HCT – Chapter 138 The Map of Chu on the Wall

Shortly after the autumn harvest, the textile workshop began operating at full speed, and Lu Buwei’s merchant caravan set out on its journey south.

Although the Chu State and southern Qin were separated by the Yangtze River, commercial exchanges were not prohibited.

The Yue region south of the Yangtze wasn’t economically developed, but luxury goods like pearls and silk from the Baiyue tribes were highly coveted by the Chu nobility. These luxuries were essential to them.

Lu Buwei’s caravan entered Chu under the banner of “Lu Buwei’s household retainers” and began dealings with Chu’s feudal lords. In the process, he uncovered a secret about Chu.

After Bai Qi conquered Chu’s ancestral land, the damage was not only psychological. A more severe issue arose—Bai Qi’s rapid, annihilative tactics meant that while nobles fled with their clans and guards, they left behind the low-status artisans.

In the Warring States period, advanced craftsmanship in fields like lacquerware, bronzeware, and ironwork was not only a major source of national revenue but also a measure of military strength. Kings often concentrated their best craftsmen near the capital for easier management.

Chu had once boasted highly advanced craftsmanship.

Archaeological finds from early in the Warring States period show that Chu bronze swords were of excellent quality and lacquerware exquisitely crafted. Officially made bronzeware and lacquerware often bore the names and affiliations of their artisans, who were mostly under Chu’s employ during the early Spring and Autumn period.

After Bai Qi’s assault on Chu, its craftsmanship regressed noticeably.

Following the fall of Yingdu, in tombs from Chu’s later eastern migration—such as bronze artifacts unearthed from the Li Sangu mound used by the Chu royal family—craftsmanship was crude and no longer comparable to the earlier period’s official works.

Worse still, many of these bronzes were crafted by foreign artisans employed by Chu. The fact that items used by the Chu king were now made by foreigners was evidence that Chu had lost many of its skilled local craftsmen.

Later Chu aristocratic tombs even yielded lacquerware inscribed with “Cheng Market,” indicating it was purchased from Chengdu.

Chu, once a major producer and exporter of lacquerware, now had nobles being buried with lacquerware imported from Chengdu merchants.

From these archaeological fragments, one can piece together a fact: the rapid decline in artisanal craftsmanship signaled a collapse in Chu’s productivity. Though Chu still appeared powerful on the surface, it was hollow within, full of vulnerabilities waiting to be exploited.

This is something future generations could learn through archaeology—but at the time, no one in the other six states should have known.

The Warring States period was characterized by poor transportation and constant warfare, making information hard to come by.

Aside from spies—such as the terrifying Qin intelligence network built for spreading disinformation—only merchant caravans could gather foreign intelligence.

Yet state spies only concerned themselves with rulers and top officials, and merchants only cared about profits. Thus, no one deduced from the decline in Chu’s craftsmanship that its national strength was more fragile than it appeared.

It would take over two thousand years before archaeologists would uncover the truth from scattered remnants of history.

But Lu Buwei was not just a merchant—he had keen political insight. He had come to Chu precisely for a “trade war,” and quickly noticed this vital intelligence that Chu had not deliberately hidden, but others had overlooked out of habit.

Still, he couldn’t fully grasp what future archaeologists would conclude from a bird’s-eye view of history. But he realized that Chu’s weakened craftsmanship meant he could sell more goods to the eastern-migrated, lower-living-standard Chu nobility. This also meant the nobles were more likely to fall into his “grain-to-cotton” trap.

Moreover, the Chu state-run workshops were severely short of skilled craftsmen. Even the king’s utensils were said to lack intricate patterns. Lu Buwei saw the opportunity to train his own highly skilled artisans and send them in as spies to gather intelligence on Chu’s weapon production.

If he could find out the approximate output of Chu’s state-run arms workshops, he could infer Chu’s military intentions based on fluctuations in production.

