Despite lounging unceremoniously against the armrest, Eldest Prince Fu Su still exuded a steady, refined temperament throughout his entire body, enough to drive all women of the Great Qin Empire mad. The sunlight streaming through the curtains into the pavilion had lost much of its aggression but remained dazzling enough to make one drowsy. His thick eyebrows slightly furrowed, Fu Su yawned, picked up the iced flower tea beside him for a light sip, and opened another scroll of bamboo slips.

“The Upper Prefecture Road, Linjin Road, Eastern Road, and Wu Pass Road among the imperial highways have all been completed. The plank roads and Western Road are almost finished.” Fu Su put down the ceramic cup in his hand and sighed: “Before Father Emperor went on tour, he explicitly stated the imperial highway from Xianyang to Jiuyuan Prefecture must be built. Once manpower is freed up, preparations will begin again.”

From the second year after Qin unified the six states, the First Emperor began constructing imperial highways centered on Xianyang leading to various Central Plains locations. These highways were laid with wooden rail tracks—carriages pulled by horses galloped upon them, with wheel tracks uniformly six feet wide—the so-called “standardized cart tracks.” These highways had auxiliary roads beside them, totaling fifty paces wide. Trees were planted every three zhang along both sides of the highways, while the central lane was the imperial road reserved for the emperor—ordinary people could not walk there.

This massive transportation network centered on Xianyang could rapidly deliver goods from all regions to Xianyang and quickly deploy Qin armies throughout the Central Plains. After each imperial highway was completed, the First Emperor would happily tour along it. Of course, he wouldn’t forget to build a highway to resist the Xiongnu.

This highway in the planning was called the Straight Road, running directly from Xianyang to Jiuyuan Prefecture, approximately eighteen hundred li in total length. This was a massive project that couldn’t quickly begin just because it was decided. Fu Su brought it up today merely to discuss with his tutor when preparations would be best.

The green-robed youth’s force grinding the medicinal paste remained uniformly powerful without pause. Hearing this, he only pondered briefly before saying: “Not only the Straight Road—the First Emperor spoke of opening mountain roads and building three passes at the Five Ridges to develop Baiyue territory. The First Emperor values Lingnan so highly, and the north is also building the Great Wall—these three passes will probably begin construction before the Straight Road.”

Fu Su furrowed his brows slightly. His Father Emperor’s emphasis on Baiyue territory truly exceeded his understanding.

But there was no choice. He wasn’t emperor yet—he could only act according to his Father Emperor’s intentions.

Fu Su touched his nose and still took up his brush to write instructions on the bamboo slips.

The pale yellow curtains occasionally swayed, and the water’s light reflected by the blazing sun shone into the pavilion. The green-robed youth squinted his eyes. His motion grinding medicinal paste paused as he carefully used the pestle to coat this small ball of medicinal paste on the inner side of the lapis lazuli tripod, smoothing it flat. Then he picked up that yin-yang sui, placed a bit of moxa wool in the central concave area, extended it outside the curtains, letting sunlight shine directly upon it.

Fu Su propped his chin with one hand, watching the yin-yang sui emit white smoke within moments, soon igniting heavenly fire to light the moxa wool. He couldn’t help but exclaim in wonder.

The green-robed youth tossed this bit of heavenly fire into the already-prepared red clay charcoal furnace, then placed the lapis lazuli tripod atop it to slowly roast with gentle fire. Holding silk cloth to wipe the yin-yang sui, the green-robed youth’s thoughts remained on the previous topic. After a long silence, he said: “Xianyang still has no city walls.”

Fu Su scoffed, knowing what his tutor worried about. Now not only were there no walls, Father Emperor even wanted to open more passes. Although opening Lingnan’s passage, looking back actually posed threats to Xianyang’s defenses.

“They’ll be built in the future.” Fu Su gritted his teeth, promising again.

The green-robed youth helplessly nodded. The future Fu Su spoke of naturally meant after his enthronement.

Fu Su smoothed the wrinkles on his robe, eyes slightly lowered, speaking as if murmuring to himself: “Just don’t know how long this future will be.” Having spoken, he looked up at the green-robed youth concentrating intently on watching the lapis lazuli tripod’s heat, sighing sincerely: “I only regret wasting you, Bi Zhi.”

