The Qin Empire had risen in fire and iron. Armies marched, walls stretched across mountains, and under the command of one man—Qin Shi Huang, the First Emperor—all under heaven was united.Yet, when the wars were won and the land lay silent, the Emperor's heart remained restless.
He desired a palace greater than any before. He commanded the building of Epang Palace—a hall so vast that ten thousand men could feast within its walls, and banners could rise five stories high. Day and night, countless laborers carved stone and raised beams. The palace began to take shape: majestic, endless, yet strangely hollow.
One night, under the pale glow of the moon, Qin Shi Huang wandered through the half-finished corridors. The wind whispered through empty halls. Suddenly, he heard a song—soft, sorrowful, like water flowing over stones.
At the end of the passage, he saw her. A woman in plain robes, standing with a lantern in her hand. Her face shone with the quiet beauty of distant mountains, her eyes reflecting the moonlight.
"Who are you?" the Emperor demanded. "This place is forbidden."
She bowed slightly, her voice calm. "I am called Afang. The palace bears my name. I am not a stranger, but the spirit born of these walls."
The Emperor frowned, uncertain if she was mortal or dream. Yet something in her presence stilled his restless mind.
From that night on, whenever the moon rose, the Emperor found her waiting. She spoke little, but when she did, her words cut deeper than any sword.
"This palace can host ten thousand feasts," she told him once, her gaze wandering across the grand but empty hall. "But can it hold the hearts of your people? Can stone and jade endure longer than compassion?"
The Emperor, who had bent kings and generals to his will, found no answer. In her company, he felt both powerful and powerless, as though the empire itself had taken shape beside him in human form.
Some whispered she was the daughter of a craftsman, hidden away and discovered by chance. Others believed she was truly the soul of the palace, a dream conjured by heaven.For Qin Shi Huang, it no longer mattered. She was his secret companion, the only presence that eased the weight of the crown.
But one night, she was gone. The lantern no longer glowed in the corridor. The halls stood silent. He searched every chamber, every courtyard, but Afang had vanished without trace.
Years later, when the Qin dynasty fell, Epang Palace was set aflame by Xiang Yu's troops. Fire devoured the beams, the roofs, the golden halls. From afar, soldiers swore they saw a woman's silhouette dancing in the inferno, her robes turning to flame, her song rising with the smoke. They said it was Afang, the Lady of the Palace, perishing with the dream she embodied.
Qin Shi Huang had long passed by then. Yet legends whispered that, even in death, the First Emperor still walked the ruins of his empire, searching for her.
And when the wind moves across the broken stones of Epang, it carries an echo, faint but enduring—her last words, spoken to the man who ruled all under heaven:
"A palace may hold ten thousand men… but it cannot hold eternity."