Despite his graying beard, Lu Buwei couldn’t help but clench his fists and wave them in excitement.

Back in Xianyang, even though he was close to the King of Qin, he could do little beyond socializing with nobles and gathering retainers.

At the time, he thought that being a noble meant applying the same tricks from the business world to the court. But Lord Zhu Xiang had told him his talents shouldn’t be wasted there.

“Helping Xia Tong in his darkest hour gave you a chance to make a name for yourself in Qin. But to truly gain a foothold in this benefit-driven Qin court, you must earn undeniable, concrete merit,” Zhu Xiang said, taking himself as an example. “I can freely enter and leave the Xianyang Palace not because I’m the Crown Prince’s brother-in-law—but because I am the best farmer in all of Qin.”

“Lu Buwei, you already have enough wealth and status. What remains is the ambition to leave your mark on history. Don’t let temporary fame and fortune blind you.”

That was the first sincere conversation between Lu Buwei and Zhu Xiang during their journey south.

Lu Buwei didn’t fully understand what Zhu Xiang meant—but that was okay. He knew Zhu Xiang had pointed him in the right direction. All he needed to do was walk that path.

I will earn merit alongside Lord Zhu Xiang!

Not because I helped bring the Crown Prince Zichu back to Qin and gained favor—but by climbing step by step through real accomplishments!

For Lu Buwei, it meant turning his specialty—hoarding and manipulating markets—into honest, steady business efforts to build capital. It wasn’t his strength, but he didn’t fear it either.

Lu Buwei had thought he’d have to wait a long time before seeing Chu’s weakness and getting his chance.

But soon after arriving in Chu, he’d already discovered its vulnerabilities—through both commercial and political lenses.

Excited as he was, he also worried—was he overthinking? Would taking action now disrupt Lord Zhu Xiang’s larger plan?

He hurried back to Wu County to consult Zhu Xiang.

After hearing Lu Buwei’s analysis, Zhu Xiang immediately connected Chu’s industrial decline to the relocation of its capital northward.

He also identified another weakness in Chu—an even more fatal flaw than its susceptibility to trade war.

Wu County and the southern bank of the Yangtze (modern-day Nantong area) often traded, and one could find many exquisite Chu coins there, crafted by local Chu artisans. Chu merchants under the feudal lords often used gold coins in trade.

Though gold was softer than bronze and easier to carve, judging by the fine craftsmanship, it was clear there were still capable artisans under local feudal lords.

Compared to the Chu King’s cruder bronzes, which even required foreign artisans, it seemed the nobles lived better lives.

And the coastal areas near the Yangtze weren’t even traditional noble fiefdoms. What about the territories of the powerful Qu, Jing, and Zhao clans? Were they even more prosperous?

After the failure of Chu’s reforms, the state retained a most peculiar and outdated system of shared rule between king and nobility. The Qu, Jing, and Zhao clans were the leading noble factions.

These three families originated from the Chu royal line. To use a later analogy, Chu’s political structure at the time resembled early Qing China. Chu was a “co-governed system by royal banners,” where the heads of Qu, Jing, and Zhao were like the “three chief banner lords,” and other feudal lords were “minor banner holders.”

Back when Yingdu was the capital, the three clans each occupied a district—called “Zhao Lane,” “Qu Lane,” and “Jing Lane.” The position of “Sanlü Dafu” (Three-Lane Minister) managed these clans and was similar to the later Qing Imperial Clan Court.

Nominally, the Chu King was “chief of the Eight Banners,” but in reality, he only directly commanded the “Upper Three Banners.”

The Battle of Yingdu had devastated the “Upper Three Banners,” and with that, the king’s power waned. One could observe the degree of this decline by comparing the regression of craftsmanship in the new capital to that in the noble fiefs.

A long-span civilization has its perks—not just that future generations can find precedents in vast records, but also that transmigrators like Zhu Xiang can deduce current crises from familiar patterns of the future. And find exactly where to apply pressure to deepen that crisis.

