HCT – Chapter 106 Fresh Milk & Fruit Drink

King Ji of Qin passed away. His posthumous title was King Zhaoxiang of Qin.

The ailing new King of Qin, Zhu, was still in mourning when he had to immediately drag himself out of bed to face a deluge of problems.

Although he had technically been King of Qin for several months, the workload before and after the death of the old king felt like two completely different worlds. It even felt like the amount of work had changed entirely.

Before, once he finished reviewing government documents each day, he could still find time to chat with his father. Now, the moment he opened his eyes, there was state business waiting; close his eyes, and it would soon be time to open them again.

There were no major national crises yet—his father had taken care of most of the more complex matters before his death. And yet, King Zhu still felt like he was caught in a tangled mess.

If it were only complicated affairs of state, King Zhu could manage to sort them out with time. But what truly infuriated him was how the court officials—especially members of the royal clan and the maternal relatives—treated him with such stark contrast before and after the old king’s death. Even someone as mild-tempered as King Zhu struggled to suppress a murderous urge.

King Zhaoxiang’s coffin had not yet been laid to rest in the royal tomb, and yet members of the royal clan and maternal relatives were already flocking forward, urging him to “correct” the old king’s strict treatment of them, and to issue a decree to show them leniency.

King Zhu had indeed planned to appease the royal clan and the maternal relatives, and had even drafted the edict. But burdened by endless governmental matters and overwhelmed with grief over King Zhaoxiang’s passing, their forceful insistence—and especially the use of the word “correct”—immediately triggered a rebellious reaction in him.

At that moment, Lord Yangquan, whose head had swelled a little after his sister was named queen, was pushed to the front as their spokesperson—and he even dragged Zhu Xiang into it.

He argued that Zhu Xiang was merely the younger brother of the crown princess, yet had been treated far too generously. If people like him, a member of the royal clan and a maternal relative, were not richly rewarded, how could the people’s hearts be soothed?

What he meant was: when Zhu Xiang had only been the crown princess’s brother, he had never received such high status. Now, another man who’s just the crown princess’s brother had risen to a position even higher than his own, the Queen’s brother. Was that reasonable?

He, Lord Yangquan, didn’t even have an official fief like Zhu Xiang, and yet Zhu Xiang had received countless rewards!

King Zhu stared coldly at him for a long time, then sneered, “Qin has its laws. A Qin prince without merit is but a commoner. Are you saying your contributions surpass those of Lord Changping, or that the Queen’s brother should be above a Qin prince, making you the first exception in Qin history?”

Lord Yangquan’s face went pale.

Lady Huayang was deeply favored, and back when King Zhu was still crown prince, he had been very affectionate toward Lord Yangquan. Lord Yangquan had never imagined that his first proposal in court would be met with such a devastating rebuke from King Zhu.

He immediately stammered, “I didn’t mean it that way!”

King Zhu replied coldly, “Then what face do you have to compare yourself to Lord Changping? Zichu! Is Lord Changping’s status merely due to being your wife’s brother?”

Crown Prince Zichu bowed and respectfully replied, “At the time when the late king exchanged Lord Changping from Zhao for Handan City, I had only just returned to Qin from being a hostage.”

King Zhu took a deep breath to suppress his anger and said coldly, “Before his death, my father worried that I was too soft-hearted. It seems he was right—I am too soft-hearted.”

With that, he abruptly ended the court meeting, leaving the officials exchanging confused looks as he swept out in fury.

Lord Yangquan stood frozen at the steps of the royal dais, not daring to move.

The other ministers turned to look at Crown Prince Zichu.

The King had already left—should they stay or go? Should the Crown Prince say something?

Zichu said nothing, his head slightly bowed, as if he were a statue.

The ministers had no choice but to direct their gaze at the two chief ministers at the front of the hall.

“Minister, should we keep waiting?” they whispered.

Xunzi had his eyes closed, as if napping.

Cai Ze replied, “His Majesty will naturally send someone to dismiss us.”

Since both the Crown Prince and the two prime ministers remained, the rest of the ministers could only wait. Half an hour later, King Zhu finally sent a palace attendant to announce their dismissal.

