Since entering Guanzhong, capturing Xianyang, and forcing Prince Ying of Qin to surrender, Liu Ji had withdrawn her troops to Bashang. She summoned local scholars and established three simple laws with them, abolishing all the harsh Qin statutes. The new laws included death for murderers and equivalent punishment for assault and theft, finally giving the people who had suffered under Qin's oppressive rule a chance to breathe. Liu Ji's reputation in Guanzhong soared, earning widespread praise from the populace.
On this day, Liu Ji paced back and forth in her temporary residence at Bashang as usual. Ever since leaving Pengcheng, where Roy had promised her thirty thousand soldiers to march westward into Guanzhong, several months had passed since their separation.
At first, she hadn't noticed it, but as time went on, Liu Ji found herself increasingly missing her life in Pengcheng—her thoughts often drifting to Roy's figure.
Though many local scholars and subordinates in Guanzhong had begun addressing her as the "King of Han," if this were the same Liu Ji from Pei County—the female rogue who used to flirt with widows—she would have been utterly satisfied, indulging in wine and revelry, enjoying her newfound royal life.
But now, despite holding the title of King of Han, controlling the most prosperous region in the land, and commanding a hundred thousand elite troops—what should have been the pinnacle of her life—Liu Ji suddenly found this long-dreamed-of existence rather dull. Instead, her mind was filled with thoughts of the towering figure she had met in Pengcheng.
"Ah, women..."
Tired from pacing, Liu Ji stopped and sighed deeply, a bitter smile crossing her peerlessly beautiful face.
Since childhood, she had possessed the Immortal Dao jade pendant, making others perceive her as a man. Liu Ji had lived accordingly, even convincing herself that she loved women.
But biologically, she remained a woman. Back in the rural confines of Pei County, she could muddle along. Yet now, having encountered a true hero capable of stirring the hearts of women across the land, she realized her long-dormant feminine heart had begun beating fiercely again. She couldn't stop thinking about the Overlord of Western Chu, to the point where she could neither eat nor sleep properly.
She lost interest in fine wine and delicacies, even in the many stunning women of Guanzhong and the former Qin palace. Instead of thriving amidst wealth and luxury after entering Guanzhong and stationing troops at Bashang, she had grown thinner.
Her subordinates assumed she was exhausted from managing countless affairs left behind by the fallen Qin. But Liu Ji alone knew the truth—it wasn't work that wore her down, but lovesickness.
For the first time, Liu Ji understood the torment of longing for someone—that restless ache of wanting to meet them, to hear their voice. Especially in this late Qin period, with its poor transportation and difficult correspondence. Even when consumed by thoughts of someone, there were no phones, no internet—nothing to ease the yearning.
The more time she spent alone in this mansion, the more uncomfortable Liu Ji felt. Unable to bear it any longer, she once again donned that resplendent crimson gown resembling a wedding dress, with the Chixiao Sword hanging at her waist. After toying with the imperial jade seal presented by Prince Ying of Qin, she summoned her subordinates and mounted the horse Roy had gifted her, setting off to inspect her territories and military camps.
This was how she had been coping with her longing—drowning herself in work to numb the pain.
The horse she rode bore a striking resemblance to Roy's legendary steed, both jet-black with snow-white markings on their hooves. It was a prized warhorse Roy had given her when they left Pengcheng to march into Guanzhong. Throughout their campaigns, this noble steed had fought alongside Liu Ji, achieving great feats, and she had taken meticulous care of it.
The guards outside the door sprang into action at the Han King's command. These daily inspections had become almost routine for her, so the guards were well-prepared.
Before long, Liu Ji, accompanied by a hundred elite personal guards, began her patrol of the Bashang region. Many officials would take this opportunity to report on the situation in Xianyang. Though Xianyang nominally belonged to Liu Ji, she believed the former Qin capital rightfully belonged to Roy, so she had refrained from occupying it. To others, this appeared as a gesture of submission to the Overlord of Western Chu, a way to avoid conflict.
Both Bashang and Xianyang, where Liu Ji had stationed a garrison, remained peaceful. She had established a simple three-article code with the people of Guanzhong, ensuring no harm came to civilians. Combined with the region's prosperity and the abundant treasures and supplies left behind by Qin, the army's needs were fully met. What should have been the heart of turmoil had instead become the most tranquil place in the land.
After inspecting the camps and receiving reports from her subordinates, Liu Ji, as usual, made her way to the eastern outskirts of Bashang. There, she gazed eastward, standing quietly under the setting sun. The golden twilight bathed her crimson gown, making her resemble a blooming rose—or a passionate, flickering flame.
She always loved coming here at dusk to look east, for if Roy were to enter Guanzhong, he would surely come from that direction.
"Any news of the Overlord?" Liu Ji asked her subordinates, as she often did.
Her attendants, long accustomed to this routine, replied without hesitation, "...No word yet, but messengers reported some time ago that the Overlord had surrounded Qin forces at Julu, and Zhang Han surrendered with his 300,000 troops. By now, the Overlord should be on his way to Guanzhong. Accounting for the messengers' travel time, his army may arrive soon."
Her subordinates assumed the Han King was wary of appearing too powerful, fearing it might provoke the Overlord's suspicion. They admired her prudence and restraint. But Liu Ji knew the truth—she simply longed to see him again.
Throughout the campaign to seize Guanzhong, Liu Ji had acted with other intentions. Yet in the eyes of others, her every move seemed to reflect grand ambition and the bearing of a true ruler.
Historians of later generations, when writing about this period, would surely attribute it to the early display of the founding emperor's imperial demeanor. But much like how people interpret texts, no one can truly grasp the original author's intent—just as no one knew that Liu Ji's every action at this moment was actually for Roy's sake. Yet unknowingly, she was being pushed toward that inevitable outcome.
...0
"I heard the Conqueror buried alive all 300,000 Qin soldiers at Xin'an. Such cruelty and inhumanity—how much gentler and more benevolent you are, King of Han!"
A subordinate hesitated, thinking the King of Han was wary of the Conqueror, and thus flattered her outright. Little did he know this flattery had missed the mark entirely.
"Is that so..."
Liu Ji smiled without a word. Others assumed she was pleased by the praise, unaware that she had already noted this man's name, waiting for the slightest mistake to dismiss him. How dare he speak ill of the Conqueror to her face!
At the same time, warmth bloomed in Liu Ji's heart. She knew Roy had no need to bury those 300,000 Qin soldiers. On the contrary, sparing them and keeping Zhang Han alive would have shackled her, the King of Han, leaving her no chance to achieve greatness.
Those 300,000 soldiers were natives of Guanzhong, and Zhang Han was their leader. As long as they lived, even if Guanzhong were granted to the King of Han, she would only nominally rule it while the land remained under another's control.
Roy had buried those soldiers—for her sake.
The thought made Liu Ji's heart sweet as honey.
"Report!! The Conqueror of Western Chu has led his troops through Hangu Pass and now camps at Hongmen in Xinfeng! He requests the presence of the Duke of Pei at Hongmen!"
A messenger from Chu arrived at Bashang, loudly proclaiming the Conqueror's command.