Qin Shi Huang’s Dream of Dao

Minh-Hoang Nguyen (*)

28-09-2025

Created by ChatGPT

The court officials have just dispersed after a grand banquet celebrating the First Emperor of the Great Qin Empire’s 40th birthday. When the feast is over, Qin Shi Huang withdraws to rest. It is late at night, and unable to sleep, he enters his study, intending to glance at the mountain of memorials and petitions submitted by officials from all corners of the empire. They speak of endless hardships—standardizing written characters, building dikes against floods, constructing the Great Wall, redesigning the legal system, regulating regional officials, restoring the postwar economy and society, managing state taxes, and more. The duties of a founding emperor, such as Qin Shi Huang, have never ceased, not even after the battles ended.

Drowsy, he suddenly hears a sound and sees a streak of green flash before his eyes. “Ah, a kingfisher.”

He thinks, “How strange. Besides the owl that keeps vigil at night, now a kingfisher as well?”

As if reading his thoughts, Kingfisher speaks: “Zhuang Zhou and I were just discussing the Dao (道). When our talk ended, he asked me to visit Qin Shi Huang to inquire about the Dao.”

A glimmer of mischief lights the emperor’s eyes: “I know that Zhuangzi once dreamed of becoming a butterfly, then wondered whether the butterfly had dreamed it was Zhuang Zhou. But I did not know he would send a kingfisher to ask me about the Dao. Perhaps Zhuangzi has heard the slanders whispered about me?”

The very fact that the emperor does not flinch upon hearing a bird speak human words—words steeped in philosophy, no less—already reveals his composure and self-mastery.

Kingfisher tilts his head, as though paying reverence when invoking the name of a sage. Without confirming or denying, he replies: “Zhuang and I both agree we must remember the subtle teaching of Laozi: The Dao that can be spoken is no longer the complete Dao. If that is true, then what reason is there to think that a few words of slander—about burning books and burying scholars, or about harsh punishments such as cutting off the hands of petty thieves, or executing officials who failed their duties—could themselves be the Dao, or diminish the Dao?”

Qin Shi Huang laughs aloud: “You just said you and Zhuangzi pay no heed to slander, yet what I heard just now sounded faintly like an indictment of the emperor…”

Kingfisher shakes his head: “Your Majesty misunderstands. If Zhuang Zhou had not first heard Hui Shi speak of the uselessness of the shu tree, he could never have revealed to Hui Shi the marvelous virtue of that very uselessness which Hui Shi himself recounted. In that sense, one cannot regard Hui Shi’s words as mere slander.”

Slightly surprised by Kingfisher’s reasoning, Qin Shi Huang thinks of the Daoist’s wry smile and says, “So, it seems that neither you nor Zhuangzi intended to question or condemn the deeds of Qin Shi Huang, the Emperor. That is indeed a blessing of the Dao. But here I have only the imperial tea of the Son of Heaven—a fine cup just brewed. With that great beak of yours, however, I doubt you could properly savor its subtleties.”

This time, it is Kingfisher who bursts into laughter: “Your Majesty still sees the Dao like a piece of sponge—squeeze it here, and it bulges out there. Think about it: if I, a kingfisher, were able to sit and sip imperial tea from a jade cup, could I still soar up to perch lightly upon a branch, alighting as gently as a feather without startling the young praying mantis dozing beside me?”

Qin Shi Huang roars with hearty laughter and nods: “This is indeed the very ‘swordplay of the tongue’ that Grand Chancellor Zhang Yi once wielded to expand Great Qin and shape the destiny of the realm under King Huiwen. I was too hasty in judging the wisdom of the Daoists…”

Before the emperor can finish, Kingfisher interjects: “Hold on… This very night, even you must admit that the awe-inspiring black robes of the emperor cannot compare with the plumage I wear, adorned with all the colors of heaven and earth.”

Qin Shi Huang’s eyes light up as he replies: “You mean that tomorrow morning’s court, the black of Qin shall remain the national hue, embodying the virtue of Water?”

Kingfisher: “Now you are glimpsing the Dao—how fortunate indeed.”

Suddenly, Qin Shi Huang’s expression softens. A trace of concern passes over his face as he lowers his voice: “Even if that black hue allows this throne to last only ten years, would the Daoists still call it ‘a blessing’?”

Kingfisher answers brightly: “Even a single year is a blessing—yet Your Majesty speaks of ten!”

Remembering something, the emperor shakes off his worry and asks: “I have heard that the Daoists’ arts are no idle rumor. Some adepts can refine the elixir of immortality to grant eternal life. Could Ying Zheng learn such a practice?”—suddenly shifting his form of address.

Kingfisher does not answer directly but asks in return: “Is the emperor inquiring about cinnabar?”

Qin Shi Huang hesitates for a moment, then nods slightly.

Kingfisher whispers: “That red mineral does not aid Great Qin in carrying out Heaven’s mandate or harmonizing with the Five Phases. To abandon black for red, solely in pursuit of longevity—does Your Majesty think that accords with the Dao?”

A shadow of worry crosses the emperor’s face. He remains silent for a while, then casts a fleeting glance at the towering piles of memorials and petitions.

