Volume 1: Chapter 5- The Golden Arrow Messenger Races to Liyang**  

A crimson-clad rider galloped westward along the southern bank of the Yellow River, his figure gradually swallowed by the narrowing valley flanked by mountains. The setting sun cast long shadows through the Hangu Pass—a serpentine gorge famed as the "Drawer of the Mountains," its sheer cliffs towering like stone sentinels over the only route connecting the eastern states to the Guanzhong heartland. For centuries, this strategic chasm had been the impregnable gateway to Qin, its treacherous paths immortalized in later records: *"Precipices scrape the heavens; the gorge yawns into unfathomable depths. A single cart could barely pass."* 

By the Warring States era, Hangu's significance had waned for Qin. Once their ironclad barrier, it now lay under Wei's control after decades of relentless encroachment. The fortress that had defied invading chariots for generations now flew Wei's vermilion banners, their edges bleeding into the dusk. 

As the rider thundered toward the closing gates, his jet-black steed—a creature of uncanny intelligence—leaped through the narrowing stone portal in a single bound, drawing cheers from Wei guards. 

"Halt! Identify yourself!" shouted the gate commander. 

"Scout from Mount Hua camp!" The answer trailed behind as horse and rider vanished westward. 

To Wei, Hangu was merely another checkpoint. But for Qin, its loss had been a mortal wound. The rider, now discarding his crimson cloak to reveal black Qin armor, cursed bitterly. His whip cracked, spurring the horse into a frenzy as Liyang's silhouette emerged ahead—a jagged black fortress crouched on the banks of the Liao River. 

This austere capital, Qin's third in four centuries, stood as a defiant bulwark. Built entirely of stone against fire and siege, its walls slicked with black lacquer, Liyang embodied Qin's unyielding resolve. Three blasts of a buffalo horn trumpet signaled nightfall, its echoes rolling across the desolate plains. 

Approaching the eastern gate, the rider brandished a two-foot golden arrow. Guards snapped to attention, parting the sparse crowd. "Golden Arrow Envoy! Clear the path!" 

Within Liyang's walls, stark simplicity reigned. Unlike the bustling markets of Wei's Daliang, here dim oil lamps illuminated silent barter—firewood for grain, cloth for salt. The clatter of hooves drew no alarm; citizens stepped aside with practiced calm, their faces weathered by endless trials. 

The envoy hurtled toward a stark compound at street's end—Qin's State Hall. No opulent palace, but a nine-winged stone complex where black-armored guards flanked a massive granite gate. Stumbling from exhaustion, the envoy gasped, "To the Council Chamber—quickly!" 

Four soldiers bore him through courtyards of flagstone and shadow into the heart of governance—a dim study lined with bamboo scrolls and maps. At its center stood Duke Xiao of Qin, later known as Xiaogong, his broad frame silhouetted against a yellowed sheepskin map of the warring states. A fist struck the parchment as he turned—a young ruler with narrowed eyes and a jaw set like flint. 

"Golden Arrow Envoy presents!" announced the white-haired chamberlain. 

The duke rushed forward, lifting the collapsed rider himself. "Jing Jian!" He called for heated wine, cradling the vessel as his envoy drank greedily. 

Revived, Jing Jian—a handsome youth weathered by haste—delivered his dire tidings: "The Six States convene at Fengze. Their pact: non-aggression among themselves, spheres to devour minor kingdoms, and…" He swallowed. "…to partition Qin. After our destruction, Qi gains compensatory lands." 

Silence hung thick. The duke paced, his steps echoing like drumbeats. "How precisely do they plan to carve us?" 

"Details elude me, my lord. I bribed a Wei captain to infiltrate their camp but was diverted during the hunt. I rode two days without rest—" 

"Enough." The ruler's voice stayed calm. "Rest now. Dawn brings council." 

As Jing Jian bowed out, admiration tempered his dread. This unshakable young duke—his childhood comrade—bore Qin's fate with a stillness deeper than the Hangu gorge. In that study smelling of ink and urgency, the weight of extinction pressed yet found no purchase. 

Somewhere beyond the black walls, wolves howled. But within, the stone halls stood silent—waiting.