250 BCE.
A ten year old boy knelt outside a prosperous manor's closed gate. The storm was raging, thunders and lightning ravaged the sky as painful raindrops fell over him. He did not utter a sound nor cried for help but quietly endured the numbing ache of his body. Ying Zheng looked up to the darkened sky of the night. His round eyes were covered in mist that portrayed a lifeless pitiful existence.
"Zheng'er!" a carriage stopped before the manor. Zhao Ji hurriedly stepped out and she ran to his side. She wont care if her expensive clothing was drowned into the muddy water, nor will she care for her fragile health. Seeing her son suffer again, nothing can stop her from holding him.
"Mother...you're back..." he weakly said. Ying Zheng can hardly have enough strength to embrace his mother
