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墨書 Inktalez
It's almost there, the scout thought to himself.
The path of delivering messages is never lonely; every scout before him had made ample preparations. No soldier of the empire would fall to a single blow. If they did, they wouldn't be considered a qualified soldier.
It had already been seven days. Two days ago, the last of the water he carried had run out. This morning, he finished the last piece of jerky he had left. According to the moon, in just one more hour, he would reach his destination. Then he could finally rest well.
Five post stations, six spare horses; the one he was riding now was not even his first horse.
No one had expected that just seven days ago, the once-mighty nomadic tribes seemed to have gone mad, rushing to the borders of the empire. Even during the peak of war between the empire and the nomads, no one had witnessed such a scene: old, weak, sick, and even women and children gathered outside the empire's borders. No one knew what had happened. The scout's mission was to quickly relay this news to the heart of the empire and inform the emperor of what was going on.
Each day allowed for only one hour of rest. Normally, it would take a month to relay news back to the imperial capital after passing through fifteen post stations. However, thanks to the efforts of six scouts who took a shortcut, they managed to save a significant amount of time.
His eyelids began to feel heavier than lead. The legs gripping the reins felt numb; mechanically, he tightened his hold on the horse's belly, hoping to go faster.
Almost there, he kept telling himself, pushing through fatigue.
In his daze, it seemed like he saw his comrades waving at him. From atop the city walls, he could almost see torches blazing brightly, and stars twinkled in the sky like scattered dust.
A sharp pain shot through his lips again, jolting him back to reality. It was from biting down too hard—he had cracked his own lip.
He didn't waste a drop of blood flowing from the wound; even a tiny bit of water could help him hold on a little longer, even if just for a moment more.
The scout took a deep breath as he spotted a small two-story building adorned with the imperial flag. He shouted urgently, "Emergency report!"
Someone in the Post Station heard the call and rushed out to greet the scout, only to find that all the horses and men had collapsed, with a bamboo tube still tightly clutched in his leg.
Is there any hope?
The first person to step out from the Post Station, a man in fine clothing, asked solemnly. No one noticed that his legs were trembling behind him, nor did they realize that the news brought by the scout had already been anticipated by the powerful figures in the imperial capital a month ago, yet no appropriate actions had been taken.
He had been waiting for this moment.
Reporting back to Xiao Qichang, he is dead.
Take care of his family and give him a proper burial.
No.
As he spoke, a soldier retrieved the message from the scout's leg and handed it to the flag captain. The Qin Empire had established three divisions and twelve flags, among which the Black Flag was the most formidable weapon of the emperor, ready to pierce the hearts of any traitors at any time. The flag captain held a rank equivalent to a fifth-grade civil official and was considered a significant figure in his own right.
Xiao Shiwen took the bamboo tube and waved his hand lightly. A servant promptly brought over a carriage while others began to orderly discuss what had transpired.
As they walked through the most prosperous streets of the imperial capital, Xiao Shiwen couldn't help but marvel at the empire's strength and its long history that seemed almost unbelievable. It echoed the saying that had circulated among many: "A hundred thousand years is too long; a hundred years is too short. Life is fleeting; for the empire, it is eternal."
The Qin Empire, without question, was the most powerful empire in the world. Having weathered countless storms over hundreds of thousands of years, it now faced its greatest crisis ever—one that had never been seen before and likely would never be seen again.
A month ago, the legendary Great Qin Ying Clan emerged at the heart of the imperial court, bringing with them precious news obtained by the Legitimate Eldest Son, Ying Zhan. Little did they know that Ying Zhan had returned to the Ying Clan six months prior and had already reported this information.
For many, the vast expanse of the Gobi to the north seemed like the edge of the world, a place where no one could fathom what lay beyond. Even those in the imperial court had no concept of what might exist further north; perhaps only legendary immortals could truly know what lay at the distant horizon.
Although preparations had long been made, when the day of war finally arrived, Xiao Shiwen found himself feeling a sense of confusion unlike anything he had ever experienced, just like everyone else in the grand capital of the empire.
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