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I Became King Wu of Qin

我在秦国做武王

by Chen Si's Miracle (陈四奇迹)

Status
Completed
Length
1.4M Words
Updated
5y ago
Source
Qidian
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510Chapters
0Votes
67.4kRecs
28.2kFans

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In booklists 10

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In my prime, banners surrounded ten thousand men, and I first crossed the river with swift cavalry in brocade. At night, the Yan soldiers readied their silver bows; at dawn, Han arrows flew like golden darts. I recall the past and lament my present self: spring wind can no longer darken my white whiskers. I exchanged my ten-thousand-character strategy for pacifying the realm for my neighbor's book on planting trees.

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The Kind of Books Veteran Readers Love

Thirty li southeast of Huangzhou lies Sand Lake, also known as Snail Shop. I bought some land there and went to inspect it, but fell ill. I heard that Pang Anchang, a man from Maqiao, was skilled in medicine, though deaf, so I went to seek treatment. Although Anchang was deaf, he was exceptionally clever. He would write a few characters on paper, and immediately understand what people meant. I teased him, saying, “I use my hands as my mouth, and you use your eyes as your ears. We’re both extraor

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More Great Reads, Fewer Cliches

The moonlight, neither silver nor water, casts a chilly glow on the window. I look up at the clear night sky, where a jade plate hangs. The plum blossoms, sparse in the moonlight, give off a rich fragrance; the slender willow branches, silver in the moonlight, seem freshly dried of dew. A light dusting of white powder lies on the golden steps, like a thin frost scattered over the jade railings. When I wake from my dream, the western chamber is silent. Only the waning moon still hangs in the sky,

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Shadows of green leaves beyond the railing fall into my window, beneath the icy bamboo blinds. A stretch of cool shade lies dim and still. It's not that the wind goddess is heartless; beneath the lush tree, its spirit cannot find peace. Spring is nearly over, and melancholy comes easily.

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Rain clears above Wushan, and light clouds drift across the blue sky. The distant wind scatters them, then draws them together again, before the twelve evening peaks. The trees where gibbons cry are damp with mist, while high clouds envelop the passing boats. Morning after morning, evening after evening, by the banks of the Chu River, the gods descend time and again.

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