HCT – Chapter 105 Grain Tribute in Return for Qin

In 255 BCE, it was originally supposed to be the year when Qin seized the Nine Tripod Cauldrons, achieving lawful supremacy and legitimizing its right to conquer the world.

But in this timeline, the Battle of Handan never occurred. The old King of Qin made no internal or external policy blunders. On top of that, he had acquired brilliant ministers and generals like Zhu Xiang, Lin Zhi, Cai Ze, Li Mu, and Lian Po, greatly increasing Qin’s threat to the Six States.

Logically, Qin had become even stronger, yet the results of its campaign against Zhou this year were worse than in the original timeline.

The Six States once again formed a brief alliance, determined to push Qin back behind Hangu Pass.

However, thanks to Li Mu’s obstruction, although Chu was originally supposed to participate, now Qi joined instead. It remained a Five-State Allied Army. The famed Lord Xinling, Wei Wuji, personally led his retainers to charge through flying stones and arrow storms at the front lines, immensely boosting the morale of the coalition forces and driving back the Qin army besieging Luoyi.

It had been many years since the Qin army suffered such a major defeat. This victory greatly boosted the morale of the Five-State Allied Army.

Wei Wuji had already agreed with the generals of the other four states to capitalize on their momentum, push westward, and reclaim the territories of the former Three Jin States that had been taken by Qin.

But all this came to nothing when the King of Wei stripped Wei Wuji of his military command and ordered a retreat.

Following Wei’s withdrawal, the King of Han immediately announced Han’s own retreat.

Wei, Han, and Zhao all shared borders with Qin. Since Qin had already occupied the highlands of Shangdang, there were now hardly any natural barriers—mountains or rivers—between Qin and the other two states. Qin could send troops to wipe them out at any moment.

The only reason Qin hadn’t done so yet wasn’t because it couldn’t win, but because it feared indigestion from swallowing too much at once.

But if Wei and Han acted too provocatively, Qin would undoubtedly teach them a harsh lesson. Previously, Wei was the main driving force behind the allied campaign. With Wei acting as a shield, the King of Han dared to play along.

Now that Wei had backed out, Han immediately followed, even sending envoys to the King of Qin admitting fault, promising that once their new king ascended the throne, he would personally travel to Qin to offer congratulations.

This submissive posture was practically an open declaration: “Our Han State is ready to become a vassal of Qin.”

Upon hearing the news, Han Fei fell seriously ill and lay bedridden for a long time. His only friend and debate rival, Li Si, took the opportunity to care for him and grew much closer to him.

Han Fei was a grateful person by nature and had always acknowledged Li Si’s talent. Although Li Si was far less brilliant than Han Fei, he was still leagues ahead of most mediocrities at the Xianyang Academy.

Touched by this gesture, Han Fei promised from his sickbed that he would find a way to fulfill his friend’s long-cherished wish—he would ask Lord Zhu Xiang to grant Li Si an audience when the latter was free.

Li Si was moved to tears.

He had spent so long humbling himself before Han Fei, mastering the skill of predicting Han Fei’s every thought so well that he could interrupt and rebut him halfway through a sentence. Now, he was finally about to see his wish come true.

Unfortunately, Lord Zhu Xiang was currently at Xianyang Palace. Li Si would probably have to wait until the new King of Qin ascended the throne to meet him.

With Wei and Han gone, only Zhao, Yan, and Qi were left, staring at each other in uncertainty.

Qi’s nobility had already been mostly corrupted by Qin’s lavish bribes and had long hovered on the edges of the vertical alliance (he zong). Seeing that further fighting might place the burden on them alone, they also considered backing out.

Only Zhao, Yan, and Qi remained in the alliance. And one critical issue now loomed — provisions.

Zhao had narrowly avoided a major famine some years ago, and it was during that crisis that Lian Po had raided Yan. Though several years had passed, the lost population and abandoned farmlands still needed time to recover. Coupled with prolonged political instability in both countries, the people hadn’t had enough time to recuperate. Supplies were dangerously scarce.

During Guan Zhong’s era, Qi had emphasized agricultural production. But in later generations, Qi found that commerce—particularly sea salt trade—brought them more wealth. Adding to the problem was the increasing salinization of Qi’s farmland. Expanding arable land required state-funded irrigation projects, but Qi’s aristocracy was unwilling to foot the bill. As a result, Qi’s economy was primarily commerce-based and relied heavily on imported grain.

