The Forbidden City slept under a blanket of cold, brittle moonlight. The endless labyrinth of courtyards and corridors was deserted, save for the silent, pacing sentries whose routes were as predictable as the movements of the stars. It was in this deep quiet of the night that Ying Zheng and his general undertook their own secret ritual.
Meng Tian's new position as a close-proximity bodyguard provided the perfect cover. It was his duty to be near the Emperor at all times, and his presence near the boy's chambers, even at this late hour, would arouse no suspicion. They slipped out of the Palace of Mental Cultivation and moved through the shadows, two ghosts from another age, one striding with silent, predatory grace, the other a small, determined figure.
Their destination was a secluded, walled-off courtyard in the northern sector of the palace, a place used for storing old building materials and discarded ornamentation from previous reigns. Here, amongst stacks of rotting timbers, moss-covered stone blocks, and forgotten statuary, they would be completely unobserved.
"Li Lianying and the Empress Dowager believe you are merely a skilled fighter," Ying Zheng said, his voice a low whisper in the frigid air. He stood by a pile of discarded marble, his small form barely visible in the darkness. "They see you as a sharp sword they can control, a fine guard dog for their puppet. Before we can use you, we must know the true nature of the blade."
He was now the commander again, and Meng Tian was his soldier. The first task was to systematically assess the superhuman abilities the elixir had bestowed upon his general.
"The stone block," Ying Zheng commanded, pointing to a massive, carved piece of granite, likely a lintel from a dismantled gate, that lay half-buried in the dirt. "The one with the dragon carving. Lift it."
Meng Tian looked at the block. It was enormous, a solid piece of stone that would normally require the coordinated effort of four strong men and a system of levers and rollers to move. He nodded, approached the stone, and found his purchase. He bent his knees, his back straight, the perfect form of a trained lifter. With a deep grunt of exertion, he pulled.
The stone resisted for a moment, and then, with a groaning scrape of rock on frozen earth, it lifted. Meng Tian stood, holding the massive block at waist height, the muscles in his arms and back corded like thick ropes under his uniform. The strain was visible on his face—his teeth were gritted, a sheen of sweat instantly appearing on his brow—but he held it steady. His strength was immense, far beyond the limits of a normal man, but it was not infinite. He was not a god. He was something else.
"Good," Ying Zheng said, a note of clinical satisfaction in his voice. "Set it down."
Meng Tian lowered the stone with a controlled thud that shook the ground.
"Your reflexes," Ying Zheng said next. "Your captain reported that you move like a leopard. Is this merely training, or something more? Stand in the center of the yard. Do not move until you must."
Meng Tian took his position, his body relaxed but alert. Ying Zheng stood thirty paces away. He closed his eyes for a moment, focusing his will. He reached out and gathered the cold night air, compressing it, molding it with his power. He formed a tiny, invisible, fast-moving projectile of solidified wind—a silent bullet. He aimed it not at Meng Tian's body, but at a spot on the wall just behind his left shoulder, an unexpected angle. He launched it.
The bolt of wind shot across the courtyard, silent and invisible. Meng Tian did not seem to see it. He couldn't have. Yet, at the last possible second, his body reacted. He didn't dodge. He moved with a blinding, economical blur, his left hand snapping up to deflect the incoming projectile. There was a faint thump as the compressed air hit the calloused back of his hand, dissipating harmlessly. He hadn't seen it coming; he had felt it.
"How did you know?" Ying Zheng asked.
Meng Tian looked at his own hand, a strange expression on his face. "I am not sure, My Lord," he said, trying to find the words. "I did not see anything. I felt… a pressure. A disturbance in the air. My body moved before my mind could command it to."
"Your senses are heightened," Ying Zheng concluded. "You are attuned to the world around you in a way normal men are not. The final test, then. Endurance."
For the next hour, in the freezing cold of the courtyard, Ying Zheng put his general through a grueling series of military drills. He had him perform the entire sequence of the Qin army's spear forms, each movement executed at full speed, the heavy weapon whistling through the air. He had him practice the complex footwork of the sword dances, a blur of motion and steel. He had him perform striking routines against a solid wooden pillar until his knuckles were raw.
Any other man would have been exhausted, gasping for breath, his muscles screaming in protest. Meng Tian barely broke a sweat. His breathing remained deep and even, his movements as precise and powerful at the end of the hour as they had been at the beginning. His stamina seemed limitless.
When it was over, he knelt before his Emperor, his body thrumming with a strange, vibrant energy. He described the feeling to his lord—the constant, low-level hum of power within him, the way a deep cut from a training accident a week ago had healed into a faint white line overnight, the way his mind seemed to process combat situations with an unnatural, crystal clarity.
Ying Zheng listened to it all, his face grim and thoughtful in the moonlight. He finally had the full measure of his new weapon.
"You are not just a strong man, General," he said, his voice quiet but filled with a new, dangerous purpose. "The elixir has reforged you into something more. You are a living weapon. A blade sharp enough to cut through any obstacle. You are to be my sword, the physical expression of my will in this world, where this child's body cannot go."
The test was complete. QSH now had a clear, tactical understanding of his greatest asset. He possessed a one-man special operations force, a superhuman soldier of absolute loyalty. Meng Tian, in turn, finally understood the truth of his own existence. His "curse" of being different, his unnatural strength and senses, was not a curse at all. It was a gift, a by-product of his Emperor's own botched apotheosis. His identity, once a fog of confusion, was now fully, terribly restored. He was the Emperor's Blade.