When Zhao Yu woke, he had been transported to a battlefield. He was robbed by fleeing soldiers, his skull was split open, and he had even forgotten who he was.
The first thing he saw upon waking was a stern-looking middle-aged man.
Instinctively, he grabbed the man’s sleeve and called out, “Father.”
The man froze. The attendant beside him was so startled that he dropped his knife.
Only later did Zhao Yu learn that the man he had called Father was surnamed Ying and named Zheng.
Ying Zheng asked, “Tell me, how should we improve this sword?”
Zhao Yu casually sketched a diagram of the steelmaking process. “Father, let’s stop making bronze weapons. Let’s make steel ones.”
When the first sword appeared, it shattered every weapon on the Qin palace officials’ desks. The entire court was stunned into silence.
Ying Zheng asked, “Tell me, how should we govern this realm?”
Zhao Yu spread out a sheet of paper and swiftly sketched papermaking, printing, and a dragon-bone waterwheel. “Father, first we must bring down the cost of knowledge.”
Paper was invented, and schoolchildren had books to read. The waterwheel turned, and old farmers fell to their knees, weeping.
Ying Zheng asked, “Tell me, how should we fight this war?”
Zhao Yu opened a world map, tracing his finger across the Xiongnu lands, across the Western Regions, and out over the sea. “Father, let’s stop fighting. I’ll take the eyes of Qin and show them the world.”
Ying Zheng looked at the adopted son he had found by chance, remained silent for a long while, then patted his shoulder. “My son, wherever the sun and moon shine is Qin soil. Those were your words.”