Though small in territory, Wei and Han had been the main suppliers of food in the Five-State Alliance. With their exit, the coalition immediately faced a food crisis.

Li Mu had risked crossing the river north to force Chu into inaction. One major reason was this very food issue.

Chu, with its vast fertile lands between the Huai River and the Yangtze, had abundant provisions. As long as Chu remained outside the alliance, the coalition, even with support from Wei and Han, could not sustain itself for long.

Even if Cai Ze’s scheme to sow discord hadn’t worked and Wei Wuji had truly led the Five-State Army westward, the food shortage would have eventually sparked conflict within the alliance.

When it came to fighting the Six States, Qin never relied on a single ploy. Any one issue could prove decisive for survival.

So Qin’s strategy was never limited to just Cai Ze’s intrigue. That could be used to disrupt the alliance’s command; the combined threat of Lian Po and Bai Qi could lower morale; and the food shortage meant that even victories couldn’t be sustained. All these were components of Qin’s composite strategy.

In fact, these weren’t even the result of careful planning. Each party simply did what they could within their domain. It was the tacit understanding among the brilliant ministers and generals—and the King of Qin’s sharp observational and leadership skills—that dissolved the coalition.

In the end, Qi also pulled out.

Yan and Zhao had been enemies to begin with. Without other states acting as buffers, they immediately went their separate ways.

This mighty alliance collapsed not because of any battlefield defeat, but right after a major victory—utterly disintegrated.

For Qin, this was the best possible outcome.

But for Lian Po, who had finally steeled himself to fight against Zhao, it left a sour taste.

“I came to fight. Where’s the battle?”

Not just Lian Po—even the Qin soldiers eager for military merit were disappointed.

When the coalition shrank to three states, they had rejoiced. When Qi retreated, they rubbed their hands in anticipation. When the Zhao-Yan alliance also collapsed—they were stunned.

“Don’t run! If you run, how do we earn our military merits?!”

King Nan of Zhou was even more bewildered.

“Wait—you’re all leaving? What about Luoyi? What about me? The Qin army hasn’t even retreated yet!”

During the Eastern Zhou period, the Zhou King had his last feudal enfeoffment ceremony on the few remaining royal lands.

At first, King Kao of Zhou had enfeoffed his brother in the Henan region, creating the State of Duke Zhou. Later, the Zhou King divided East and West Zhou: the western capital was the old Zhou capital of Luoyi, and the eastern capital was in Gong.

After that enfeoffment, the Zhou royal family no longer had any land and resided in the East Zhou state.

At this point, “Eastern Zhou” and “Western Zhou” referred to these two petty states, not the historical dynasties of the same name.

Qin’s reason for attacking the Zhou royal house this time was that the Duke of Western Zhou, feeling threatened by Qin’s rising power, had secretly hoped to revive the vertical alliance and attack Qin. So Qin struck first, attacking the capital Luoyi and beating up the Zhou King along the way.

Now, with the alliance disbanded and danger imminent, King Nan of Zhou and the Duke of Western Zhou humbly sent a surrender decree, hoping to trade territory for a Qin withdrawal.

“Withdraw my ass!” roared Lian Po. “I’ve marched my army all the way to Luoyi’s gates, and now you tell me to retreat?! Storm the city!”

If it were an ordinary Qin general, he might have hesitated, considering the recent transition between the old and new Qin kings and the instability in the court. But Lian Po was a high-ranking noble of the Zhao state, long accustomed to military autonomy. He had finally overcome the psychological barrier of turning against his former country and had traveled a great distance to Luoyi—how could he return empty-handed?

Lian Po’s fiery temper wouldn’t allow it.

He immediately ordered the Qin soldiers—who had expected to retreat—to launch an attack, declaring he would take full responsibility for the consequences.

With loud cries, the Qin soldiers charged into Luoyi, capturing King Nan of Zhou and the Duke of Western Zhou.

Lian Po circled around the Nine Tripod Cauldrons a few times. “That brat Zhu Xiang once boasted that letting the cauldrons sit empty was a waste. Since they symbolize national authority, how could they not be filled with grain? This time, let’s use them to transport Western Zhou’s grain back to Xianyang—how about that?”

Lian Po’s subordinates: “…” Could they say no?

In fact, they lacked containers to carry their loot. So they simply crafted a few wooden lids, packed the stolen grain into the cauldrons, sealed them up tightly, and this way, they could transport both the cauldrons and the grain without wasting too much space.

