Qin Shi Huang, emperor of the Qin state, stepped out onto his palace balcony early in the autumn morning. Feeling the gentle breeze on his face, he slowly surveyed the rooftops and roads that made up Xianyang, the capital. He very much liked to appreciate this view at the beginning of each day. He knew that no matter where he looked, everything his eyes could see belonged to him, and was there through his will alone. It reassured him, and in a way gave him a welcome sense of permanence. As he aged, he had grown ever more obsessed with his own mortality. The thought that some day, he might die and end up forgotten despite his innumerable accomplishments, terrified him beyond words.
    Stepping back into the bedroom he had used the previous night (he slept in a different room every night, to confound assassins), The emperor contemplated his tasks for the day. He rarely left the palace now, except to travel the provinces inspecting the many public works he had commissioned. He decided he would discuss matters of the state with his ministers in the morning, consult with his physicians in the afternoon, then spend the rest of the day in leisure, perhaps in his garden. The emperor derived a sense of security from setting a schedule and seeing it through. His often tumultuous political career had given him a weariness of spontaneity and a preference for predictability in his affairs.
    Though the emperor had many palaces, his residence in Xianyang was considered the most magnificent. During his campaigns, he had taken great pains to fortify the palace and the surrounding city from attack. Even now with the country at peace, he still managed to occupy himself by concocting ever more defenses against assassins. He pondered further improvements to said defenses as he presided over a meeting of his advisors to deliberate on economic affairs within the nation. Much of the conversation concerned road construction near the southern frontier, a task the emperor had paid special mind to. In recent years he had begun searching for ever more ways to cement his legacy and assert his permanence to the world. He wanted every road to last for all eternity, so that he may never be forgotten. Still, there were objections. One of his advisors suggested, very respectfully, that the people may not tolerate the many tax increases needed to pay for the emperor’s increasingly grandiose projects. The emperor confidently brushed aside his concerns. How could anyone dare disobey the Son of Heaven?
    Despite his absolute power, the emperor found himself feeling weaker every day. He seemed to always be tired now, and he could rarely muster enough energy to leave his palace. He wondered if his window to attain immortality was starting to slip away. The emperor pondered his difficult circumstances as he underwent his daily medical examination. Though he doubtlessly had the best doctors in the land (he had made sure of it), he was beginning to fear that by now even they may be unable to save him.
    Today, something seemed off about the examination. His physicians, normally quite composed, appeared to be somewhat distressed while assessing his condition. The emperor, noticing this, feared for the worst. The doctors finished their examination, and immediately stepped back to deliberate amongst themselves. After some time spent whispering to each other, one of them stepped forward and delivered their news; the Emperor was dying, and there was nothing that could be done about it.
    The emperor doubled over in shock, completely at a loss for words. He was unable to understand how his life’s work could be nullified so quickly in front of his eyes. Disorientated by the sudden change in circumstances, he stumbled outside the physician’s offices into the opulent main hall of the palace. Though was filled with the greatest treasures from every corner of the world, it all felt astoundingly empty now. The gold sculptures shining in the evening sun appeared dull, and the whole room seemed to lose its color. Despairing, emperor rushed to the balcony and looked over the capital city, his city. Though in the past he had seen it as a beautiful manifestation of his accomplishments, now it looked lifeless and bleak. The emperor walked back inside and started to wander aimlessly through his palace, eventually finding one of the bedrooms. He stumbled into bed, bumping into a table by accident. A precious vase, a gift from one of his governors, teetered and fell off. The emperor made no move to catch it, for it didn’t really have any worth to him anyways. He took a moment to admire the way the pieces glittered in the candlelight, and fell asleep.

Qin Shi Huang (秦始皇) was the first emperor of the Qin Dynasty, which lasted from 221 to 206 BC. He was known for his many attempts at achieving immortality, and famously built a terra cotta army in his mausoleum to protect him in the afterlife. His empire collapsed shortly after his death in 210.