Winds Rise, Clouds Gather

Lü Buwei stood firmly in the center of the court, completely unperturbed by the gazes of those around him. His eyes, sharp as blades, swept across the hall, locking onto the Chief of the Royal Clan, Ying Yuan. Pointing a finger straight at Ying Yuan, his voice carried an unrelenting force as he thundered,

"Ying Yuan! Your wayward son, emboldened by your authority, runs rampant in Xianyang, bullying the innocent and disgracing the royal name. Tell me, as his father, have you ever taught him discipline? Hmm?"

As Lü Buwei's words resounded through the hall, his eyes narrowed, the sharpness of his gaze transforming into a venomous shroud of gloom. The oppressive aura emanating from him suffocated the court, leaving no one daring to breathe too loudly, let alone speak.

The target of this scathing rebuke was none other than Ying Yuan, one of the Nine Ministers of the Qin court. His face alternated between shades of pale white and flushed crimson as cold sweat began to bead on his forehead. The rumors of his son's misconduct had reached his ears days prior, yet he had dismissed them with a naive hope that the antics of a boy not yet of age would not spark any major trouble. Who could have foreseen that this storm would culminate in a clash with none other than Lü Buwei, the fearsome powerbroker who dominated the political arena?

Lü Buwei's gaze, as venomous as a serpent's, froze Ying Yuan in place. He realized, with chilling clarity, that this was not merely an attack on his son's misdeeds—it was a calculated assault aimed at dismantling his political foundation. Ying Yuan, long associated with the royalist faction, was now squarely in the crosshairs of Lü Buwei's ambition to consolidate power.

"Ying Yuan," Lü Buwei continued, his tone laced with icy contempt, "it is clear to this court that you are unfit to govern your own household, let alone the responsibilities of this court. Perhaps it is time you retired and returned to your ancestral home. What say you to that?"

The words struck Ying Yuan like a thunderbolt. For a moment, disbelief clouded his expression. He turned instinctively to the courtiers for support, scanning the faces of those who had once stood by his side. But all he saw were averted eyes and bowed heads. The betrayal in the air was as palpable as the cold sweat soaking his robes.

Realizing that he had been abandoned, Ying Yuan's hands trembled faintly. His lips moved, but no words came forth. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to suppress the torrent of humiliation and anger swelling within him. Slowly, he shifted his gaze upward toward the young King Ying Zheng seated above. The look in his eyes carried a profound sense of sorrow, as if he were bidding farewell to a cherished chapter of his life. Bowing deeply, he spoke, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his heart:

"Your Majesty, I have served you with unwavering loyalty and without an ounce of self-interest. Though I am but a humble servant, I have strived to fulfill my duties with diligence, upholding the legacy of the royal clan and preserving its honor."

"Yet as a father, I have failed utterly. I am consumed with regret for not guiding my son properly, allowing him to tarnish the reputation of my family and bring disgrace to the court." His voice caught momentarily, as though a blade had sliced through his throat, leaving only silence in its wake.

After a moment of stillness, he continued, his tone laden with sorrow:

"Your Majesty, I have wronged you by failing to discipline my son. I have shamed my ancestors. With the deepest regret, I beseech Your Majesty to permit me to resign from my post and retreat to my homeland, where I may atone for my sins in solitude."

With these words, he knelt, his posture rigid yet heavy with resignation.

Above him, Ying Zheng's brows knit slightly as a flicker of sadness crossed his face. This was a loyal minister, a man who had dedicated himself to the stability of the Qin royal family. Yet in the face of Lü Buwei's machinations, even he had become a pawn to be discarded. Suppressing his own turmoil, Ying Zheng spoke with forced calm:

"Granted."

Ying Yuan's body shuddered visibly, but he steadied himself, bowing even lower. His voice was soft yet resolute:

"Your servant thanks Your Majesty for this mercy."

Rising slowly, Ying Yuan turned and left the court. His steps were heavy, his back hunched, his figure resembling an aged tree battered by years of storms. On the dais, Ying Zheng watched his departure, his chest tightening with an unfamiliar ache. The elder's silhouette seemed to carry the weight of an entire era being swept aside by the relentless tide of politics.

Meanwhile, Lü Buwei's thin smile betrayed his satisfaction. Another obstacle removed, another piece positioned in his grand chessboard of power. But his ambition did not rest there. He cast a calculating glance over the court, his mind already plotting his next move.

It was then that a voice broke the tension. A general stepped forward, his voice resonating with urgency:

"Your Majesty, a report has arrived from the western front. I request permission to speak."

Ying Zheng shifted his gaze from Lü Buwei to the general. Sensing no objection, he nodded:

"Proceed, General Zhang."

General Zhang stepped forth, his stance firm as steel. His voice rang clear and forceful:

"Your Majesty, the Xiongnu have recently escalated their incursions along the western border. A few days ago, the city of Fancheng was besieged after its commanding general, Liu Yong, fell into an ambush. At the critical moment, a mere thousand-man unit under the command of a centurion named Qin Yi counterattacked with astounding precision, routing the enemy's ten-thousand-strong force and securing a decisive victory."

The court erupted in murmurs of astonishment. A thousand men against ten thousand—a feat of such magnitude was nearly unheard of.

Ying Zheng's eyes lit up with surprise. Qin Yi, a name previously buried in obscurity, had suddenly risen to prominence with this extraordinary achievement. Such a victory, in these precarious times, was a much-needed beacon of hope for the state of Qin.

After a moment of thought, Ying Zheng asked:

"How do the ministers propose we reward this man?"

General Zhang stepped forward, his voice brimming with conviction:

"Your Majesty, such a monumental accomplishment deserves the highest recognition. Not only should he be rewarded generously, but his valor should also be celebrated across the realm to inspire our soldiers to greater feats."

The generals in attendance nodded in agreement, their support for General Zhang's suggestion unanimous. Yet Ying Zheng's gaze shifted subtly toward Lü Buwei, knowing well that any decision on rewards would inevitably intersect with the Prime Minister's influence.

"What is your opinion, Prime Minister?" Ying Zheng asked evenly.

Lü Buwei inclined his head, a fleeting glint in his eyes. His voice was deliberate and measured, carrying a faint undertone of derision:

"Rewards must, of course, be given, but extravagance is unnecessary. A promotion in rank and some land grants should suffice to honor the King's magnanimity."

Though Lü Buwei's words seemed reasonable on the surface, the subtle dismissal in his tone was unmistakable. Ying Zheng regarded him in silence, his expression inscrutable. But beneath that calm façade, the young king's mind churned, weighing every move in the intricate game unfolding before him.