The New Wind Blows in Xianyang

The Emperor of Zhou huddled in a corner of Luoyi, counting the tiles of the ancestral temple; the banners of Han and Wei faded into pale white, and the palaces of Yan were covered with moss. Only four giant beasts showed their fangs on the scorched earth: King Huai of Chu used Tianwen to sacrifice the flag, and Zhao Hua's alienation plan caused the palace gates of Yue to splatter with blood; King Xuan of Qi still had benevolence and righteousness on his lips when he swallowed the Yan soil in the north; King Wuling of Zhao's cavalry and shooting in Hu clothes finally turned into the cry of 400,000 innocent souls in Changping. And Ying Ji was sitting in the shadow of Xianyang Gong, stroking an unsheathed sword. This caressing lasted for fifty-six years! It's enough for Wei Ran to crush the territories of the Six Kingdoms into a chessboard, enough for Fan Ju to carve "distant friendship and close attack" into the bones of the nations, enough for Bai Qi to build a ladder with millions of heads - every time the God of Death goes down a level, one more copper nail is hammered into the coffin of the Zhou Dynasty. Ritual and music? It had long been blown away by the wind at Hangu Pass. In this world today, we only recognize one thing: Bloody sword. ——Look at the Xian Yang pole star, hanging in the bloody dusk! This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.