This youth before him was a prodigy—appointed Minister at twelve years old. Yet because he became his tutor, more than ten years had passed equivalent to seclusion in Gaoquan Palace, vanishing from court ministers’ eyes. Fu Su knew the best repayment was releasing him to serve as an official. Previously youth was the excuse, but now he’d already had his capping ceremony five years ago, yet Fu Su still wouldn’t let go. Sometimes Fu Su considered things from the other’s perspective and felt he was too willful.

After wiping the yin-yang sui clean, the green-robed youth changed to another silk cloth to clean his hands. Hearing this, he smiled slightly: “Your Highness speaks too seriously. Bi Zhi finds it as sweet as honey.”

Actually, these weren’t polite words—he truly enjoyed this feeling of hiding behind the scenes. He had participation rights and could even express opinions on nearly every decree. What interest was being an official? Obediently writing policy essays and political proposals that decision-makers might not even see—what use was that? His current wish wasn’t revitalizing his family anymore. Instead, he somewhat understood why Wang Jian kept a low profile. Unfortunately, military generals couldn’t stay low-profile unless they didn’t plan to return to battlefields.

But strategists completely could.

Having been companions for over ten years, they naturally could distinguish which words were sincere and which were casual deflection. Fu Su’s expression didn’t relax much, only because this matter always weighed on his mind. He wanted to say more but his expression changed as he called sternly outside: “Who’s there?”

His words just fell when a youth wearing crimson-red robes lifted the curtain and charged in impetuously. This youth’s skin was white as snow, face jade-like. In red clothing, he was like a blazing flame—the originally cool pavilion seemed to suddenly rise in temperature due to his entry.

“Imperial Brother! Play liubo chess with me!” This youth barging into Gaoquan Palace with none daring to stop him was naturally the First Emperor’s most favored young prince Hu Hai. He was already sixteen this year yet still had youthful spirit, arrogant and haughty.

Behind him followed several Gaoquan Palace guards. Seeing Fu Su’s gaze cast over, they quickly lowered their heads and knelt en masse.

Fu Su pressed his slightly aching temples. This had happened more than once—he couldn’t truly punish these guards. Seeing Hu Hai’s eyes reveal innocent confusion, the displeasure in Fu Su’s heart ultimately transformed into a sigh that escaped indifferently from his lips.

Hu Hai had no learning but was first-rate at reading facial expressions. Seeing his Imperial Brother’s expression soften, he immediately lifted his robe hem and sat brazenly opposite Fu Su. His mood was quite good—he didn’t even forget to bare his teeth threateningly at the green-robed youth beside him.

The green-robed youth paid no attention, lowering his head to concentrate on manipulating the medicinal paste in the lapis lazuli tripod with his pestle.

Hu Hai stared at that lapis lazuli tripod and the bottles and jars beside it for a moment before shouting outside: “Sun Shuo! Present the liubo chess!”

Having just waved to dismiss those guards, Fu Su noticed the young attendant entering the pavilion holding a box of liubo chess looked somewhat unfamiliar. He casually asked: “This isn’t Sun Shuo, is it?” He frequently saw the original Sun Shuo—a round-faced youth with an honest appearance. But this one looked green and young—he didn’t even know if he was as old as Hu Hai. Who was attending whom?

Hu Hai froze upon hearing this, then self-righteously corrected: “He’s called Sun Shuo! Imperial Brother, you remembered wrong. Sun Shuo has always looked like this.”

Fu Su furrowed his brows, guessing the original Sun Shuo probably met an ill fate. Although there must be reasons, he ultimately didn’t want to meddle in Hu Hai’s affairs, so didn’t inquire further.

Under the bright moon, Chaofeng as usual perched delightedly on the eaves, looking down to spy on concubines’ harem struggles.

No choice—his life was just this boring.

Tsk, ever since that kid A Luo grew up, he got busy! He rarely came to the eaves to talk with it anymore! Really not cute…

Chaofeng grumbled internally, couldn’t help but mutter aloud. The sparrowhawk beside him heard and showed a helpless expression.

“Alright, don’t mind it. A Luo just grew up.” The sparrowhawk sighed, paused, but still reminded: “Besides, he’s ultimately just a human—he’ll age, sicken, and die. He can’t accompany us long.”