Zhu Xiang’s thoughts suddenly became clear—and his heart skipped a beat.

He was now certain his guess was correct—because countless countries in the future, in similar circumstances to Chu, had proved it true.

If I strike first, could I cause Chu to split—or even… collapse ahead of time?

Zhu Xiang forced himself to stop that terrifying thought—but then laughed at his own hypocrisy.

Qin’s goal was to unify the world. Chu was the enemy. Qin and Chu were destined for war after war. Whether or not he made a move, countless would still die.

Better to win quickly.

If he didn’t want a swift victory, he wouldn’t have taken charge of the Qin-Chu trade war. What was the point of pretending to be virtuous now?

“We need the cooperation of Li Mu and Wang Jian,” Zhu Xiang paused, then added, “No, not just them—we also need cooperation from Shu Commandery, Ba Commandery, Qianzhong Commandery, Nan Commandery, and Wu Commandery.”

Lu Buwei was utterly shocked. “What?” Isn’t this just a business deal, or maybe placing a few spies? Why such a grand mobilization?

Zhu Xiang’s tone was cold and firm. “The cracks have already appeared in Chu. We can use those cracks to break the country apart.”

“B-Break it apart?” Lu Buwei repeated the words, his mind blank, yet a sense of inexplicable dread crept in.

“It’s merely turning Chu into another Eastern Zhou—one more minor Warring State.” Zhu Xiang clenched his fist, then slowly loosened it, speaking in a flat voice.

The term “Spring and Autumn and Warring States” had already appeared many times in the current classics. Lu Buwei understood what Zhu Xiang meant by using the term “Warring States.”

Zhu Xiang’s words made him feel both excited and uneasy—he was eager to charge into battle alongside Zhu Xiang.

But Zhu Xiang urged him to calm down. For now, they would rest in Wu Commandery and wait for Li Mu and Wang Jian to return to discuss the matter together.

Upon receiving Zhu Xiang’s letter, Li Mu and Wang Jian returned—this time not only with Ying Zheng accompanied by Li Si and Meng Tian as observers, but also with Han Fei, who had been “missing” for quite some time, finally arriving in Wu Commandery.

Han Fei’s once fair and delicate noble face was now tanned into a healthy wheat color, looking like a vibrant young man. Even his elegant scholarly beard had been replaced by a practical short stubble.

He brought a large chest of books and came to report his years of “academic achievements” to Zhu Xiang. But before he could say a word, he was dragged into a secret meeting on Chu and assigned to take notes.

Han Fei gripped his brush, nearly pulling out its bristles in anxiety.

He hadn’t even decided to fully pledge loyalty to Qin yet—was it really okay to be entrusted with such classified information?

Li Si shot him a glance and whispered irritably, “You’re not planning to snitch to the King of Chu, are you? If not, what’s there to worry about? You’re just taking notes.”

That one line from Li Si calmed Han Fei down.

Meng Tian looked at Li Si and Han Fei with envy.

He had known Li Si for a long time, and Li Si had always treated him with respect—never once speaking to him in such a casual tone. Even though he knew their age gap made close friendship unlikely, he still felt terribly lonely.

Meng Tian bit the end of his brush—lonely.

Ying Zheng glanced at Han Fei and Li Si, then at Meng Tian acting all childish (though he was indeed still young), and sighed internally like a little old man.

When it came to maturity, none of his subordinates could compare to his uncles, let alone his maternal uncle.

“This is the current map of Chu.” Zhu Xiang got straight to the point, hanging a map of Chu on the wall. “Let me explain the markings.”

Those who studied agriculture were naturally adept at geography. Zhu Xiang might have a vague memory of administrative divisions and major mineral resources, but when it came to drawing terrain and waterways, he didn’t even need to think.

He could even annotate the main grain-producing areas on the map—but that was knowledge from two thousand years in the future, and had no relevance now.

