The heavy bamboo slip struck his forehead, and Sun Shuo didn’t even try to dodge. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to—he was simply stunned by what his young master had said. What performance was this?

The scattered bamboo slips fell to the ground with crisp sounds, but no attendants came in to clean up. Sun Shuo knew Hu Hai had already dismissed everyone. Feeling warm liquid flowing down his forehead, watching drops of bright red blood fall to the ground, Sun Shuo, who hadn’t slept all night, felt dizzy.

“Sun Shuo! How exactly have I mistreated you that you would secretly conspire with Imperial Brother, betraying my information, even plotting with Imperial Brother to say that the ‘Hu’ in ‘The one who destroys Qin is Hu’ refers to me?! How dare you say such things!” The more Hu Hai spoke, the angrier he became, picking up things at hand to throw at Sun Shuo. He usually liked throwing things and often threw them at attendants, but had never once thrown anything at Sun Shuo.

Sun Shuo still didn’t dodge. He already knew where the problem lay. Just as he was about to explain, another voice spoke before him: “Young Master, calm your anger. This person isn’t worth such fury.” The voice was emotionless and easily recognizable.

So Zhao Gao had arrived early. Had his eavesdropping last night been discovered? Sun Shuo was puzzled—if the goal was to kill him to silence him, why make such a fuss bringing it before Hu Hai? Though this person often came and went here, Sun Shuo had always kept his head lowered and had never once seen Zhao Gao’s face. However, he was quite familiar with that military cap of King Wuling of Zhao on his head, relying entirely on that cap and this emotionless voice to identify him.

“I remember this person’s name was bestowed by the First Prince, wasn’t it?” Zhao Gao put down his tea bowl, the bottom striking the desk with a crisp sound.

Sun Shuo was stunned—if this matter hadn’t been mentioned, he would have long forgotten it. Many years ago, when Hu Hai was still small and liked to visit Fu Su’s study, he had attended at his side and naturally couldn’t avoid meeting the First Prince. His name then had been very crude—commoners naturally took the most vulgar names possible. The First Prince, hearing it daily and disliking it, had spoken up to change his name.

“I also remember that because you said you were born in October, Imperial Brother gave you the name Shuo, taken from ‘The Tenth Month’ in the Book of Songs, Minor Odes,” Hu Hai said coldly. “‘In the tenth month, on the first day of the lunar month Xinmao, there was a solar eclipse—truly inauspicious.’ I quite liked this name.”

Sun Shuo blinked as blood from his forehead flowed down, somewhat blurring his vision. He knew his young master admired the First Prince—even a casual remark from years ago was remembered so clearly. But what was terrifying was Zhao Gao—exactly how extensive were his supernatural abilities that he knew such private matters so clearly? And even more terrifying—what exactly was Zhao Gao trying to do?

Zhao Gao gave Sun Shuo no chance to defend himself—moreover, in his view, Sun Shuo had no chance to defend himself anyway. He said flatly: “Since the Young Master likes this name, having someone else use it would be the same.”

Before Sun Shuo could figure out what Zhao Gao meant by this, he saw his young master walking toward him. A flash of blue light, then severe chest pain.

Sun Shuo was shocked to discover that the ground, which had only held a few drops of blood, was rapidly pooling with blood. He straightened up to find the golden-luan knife he had given his young master last night embedded in his chest. The short blade had completely penetrated his chest, blood soaking his robes and quickly dripping to the floor.

“Don’t be sad. He was too concerned with the First Prince, even more than with you, his master. There’s no true loyalty and no true fairness. In essence, it’s just that the bronze weight on one side of the scale isn’t heavy enough.”

Zhao Gao’s flat voice seemed to come from very far away. Sun Shuo remained silent—so his death was just another lesson Zhao Gao wanted to teach Hu Hai.

Perhaps Zhao Gao truly wanted Hu Hai to leave Xianyang Palace to make his own arrangements, or perhaps there were conspiracies he simply couldn’t see through.

Not seeing through didn’t matter anymore. His knees hurt, his forehead hurt, his chest hurt even more…

His young master said nothing. Was he sad? Don’t be sad anymore—he was dying under the charge of betrayal, so why should his young master still be sad?

Sun Shuo struggled to straighten his body, desperate to see the young master he had raised with his own hands one more time. But blood from his forehead blocked his left eye, while his right eye couldn’t focus at all.

He heard Hu Hai loudly call for attendants, then casually point to someone and say: “You—from now on you’ll be called Sun Shuo. Remember, this is a name I bestow upon you!”

That person fearfully knelt to give thanks. Sun Shuo felt comforted listening—though he was about to die, his name would forever accompany his young master.

Hu Hai was agitated. This was his first time personally killing someone, and it was someone very important to him. Clearly this person deserved death, but why did he feel so terrible? Hu Hai looked at the person before him standing straight—only now did he realize Sun Shuo was actually much taller than him, but had always hunched over with lowered head serving him, never truly straightening his back.

Hu Hai looked up at him as if seeing him for the first time.

Then watched him fall straight down like that.

Sun Shuo kept his eyes open, listening to Hu Hai’s quick steps leaving his side, then gradually listening to his own heartbeat slowly stop.

“I’m very curious to see whether a bronze scale that’s lost its weight can still weigh anything.” That emotionless voice suddenly sounded in his ear.