As a grand noble himself, Lian Po deeply understood how royals and aristocrats thought.

Even though this was his first expedition and he had destroyed the Western Zhou state without waiting for royal orders, he knew that as long as he presented the cauldrons as a congratulatory gift to the King of Qin, the king would not hold it against him.

Moreover, considering that he was a veteran Zhao general whom the King of Qin had exchanged several cities to bring over, and now he had won his first campaign and gained military merits—the King of Qin, for the sake of appearances, would not blame him. That’s why Lian Po acted with such confidence.

He plundered aristocratic wealth to generously reward the soldiers and boost the army’s morale. On his way back to Qin, he also seized a few cities from the states of Wei and Han.

Western Zhou and Eastern Zhou were tiny buffer states nestled between Wei and Han. After capturing Western Zhou, Lian Po glanced at the map and found that Qin’s territory jutted awkwardly into the area between Wei and Han. It didn’t look pleasing. So, he decided to “widen the road” a bit.

He showed restraint and only demanded one major city and three to four smaller towns from each of Wei and Han, saying it was the price they paid for aiding the Zhou royal court.

Upon hearing Lian Po would leave after taking just these few cities, the kings of Wei and Han quickly handed over the maps and territory, eager to see him gone.

Thus, Lian Po completed a little “tour,” capturing Western Zhou and part of Wei and Han with minimal effort, and presented all this—along with the cauldrons now filled with grain—to the King of Qin.

When he returned to Xianyang, he placed the grain-filled Nine Tripod Cauldrons in the Xianyang Palace, making for a truly glorious display.

Even Bai Qi, still bedridden from illness, looked on with a jealous gleam in his eyes.

“Sigh, Bai Qi, how did you end up sick at a time like this? This campaign barely involved any fighting; the land was practically handed over. Anyone could have led the troops.” Seeing Bai Qi’s sour expression, Lian Po couldn’t resist gloating, “It’s like I went out and stumbled upon military merit.”

Bai Qi: “…”

The old King of Qin had come out for a rare outing in his wheelchair. Zhu Xiang pushed him, circling around the cauldrons several times. The old king’s eyes lit up as he gazed at the grain-packed cauldrons.

To have the cauldrons full of grain not only symbolized that the lands of the realm had returned to Qin, but also signified abundance and prosperity. There was no better omen.

Seeing that the King of Qin indeed had no intention of punishing him, Lian Po was in high spirits. In rare good humor, he even joked with the king, sharing an amusing story from the journey.

Because of the cauldrons’ immense weight, Lian Po used water routes for transport as much as possible.

One day, a sudden gale blew across the river, tossing the boatmen into the water and damaging many of the loot stored in the cabins—except the Nine Cauldrons, which remained unmoved.

“A great omen!” the old King of Qin exclaimed again.

“Wasn’t it just because they were too heavy from all the grain inside?” Zhu Xiang replied honestly.

Then, under the old King’s glare, Zhu Xiang was promptly assaulted by Lian Po and Xunzi working together.

Zichu stepped in to take Zhu Xiang’s place pushing the wheelchair, helplessly saying, “Zhu Xiang really is stupid sometimes. He doesn’t think before he speaks.”

The King of Qin was only pretending to be angry. Seeing Zhu Xiang get beaten up made him quite happy.

After the beating, Lian Po said to the King, “Still, Zhu Xiang had a point. If we hadn’t filled the cauldrons with grain as he suggested, they might have been blown into the river too. Sure, we could’ve fished them out—but they might have been damaged.”

Xunzi calmly added, “This also shows that Qin’s unification of the world is Heaven’s will. Even when fierce winds arise, the grain-filled cauldrons ensure Qin’s stability.”

The old King mulled over Xunzi’s words and became increasingly convinced that it was a sign from the heavens.

The path to unifying the world would certainly have its obstacles. And unification wasn’t the end—it was just the beginning. The real challenge was how to solidify Qin’s legitimacy, and that was his greatest concern now.

As long as the new heir wasn’t a fool, the current cohort of officials in place should be enough to guarantee Qin’s successful unification.

But after unification, what path should Qin take? That, the old king had yet to figure out.

Perhaps Heaven was telling him: the crisis Qin faced when establishing the Nine Cauldrons could be resolved simply by “filling them with grain.”

And it was Zhu Xiang who had suggested filling the cauldrons with grain.