The officials glanced at Crown Prince Zichu and the two chief ministers, their expressions complicated.

During King Wu’s reign, Qin had added the positions of Left and Right Prime Ministers beneath the Chancellor, in order to weaken the Chancellor’s power and strengthen royal authority. After that, the positions of Chancellor and the two Deputy Prime Ministers were not always filled simultaneously.

For example, when Fan Ju was Chancellor, there were no Left and Right Prime Ministers. After Fan Ju stepped down, the position of Chancellor remained vacant.

Before King Zhaoxiang abdicated, he appointed Left and Right Prime Ministers for Zhu—Xun Kuang, aged and virtuous, and Cai Ze, young and shrewd. Together, they were capable of handling most of Qin’s challenges.

Both of them were also close to Lord Changping, Zhu Xiang. As a result, rumors started circulating in Xianyang: though Zhu Xiang did not bear the title of Chancellor, he already wielded the Chancellor’s power in practice.

Some even went so far as to claim that Zhu Xiang was the true power behind Qin, and King Zhu was just a rubber-stamping puppet.

Perhaps it was too absurd to say that Zhu Xiang, who didn’t even attend court, was the “king behind the scenes,” so the rumors shifted again—this time suggesting that the real authority lay with Crown Prince Zichu, who had already usurped King Zhu’s power.

King Zhaoxiang’s body still lay in Xianyang Palace, awaiting a proper funeral. During his lifetime, he had carefully orchestrated court rumors. But now, all manner of shady characters were surfacing.

King Zhu, overwhelmed by state affairs, hadn’t yet heard the rumors.

Today, feeling stifled, he threw aside his paperwork and went to a villa to mooch a meal off Zhu Xiang—only to hear the rampant gossip on the way.

Zhu Xiang, wearing a headscarf and carrying a bucket of milk, came out to greet him and was utterly stunned when he heard.

“The voices of these rumor-mongers are loud enough for His Majesty to hear them from inside the carriage?!”

King Zhu had been fuming, nearly beside himself with rage. But upon hearing Zhu Xiang’s startled reaction, his fury unexpectedly dissipated.

Changing the subject, he asked, “Why are you carrying a bucket of milk?”

Zhu Xiang replied, “Isn’t Xunzi currently fussing about observing several years of mourning? I’m worried that if they mandate a long vegetarian mourning period, it’ll affect your, Xia Tong’s, and Zheng’er’s health. So I’m thinking about making some dairy products to help cope.”

Although The Book of Rites prescribes a three-year mourning period for a deceased father, it wasn’t commonly observed in pre-Qin times. If it had been the norm, Confucius and Zai Yu wouldn’t have debated between a three-year or one-year mourning period.

Later Confucian scholars like Kong Yingda claimed the three-year mourning began with Yao and Shun. But modern historians have shown that the “Canon of Yao” and “Canon of Shun” they referenced were actually composed by later disciples of Confucius, not authentic historical records.

Oracle bones from the Shang dynasty show that mourning periods were varied. Historical texts like Spring and Autumn Annals and Zuo Zhuan also record that neither the Zhou royal court nor vassal states followed a uniform three-year mourning.

From this, we know that in the pre-Qin era, three-year mourning wasn’t standard practice.

From a practical standpoint, it would have been impossible for the rulers of the Shang and Zhou dynasties to enforce such a mourning period among nobles. According to The Book of Rites, three years of mourning meant that crown princes and heirs had to abstain from meat and wine, wear mourning clothes, and avoid political affairs, with regents or household officials taking over for three full years.

Zhu Xiang nearly burst out laughing when he read this passage in the Book of Rites. Wasn’t this utter nonsense? Letting a prime minister or a close minister act as regent for three years—wouldn’t most successions end in bloodshed and needless social upheaval?

Just look at those young lords who hadn’t even come of age when they inherited their thrones—what happened once they took full power? Massive purges. The lessons were already written in history.

Still, Zhu Xiang could understand why Confucians said this. After all, their vision of governance was one where the ruler governed by doing nothing, letting everything run itself.

Confucians clearly saw that the rise and fall of a nation now depended on the ruler alone. So, to maintain long-term stability, the ruler must be absolutely impartial and selfless.

