When the Embers Are Extinguished and the Wind Rises

On the night of Zhao's death, the fire was not extinguished, but the wind was already rising. A Qin soldier with no surname was executing military orders in the scorched earth. He just wants to survive in exchange for a piece of military merit and a piece of land. For him, war is not glory, but order. Thousands of miles away, in the eastern Mediterranean, a noble concubine wore armor and swore an oath. He is eager to prove himself with military exploits and to have his name engraved on the stone wall of the empire. For him, conquest is the continuation of blood. When Qin unified the six kingdoms and moved westward to the frontiers; when the Hellenistic empire pushed eastwards toward the grasslands, the two orders gradually approached in the wilderness. There is no destiny, no oracle, just supply lines, misjudgments and human fatigue. They saw each other on the battlefield. But never said a word. The wind and sand buried the military flag, leaving only a blank line in the history books. After the ember fades and the wind rises, who will remember those who thought they illuminated history?