“Zhu Xiang, focus on farming,” the old King said meaningfully.

Zhu Xiang didn’t catch the subtext. Rubbing his bruised arm, shoulder, and back, he grimaced and said, “Of course. Farming is my true calling. My lord, the wind’s strong—let’s go inside.”

The old King adjusted the fur draped over his shoulders and looked up at the sky. “Yes, the wind’s picking up again.”

He had endured his illness from winter to spring, then from spring to summer. Now it was already late autumn.

He felt his limbs growing weaker, and his moments of lucidity shorter with each passing day.

It was indeed time for him to leave.

What followed was the most peaceful period since he had assumed power.

Even though he hadn’t ousted the Empress Dowager when he came to power, he had wielded real authority. He simply hadn’t stripped her of her formal titles. So when the time came to abolish her power, it only took a single decree.

His accession had been a humiliating chapter in Qin’s history.

After King Wu of Qin died lifting a cauldron, the succession had been disputed. King Qin had not been supported by any faction within Qin.

As a mere prince who had no claim to the throne, he had been installed as king solely because King Wuling of Zhao sent troops to force Qin into accepting him.

For another king to determine Qin’s monarch—this was a deep humiliation for a rising power like Qin.

Even as the direct beneficiary, King Qin found the process shameful.

To erase that disgrace, King Qin bowed his head to everyone, until there was no one left who could make him bow.

Why did he share power with the Empress Dowager after assuming rule? Because he needed to learn.

As a former hostage, he had never received any formal education in governance. He had no power base in Qin that could support his reign.

But the Empress Dowager knew how to govern, and she had a network of people who could help manage the country. So to be a good king, King Qin had to share power—until he no longer needed her.

Although she was later stripped of her title, the Empress Dowager lived out her days in comfort. King Qin even built her a beautiful tomb and met her material needs as best he could.

In this regard, King Qin had something in common with Zhao Dan—neither of them knew how to rule when they became kings, and both needed help from a powerful empress dowager.

Now, King Qin had fulfilled the promise he made to himself.

King Wuling of Zhao forcing him onto the throne was no longer a stain on Qin’s dignity—it had become a joke at Zhao’s expense.

He had bowed his head for many years. Now, at last, he could raise it high in pride.

The Nine Tripod Cauldrons were now Qin’s. And they were filled to the brim with grain.

King Qin had Zhu Xiang push his wheelchair, enduring his illness, to pay respects at the tomb of King Wu of Qin.

King Wu’s obsession with the Nine Tripods had led to his death from attempting to lift one. Now that the Nine Tripods had returned to Qin, and the Zhou king had been deposed, his brother could finally rest in peace.

In 255 BCE, King Zhaoxiang of Qin dismantled the alliance of the Five Kingdoms—Wei, Han, Yan, Zhao, and Qi—destroyed the Western Zhou state, captured King Nan of Zhou and the Duke of Western Zhou, demoted King Nan to a nominal ruler, and reduced the Duke of Western Zhou to a mere family retainer. The Nine Tripods came under Qin’s control.

From that point on, although the Eastern Zhou state still clung to existence, the Zhou royal line had ended, and the Zhou Dynasty was considered fallen. Starting from 254 BCE, historians marked this year as the First Year of the Qin Era.

This was one year later than in Zhu Xiang’s original timeline. But in Zhu Xiang’s timeline, Xianyang Palace only housed eight hollow tripods. In this world, the palace contained all Nine Tripods, each filled with grain. Tripods filled with grain also became one of the most important ceremonial rites in Xunzi’s codification of Qin rituals.

As autumn passed into winter, the old King of Qin handed over all responsibilities to Crown Prince Zhu and left Xianyang Palace to recuperate at Zhu Xiang’s private estate.

In the past few months, Crown Prince Zhu had essentially fulfilled all the duties of the King of Qin.

On the first day of the first lunar month, the old King of Qin handed over the final symbols of rulership to Crown Prince Zhu—The royal seal, the ceremonial crown… though these were merely symbols of that “final passing.”

“Zhu, from here on, it’s up to you,” said King Qin.

“Yes, Royal Father,” Crown Prince Zhu knelt before him, sobbing uncontrollably.

He had finally become the King of Qin. Yet this moment was not one of overwhelming joy.  During this period, he had spent time with King Qin as any ordinary father and son might. He had never imagined they could still share such warm moments.