Using memory and currently available maps of Chu, Zhu Xiang outlined the general layout of Chu’s mountains, plains, and cities.

Li Mu was already very familiar with Zhu Xiang’s style—he had learned to draw maps using some of the “symbols” Zhu Xiang had invented.

Wang Jian had seen these maps from Li Mu before, but only now realized they were originally drawn by Zhu Xiang. Li Mu hadn’t even told him—what kind of friend was that?

Lu Buwei, Li Si, Han Fei, and Meng Tian were all in the dark—so Zhu Xiang’s explanations were primarily for their benefit.

After finishing, Zhu Xiang annotated the cities with the names of the fief lords.

From the map, one could clearly see that the King of Chu resembled the Zhou King in the Spring and Autumn period—he directly governed only a few commanderies, while most of the major cities were under the control of feudal lords.

Chu had adopted the commandery-county system during Wu Qi’s reforms. After those reforms were abolished, the dual system of commandery-county and feudal lords remained, but the feudal system gradually dominated.

The King of Chu’s directly governed regions were mainly around the capital Ying, forming a “stars circling the moon” pattern. After Bai Qi captured Ying, most of these lands fell.

Even before Zhu Xiang spoke his conclusion, everyone present was smart enough to see that the King of Chu had essentially been sidelined by the feudal lords.

After marking the map, Zhu Xiang brought up the Battle of Yingdu and asked Lu Buwei to share what he discovered during his trip to Chu.

Lu Buwei was extremely enthusiastic, grateful that Zhu Xiang gave him this chance to shine.

Ying Zheng had complicated feelings.

Alright, he admitted, Lu Buwei was indeed a capable man. Even without the opportunity to become his “Zhongfu” (Foster Father), he might have earned a title through merit.

But now, even if he called Lu Buwei “Zhongfu,” would Lu Buwei dare respond?

My father would have his head!

Ying Zheng suddenly felt pleased and decided to go a little easier on Lu Buwei.

At least don’t demote him for not having set foot in the Xianyang Palace—just let him work hard for me, but withhold any rewards.

After Lu Buwei’s report, Li Mu and Wang Jian both looked moved.

Li Mu was already smiling, while Wang Jian was still frowning in thought. From their expressions, it was clear Li Mu was slightly more mature at this point—Wang Jian still needed some tempering.

Li Si, Meng Tian, and Han Fei were also frowning, deep in thought.

Zhu Xiang didn’t immediately announce his conclusions. He gave everyone time to think.

“Zheng’er, what do you think?” he first asked Ying Zheng.

Ying Zheng said, “If it were me, I would provoke a deeper conflict between the King of Chu and his feudal lords—support one who doesn’t belong to the three major noble clans to fight the others. How about Lord Chunshen?”

Zhu Xiang turned to the three “youngsters”: Li Si, Han Fei, and Meng Tian. “What about you?”

Li Si was the first to speak. “The greatest risk in selling cloth and buying grain from Chu is if the King of Chu bans trade. But if the feudal lords don’t obey him, we could trade directly with them.”

Meng Tian hesitated for a long time before sheepishly saying, “I think the same as Li Si.” He was still just a clever young lad—efficient but not yet deeply strategic.

Zhu Xiang noticed Han Fei hesitating and encouraged, “Take your time—no rush.”

Han Fei took a deep breath and said, “I think… we can just… attack Chu directly.”

He still stammered a bit, but after traveling south and talking with farmers, he had learned to speak slowly. His stammer had become more of a quirky pause than a speech impediment—a major improvement.

Li Si and Meng Tian both snapped their heads toward Han Fei. Even Ying Zheng looked at him, full of suspicion.

Was Han Fei scheming again to weaken Chu for Han’s benefit by deliberately offering bad advice?

Li Mu chuckled and said, “I think so too.”

Wang Jian disagreed. “Chu may be weakened, but it’s vast. You’d need at least a million troops to conquer it completely.”

