In 210 BC, as the candlelight of the Sand Dune Palace flickered, the fingertips of the dying Emperor Ying Zheng touched a bronze scroll that appeared out of thin air. The word "Future" glowed coldly on the page.
It is recorded in the slip that the Great Wall failed to stop the iron hoofs of the Xiongnu, Afang Palace was reduced to scorched earth, and the second Qin Dynasty that he had worked so hard for died; although the great achievements of writing books and chariots on the same rails have been passed down for thousands of years, no one remembers his cruelty of burning books and humiliating Confucian scholars; later generations called him a "tyrant", and the legend of Meng Jiangnu was engraved into the history books, and even the mercury in the Lishan tomb became incriminating evidence.
What's even more terrifying is Jian Mo's painting: skyscrapers pierce the sky, iron boxes gallop like horses, and people holding square utensils can talk on the phone, but no one bows to the "emperor" anymore - the immortality he has pursued all his life has been "eternal" in such a ridiculous way.
Ying Zheng clenched the book tightly, his knuckles turned white. Should he burn this prophecy into flames and continue to dream of his eternal dream? Or should you believe this lie and rewrite the future that is destined to collapse in the last days? The candlelight suddenly went out, and in the darkness, the emperor's breathing intertwined with the dim light on the booklet, forming a puzzle that spanned two thousand years.
An emperor through the ages, worth having