In the thirty-seventh year of the First Emperor's reign, hundreds of imperial troops were escorting the alchemists outside the Qilin Hall. I was mixed in with the crowd, and my robe was covered with dust. Zhang Han glanced at me and said, "Follow me to the palace to have an audience." My heart sank as I stepped to follow, and the palace door slowly closed behind me. Ying Zheng sat on the dragon couch with a sharp gaze: Can you refine the immortality pill? I lowered my head and held my hands in my hands: Your Majesty, I can't refine it. He paused with his fingertips. I raised my eyes to meet that line of sight: Dan Chen knows who can refine it. The hall was so quiet that one could hear the sound of tears falling from the candles.