“Nonsense! A Luo is only how old! Still far from death!” Chaofeng yelled with heartache. “And he’s been refining pills lately, isn’t he? Maybe he can refine an elixir of immortality…” As Chaofeng spoke, it instinctively sought the green-robed youth’s figure but was shocked to discover—whether in Gaoquan Palace or Xianyang Palace, it couldn’t find him.

This shouldn’t be! Just earlier it had glimpsed A Luo going to the courtyard as usual to collect moon dew!

How did he disappear in the blink of an eye?!

Zhang Jiu had previously been just a minor attendant responsible for preparing young prince Hu Hai’s meals. Ever since Sun Shuo died miserably, he’d been casually pointed out by the young prince and promoted to personal attendant, his name also changed to Sun Shuo.

Being called by a dead person’s name truly wasn’t comfortable. Plus various other dissatisfactions—Zhang Jiu’s life was worse than death. He wasn’t incapable of attending to people, but besides that true Sun Shuo who genuinely cherished the young prince, who could attend such a willful young prince?

Moreover, he discovered that since Sun Shuo died, the young prince had become increasingly abnormal.

What normal person would order him to kidnap the Eldest Prince Fu Su’s tutor?!

Although he appeared just an ordinary, inconspicuous tutor, who in the palace didn’t know this person’s true identity? Memorials and documents flowed like water into Gaoquan Palace daily and flowed out—how many major court affairs passed through this person’s hands? Even the blind could see how important he was.

Zhang Jiu had previously heard Sun Shuo say Eldest Prince Fu Su and this Minister often lent bamboo slips to the young prince to read, yet he repaid kindness with enmity… Zhang Jiu was distracted and uneasy but still gritted his teeth to complete the task. These days he’d thoroughly investigated—this Minister every night at a fixed time went to the courtyard to place the yin sui to receive moon dew, never entrusting others.

Of course, afterward everything was arranged by Minister Zhao Gao. If not for this Minister holding the line, even giving Zhang Jiu several times the courage, he wouldn’t dare do this. Although Zhao Gao was just a minor Supervisor of Seals official, this position managed all the emperor’s seals—a critically important post that only the emperor’s absolute trusted confidant could assume. Moreover, Zhao Gao had previously offended the powerful Meng Yi yet was quietly protected by the First Emperor—not only exempted from deserved execution but even restored to original office.

So did Zhao Gao’s intentions purely represent his own? Whose intentions did they represent? Could it be the First Emperor…

Zhang Jiu was terrified the more he thought, not daring to continue. He was just a minor attendant without any right to protest—could only steel himself to watch that Minister before his eyes get knocked unconscious, silently carried out of Gaoquan Palace, brought before the Supervisor of Seals, forced to test medicine.

Yes, using exactly the excuse of testing medicine for the First Emperor.

Perhaps it was because young prince Hu Hai casually mentioned a few days ago that this Minister was actually refining pills, which reminded Supervisor Zhao Gao that the Minister’s master was also a Daoist who left medicines in the palace. The First Emperor pursued longevity but didn’t casually consume any pills. Ever since an incident where a medicine-testing attendant died suddenly, the First Emperor no longer used testing attendants but had the pill refiners personally taste them.

With that Daoist not in the palace, having his disciple the Minister taste them seemed on the surface a justifiable reason.

But in reality, this blatantly targeted this Minister for execution!

“Take him down and confine him in the Qian Character Cell.” Zhao Gao’s face hidden in shadows spoke lightly.

Naturally people went to lift the powerlessly collapsed Minister. Zhang Jiu didn’t even dare look more than once, deeply lowering his head to hide the regret and terror in his eyes.

“Before long, someone will probably come to take you out.” Zhao Gao’s voice always maintained one unchanging tone, making people very uncomfortable listening—especially in such a sinister environment, this effect was magnified several times.

These words naturally weren’t for Zhang Jiu but for that Minister Gan. Yet Zhang Jiu still couldn’t help shuddering, raising his eyes just as the Minister was carried past before him. His gaze met the Minister’s already dilated unfocused pupils, no longer containing their usual clear profundity.

Watching this young Minister depart, Zhao Gao raised his lips meaningfully.

“I hope you can survive this night.”