Ying Fusu

In the autumn of the thirty-seventh year of the First Emperor's reign, he went to Shangjun.

Dusk falls.

As the setting sun slanted down from the horizon, it fell upon the military camp on the eastern outskirts of Fushi County, casting an even darker, more somber glow over the already solemn and oppressive camp.

In the barracks, squads of armored soldiers patrolled back and forth, taking turns to relieve each other.

Inside the central tent, all the generals and commanders were present, but they all pursed their lips, lowered their heads, and remained silent.

About twenty or thirty paces away from the central tent, in a military tent that was not particularly large but rather eye-catching, the eldest prince of Qin, Fusu, stood proudly in front of a full-length bronze mirror.

They were clearly already dressed and ready.

They had clearly finished washing up and changing clothes.

Fusu, however, kept his hands outstretched at his sides, quietly waiting for the official beside him to add another layer of clothing for him.

A pair of deep, calm eyes stared blankly at the handsome face in the mirror, slightly distorted by the ripples on the surface.

"This day has finally come."

A soft murmur escaped her lips, causing the official beside her to instinctively lower his head.

After a moment, he had to force a smile and step forward.

"Perhaps you are overthinking things, young master?"

"Even when His Majesty occasionally criticizes the young master, he still offers admonitions..."

"But...but it shouldn't be this bad..."

In just a few words, the official's voice trembled slightly.

After struggling to utter the last word, he instinctively lowered his head and looked down at the mourning clothes he was holding in his hands.

...

Two years ago, the First Emperor burned books and buried scholars alive.

Prince Fusu offered advice and remonstrance, which angered the emperor.

Enraged, Emperor Zulong sent the eldest son of the Qin Dynasty to the border to assist General Meng Tian in overseeing the construction of the Great Wall and guarding the frontier.

He was nominally a military supervisor.

However, there was much criticism in the public, who said that this was a demotion or exile.

About half an hour ago, an imperial edict was sent to the Fushi camp.

The messenger was already waiting in the central military tent.

Fusu, who should have personally welcomed the envoys and listened to the holy teachings, stood in front of the bronze mirror, stubbornly holding his hands out to his sides.

He waited quietly for the official beside him to drape him in mourning clothes...

"Master, have you sent someone to inquire again?"

In the silence, Fusu suddenly spoke, startling the official so much that his eyelashes trembled.

Composing himself, he quickly bowed and replied, "I've already urged them three times..."

Fusu nodded slightly and raised his arms a little higher.

"If we don't hurry, our teacher will have to come himself."

"—Young Master!"

As soon as Fusu finished speaking, the official knelt down with a thud.

He still held the mourning clothes in his hands, but a look of anxiety quickly appeared on his face.

"How dare I observe mourning for my sovereign and father while they are still alive?!"

"The young master was never favored by His Majesty, and further offended him by offering advice on state affairs, resulting in his exile to the harsh and desolate borderlands!"

"To repeat such an absurd act would be tantamount to cutting oneself off from one's sovereign and father!"

...

"Young Master!"

"Please think it over carefully!!!"

The sudden, urgent voice that rang in his ears made Fusu subconsciously furrow his brow.

His arms, which were held out at his sides, gradually fell down as Fusu slowly turned his body.

He turned around and lowered his head.

Looking at the official holding mourning clothes, kneeling with his head held high, staring intently at him, Fusu could only sigh softly.

He immediately reached out and picked up the mourning document held by the official.

"Is today the Gengwu day?"

While saying this, Fusu kept moving his hands, putting on the mourning clothes for himself.

Ignoring the increasingly anxious expression on the official's face, he walked over to the bronze mirror.

Looking in the mirror at the unfamiliar figure, Fusu remained silent for a long time before finally letting out a long sigh.

"Gengwu year~"

"The seventh day of the seventh month of autumn (Gengwu day)."

...

"As early as the year of Bingyin, I should have worn this mourning clothes."

"In the thirty-seventh year of the First Emperor's reign, in the seventh month of autumn, on the third day of the month (丙寅)..."

The inexplicable sigh did not lessen the anxiety on the official's face in the slightest.

Fusu could only smile bitterly. He glanced at himself in the bronze mirror one last time before stepping out of the tent.

