[.]
…For its player, it might really not be that hard.
The next day, when Fan Ju laid the two possible courses of action before Ying Ji, the King chose the more dangerous and more expedient one, just as expected.
Ying Ji didn’t know he had earned the nickname Warring States Endurance King. In his own eyes, fifty-eight was an advanced age in a world where the average person lived only thirty-five years. Naturally, the sooner he took power, the better.
Half a month later, Ying Ji secretly summoned Meng Ao to Zhangtai Palace.
Several days after that, a royal decree ordered Bai Qi to inspect the defenses at a military camp outside Xianyang. At the time, Lord Rang Wei Ran was still away inspecting his fief.
The Qin court seemed to be shrouded in the calm before a storm.
One morning, Fan Ju tied his belt, took a deep breath, and stopped Ying Zheng as the boy was about to leave.
“Would you like to see something of the world?” Fan Ju looked toward the gate, his gaze fixed on the distant palace.
“You might die without a proper burial. Or you might rise to the very heavens overnight. Your wealth, your life—everything will be decided today.”
Even spoken lightly, the danger in Fan Ju’s words was enough to make anyone’s blood run cold.
Ying Zheng lifted his chin. “I’m going.”
They rode in a carriage, the journey smooth save for the clopping hooves and the rumble of the wheels.
“I’ve truly let Zheng down,” Fan Ju sighed. “He entrusted you to me, and now I’m taking you into the jaws of danger.”
“But you’re too gifted. In all my life, I’ve never seen a child like you.”
Fan Ju stared at Ying Zheng. “Good timber must be shaped before it can become a fine vessel. Whatever happens today, remember it well. Make today’s experience your own.”
Ying Zheng looked deeply at Fan Ju and bowed. “I will remember your words, Sir.”
It was spring. Dew still clung to the eaves of Xianyang Palace. The morning sun rose in the east over the palace gates, casting the walls’ shadows across the passageways. Magnolia trees along the road were in full bloom.
Fan Ju led Ying Zheng straight into Zhangtai Palace. King Ying Ji had arrived early and was waiting for them.
This was the first time Ying Zheng had seen Ying Ji: his great-grandfather by blood, the tyrant Zhao cursed, the “wolf of Qin” the Six States feared.
While Ying Ji and Fan Ju spoke in low voices, Ying Zheng stood behind Fan Ju and openly studied his great-grandfather.
King Ying Ji of Qin stood on the black-lacquered jade steps. He wore black robes and a dark red skirt, a piece of pale jade at his waist and a long sword at his side. He was nearly sixty, lean-faced and deep-set-eyed, with streaks of silver in his hair. His gaze was as sharp and steady as an eagle’s.
“Let’s go.” Having finished discussing the last detail with Fan Ju, Ying Ji turned and strode out.
A general in heavy armor silently fell in behind him. As he passed Ying Zheng, he gave the boy a slight nod, revealing a face that seemed familiar.
He looked six or seven parts like that silly boy Meng Wu. That must make him Meng Wu’s father, Meng Ao. Ying Zheng identified him in three seconds.
Ying Ji walked briskly. Meng Ao and Fan Ju followed close behind as they made straight for Ganquan Palace, where the Queen Dowager lived. Armored guards already stood in formation outside the palace gate. Ying Ji raised a hand to stop the guards from following him and entered with only the three others.
The palace was brightly lit. Queen Dowager Mi sat in the main hall. Her white hair was neatly combed, and she wore a plain, dark teal robe. Her face was calm, without a flicker of emotion.
When Ying Ji entered, she looked up. Her gaze passed over Meng Ao and Fan Ju, paused briefly on Ying Zheng, then settled on her son.
“So you’ve finally come.” Her voice was neither loud nor strained, but it carried clearly. She sounded as if she’d expected this day all along.
Then she rose slowly. Without looking at anyone else, she turned and walked toward the purple sandalwood screen at the back of the hall.
“Follow me.”
With that, she disappeared behind the screen.
Ying Ji’s expression didn’t change. He gave Meng Ao a slight nod, and Meng Ao immediately stood beside the screen with one hand on his sword, solid as a tower, guarding the entrance. Fan Ju lowered his eyes and stood silently to one side, barely breathing.
Ying Ji went in alone, lifting the curtain of beads.
Only one goose-and-fish lamp burned in the inner chamber, casting a dim yellow glow. Queen Dowager Mi had taken a seat on a low couch beside the window. She gestured for Ying Ji to sit as well.
Ying Ji sat, his back straight as a pine. In the dim light, their shadows fell against the wall, crossing and confronting one another, yet strangely intertwined.
“Since you’re here, speak. How do you intend to govern Qin? What are your thoughts on domestic affairs and the Six States beyond our borders, all watching us like tigers?” Queen Dowager Mi spoke slowly. Her voice revealed no anger or approval, only the steadiness of a woman who had spent a lifetime in power.