“Once you’re King of Qin, you mustn’t cry again,” King Qin said, then turned to Zichu. Prince Zichu was now Crown Prince Zichu.

“Zichu, assist your true father well,” King Qin instructed. “You are fortunate to have befriended Zhu Xiang when both of you were still insignificant. Never be wary of him.”

Zichu responded, “Grand King, I will never be wary of Zhu Xiang.”

King Qin nodded and looked at the ceremonial officers standing and the ministers kneeling before him. He looked at Xianyang Palace.

All of this had once been his. Now, it no longer was. He laid down his burdens, and his heart felt hollow.

He felt anxious and uneasy, yet also a sense of relief.

King Qin no longer needed to stay awake at night pondering the fate of this vast nation. He could finally sleep soundly without thinking of anything. He was going to leave.

“Stand up. From this point on, this is your Qin,” he said.

With that, King Qin declined Crown Prince Zhu’s request to continue living in Xianyang Palace, and he didn’t have any other palaces renovated. Instead, he stayed at Zhu Xiang’s estate.

Each day, he chatted and played cards with veteran ministers at Zhu Xiang’s home. Occasionally, he would check on Ying Zheng’s schoolwork. When his health allowed, Zhu Xiang would take him out for walks—even though there wasn’t much greenery to enjoy during the first lunar month.

King Qin’s health seemed to be improving. His complexion looked better, and his spirits were high. But everyone around him knew this was just an illusion.

If King Qin had rested properly this year, he might have survived longer. But that year, the Five Kingdoms formed an alliance again. The world’s balance was shifting, and Qin was pushed into a dangerous position. Even though the resolution came without any real danger, and Qin suffered no losses—gaining both land and the Nine Tripods—the situation was undeniably perilous.

As King of Qin, not only did King Qin not rest, he pushed himself even harder, becoming more diligent than ever before. He was a ruler with strong control tendencies, so he insisted on doing everything within his power.

A powerful yet suspicious ruler would never pin all hope on his successor. The wary old King wanted to clear all obstacles for the new King, so that even if he were mediocre, the rising Qin kingdom could move forward on sheer momentum.

This year turned King Qin’s body into a leaking vessel. No matter how desperately he tried to replenish his vitality, it could not keep pace with what was lost.

King Qin would not live to see another winter. Everyone knew this, including King Qin himself.

What was surprising was that those around him could not accept it—especially King Zhu. But King Qin himself had come to terms with it.

Previously terrified of death, King Qin now faced it calmly as it drew near. He enjoyed the love of younger generations, woke up naturally without alarms, ignored medical advice to drink wine and eat meat, and demanded every dish be spicy.

He bickered with old ministers, used a ruler to knock on Zhu Xiang’s head when he interrupted, causing loud thunks.

Sometimes, he would visit the Xianyang Academy and criticize the students, calling them all talentless.

The students didn’t recognize him and would argue back. King Qin never refused a debate, and most of the time, left them speechless.

If he couldn’t win the debate, he would give Zhu Xiang a look—and Zhu Xiang would help him with sophistry.

With the breadth of modern knowledge and internet-style flame war experience, Zhu Xiang had no trouble arguing circles around others. If this ever got out, he might be worshipped by scholars from the School of Names—who, devoid of political ideology, simply adored debating.

As the weather warmed, Zhu Xiang discovered something wonderful—Chinese toon sprouts (xiangchun).

Some xiangchun trees had grown on the hills of his estate, perhaps during his journey south.

Zhu Xiang picked the young sprouts and made cold dishes, xiangchun with eggs, steamed pork with xiangchun, and other seasonal delights. King Qin turned up his nose and said they were bland.

So Zhu Xiang went to the Qin royal garden and fished out a few tribute bass to make xiangchun-huo xiang fish. This was a Sichuan-style dish, basically a variant of boiled fish, with huo xiang (patchouli) added—and now also xiangchun—giving the fish more complex layers of flavor.

When the chili oil and peppercorn oil were poured over, King Qin broke into a sweat while eating, thoroughly satisfied.

Poor King Zhu, on the other hand, ate while gasping “ss-ha,” gulping water. It was delicious but too spicy—he was utterly conflicted.

Zichu had about the same spice tolerance as King Qin, but his stomach was weaker. Eating spicy food gave him stomachaches. So Zhu Xiang prepared a bowl of plain water for him to rinse the fish.

As Zichu dipped the fish into the water to wash off the seasoning, Ying Zheng cast him a mocking look.