“This is your thing. Hold it properly—don’t drop it again.”

Sun Shuo felt something heavy being pressed into his hand. Before he could tell what it was, he stopped breathing.

In his final vision, he finally saw Zhao Gao’s face.

In his blurred sight, that person’s features weren’t clear—he could only see eyes hiding an almost demonic charm that made one think they’d encountered a demon with just one glance.

Good thing he had never looked directly at him before.

This was Sun Shuo’s final thought in life.

Later, Sun Shuo discovered that what Zhao Gao had pressed into his hand was the bronze weight he had always carried.

Perhaps because this bronze weight was stained with blood from his hand at death, his ghost became bound to this bronze weight.

When his body was dragged out for disposal, the bronze weight fell from his hand into the grass of the imperial garden. He secretly spied on the Great Qin gossip from Xianyang Palace from the grass—this was good and satisfied his curiosity well.

The prophecy “The one who destroys Qin is Hu” was interpreted as a threat from northwestern barbarian Hu people, and Emperor Shihuang began ordering the construction of the Great Wall.

Not long after, he saw the First Prince encounter his young master by chance in the garden, surprised to find his young master calling another person Sun Shuo and asking the reason. His now quite cunning young master calmly replied: “Imperial Brother, you’re mistaken—Sun Shuo has always looked like this.”

Able to lie with a straight face—it seemed his young master had truly grown up. Sun Shuo watched with amusement while feeling deeply moved.

Soon after, his young master became fascinated with Six Principles Chess.

But Sun Shuo couldn’t tell if it was because the First Prince loved it, or because his young master wanted to beat the First Prince at something.

Watching the two brothers sitting together harmoniously in the garden playing chess, the image alone was deeply moving.

Many years later, the attendants around Hu Hai had changed several times, but they still bore the name Sun Shuo.

Whenever he heard Hu Hai call his name, he felt heartbroken.

Even later, Emperor Shihuang, who had devoted himself to seeking immortality, still died. The successor wasn’t the First Prince who had been sent to the northern frontier to build the Great Wall, but his young master Hu Hai.

He heard attendants whispering privately, puzzled why the Second Emperor was melancholy after ascending the throne. He understood somewhat—this was probably due to the First Prince. Emperor Shihuang’s attitude toward the elder and younger princes was so clear that even if his young master ascended the throne, he wouldn’t make the First Prince commit suicide. And his young master, who so admired the First Prince, would certainly never issue an edict for his death. It must be him—that so-called final edict of Emperor Shihuang was definitely concocted by that villain Zhao Gao. He had personally witnessed that white-handled brush that could modify anything.

His young master holding his breath while being emperor was certainly wanting to catch up to Imperial Brother’s steps, to make Imperial Brother view him differently—like a child getting a new toy, naturally wanting to show off before others.

But now that person was dead—what meaning was there in being emperor?

Looking at it all, his young master actually still hadn’t grown up. Sun Shuo listened while sighing.

…

Later on, hearing that Hu Hai’s study was constantly filled with people and his temper growing worse, Sun Shuo felt his young master simply hadn’t grown up. The little he had secretly learned in youth was completely inadequate for governing a country. He could only add to Emperor Shihuang’s edicts on standardizing weights and measures, trying to maintain the regulations from Emperor Shihuang’s time.

Unable to show off to anyone, his young master began all sorts of unreasonable behavior.

First, he killed all his elder brothers. Since his most beloved Imperial Brother was already dead, he didn’t want to call anyone Imperial Brother anymore—this logic was simple, and Sun Shuo understood.

Then began extreme extravagance. Though Emperor Shihuang hadn’t given Hu Hai bamboo slips and swords, this made him obsessed with blades, loving to collect all kinds of swords and knives.

…

Sun Shuo wasn’t surprised to see that within a few years, the magnificent Xianyang Palace was trampled by rebel armies. Precious vessels and gold and silver treasures were frantically looted. That Xiang Yu led Chu forces to massacre and burn the city, reducing Xianyang Palace to ruins.

“Though Chu has but three households, Chu must destroy Qin.” This prophecy was also fulfilled, and that saying “The one who destroys Qin is Hu” was equally fulfilled—referring to his young master.

How ridiculous that he had been so nervous then…

He didn’t care what happened to his young master—supposedly he committed suicide. So what?

All people die eventually.

He died, Emperor Shihuang died, Prince Fu Su died, Zhao Gao also died…

The bronze weight fell in the grass, trampled by people, its ancient bloodstains having penetrated deep into the bronze surface. Already an utterly unremarkable object, now no one would even lower their head to glance at it.

Finally, when the palace was burned, fortunately the bronze weight had been trampled into the mud and escaped the flames.

Sun Shuo quietly watched the fall of Great Qin, watched history roll on, watched himself buried by sand and dust, completely unaware of how much time passed.

Later he was dug from the ruins, passed through many hands, and finally, finally, was held in someone’s palm.

He lazily glanced at that person, feeling the face was very familiar but completely unable to remember where he had seen it.

“Twenty-sixth year of Emperor Qin Shihuang…” That person’s cold fingers brushed over the inscription on the bronze weight, laughing softly. “A very familiar bronze weight—seems I’ve seen it somewhere…”

He watched that person smile mysteriously, then put him in a box.

Complete darkness. He thought he could have a good sleep now.