The First Emperor died at Shaqiu, and the Great Qin fell after fifteen years.
When he opened his eyes again, he had returned to Handan at the age of eight. In the vast snowfall, he was an abandoned hostage, a bastard hated by everyone.
A System called “The Great Wish of the People” awakened in his mind, bringing with it the weeping of 1.4 billion people from 2,200 years in the future.
“The Five Barbarians ravaged China, and the Central Plains fell.”
“At Yashan, 100,000 soldiers and civilians threw themselves into the sea rather than surrender.”
“In Nanjing, the souls of 300,000 dead are calling your name, Ancestral Dragon!”
With his last breath, an old, hoarse voice pleaded, “May the First Emperor live once more!”
Ying Zheng knelt in the snow. His eight-year-old body could not contain two thousand years of tears and bloodshed. Gritting his teeth, he swore beneath the endless snowfall:
“This time, I will not lose again.”
“I will unify the written language and standardize the tracks of chariots. Every place touched by the sun and moon will belong to the Great Qin.”
“I will make sure that my descendants, who called out to me in despair, never have to kneel again!”
