It was a cold spring in Xianyang in 211 BC. The hospital was empty and I sat at my desk in a daze. The three of them stepped through the door and entered - the man with the black beard had a calm demeanor, the man with the white face bowed and stood in wait, and the strong man with the sword held his sword in silence. The white-faced man asked if there was tea, and I pointed to the stone table in the corner. The man with black beard squinted his eyes after drinking: This thing is wonderful. The white-faced man sipped along. He raised his eyes and looked around the hospital: Where is the doctor? My fingertips trembled slightly - the system in my brain was slowly starting the first line of tasks: to cure the First Emperor's disease and obtain a hundred strands of dragon energy. The wind poured in through the gap in the door, blowing the yellowed bamboo slips on the table.
