Qin Dynasty: Who offended my frail and sickly minister?

Zhou Wenqing opened his mouth, then closed it again. After a long while, he finally asked through gritted teeth:

"...Swing a table?"

Li Si nodded heavily.

"Hit me?"

Li Si nodded again.

Zhou Wenqing looked down at his own thin frame, then looked up at Li Si:

Are you sure... I'm... still alive?

"Don't worry about that, Brother Cheng!" Li Si jolted awake, straightening up abruptly, his chest puffing out even more. "Under my strict control, you will definitely live, you can still live!"

What do you mean by "still alive"?

Hemiplegia? Coma?

Zhou Wenqing waved his hand helplessly and said weakly:

"Alright, stop playing word games with me, Brother Gu'an. Just tell me straight, what happened to me?"

Zhou Wenqing found it absurd to ask this question; he didn't realize he had to ask someone else to confirm his physical condition.

Li Si was genuinely nervous. For the first time, he stood so upright in front of Zhou Wenqing, carefully observing his expression, and then lowered his voice to say:

"Brother Zicheng, don't worry. I guarantee that it's really under control. You won't lose an arm or a leg, or suffer any aftereffects. I promise, this is only temporary. Once we reach an agreement with South Korea, I promise to immediately arrange for someone to clear things up. Now... it's not the time yet."

"Sigh," Zhou Wenqing sighed, "that's all we can do."

He sat up, looking at Li Si with some suspicion:

"But... since you can control my injuries, how did these rumors get to this point?"

"Uh... well." Li Si smiled awkwardly, his eyes starting to dart around again. "Actually, I can't control myself either."

"What?!"

"Zicheng, don't rush, I haven't finished yet!" Li Si quickly waved his hand, "After the incident, I quickly found that fool and made him include Physician Lü in the story, praising him to the skies as if he were unparalleled in the world, with superb medical skills and miraculous healing abilities. Anyway, with Physician Lü around, you will definitely be fine."

Zhou Wenqing was stunned for a moment, then realized:

"So, this is just one rumor supplementing another?"

Li Si nodded awkwardly.

Zhou Wenqing remained silent for ten breaths before sighing again.

"Brother Gu'an, I realize I underestimated your talent. How did you come up with this idea? You are truly...brilliant!"

Li Si wanted to disappear into a crack in the ground; he felt both embarrassed and a little wronged.

You can't entirely blame him!

Although the person he sent out did make a mistake this time, that fool was such a chatterbox that he kept embellishing his story, saying "pale-faced" as "as white as paper," "swallowed a pill" as "spit out blood," and "swayed" as "fell to the ground."

But he's done this kind of thing before; that idiot has always been around, and it's not as exaggerated as the rumors make it out to be.

In truth, Zhou Wenqing's reputation among the people of Guizhou was simply too great.

The mere mention of Zhou Neishi would light up the eyes of the common people. They would all put down their work and gather around to listen. After listening, they would discuss it amongst themselves, adding their own interpretations as they talked.

"I heard they slammed the table! Those Korean envoys were utterly rude and barbaric!"

"No, no, my cousin's friend's nephew-in-law works at the Zhou residence, and he said he was going to overturn the table! He's completely disregarding our Great Qin Dynasty, it's outrageous! He must be severely punished!"

"You're all wrong! I heard it with my own ears from the kitchen servants of the Zhou household—it was about swinging a table! This Han envoy deserves to be torn to pieces!"

Then, as the story spread, it was gone forever.

What if Changping Jun tried this?

At best, it might attract some attention in the imperial court. The common people would just say "oh" and go about their business, too lazy to even ask another question.

How could Li Si have foreseen such a disparity from the very beginning?

He only thought that since this was a frame-up, the story had to be told as truthfully as possible, so that as many people as possible would know about it and the Han envoy would be unable to defend himself.

So he wrote the manuscript overnight, making the content detailed enough, and specially mobilized more people to spread it with extra effort.

Who would have thought they'd used too much force!

As the story spread, it took on a "magical" form that no one could have imagined.

However, there were some benefits. Everyone in the city knew that Zhou Neishi was "still recovering from serious injuries" and had been resting for several days. Even when the Baiwusi (a department of goods) limited the sale of ink sticks and folding fans, taking advantage of the shortage of craftsmen to create an extreme form of scarcity marketing, no one dared to cause trouble.

After all, with Zhou Neishi in such a state, who would dare to come and urge the delivery?

If you accidentally kill someone right in front of you, you might not even have a place to cry when you face the king's wrath.

------

South Korea, Royal Palace

Before the dull thud of the bamboo slips hitting the ground had even faded, King Han had already kicked over the table in front of him, spilling ink, damaging the report, and leaving the entire palace in a mess.

"Idiots! A bunch of idiots!"

He pointed towards the outside of the hall, his fingertips trembling, his voice sharp and distorted:

"I sent them to Qin to offer birthday greetings! I sent them to gather intelligence! I sent them to win over Zhou Wenqing! And what did they do? They angered him to the point of vomiting blood and fainting! Now the whole world is saying that I am narrow-minded, incompetent, and blind to reason!"

The hall was filled with people kneeling on the ground, their heads bowed low, staring at the ink stains on the floor, not daring to breathe.

The Han envoy who had been spared by Qin and returned with the Qin envoy who had presented a letter of pledging allegiance to Han had been dragged away, chopped into mincemeat, and fed to the dogs. However, the King of Han's anger had clearly not subsided.

He cursed for a while longer, until he finally got tired and his voice gradually became hoarse. He slumped back onto the throne, looking as if all his energy had been drained, and leaned against the armrest to catch his breath.

My gaze fell on the corner of the desk—

There lay a carefully unfolded scroll of silk, a letter from the Qin envoy, filled with interrogative words. Yet, in his fury just moments before, he had taken out this scroll beforehand and carefully placed it aside, not daring to spill a single drop of ink on it.

The official letter lay there quietly, spotless, its neat handwriting seemingly mocking something in silence.

The King of Han looked at it, feeling both sorrow and anger.

He didn't even dare to direct his anger at the Qin state.

At this moment, the old minister kneeling at the front slowly raised his head and tentatively spoke:

"Your Majesty, please calm your anger... Things have come to this point, and anger will not help. The Qin envoy is still waiting at the post station, saying that he will return in three days to await our explanation. The most urgent task is to draft a letter of state and prepare generous gifts to appease Qin's thunderous rage. This is the best course of action."

King Han kept his eyes closed and didn't move. After a long while, he finally managed to squeeze out a breath, as if he had swallowed down some resentment.

"That's the only way."

He opened his eyes and his gaze slowly swept across the main hall.

Some of the kneeling officials lowered their heads even further, some stared intently at the ink stains on the ground, and some quietly shrank back.

Looking at these familiar faces, the King of Han suddenly found it laughable. They were all usually so eloquent, but now that he needed someone to go on a mission to Qin, they had all become mute.

He straightened up slightly, leaning on the armrest, his voice hoarse yet unusually cold and hard:

"My esteemed ministers, who among you is willing to share my burdens and go on a mission to Xianyang?"

The hall was so quiet you could hear the ink dripping.

The King of Han's gaze swept over familiar faces, from left to right and then from right to left, but no one looked up.

He sneered and was about to speak when Han Chen, who was kneeling at the front, finally slowly raised his eyelids.

"Your Majesty, I dare to suggest that there is someone who can take on this task."

The King of Han raised an eyebrow slightly: "Who?"

"Young Master Fei."