Although he didn’t know what his son was mocking, Zichu still retorted sarcastically, “Zheng’er, you’ve lost a few more teeth again, and not a single new one has grown in. Do you want the imperial physician to take a look? What if you lose all your teeth and none grow back?”

Little Ying Zheng’s chubby face collapsed, and he nearly choked on a chili.

Damn Father! When I come of age, I’ll usurp the throne! I’ll lock you in a side palace and only give you boiled meat in plain water!

“It’s too spicy! Zhu Xiang, I need plain water too!” King Zhu frantically fanned his mouth, unable to bear the heat.

Zhu Xiang smiled and brought over a bowl of honey water. “Drink some honey water to ease the spiciness. Next time, I won’t put in so many chilies.”

King Zhu grimaced. “The spiciness isn’t the worst part. Did you put too much Sichuan peppercorn? My mouth is numb.”

Zhu Xiang replied, “Huoxiang fish requires lots of peppercorns. I won’t compromise on that!”

King Zhu said, “I order you to use fewer peppercorns!”

Zhu Xiang responded, “I refuse to obey!”

King Zhu turned to King Qin and acted pitiful. “Father King, look at Zhu Xiang. Even the decrees of this King of Qin don’t work on him! He’s too arrogant!”

While sipping his wine, King Qin said, “When I was king, Zhu Xiang ignored my orders too. Not only did he disobey, he talked back to me—and after that, he even led away my sheep.”

Zichu said, “He should be severely punished!”

King Zhu asked, “Then Crown Prince, how do you suggest we punish him?”

Zichu answered, “Let’s punish Zheng’er—he’s not allowed to eat desserts for a month.”

Ying Zheng: “???”

Zhu Xiang said solemnly, “That’s a good idea. I raised Zheng’er with my own hands. As his maternal uncle, I’m like a second father. A father’s fault should be borne by the son. That’s in line with Confucian values.”

Ying Zheng: “…Uncle, do you dare say that in front of Master Xun?”

Zhu Xiang laughed, “Master Xun is too busy revising the Qin rites now. He doesn’t have time to deal with me.”

Ying Zheng: “…Just wait, I’ll go find Master Xun tomorrow and tell him you’re twisting Confucian principles!”

Seeing that Ying Zheng was about to tattle, King Qin and King Zhu both burst out laughing.

King Zhu really did forbid Ying Zheng from eating desserts for a whole month, waiting until Master Xun scolded Zhu Xiang before lifting the ban.

This royal Qin family was more harmonious than many ordinary families, filled with warmth.

Whenever they gathered, no outsiders were allowed, except for Zhu Xiang.

They left all their time to the four generations—great-grandfather, grandfather, father, and son—allowing them to bond deeply in the time that remained, letting the old King of Qin enjoy his family’s love.

Time passed, day by day, and King Qin fell ill again.

This time, it came without cause.

It wasn’t a cold, heatstroke, or a fall—he simply became weak, couldn’t get up, and his vision blurred.

King Qin couldn’t even sit up straight anymore; when he was in a wheelchair, someone had to support him to keep him from leaning over.

The King of Qin, once feared by the Six States, was now a frail old man who couldn’t even chew his favorite meat, reduced to drinking porridge.

Just as he had once done for young toothless Ying Zheng, Zhu Xiang made all kinds of porridge and gruel for King Qin, trying to vary the flavors.

But King Qin suddenly became irritable.

Perhaps he feared death again, or perhaps he loathed his own powerless, aging body.

He became picky with food and harsh toward his attendants.

So Zhu Xiang personally cared for him—wiping his body, fulfilling his every unreasonable demand.

After half a month, under Zhu Xiang’s care, King Qin’s mood improved, and he stopped cursing and throwing things.

Things seemed to be getting better again.

But the imperial physicians and Bian Que quietly informed King Qin, Crown Prince Zichu, and Zhu Xiang that they should start preparing for King Qin’s passing.

King Zhu moved into Zhu Xiang’s villa to handle state affairs.

Every night, when the palace was quiet, he would work on documents while secretly crying.

But in front of King Qin, King Zhu always wore a silly grin, prompting King Qin to scold him, “You’re a king now! Where’s your dignity?” And King Zhu would scratch his head and apologize.

Later, King Zhu also fell ill. Zichu took over most of his responsibilities so he could rest and recover.

King Qin’s mind grew clearer by the day, and he was even able to sit upright again.