Ying Ji’s throat bobbed. He was silent for a moment before replying in a low voice. “At home, we must strengthen the center and weaken the branches. Power must not slip from the court. When the royal house, the Queen Dowager’s relatives, or our meritorious ministers grow too powerful, the state suffers. We must gradually curtail their influence and return authority to the royal house.”
He looked up, a sharp glint in his eyes. “Abroad, we should befriend distant states and attack our neighbors. We should make allies of Qi and Chu so they won’t threaten us, then concentrate our strength against the neighboring states of Han, Wei, and Zhao. Every inch of land we take becomes Qin’s.”
Queen Dowager Mi lowered her eyes, thinking carefully. She tapped the table twice with her fingers. Nearly half an hour passed before she looked up again, approval on her face.
“That must be the plan your new guest minister, Fan Ju, presented. Shang Yang strengthened Qin with the law; Zhang Yi broke the alliances of the Six States with his diplomacy. Fan Ju is a worthy man, one who can make Qin strong as they did. Make good use of him.”
She let out a long sigh. “Do as you wish. As for Wei Ran and Mi Rong… Don’t take their lives. They’re your uncles and your brothers, after all.”
Ying Ji looked up abruptly, unable to hide his astonishment.
He hadn’t expected the Queen Dowager to surrender power so easily.
“Why?” His voice was dry. “If you were willing all along…”
“To give it to you?” Queen Dowager Mi cut him off, the faintest curve lifting the corner of her mouth. “Ji’er, Qin is not only your legacy. It is mine, too. I came to Qin at sixteen. More than sixty years of my life’s work are bound up in it.”
She rose and walked unsteadily to the window. The cold wind of early spring stirred her white hair. Queen Dowager Mi gazed out into the dark night: Xianyang, Qin’s territory, and the work of her entire life.
“I couldn’t hand you royal power. I could only wait for you to come and take it—to fight for it. You had to prove you were more capable of ruling this country than I was. From Duke Xiang, founder of Qin, to your father, King Huiwen, and now to me—how many generations of rulers have poured their hearts and souls into this state to make it what it is? If I handed it over easily, I’d be betraying our ancestors and the people of Qin.”
Queen Dowager Mi turned. Her gaze was like lightning, her voice old but still fierce.
“Today, you brought men through that door. That proves your courage and your skill. But it isn’t enough.”
She walked over to Ying Ji, leaning on her cane, and bent toward him. She spoke each word with crushing weight.
“I want you to swear. Swear on the blood of your Ying descendants and the crown on your head as King of Qin: from this day forward, you’ll devote yourself to Qin. Make it stronger and more invincible than it was under my rule. Make the Six States to the east tremble at the very name of Qin!”
Ying Ji’s expression grew grave. He rose slowly, straightened his robes, and spoke in a clear, ringing voice.
“I, Ying Ji, the current ruler of Qin, swear this: for every remaining year of my life, I will devote myself wholly to the strength of Qin, and I will work until my dying breath. I will expand our borders day by day and spread the might of Great Qin throughout the land! If I break this oath, may Heaven and man alike reject me!”
Outside the screen, Meng Ao and Fan Ju both lowered their heads, not daring to listen to the private conversation between mother and son. Ying Zheng lifted his head and stared at the screen, his eyes shining, his blood surging.
The people inside were his great-grandfather and great-great-grandmother. Their blood ran in his veins.
Nearly an hour later, Queen Dowager Mi and Ying Ji emerged from behind the screen, one after the other. The tension between them had eased considerably.
Once power had changed hands, political opponents could go back to being mother and son. Queen Dowager Mi wasn’t Wu Jiang, and Ying Ji wasn’t Duke Zhuang of Zheng. There was no bitter conflict between them like the one that had led to Duke Zhuang destroying his brother at Yan.
Queen Dowager Mi’s gaze fell on Ying Zheng, standing quietly beside Fan Ju. She smiled faintly.
She beckoned to him, her voice unusually gentle. “Come here, child.”
Ying Zheng glanced at Fan Ju. When Fan Ju gave an almost imperceptible nod, the boy stepped forward and bowed as propriety demanded.
Queen Dowager Mi drew him to her side and stroked the top of his head. Then she looked up at Ying Ji with a smile. “Which of my grandsons is this? What a handsome boy.”
Her eyes grew distant as she sank into memory. “He looks so much like you did as a child. Especially his eyes, and the way he looks at people. Though I suppose no one remembers what you looked like as a boy anymore. So many years have passed. Your hair has gone white.”
Ying Ji: “…”
He looks like me as a child? Isn’t this Fan Ju’s boy?
Ying Ji studied Ying Zheng more closely. His heart suddenly gave a hard thump. The light in Zhangtai Palace hadn’t been good, and he hadn’t paid attention before. But now, looking carefully, the boy’s features did seem oddly familiar. That straight nose and those tightly pressed lips really did resemble Crown Prince Zhu as a child.
Fan Ju looked from the kindly Queen Dowager to the thoughtful King and slowly said, “?”
What were the odds that an eighty-year-old Queen Dowager and a fifty-eight-year-old King were both having trouble with their eyesight?