"Let's go."

"Your teacher must be getting impatient."

...

"Oh, and there's also that messenger."

"It's probably time to get anxious..."

·

·

·

·

At the same time, inside the central tent.

The once spacious area was now completely filled with a throng of people and imposing figures.

The generals looked around, occasionally glancing at the proud messenger standing in the center of the tent.

He would occasionally glance at the head of the table, at the imposing figure standing there, his head bowed and eyes lowered, lightly resting on the hilt of his sword.

—General Meng Tian.

This was the supreme commander of the Fushi camp, and indeed the entire 300,000 border troops along the northern wall.

Although no one spoke, the way everyone looked at Meng Tian clearly said: General, where is the young master?

Why aren't they here yet?

At this moment, Meng Tian looked like an old monk in deep meditation, not even lifting his eyelids.

The officers, who had already asked several times, couldn't keep urging him.

Puzzled, he couldn't help but whisper to those around him.

"Huh?"

"Young master, have you always been a devotee of Confucianism?"

"The Confucian school of Lu, which emphasizes propriety, is the one that the young master favors the most."

"Why are you being so negligent today..."

The person who had spoken stopped abruptly, casting a puzzled look back at Meng Tian at the head of the table.

As the man finished speaking, most of the generals in the tent frowned.

—What's going on?

Even these roughnecks in the tent were never neglected by Fusu.

In the end, it turned out that the imperial envoy sent by the emperor was the one who was "lacking in etiquette"?

Such a rare situation left everyone somewhat at a loss.

Even the imperial envoy in the center of the tent, who seemed to be tilting his head to the sky, frowned almost imperceptibly before quickly returning to normal.

Only Meng Tian.

Only Meng Tian, ​​who stood at the head of the table, maintained the posture of holding his sword hilt and looking down.

Like a sculpture.

Only when the curtain was lifted and a ray of sunlight shone on his face did Meng Tian slightly raise his eyelids and look ahead in the light.

"Young master."

"Young master."

The moment Fusu stepped into the tent, all the generals turned their heads and then instinctively bowed.

In the center of the tent, the envoy who had been facing away from the tent entrance slowly turned around amidst the greetings, facing Fusu and raising his head even higher.

Then Fusu stepped into the tent, his eyes fixed straight ahead, only tightening his dark black cloak.

Ignoring both the generals and the arrogant imperial envoy, he walked straight up to Meng Tian, ​​stopped, and bowed.

"teacher."

Turning back, he bowed to the generals in the tent and said, "Gentlemen, generals."

...

The seemingly ordinary greeting instantly silenced the already quiet tent, making it so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

All the generals in the tent, except for Meng Tian, ​​looked at Fusu with slight astonishment.

Then, he subconsciously turned his gaze to the center of the tent, where the imperial envoy was clearly stunned.

"Young master..."

One of the officers instinctively spoke up, intending to remind Fusu.

Before the man could even step forward, the messenger, who had been standing dumbfounded in the center of the tent, had already recovered from his brief moment of astonishment.

He immediately took two steps forward with a displeased expression, clasped his hands together in front of his abdomen, and glared angrily at Fusu.

"He has only been the military supervisor of Shangjun for two years."

"Young master, have you already forgotten the proper etiquette between ruler and subject?!"

"—The Emperor has issued an edict, and has dispatched an envoy to proclaim it!"

"As a subject of a ruler and a son of a father, what proper etiquette should be used to welcome him?!"

...

The unexpected yet reasonable roar caused everyone in the tent to change their expressions.

He looked anxiously at Fusu, but dared not speak, and was increasingly puzzled by Fusu's unusual behavior.

Fusu stood tall and proud, not flinching from the envoy's murderous gaze, staring intently into the depths of the envoy's eyes.

Then, she slowly raised her hand, untied the ribbon around her neck, and let the dark black cloak on her body fall slowly like autumn leaves.

Once his striking yellow and white mourning attire came into view of everyone in the tent, Fusu finally spoke in a deep voice.

"An imperial edict has been issued."

"An edict from the First Emperor?"

"Oh…"

...

"Having seen this man in mourning, do you officials still dare to claim to have an 'imperial edict'?"

"Do you still dare to proclaim that 'edict' to the public from within this tent?"