He had Zhu Xiang push his wheelchair to visit King Zhu. “You’re the King of Qin now. You can’t fall sick all the time. Even if I pass, you must stay healthy.”

Only then did King Zhu break down in tears before his father.

“After I die, don’t build anything extravagant,” King Qin said. “Don’t delay government affairs. The people don’t need to observe mourning. Everything must prioritize the state.”

Through his tears, King Zhu replied, “Yes.”

King Qin continued, “No one needs to guard my tomb. If there are members of the royal family or in-laws who oppose you, then send them to guard the tomb.”

Still sobbing, King Zhu said, “Yes.”

King Qin added, “Absolutely no human sacrifices—not concubines or slaves. Qin is now known for its benevolence. We must not backslide.”

King Zhu wept so hard he couldn’t even speak.

King Qin sighed and gently stroked King Zhu’s disheveled hair.

His son was old now too. Fortunately, both Zichu and Zheng’er would make fine kings. He didn’t need to worry about Qin’s future.

“Zhu Xiang, don’t go south for now. Stay in Xianyang and assist Zhu,” King Qin said. “I promised to let you return south to farm. I’m going back on that promise.”

Zhu Xiang replied, “You’re not going back on your word. I don’t want to leave Xianyang anyway.”

King Qin smiled. “Among all my younger kin, you’re the most infuriating… and the most delightful. Not just Zhu, but your friend Xia Tong and your nephew Zheng’er—you must support them all well.”

Zhu Xiang said, “Rest assured, my lord.”

King Qin said, “I trust your work, but you need to temper your temper. Zhu is gentler than I am and won’t suspect you like I did. But he’s also kinder, so he may not be able to keep jealous people in check. You must be careful and not let others catch you out.”

Zhu Xiang replied, “I’ve always been cautious, my lord.”

King Qin scoffed, “Only your mouth is cautious. Zhu, isn’t that right?”

King Zhu nodded, still crying.

Zhu Xiang sighed. “I’ll be careful. Please don’t worry.”

King Qin said, “Good. I’m at ease now. I’m tired—take me back to rest.”

Zhu Xiang wheeled King Qin away, while King Zhu continued kneeling by the bedside, weeping.

That night, King Qin showed no signs of discomfort as he slept.

But when Zhu Xiang came to wake him the next morning, King Qin had already passed.

He had fallen into an eternal sleep, looking peaceful, a faint smile on his lips, as if he’d had a sweet dream.

King Qin had always slept neatly, hands on his abdomen, shoulders squared, face turned upward—like a portrait.

King Zhu rushed from his sickbed, hair disheveled, barefoot and coatless.

“Father King! Father King… Father, Father, don’t sleep, it’s morning! Time to wake up!” King Zhu knelt by the bed and sobbed bitterly. “Father, Father, please wake up!”

Zichu knelt beside King Zhu, silently weeping, choking back his sorrow.

Zhu Xiang brought little Ying Zheng over, and they knelt nearby.

Ying Zheng tugged on Zhu Xiang’s sleeve. “Uncle, Great-Grandfather is just sleeping… right?”

Zhu Xiang said, “Yes.”

Ying Zheng whispered, “Uncle, you’re a liar.”

Zhu Xiang said nothing.

Ying Zheng lowered his head. “Great-Grandfather said he’d fly kites with me today. He’s a liar too.”

At first, he hadn’t liked Great-Grandfather—he was afraid of him.

Great-Grandfather had been too suspicious, even more so than the version of himself in his dreams.

He was still so young, and his uncle had no ambition at all, yet Great-Grandfather always tested and probed them. It was tiresome.

His uncle had been frustrated because of Great-Grandfather. He himself had been frustrated too. He really hadn’t liked him.

But spending time together had slowly softened Ying Zheng’s feelings. He gradually began to view the legendary old King of Qin as a true great-grandfather.

Why couldn’t he have stayed with them a little longer?

Zhu Xiang silently looked at the peaceful, sleeping face of the old king, recalling every memory they had shared.

The King of Changping, the king who welcomed him, the king in Xianyang, in Jiangdong… the king who worked till his last breath to rule well, and the elder King Qin, who finally laid down his burdens.

“Farewell, my lord,” Zhu Xiang whispered. He clutched his trousers tightly, tears falling one by one, soaking the hem with dark stains.

In 254 BCE, the first year of the Qin calendar, King King Qin of Qin passed away at the age of seventy-one.