Ying Zheng stroked his finely shaped chin. Ah, my General Wang Jian here hasn’t fully grown into himself yet. Later you’ll say only 600,000 are needed!

Wang Jian continued, “Even with a million troops, if the other five states come to Chu’s aid, we may still fail.”

Li Mu smiled faintly. “We can attack Chu now—but that doesn’t mean we should aim to destroy it all at once.”

Wang Jian frowned at first, then suddenly brightened. “Ah—I see! That’s definitely possible!”

Han Fei nodded. “That’s what I meant too.”

Li Si, excellent at internal affairs but clueless about warfare or noble politics, frowned so hard he could crush a mosquito between his brows.

What exactly do you all mean? How come Han Fei figured it out but I didn’t?!

Meng Tian’s eyes were already glazed over. Sorry, I’m lost.

Zhu Xiang looked at Ying Zheng.

Not to be outdone, Ying Zheng said, “Uncle, don’t say it yet—let me think.”

He hopped off his chair and walked up to the map, closely studying it while replaying what everyone had said and trying to deduce what Li Mu, Wang Jian, and Han Fei were getting at.

Zhu Xiang shook his head with a smile.

Ying Zheng’s legs weren’t that short anymore, yet he still liked jumping down from chairs—what a hyperactive kid.

Hope he doesn’t leap off the throne like that when he becomes King of Qin. If Xunzi lives to see it, he might break his own leg in exasperation.

“Zhu Xiang! Is this how you teach Zheng’er proper manners?!”

Yes—his own leg, not Zheng’er’s. Zhu Xiang could already picture Xunzi’s furious face.

“Zheng’er, Uncle will give you a hint,” Zhu Xiang said. “After being tricked, King Huai of Chu was so furious he launched a full-scale attack on Qin. At first he won, but then he lost badly, ending in total defeat at Lantian. He had no choice but to personally come to Qin to beg for peace.”

Ying Zheng frowned thoughtfully, hands behind his back, staring at Lantian on the map.

After a while, he said, “When King Huai attacked Qin, Qin was initially unable to resist. But it then persuaded Wei, Han, and Zhao to take advantage of Chu’s exposed rear and attack it—forcing Chu to fight on both fronts…”

He paused, then his brows eased and he laughed aloud. “I see! Wei, Han, and Zhao attacked the Jianghuai region—where many of Chu’s feudal lords are concentrated.”

Li Mu nodded in satisfaction.

Encouraged by his teacher’s approval, Ying Zheng continued to follow the thread of thought:

“Chu, like Zhou, relied on its feudal lords to bring their own armies when the king declared war. When Wei, Han, and Zhao attacked the cities of these lords, they were more concerned about their own lands than about rewards for defeating Qin. So the king wanted to advance, but the lords wanted to retreat—Chu’s offensive stalled, morale dropped, and they were defeated at Lantian.”

“When signs of defeat began to show at Lantian, the feudal lords immediately used it as an excuse to withdraw their troops, which led to the Chu king’s crushing defeat,” Li Mu added. “Many feudal lords are sending out troops now merely to expand their own fiefdoms.”

That was exactly what the maternal uncle of King Zhaoxiang of Qin had done.

Cities attacked by a feudal lord near their own territory would be annexed into their fiefdom, not the state that had conferred the title.

Ying Zheng asked, “If we only attack a few specific feudal lords, maybe the Chu king won’t send reinforcements?”

Li Mu replied, “Zheng’er, think again—what am I best at?”

Ying Zheng almost said “naval warfare,” but swallowed the words before they came out and thought more carefully.

Was his teacher good at naval warfare? Absolutely.

But was he best at naval warfare? Definitely not! His teacher had made his name fighting the Xiongnu at Yanmen Commandery—he was most skilled in plains cavalry raids!