Sensing his thoughts, Kingfisher says: “If Your Majesty is resolute, I shall consult the Daoists of Mount Hua to find a method of refining the elixir.”

Qin Shi Huang’s worry lifts; with a voice of gratitude, he declares: “Then I shall swear never to allow anyone under Heaven in Great Qin to damage even half a page of the Daoists’ writings…”

Kingfisher shakes his head, smiling but not smiling: “Does Your Majesty truly think tianxia (天下) harbors the ambition to destroy the Dao? And where does the tianxia itself arise from? Did you not, but a moment ago, still long for the Dao to guide you toward longevity and the immortal realm?”

Qin Shi Huang gives an awkward laugh: “I have forgotten again. Just when I draw a little nearer to the Dao, I find myself pulling away. Desire is indeed difficult to mend.”

Kingfisher reflects: “It is already very good that you recognize this.”

Still embarrassed, Qin Shi Huang replies: “What good is it, when even knowing my faults, I cannot correct them? You jest at Ying Zheng once again.”

Kingfisher answers solemnly: “No jest. It is true. The Daoists can perceive the patterns of Heaven and Earth a thousand years into the future…”

At this, Qin Shi Huang leans forward eagerly: “And what do those patterns reveal? Tell me a little!”

Kingfisher says: “Zhuangzi spoke of a time when every household will have children learning through the new written characters. Poetry, literature, and the examinations will flourish for generations. Farmers will have houses and canals for irrigation. Many generations will know peace around the Great Wall. The laws will sometimes be strict, sometimes lenient, but society may still be said to maintain order for generations. As for Chang’an, after several millennia, it will attract ever more travelers. They will dance, sing, and tell stories to one another about the Great Qin, about the Great Wall, about the wars of the Seven Kingdoms. Some will gaze in deep thought upon the clay figures of soldiers…”

Qin Shi Huang is startled and lowers his voice: “Did I hear wrongly? How could there be soldiers of clay?”

Kingfisher, lightly flapping its wings yet remaining still, replies calmly: “So, Your Majesty still believes that ‘the heaven’s secrets must not be revealed.’ Do you think that your cleverness in concealing the Terracotta Army from the world could ever lie outside the mysteries of the Dao?”

“It is only that I have not yet understood the Dao,” Qin Shi Huang sighs softly, then continues: “Yet Laozi also taught that the Dao maintains balance—taking from what is in excess to fill what is lacking. To walk the Way is to see this truth clearly. Then surely I must ask you to confer further with Zhuangzi. Does this mean that Ying Zheng will one day have to give up something immense?”

Kingfisher gives no further reply. Both fall silent in the depth of night, as crickets play their strings upon the dew-soaked grass outside the study. A trace of poignancy lingers as their discourse on Dao and worldly affairs comes to a close. Then Kingfisher vanishes into the dark, leaving Qin Shi Huang alone with the drifting veil of night and his dream of a thousand ages.

That dream is not what common folk ascribe to him—power, slaves, songs of flattery, or palaces, shrines, and mausoleums. Qin Shi Huang knows that Kingfisher knows his true dream, knows of the Terracotta Army, and the chariots and horses that will continue with him. More dreadful still, Kingfisher knows that he will one day awaken to realize that, before the words of the Daoists, he will be compelled to swear an exchange. Such is the mystery: he has far too much, while the world has far too little. What, then, will he be forced to give?

And so, the First Emperor of Qin drifts into a strange, impermanent dream, unlike any he has ever known—even compared to the bitter years he had once endured as a hostage in Zhao more than thirty years before…

¤

On Mount Hua, Zhuang Zhou asks in a rhetorical tone: “Does he still wish to refine elixirs with cinnabar?”

Kingfisher gives no reply. All that has been discussed, Kingfisher has already recounted in full, not a single word omitted. And whatever has been spoken, however fleetingly or softly, even a hundred years hence, Zhuang will not forget or mistake. Silence is better, more fitting to the Dao. Yet it is clear: though Zhuangzi writes the Free and Easy Wandering, in body, speech, and mind, he still bears traces of the mortal world; even the word Dao at times leans upon worldly affairs. The words of the First Emperor cannot be dismissed from thought…

Still, Zhuang is near the Dao; he is a true sage, whose vision, freed from the mundane, will bring forth insight likewise beyond the mundane. So Kingfisher waits. Patiently, he waits. Is it not Laozi himself who teaches that with a single word—Patience (忍)—one can conquer all under Heaven!?

The Dao of Heaven also reveals itself in due time. At dawn, Zhuangzi comes to Kingfisher’s perch and teases lightly:

“If you haven’t dozed off, then you must be eager to meet the Qin emperor, aren’t you? When will you ever train away this restless eagerness of yours? How can you speak of transcendence, or compassion for the dust of the human world?”

Kingfisher answers without pretense: “If Master Zhuang would but instruct me, I vow from this day to practice with a sincere and single mind.”

Zhuangzi replies: “Qin Shi Huang is no foolish tyrant, no cruel despot. He does not burn books or bury scholars. Nor does he dream of hegemony for the sake of pleasure, self-glory, or the enrichment of his kin.”

