My Imperial Advisor is ChatGPT

Chapter 102 Leaving the Soul on Paper: The Magic of the Camera

In late autumn in Xianyang, the fallen leaves turn golden, covering the newly paved cement road.

The intricate machine of the Qin Empire was running at breakneck speed. Tractors roared across the fields, telephone lines carried electricity through the sky, and cars billowing black smoke occasionally caused a commotion in the streets. Everything was moving faster, so fast that one's memory seemed unable to keep up with the pace of time.

Deep within the Xianyang Palace, Ying Zheng was waging a battle against "time." But this time, his battle was not against aging, but against oblivion.

The Imperial Garden, midday. The sunlight was so bright it was almost blinding.

The once majestic and imposing First Emperor was now in an extremely awkward and passive state. He sat on a specially made mahogany chair, with a cold iron frame behind him. A semi-circular bracket extended from that iron frame, tightly wedging the back of his head and neck.

"Founding the Nation, am I a prisoner?"

Ying Zheng felt as if his neck was welded to an iron frame, making even the slightest movement difficult. He glanced sideways at the figure bustling about, his tone carrying a mixture of dissatisfaction and curiosity.

"Are we going to use torture devices?"

"Your Majesty, this is called a 'head fixation device'."

Wang Jianguo was holding a piece of black velvet cloth and circling around a huge wooden box on a tripod. In the copper ring on the front of the box was a convex lens the size of a baby's fist, like a calm and ruthless eye, staring straight at Ying Zheng.

"This 'black box,' which is a camera, can capture your image forever on a copper plate. However, the current technology (daguerreotype) is still very primitive, and its 'response' is very slow," Wang Jianguo explained while adjusting the lens focus. "You must maintain this posture, without moving, and you can't even blink too fast, for fifteen minutes."

"A quarter of an hour?!" Ying Zheng frowned, and was about to turn his head when he was stopped by the restraints. "It takes an artist half a day to paint a portrait, and you can finish it in a quarter of an hour?"

"It's not painting, it's 'photographing.' It's the light painting itself." Wang Jianguo crawled into the black cloth behind the camera, framing the shot through the frosted glass. "Your Majesty, please look at the lens... Yes, your gaze needs to be sharp, with that 'sweeping across the land and swallowing the eight wastelands' kind of imposing aura... Okay, hold it! Don't move!"

Wang Jianguo took a deep breath and solemnly removed the lens cap.

"The reveal is starting!"

Thus began the longest and most tedious quarter of an hour in the life of the emperor of the Qin Empire.

For the first minute, everything was fine. Ying Zheng maintained his imperial dignity, his back straight, his gaze piercing, as if scrutinizing the envoys from all nations kneeling before him.

In the third minute, an autumn breeze blew by, swirling up a few fallen leaves. Ying Zheng felt a slight itch in his nose, but he resisted the urge.

In the fifth minute, the crisis struck.

A fly, oblivious to its own danger, was clearly drawn by the solemn atmosphere and buzzed over. It circled twice on Ying Zheng's dragon crown before swaggering down onto the bridge of his high nose.

Ying Zheng: "..."

In that instant, Ying Zheng's murderous aura almost materialized. If looks could kill, that fly would have been torn to pieces.

Just as he was about to raise his hand to shoo it away, Wang Jianguo's terrified shout came from the black cloth: "Don't move! Your Majesty, please don't move! If you move, it'll be ruined! If it's ruined, you'll become a faceless monster!"

Ying Zheng's hand froze in mid-air, and he could only lower it in resentment.

He could only endure it.

He tried to shoo away the fly with a slight twitch of his facial muscles, but the fly was clearly a seasoned veteran; it not only didn't fly away, but also rubbed its hands together, as if mocking the powerlessness of this earthly emperor.

Zhao Gao, standing nearby, couldn't bear it any longer. As the most devoted servant, he believed that a subject should die for his master's humiliation!

He held a whisk in his hand, wanting to help, but dared not get too close (for fear of blocking the light), so he could only make faces and wave his sleeves outside the frame, trying to scare away the flies with the airflow.

"Shh! Shh!" Zhao Gao pouted and blew air like a constipated monkey.

The fly didn't fly, and Ying Zheng almost burst out laughing.

This is even more unbearable than a fly!

"Zhao Gao! Get lost!" Ying Zheng squeezed out a few words through gritted teeth. To stay still, his lips barely opened, making a sound similar to ventriloquism.

Finally, after a long standoff, the fly, perhaps bored, flew away.

