When I woke up, I had become Qin Shi Huang’s father: Ying Zichu, the hostage whom Lü Buwei treated as a “rare commodity.”
From the start, I had a shabby house and a two-year-old child by my side.
Wait... This child was named Ying Zheng? The future emperor who would reign through the ages?
In my previous life, I was a top student in early childhood education at a 985 university, and my greatest strength was “teaching according to each student’s aptitude.”
Other people transmigrated to become emperors. I transmigrated to become a father.
Other people fought with swords and blades. I fought with... educational psychology.
At two, I taught him “alliances and diplomacy” through shadow puppets.
At four, I used building blocks to teach him about the Battle of Changping.
At six, I had him use a sand table to plan “how to conquer the Six States.”
At ten, I told him, “Son, after you finish Lü Buwei’s Spring and Autumn Annals of Master Lü, remember to write a book report.”
Everyone thought Ying Zichu was a useless coward who had risen to power by relying on Lü Buwei.
They had no idea the real “mastermind” was me, carrying my son through the streets of Handan as we fled our pursuers.
Lü Buwei wanted to treat a “rare commodity” as a worthy investment?
Sorry, in this life, I’m the rare commodity.
Three years later, I ascended the throne as King of Qin. Ten years after that, Ying Zheng united the realm.
On the day of the finale, Ying Zheng asked me, “Father, who are you, really?”
I smiled. “I’m your father, and the best teacher you’ll ever have.”
History can be rewritten, but a father’s love is always there.