“He is thinking of lasting peace. Of teaching and transforming the people. Of devising a path to harmony. A society where reading, writing, and literature flourish, where the economy prospers, and the fields are fertile. Even a thousand years later, many will still enjoy the blessings.”

Kingfisher asks: “Then this accords with the Dao of Heaven? He will succeed?”

Zhuangzi narrows his eyes: “Why so impatient? Not even enough time has passed to finish a single cup of tea.” Then he adds: “He will.”

Kingfisher asks: “And the cinnabar…?”

“It is a great calamity—yet beyond thought or calculation,” Zhuang replies. “The Dao is found here: fortune and misfortune joined together in one.”

Kingfisher asks: “Do you mean that Great Qin may not long uphold the Mandate of Heaven?”

“Impossible, more exactly,” replies Zhuang. “The House of Ying must yield the realm to the House of Liu, marked by the color red. And before too long.”

Kingfisher is stunned: “Then the Qin emperor will have neither achievement, nor long life, nor even a path back to the Dao for Great Qin…”

“Who told a scruffy, fish-snatching bird like you to reason about the Dao in that way?” Zhuangzi mocks. “He will live forever—in his achievements, in his merit, and also in his infamy. Infamy may even outweigh the rest, for when the Dao declines, crooked minds pervade the world. Twisted hearts and thoughts will feed the flames of slander.”

And so their discourse went on, and on, without end…

¤

On the Mid-Autumn night, Qin Shi Huang once again encounters Kingfisher in his study room.

He has awaited this moment for several months. Summer has passed, the Mid-Autumn Festival has come, and the air is cold after many mountain rains. The appearance of Kingfisher fills the mighty emperor with vigor and delight. His dream of the Dao will at last receive an answer from the Dao itself—here, tonight.

Kingfisher faithfully recounts every word, every argument, every exchange from Mount Huashan, without leaving out a single detail.

Qin Shi Huang’s face shifts ceaselessly—hope giving way to worry, worry to exhilaration, exhilaration to hesitation, hesitation to fear. Countless events of history seem to flow through the space of that study, compressed into the brief moment of their dialogue.

All is clear. The great achievement will be the merit of the Great Qin Empire’s founding. His will and labor will live on with the rivers and mountains for a thousand generations. Isn’t the cinnabar itself part of that dream?

He understands. Kingfisher understands. Zhuangzi understands most of all.

But there is still the price to be paid. A sovereign’s word, once given, cannot be withdrawn. This final matter must also be made plain before the covenant can take effect.

Sensing his heart, Kingfisher speaks first: “Your Majesty must endure two things. First, the burden of slander through the ages. Some will understand, many will not. The world will never cease to gossip, to embroider, even to invent stories out of nothing.”

“I have long known this,” says the emperor. “Do they not already say I burned books and buried scholars, imposed cruel punishments, and mistreated loyal ministers? They even whisper that when I laugh, it sounds like a wolf’s howl—as though I were some wild beast. Why should I trouble myself over that? What is the second thing?”

Kingfisher replies: “The years of Heaven.”

The air grows heavy…

After a long silence, Qin Shi Huang asks softly: “Did the sage reveal the mysterious number?”

At that, Kingfisher draws forth a small bamboo slip. On it is Zhuangzi’s own handwriting, inscribed with a single number: “49.”

After reading it, silence falls again. The dream of the Dao carries its price. But the emperor has made his choice.

Epilogue

More than 2,200 years later, history has borne everything out. The dreams came true, and the slanders remained as well, recorded in chronicles for generations. Qin Shi Huang died in 210 BCE at the age of forty-nine, having reigned as emperor for ten years. Eight years later, Liu Bang proclaimed himself emperor of the Han dynasty, making Chang’an the imperial capital. The national color of the Han court was the red of cinnabar.

By the late 20th century, Qin Shi Huang’s tomb was excavated, along with 8,000 clay soldiers, known as the Terracotta Army. The site became a destination for travelers from around the world. Scientists confirmed the use of mercury in protecting the emperor’s mausoleum. One of the main causes of his death was mercury poisoning, primarily from cinnabar (mercury sulfide, chemical formula HgS). At least three cinnabar mines exploited during his reign have been identified.

Today, Zhuangzi is revered as a sage, living on through the Zhuangzi (Nanhua Jing), standing alongside Laozi’s Dao De Jing. As for Kingfisher, his descendants still snatch fish from ponds and lakes day after day, while a few storytellers remember the old tales and pass them on.

(*) This fictional story benefits from the original storytelling by Professor Quan-Hoang Vuong and is rewritten with his consent.

References

[1] Vuong QH. (2024). Wild Wise Weird. https://books.google.com/books?id=N10jEQAAQBAJ 

[2] Zhuang Z. (2022). Zhuangzi. Columbia University Press. https://cup.columbia.edu/book/zhuangzi/9780231123877/

[3] Nguyen MH. (2025). Ripples of the Dao in a conservation talk. https://www.xomchim.com/post/ripples-of-the-dao-in-a-conservation-talk