The next few minutes were filled with tears. Not blinking for so long made Ying Zheng's eyes red, tears welling up. But in the sunlight, this only added a sense of "patriotism and profound sorrow" to his gaze.

"alright!"

With a loud shout as Wang Jianguo slammed the lens cap on, Ying Zheng breathed a sigh of relief, pried open the iron frame, and, disregarding his image, frantically rubbed his aching neck.

"This thing is more tiring than reviewing memorials all day, or beheading ten people," Ying Zheng complained. "If the result isn't good, I'll dismantle this box and burn it, and then exterminate the entire family of that fly that produced it!"

Taking photos is just the first step; the real magic happens in the dark.

Deep within the Xianyang Palace lies a side hall that is strictly sealed off.

There were no windows; all the gaps were covered with thick black cloth, preventing even a sliver of light from getting in. The air was thick with a pungent smell of acid and alcohol, like the scene of a failed alchemy session.

"Imperial Advisor, are you sure... there's nothing supernatural going on here?"

Zhao Gao's voice trembled in the darkness. He clutched a jade pendant tightly in his hand, a symbol of protection against evil. Although he was now the "Marquis of Jiao," his deep-seated fear of the unknown remained ingrained.

"Prefect Zhao, don't move." Wang Jianguo's voice came from the depths of the darkness. "If you spill my medicine, I couldn't pay for it even if I sold you. This is developer, that's fixer, and that... that's a highly toxic mercury vapor fumigation chamber. Stay away."

"Ah? Deadly poison?" Zhao Gao was so frightened that she quickly pulled her hand back into her sleeve. "These hands of mine, which are still serving His Majesty..."

"Quiet."

Another authoritative voice rang out. Although the person could not be seen, the oppressive aura made Zhao Gao instantly shut his mouth.

Ying Zheng sat upright in the darkness, and even though he could not see anything, his posture remained as straight as a pine tree.

"How much longer do we have to wait to establish a nation?" Ying Zheng asked. "I've been sitting in this dark room for a quarter of an hour, and all I can see is this sour smell."

"Your Majesty, this is the final step, development," Wang Jianguo explained. "It's like pouring a chemical solution onto the unseen soul. It requires a little patience."

Just then, a dim red light appeared in the darkness (a red glass kerosene lamp specially made by Wang Jianguo).

This red light won't overexpose the photosensitive plate, but it looks particularly eerie in the pitch-black room, like a ghost lamp from the underworld.

By the eerie red light, everyone saw Wang Jianguo standing in front of a water tank, holding a silver-plated copper plate that had just been taken from the camera and had been fumigated with mercury steam in his hand with bamboo tongs, and gently shaking it in the liquid.

All eyes were focused on that small copper coin.

At first, it was just a bare mirror.

But slowly, a miracle happened.

Gray spots began to appear on the copper plate, gradually merging together to outline its shape.

It was a crown... then the forehead... the eyebrows...

When those sharp, deep, even slightly tired and bloodshot eyes clearly appeared, the court historian (the official in charge of recording the emperor's words and actions) who had been craning his neck to look saw them, his hand trembled.

"Clatter".

The calligraphy brush in his hand fell to the ground.

"A ghost...a ghost!!!"

Zhao Gao let out a scream, collapsing to the ground and pointing at the copper coin, trembling: "Your Majesty! Your soul has been sucked in! This...this is like a person walking out of a mirror! The Imperial Advisor is using sorcery! This is soul-capturing magic! Protect the Emperor! Quickly, protect the Emperor!"

"Shut up!"

Ying Zheng stood up abruptly, also shocked. But unlike Zhao Gao, he didn't lose his composure. Instead, he strode to the water trough and stared intently at the gradually clearing face.

so similar.

No, this isn't just an image; this is who I am.

On the copper coin, the man sat upright on the dragon throne, his face cold and stern, his eyes revealing an aura of domineering arrogance, but the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and the tightly pursed corners of his mouth also revealed the weariness and resilience of a human being.

That is a reality that painters can never reach with their brushes and ink. It is a rubbing of light, a slice of time.

"This..." The Grand Historian picked up his brush, his voice still trembling. "This old minister has spent his whole life recording the emperor's daily activities, writing millions of words to describe His Majesty's countenance, yet nothing is as real as this copper coin. Even if people a thousand years from now see this, they will feel that His Majesty is right before their eyes."

Wang Jianguo rinsed the copper plate with clean water, performed the final fixation, and then carefully handed it to Ying Zheng.

"Your Majesty, please take a look. This is the first photograph in human history."

Ying Zheng accepted the heavy copper coin. The cold touch made his fingertips tremble slightly.