Ying Zheng took a deep breath and said uncertainly, “Teacher, are you thinking of dispatching several cavalry units to harass different fief cities, forcing them to stretch their defenses thin and fall into chaos?”

Li Mu smiled, “If you’ve thought of that, you’re ready to command troops.”

Ying Zheng raised a proud smile, then quickly suppressed it, remembering he was supposed to keep a neutral expression. He straightened his face and asked, “But how does that benefit us?”

Li Mu replied, “I only identify opportunities for war. As for the benefits—that depends on what Zhu Xiang thinks.”

Zhu Xiang asked, “Zheng’er, do you want to keep thinking about it?”

Ying Zheng narrowed his eyes and said, “No.”

He returned to his seat and lifted his chin, signaling his uncle to get on with it.

Zhu Xiang chuckled and began explaining his plan.

This time, it was a combination of trade war and raids, with support for a seemingly frontal military campaign.

“Bazhou has few fields and many soldiers, and the tribes are fierce. As long as Shujun supplies Bazhou with enough grain, we can organize a barbarian army from Bazhou to attack Chu from the flank. The Chu capital, Chendu, is in the western region. If Bazhou launches an attack, the Chu king will definitely panic and call in the feudal lords for reinforcements.”

“A frontal assault should be led by Lord Lian and Wang Jian—they are the best at it.”

“Once the Chu army is gathered, Li Mu will use the navy to transport cavalry across the southern bank of the Yangtze, capture ports along the river, and then carry dry rations for a long-distance cavalry raid…”

Zhu Xiang paused and looked toward the coast.

“We could also launch from the sea, or take a two-pronged approach and establish footholds on both fronts. The Chu heartlands are nearly all flatlands—perfect for unhindered cavalry movement.”

Li Mu said, “Only attack cities, don’t defend them.”

Zhu Xiang nodded, “Yes, focus on…”

He gritted his teeth and continued, “Focus on annihilation and disruption.”

Li Mu said, “The feudal lords of Chu will surely want to retreat to protect their fiefs, but the Chu king won’t allow it. If they retreat, he could be the next King Huai of Chu.”

“That’s when Cai Ze and Lin Li should come into play—persuade the Chu feudal lords to declare independence,” Zhu Xiang added. “If their fiefs are gone, what do they care if the capital survives?”

Han Fei said, “Even if they don’t declare independence—as long as rumors spread that they might, it’s enough!”

He clenched his fist. “Some feudal lords will break off!”

Li Si tried hard to keep up with everyone’s train of thought and said, “The trade war can also sow discord between the Chu king and the feudal lords. The military action should follow after the trade war achieves some impact.”

Lu Buwei added, “Exactly. First, make them swap grain for cotton and hemp, then fill their granaries with cloth and luxury goods. By the time war breaks out, they’ll have no military rations, and chaos will spread faster.”

“The Chu king likely won’t buy much cloth. Maybe he’ll have food, but the feudal lords won’t,” Li Si continued. “He’ll use food supplies to force them not to retreat.”

Han Fei said, “And maybe… a civil revolt!”

Meng Tian anxiously scratched his head, eager to contribute. But everyone was speaking so fast, he couldn’t keep up.

Meng Tian nearly burst into tears.

He had thought he was at least on par with Li Si, but why was he falling behind? Even Han Fei, who arrived midway, kept up!

Was he destined to live off his father’s coattails forever, as a second-in-command basking in reflected glory?

Zhu Xiang said, “This is a long-term plan. If it succeeds, we can go back to ruling by using the Huai River as the boundary.”

Li Mu raised an eyebrow, “Rule by the Huai River?”

Zhu Xiang chuckled, “That will depend on the abilities of General Li Mu and General Wang Jian.”

Li Mu said, “Then let’s rule by the Huai River.”

Ying Zheng grumbled, “Why can’t we just destroy Chu outright?”

Zhu Xiang said, “As long as Chu has breath left in its body, its king and feudal lords won’t be of one mind. It needs to be the last to fall.”

