The sun beat down upon the assembled students, a heavy, golden weight that pressed upon their shoulders and cast their long, anxious shadows across the stadium stones.
The air itself felt thick, warm, and charged with destiny.
Principal Lin's voice cut through the stillness, each word measured and grave. "The magic circle will transport each of you to a random point within the River of Time. Remember this: what you obtain within that current will forge the foundation of your future Seed World."
" A trivial gain will yield a weak seed. A valuable treasure will grant it immense strength from the very moment of its awakening. "
"The quality of your spoils will dictate the power of your domain. But above all," his tone sharpened into a blade of warning,
"do not die. Your primary task is to return alive. Your future, and the future you might build for humanity, is worthless if you do not survive. "
"Are you ready?"
He swept his stern gaze across the sea of young faces
a final, silent assessment.
"READY!" The response was a thunderous, unified roar that shook the very air.
Then, the world dissolved in a silent, catastrophic wave of blue.
The light did not shine; it consumed. It was not a glow but an erasure, a pressure that flattened thought and sensation.
Long Su felt his very atoms scream in protest
—and then, darkness
A different pressure asserted itself.
Not of magic, but of immense, suffocating significance.
The air was no longer warm with sun, but cool and heavy, tasting of forged iron, powdered ink, and the chilling scent of unchecked ambition.
His vision swam, then focused.
He stood at the periphery of a cavernous hall that defied mere architecture.
Sunlight, fractured into dagger-sharp beams, pierced through intricate lattices of jade-green tiles, casting shifting, serpentine patterns across a floor of polished obsidian that reflected the cavernous ceiling like a starless night sky.
Columns of immense, dark timber stretched upward like the ribs of some slumbering primordial beast, each one carved with the sinuous, terrifying forms of colossal black birds
their wings of carved onyx frozen in a perpetual, aggressive beat, their eyes inlaid with some captured, coldly gleaming mineral that mimicked distant, pitiless stars.
Above it all, dominating the far end of the hall, a vast banner of the deepest black silk rippled as if in its own private wind.
Embroidered upon it in silver and blood-red thread was the same black bird, its talons cruelly clenched around a stylized sphere: the world, captured and subdued.
This was Zhangtai Palace.
The heart of the Qin Kingdom.
227 BC.
His mind, reeling the new information that suddenly appeared , including data, names and place he is coming to in his soul state
At the hall's center stood a gathering of men whose very postures screamed power and peril.
To the left, a man with a shrewd, calculating gaze—Li Si. To the right, another,
his expression haughty—Feng Quji.
Near him, the eunuch Zhao Gao, Commander of the CRRC, stood with a stillness that felt more dangerous than any movement.
He never see them before them but somehow he konw their name and information
And there, among them, the eldest son, Fusu.
As Long Su's gaze fell upon him, long su soul that was flowing in the air move suddenly moved toward Fu su and in matter of seconds he enter the body
If any one look carefully to the eldest son eyes—a moment ago the soft brown color abruptly deepen, darkening to the shade of a moonless night in the span of a single, changing to dark colored with confusions and shock that quickly return to normal
Soaring above them all, as if summoned by the collective will in the room, the spectral form of the great black bird
the protector symbol of the Ying royal family and the Da Qin kingdom extended its vast, shadowy wings, a silent, majestic omen.
And on the raised dais, seated upon a throne of lacquered black wood and carved stone, was the source of the hall's oppressive gravity.
A middle-aged man, nine feet tall, his frame radiating a terrifying, tangible majesty even at rest.
Upon his brow sat not a king's crown, but a celestial headpiece that seemed to weigh upon the very air around it, its design incorporating the same formidable black bird.
His robes were the black of a depthless abyss. His stare was not merely majestic; it was imperial, absolute, a look that had conquered kingdoms and would conquer more.
This was a ruler who discarded the crowns and ceremonies of a weakened Zhou, for his ambition was to forge his own rituals in the fire of conquest.
This was Ying Zheng
the King of Qin.
The spectral bird let out a silent cry that resonated in the soul, not the ears.
Suddenly, the immense silence was shattered by a voice from the entrance, sharp and urgent.
"REPORT—"
" Your Majesty the king , the envoy of Yan State is waiting outside the palace gate."
The soldier voice was loud and clear to everyone
The metallic tang of incense and cold-forged iron clung to the back of his throat.
Fusu—no, Long Su—stood rigid beside the towering throne, his fingers curled into the embroidered silk of his sleeves, the fine threads feeling like shackles.
The pulse in his neck was a frantic drum against his skin, a stark contrast to the hall's terrifying stillness.
This is not a dream.
The thought was a shard of ice in his mind, sharp and undeniable.
His eyes, disguised by a lowered gaze, swept the cavernous space of Zhangtai Palace.
Sunlight, thin and merciless, speared through high windows, setting the polished obsidian floor aflame, each slab a dark mirror reflecting the coiled dragons on the vaulted ceiling far above.
The silence was a physical weight, broken only by the faint hiss of wall-mounted torches and the echo of a heart he was sure everyone could hear.
Every surface, every artifact, spoke of terrifying, absolute power.
Massive columns, carved to resemble the spines of primordial beasts, supported a ceiling lost in shadow.
Against the far wall, behind the throne, monumental bas-reliefs of dragons and mythical creatures seemed to writhe in the flickering light, their stone eyes watching, judging.
The scale was meant to crush the spirit, to evoke awe and fear in equal measure.
But it was the throne itself that dominated his vision, a snarling monument of dark jade and burnished bronze.
It was not a seat but a statement.
Two immense dragons, their bodies forming the armrests, arched their spines, their jaws frozen in a silent, eternal roar aimed at any who would approach.
Their eyes were pits of captured fire, gemstones that glittered with a predatory hunger, seeming to track every slight movement in the hall.
This was a seat that had watched kings bleed, a throne worthy of the man who destroyed two kingdom in less then 4 years
The air itself tasted of decisions that could shatter kingdoms.
Fragments of knowledge, two lives colliding, erupted in his mind.
Daqin.
The first Empire.
Yan State envoy.
Jing Ke. Assassination.
This information was new thing for him
It wasn't something the blue star that give him this information to help him understand his test in the river of the time
This information is the history of his old life—a history unknown on Blue Star—slammed into the present reality of his new body
For a disorienting moment, the consciousness of Long Su, the student from a the new world, and Fusu, the eldest son of the King of Qin, swirled together, neither fully in control.
The memories of both parties all fall under long su brain
'I am Long Su' he asserted within the chaos of his mind, trapped in a current of the River of Time.
'This is history. My history. And it is my way to rise. '
'The principal's warning echoed:
Obtain something valuable.'
His thoughts raced, a frantic calculation beneath a mask of stoic filial duty.
'What is the most precious thing here?
A general's sword? '
'No, a common tool. It must be personal. Intimate.'
'A symbol of the king himself. '
His internal gaze locked onto the figure on the throne.
The Jade.
His personal jade disc.
A token of his authority, worn on his person.
It must be imbued with immense significance.
That is the greatest treasure that he can get it
' When the attack comes—and it will—I will move. I am Fusu, his son. '
'My place is at his side in danger. No one will question my rush to protect him. And in that chaos, the jade will be within my reach.'
He forced his breathing to steady, his expression to soften into nothing more than appropriate solemnity.
He became a statue, waiting for the storm.
From the dais, a voice cut the heavy air, slow, measured, and resonating with an authority that vibrated in the bones.
Ying Zheng speak in majestic voice
"Allow the envoy of Yan State to come in."