He looked at himself in the photo. It was the first time he had examined himself so objectively and clearly.

The reflection in a mirror is illusory, the reflection in water is undulating, but this is still, it is eternal.

"Little G," Ying Zheng murmured to himself.

[Yes, Brother Zheng.]

"Is this what 'photography' is?"

Yes, Brother Zheng. Although the daguerreotype process is still quite primitive—long exposure times, unreproducible, and only available in black and white—it ushered in an era—the 'age of images.' From then on, history was no longer just a little girl to be dressed up as one pleased; the truth had visible evidence.

[Brother Zheng, this photo you hold is more than just a picture. It's your challenge to time. You are not only a great emperor of all time, but also the "greatest model of all time."]

Ying Zheng's lips curled up slightly, revealing a hint of barely perceptible smugness.

"Model? That's a new word."

He turned to Wang Jianguo: "Jianguo, how long can this thing be preserved?"

"As long as it doesn't wear out and the silver on the surface doesn't oxidize, it can theoretically be preserved for hundreds or even thousands of years."

"A thousand years..." Ying Zheng stroked the bronze coin. "Will people thousands of years from now be able to see what I look like now?"

"Yes. They will know that Qin Shi Huang was not the legendary blue-faced, fanged, eight-foot-tall monster, but a... well, a middle-aged man with sharp eyes, dark circles under his eyes, a high nose bridge, and a slightly... cough cough, in short, a wise and mighty man."

Ying Zheng laughed heartily, his laughter echoing in the small, dark room.

"Good! What a wonderful idea to leave one's soul on paper!" Ying Zheng's eyes burned with fervor. "I want to take pictures! Take many pictures! I want to take pictures when I tour the world, I want to take pictures when I hold court, and I... I want to take pictures even when I'm old."

"I want future generations to see that this Qin empire was built step by step by me! I want them to know what their ancestors looked like!"

However, the uses of photography went far beyond simply taking portraits of emperors.

As a pragmatist, Li Si quickly recognized its enormous potential in the "construction of the rule of law".

The Court of Justice, the prison.

Li Si was accompanying Wang Jianguo on a round of inspections in the dark prison cell.

"Grand Preceptor, look." Li Si pointed to a poster on the wall. It was a wanted poster with a picture of a burly man with a full beard. The drawing was extremely abstract, and it was basically no different from "Zhang Fei" or "Li Kui".

"This batch consists of the remnants of the Six Kingdoms' loyalists, along with a few notorious bandits," Li Si sighed. "In the past, we relied on drawing portraits to capture people. Those artists drew them with eyebrows and beards all haphazardly, making them look like villains, but no one could recognize them."

"As a result, prisoners could simply put on a fake beard, change their clothes, or even add a mole, and walk out of the city gate with impunity. The arrest rate was pitifully low."

Li Si turned to Wang Jianguo, his eyes flashing with the cold light characteristic of Legalists: "Grand Preceptor, could you... also give them one of those 'Soul-Capturing Photos'?"

Wang Jianguo was taken aback for a moment, then gave a thumbs up: "The Prime Minister is wise. This is called a 'mugshot.' But when taking pictures of prisoners, there's no need to be so particular. They don't need to pose, and there's no need to worry about them moving around."

"Still not moving?" Li Si sneered. "Once they're in the Court of Justice, there are plenty of ways to make them stay put."

Thus, the first "official photography studio" of the Qin Dynasty opened in the prison of the Court of Justice.

There were no mahogany chairs, only an interrogation chair with iron shackles.

There was no soft natural light, only a few glaring kerosene lamps shining directly on our faces.

"Next! You one-eyed 'Thousand-Faced Gentleman,' come here!"

A prisoner with a grotesque face and one blind eye was dragged over. He was initially defiant and tried to struggle.

"Behave yourself!"

Two jailers stepped forward and skillfully used specially made leather straps to firmly fix his head to the back of the chair. They even used a clamp to pry open his eyelids (similar to the device in "A Clockwork Orange") to forcibly open his eyes to prevent him from closing them or turning his head around.

"Look at the camera! Don't move! Moving will result in more severe punishment!"

Wang Jianguo removed the lens cap.

"Click!" (There was actually no sound, only the action of lifting the lid, but the prisoners imagined the sound of their souls being taken away).

a few days later.

At the city gate of Xianyang, the notice board that used to be covered with abstract paintings has been replaced with brand new content.