Li Mu half-joked, “Even if only the Chu capital remains, Chu still exists.”

Ying Zheng pinched his chin, “Fine, let them have that.”

Zhu Xiang added, “Taking the Jiang-Huai plain has another benefit—it’s a major grain-producing region…”

He frowned, “With such fertile land and even Wu Qi’s reform in their history, why is Chu’s farmland still so poorly managed? Only a few noble estates use oxen and iron tools.”

Ying Zheng said, “Uncle, do you really expect commoners to have iron and bronze tools, or oxen to plow their land? Tools and oxen are more valuable than a peasant’s life.”

Zhu Xiang replied, “Zheng’er, don’t follow their example.”

Ying Zheng was speechless. Uncle, do you think I’m an idiot? My great-great-grandfather was already providing tools and oxen to farmers. Am I dumber than him?

Zhu Xiang said, “This is a long-term plan. I’ll report it to His Majesty and have him discuss it with the ministers—”

Ying Zheng interrupted, “Better not. I’m afraid they’ll leak it to Chu.”

Zhu Xiang asked, “Then let His Majesty think it through himself?”

Ying Zheng looked at his previously brilliant uncle now speaking foolishly and ignored him.

Uncle was always like this—brilliant one moment, foolish the next. No one knew if he was acting.

Probably not.

What Ying Zheng didn’t know was that Zhu Xiang’s current behavior would later be called “intermittent IQ drops.”

Zhu Xiang didn’t realize anything was off. He continued discussing arrangements with the others.

He never even considered that the King of Qin might reject his proposal.

Even if it involved attacking Chu and deciding national policy, he was sure the king would agree.

Zhu Xiang didn’t just have confidence—he simply assumed it, and so did everyone else.

Lu Buwei continued his business expedition to the south in Chu.

This time, besides selling cotton, pearls from Yue, rare furs—“luxury goods”—to the feudal lords, he also secretly taught them how to grow cotton. He used the trip to refine maps of Chu’s mountains, rivers, and cities.

Li Mu, using Zhu Xiang’s current map, had already drawn up marching routes. Lu Buwei’s job was to walk every stretch of it, figure out which fief it belonged to, the character and customs of the feudal lord’s family, their farmlands and taxes.

Once Wang Jian received his appointment from the Qin king Zhu, he would head to Bazhou to drill troops.

Zhu Xiang said both he and Lian Po could go to Bazhou, but Lian Po was busy attacking Han and would likely remain in familiar territory in the Three Jin regions. The general for Bazhou would certainly be Wang Jian.

Wang Jian was nervous.

He’d gained lots of experience and confidence serving as Li Mu’s deputy, but this would be his first time commanding on his own.

And the target was Chu.

With Bai Qi’s legendary feats as a comparison, Wang Jian didn’t dare compare himself to the great General Wu’an, but he did hope to achieve something impressive.

He would now recruit, train, and lead troops—handle everything himself. Just thinking about the responsibility made it hard to sleep.

Li Mu comforted him, saying this was how it had been for him in Yanmen.

Now it was Wang Jian’s turn to take the first step.

Wang Jian was speechless. Was that comfort, or a jab?

Ah, sorry, only now I’m taking the first step.

Wang Jian grumbled, “Why did you have to come to Qin? If you hadn’t come, I’d be Qin’s top general. I wouldn’t need to recruit and train—just point, and a million soldiers would follow.”

Li Mu said, “Yeah, sorry, I came to Qin.”

Wang Jian almost wanted to punch him.

Zhu Xiang heard this and quickly brought Ying Zheng over to egg them on, shouting, “Fight, fight!” He ended up being dragged into sword practice and horseback drills by Li Mu and Wang Jian—utter misery.

Ying Zheng laughed like a goose.

His teacher fighting with General Wang made him happy; his uncle suffering made him even happier.

Once Zhu Xiang finalized the plan, he had it rushed back to Xianyang in Qin.

