In the Linde Hall of Xianyang's royal palace, I was gently called awake. I opened my eyes to carved beams and painted rafters, a rosewood bed with coiling dragons, and a hall packed with ministers below.
Memories flooded in: It was the thirty-sixth year of King Zheng of Qin. I was the First Emperor's youngest son. The Emperor would die next year, and the Great Qin would fall after only two generations. I was a six-year-old prince who could barely lift a sword when a chime sounded in my mind: the National Destiny System had activated and bound itself to the fate of Great Qin. The officials below stared at one another, waiting for me to speak. I cleared my throat. “Anything interesting happen today?”
