It was a bloody age. China was divided into seven kingdoms locked in a struggle for supremacy, beset by powerful enemies at home and the Xiongnu beyond its borders, with wars raging without end.
It was a glorious age, too. The Hundred Schools of Thought contended, and the Daoists, Confucians, Legalists, Mohists, and other schools opened a new chapter in civilization.
That year, thirteen-year-old Ying Zheng raised his youthful face and ascended the throne of Qin.
That year, a cold-faced young man was led through the mountain gate by Guiguzi.
That year, the many disciples of the Daoist Celestial Sect welcomed an eight-year-old grand-uncle master.
That year, a boy who did not belong in this world stood atop Mount Taiyi.
Looking at the vast thousand mu of fertile fields and several emerald-green peaks, he couldn't help exclaiming, “Daoists are damn rich!”
