no one knew how close they truly were. From the perspective of the King of Qin—the First Emperor—things had come to this point. Perhaps Han Fei, dead, was of greater value to Qin, while Li Si, alive, was more useful to the state?

Fusu paused, looking up at the overcast sky. “Though Han Fei is no longer in this world, he is a teacher in my heart.”

Those who had a place in the court at Xianyang were all exceptional figures of their era—Li Si was one of them, regardless of whether he had a hand in Han Fei’s death.

In truth, the books and writings of the Legalists preserved in Qin offered an unflinching dissection of men and the state. For Fusu, educated in a later age, reading those texts felt like a repeated crushing of his own innate kindness—the things they wrote were, simply put, inhuman.