No longer a few strokes of impressionistic painting, but a clear black-and-white photograph where even the freckles, moles, and scars on a face can be counted. Although these photographs were directly pasted onto the originals because the copperplate printing technology had not yet caught up (extremely expensive, but worthwhile to capture the essence), the effect was stunning.

[Reward Notice from the Qin Dynasty's Court of Justice]

Name: Robber Zhi (codename)

Crimes: Stealing rubber from the national treasury, damaging utility poles

Distinguishing features: a scar on the left cheek, triangular eyes, bulbous nose, and a piece missing from the right ear (see photo).

Reward: A thousand gold pieces

Note: The photos are created by light and shadow, and are not fake!

The onlookers were in an uproar.

"My God! This painting is so lifelike!"

"What kind of painting is this! I heard it was created by the Imperial Advisor using magic to directly copy the prisoner's face!"

"Look at those eyes, so fierce! These bad guys won't be able to hide anymore!"

Hangu Pass, the eastern gateway to the Qin Dynasty.

An old man wearing a straw hat, with plasters on his face and walking with a limp was trying to sneak into the caravan leaving the pass.

He was the notorious thief known as the "Thousand-Faced Gentleman." He was confident his disguise skills were unparalleled; his face, covered in plasters, was so convincing that even his own mother wouldn't recognize him. As for the abstract painting on that wanted poster? Ha! Was that supposed to be Zhong Kui, the demon king?

"Stop! Road sign!"

The Qin army centurion guarding the pass stopped him.

The old man shakily handed over the forged travel permit, his face plastered with a fawning smile: "Sir, this old man is going to Luoyang to visit relatives..."

The centurion took the travel permit, looked at it, and then looked at the old man.

In the past, the centurion might have simply waved them through. But today is different.

The centurion pulled a copper coin wrapped in silk from his pocket—it was a "photograph" that had been sent urgently.

He looked at the photo, then at the old man.

Although the person in the photo wasn't wearing plasters or a straw hat, his bulbous nose, triangular eyes, and especially the tiny black mole below his right ear were clearly visible.

The centurion laughed. He walked up to the old man and suddenly ripped the plaster off the old man's face.

"Oh dear! Sir, what's wrong with you...?" The old man was shocked.

"Keep acting, keep acting!" The centurion held up the coin next to the old man's face and shouted to the soldiers behind him, "Brothers, look, does it look like him?"

The soldiers crowded around, looking at the coins and then at the old man.

"Hey! Amazing! Even the location of the mole is exactly the same!"

"This isn't just disguise; it's like getting a new layer of skin—you still can't escape!"

The old man stared at the copper coin, at the "himself" inside it, and completely broke down.

His prized skill in disguise became a joke in the face of absolute truth. He knelt on the ground with a thud, his face ashen.

"This...this is sorcery...I refuse to accept it...I refuse to accept it..."

"Take him away!" the centurion waved his hand. "Tell the Minister of Justice that we've caught a 'fish that slipped through the net.' Also, these photos are really useful; I suggest issuing a set to every one of our brothers guarding the pass!"

Epilogue: The Negative of History

Xianyang Palace, night.

Ying Zheng flipped through the memorials presented by Li Si.

"In just half a month, relying on 'photographs,' more than 300 fugitives and assassins from the six states have been captured in various places." Ying Zheng looked at the data and exclaimed, "Li Si was right, this thing is more effective than a thousand troops."

"Little G".

[Yes, Brother Zheng.]

"Do you think this camera can reveal the human heart?"

[Photographs can only reveal the surface, Brother Zheng. The human heart is too deep for light to penetrate. However, when all of a person's movements and appearances are laid bare, their hearts will no longer dare to easily commit evil. This is 'technological deterrence.']

Ying Zheng nodded and picked up his "standard portrait" from the table.

The First Emperor in the photo coldly observes all of this.

"Issue my decree."

"First, the Court of Justice shall establish a 'Criminal Archives' whereby all those imprisoned shall be photographed and their records kept on file."

"Second, the Court of State Ceremonial will take photos of envoys from various countries. I want to remember the face of every enemy in the world."

"Third," Ying Zheng paused, looking out the window at the Xianyang city under construction, "let Wang Jianguo take pictures of the streets of Xianyang, the working people, and the factories that are emitting smoke."

"I want the Great Qin Dynasty of this moment to live on these copper coins forever."

"Because I have a premonition that the world will change very quickly. I fear that future generations will forget how the Great Qin Dynasty crawled out of the mud."

Every flash of the camera (though it is still sunlight now) leaves an indelible mark of light and shadow on the body of this ancient empire.

The Qin Dynasty officially entered an era where pictures and facts speak for themselves.