King Zhu of Qin received the encrypted urgent message and was too scared to open it.

Gripping Zichu’s hand, he choked up, “What’s going on with Zhu Xiang? Why send an urgent report out of the blue?”

Zichu was worried too, but tried to console him, “It’s just an urgent message—maybe he’s leading troops south to farm again. If it were something truly serious, General Li or General Wang would’ve delivered it in person.”

As long as nothing had happened to Zhu Xiang, Xue Ji, or Zheng’er, it wasn’t serious.

Even losing Wu Commandery wouldn’t count.

King Zhu of Qin took a deep breath. “You’re right.”

He steadied his chest and opened the letter—and almost ripped it in two: “Zhu Xiang wants to attack Chu?!”

Zichu almost fainted from a racing heart: “Zhu Xiang is leading troops to attack Chu?!”

Lin Zhi and Cai Ze rushed in after receiving the royal summons and were shocked.

Cai Ze: “Zhu Xiang’s gone to Chu?!”

Lin Zhi: “How far has he gotten? Why is he personally leading troops? Where are Li Mu and Wang Jian? Didn’t Zheng’er and Xue Ji stop him?!”

King Zhu of Qin took a deep breath and explained, “Zhu Xiang says… he found a good opportunity to attack Chu.”

Zichu, Cai Ze, and Lin Zhi all gave King Zhu a look of utter betrayal.

Your Majesty, can you stop dropping dramatic pauses? “Found a good opportunity” and “launching a war” are NOT the same!

King Zhu chuckled, “Zhu Xiang really gave me a wonderful surprise!”

The three stared at him in silence.

Your Majesty, you’re the one who surprised us.

Only then did King Zhu realize their expressions were off. After thinking for a moment, he finally realized the chaos his earlier words had caused.

“Ahem. Let’s all read Zhu Xiang’s letter together,” he said, smoothly deflecting. A king never apologizes.

The three sighed and obediently sat down.

Zhu Xiang had briefly outlined the strategy in the letter and enclosed notes written by Li Si, Han Fei, and Meng Tian from the meeting, for King Zhu to read himself.

Each note had gaps, but together, they painted a rough picture of the whole plan.

King Zhu’s face slowly lit up as he read: “Zheng’er has grown again.”

The three nodded with smiles.

“With this, it looks promising,” King Zhu said. “We just need to wait a few years.”

A few years—and Chu would fall into chaos. That was time the King of Qin could afford to wait.

No—Qin could wait. King Zhu suddenly felt a pang. As for himself… maybe not.

“Zichu, I entrust this task to you. You three, keep it secret from everyone,” he said earnestly. “Even I will not interfere.”

Zichu was shaken.

He knelt down and bowed. “I obey my father’s command!”

This wasn’t a king commanding a minister—it was a father entrusting his son.

King Zhu didn’t expect to live to see Chu’s destruction, so the plan had to be Zichu’s to complete.

Even if Zichu’s feelings for his father weren’t pure, he still felt a deep pang.

“I will go in person to Shujun and Bazhou,” Zichu said. “To tour the realm on behalf of Father.”

At this time, kings, feudal lords, and officials often toured their territories. As crown prince entrusted by the king, Zichu could tour the lands, inspect officials.

King Zhu, old and weak, could send Zichu without raising suspicion from the other six states or Qin’s court.

“Approved.” King Zhu added, “Take care of your health.”

Zichu bowed again. “Understood.”

“Let Lian Po do whatever he likes in the Three Jin region. However much he conquers, fine. Let the other states think our focus is still there,” Lin Zhi said with a smile. “Next, I may need to go to South Qin. To swallow Chu’s lands, we’ll need new taxation policies.”

Cai Ze said, “I’ll stay in Xianyang to assist His Majesty.”

King Zhu smiled and nodded.

He might not live to see Chu fall, but with such successors, he could rest easy.