When people were in Qin, they captured Zhao and questioned Qin.

The flames of the Warring States period had not yet died down, and the mighty Qin dynasty had already taken shape. In the year Ying Zheng returned to Qin, he opened his eyes in Handan and saw the lingering influence of the nomadic tribes, their armored warriors still fiercely loyal; the Yi River, cold and windy, where brave men carried their weapons; beauties, like jade, their eyes radiant; the Hundred Schools of Thought contending, their influence spreading like wildfire. He also saw Qin unifying the world, its fierce armies watching with predatory intent; the five states reveling in their revelry, dying drunk before their palaces; the court decaying, the people treated like mere weeds. His old friend, a youth, had already risen to the pinnacle of power. Dark clouds gathered over Hangu Pass, obscuring the sun, yet he resolutely held the Zhao tripod, pointing it towards the heavens. He would not let the nine provinces suffer the torment of vying for the throne, but would secure a peaceful and prosperous era for the land.