But since it’s hard to avoid selfishness in human nature, the next best thing was to let the scholar-officials handle governance while the ruler simply presided symbolically. That way, the state wouldn’t be harmed by the ruler’s personal biases; and if any official misbehaved, the ruler could just replace them.

In this idealized Confucian political model, the monarch didn’t need to be particularly wise—just good at recognizing talent. Or the nation could set up a meritocratic system to select virtuous officials, and peace would follow naturally.

Legalists had similar ideas, except they wanted to restrain rulers through laws instead of morals.

All of the ancient sages of China shared this ideal of governance—essentially limiting a monarch’s power to prevent personal ambition from destroying the nation.

But these ideals didn’t match reality. Or rather, they were far ahead of their time. The versions of Confucianism or Legalism that rulers could accept were all modified to suit the era.

Right now, at this stage of economic and cultural development, what the country needed most was centralized power and monarchal absolutism. It was precisely because Qin was more centralized than the other six states that it had risen to become the dominant power.

Xunzi was a very pragmatic man. Looking at all of Huaxia’s history, he was probably the most realist of the great Confucian scholars.

That said, “three years of mourning” was a fundamental ritual in Confucian propriety, and Xunzi supported it too. But support is one thing—real-life governance is another.

Let the King of Qin mourn for three years and ignore state affairs? The allied armies of the six states would probably reorganize overnight.

Xunzi had to weigh whether to maintain three years of mourning by merely abstaining from wine, meat, pleasures, and women while continuing to handle political affairs as usual—or to adopt Zhu Xiang’s ludicrous (but practical) suggestion of “substituting days for months” to symbolically fulfill three years of mourning and show sufficient filial piety.

Xunzi had justification for altering the ritual. The purpose of mourning for three years was to emphasize the importance of filial piety. And King Zhaoxiang of Qin, in his final decree, explicitly asked King Zhu not to observe mourning but to put Qin’s affairs first. A truly filial son should obey his elder’s last wishes.

So King Zhu could publicly declare, “Although I’m honoring the late king’s wishes, I still must observe mourning”—thus softening the ritual while boosting his own image.

Right now, Xunzi was locked in daily arguments with other Confucian sects and Qin’s ritual officers, trying to settle this matter before the vassal lords arrived to pay respects to King Zhaoxiang.

No matter which mourning protocol they settled on, Zhu Xiang still had to join King Zhu and the others in eating vegetarian for a while.

Thankfully, mourning rituals weren’t too strict nowadays. People could eat meat and eggs when invited out or when they were ill, and dairy products weren’t considered “meat” either. In some places, the only taboo was the “five pungents”—garlic, onions, leeks, etc.—so one just needed to avoid strong flavors.

And as long as one didn’t host lavish feasts or play music, quietly sneaking some meat or eggs behind closed doors wasn’t a big deal.

With Xunzi watching over them, and given that King Zhu, Zichu, and young Ying Zheng were all genuinely grieving King Zhaoxiang, they didn’t cut corners when it came to vegetarianism. But eating tofu every day for protein wasn’t ideal, so Zhu Xiang turned his attention to dairy.

He didn’t know much about dairy, only what he’d observed in the courtyard. He understood the basic principles, but making it himself would take some experimentation.

Talking about mourning made King Zhu grumble, “Those Lu-based Confucians are so noisy. Xunzi’s school is so much more sensible. Couldn’t they just stay in the East? If they want to come to Qin, they should follow Qin’s customs!”

Zhu Xiang replied, “Fundamentalists are annoying no matter where they are. They’re not like Xunzi. Since they can’t adapt to changing times, they won’t allow others to progress either. They keep babbling about Zhou rituals—please, even the Zhou kings are gone. Confucius examined himself daily and warned his disciples that learning never ends and stagnation equals decline. And yet those people treat him as infallible and unchangeable. How can disciples raised like that possibly improve with each generation? Hmph.”

King Zhu’s mood lightened as Zhu Xiang rattled off complaints like a repeating crossbow. He laughed, “You talk so well—why don’t you argue with them alongside Xunzi?”

Zhu Xiang looked aggrieved. “I went once. They couldn’t beat me in debate, so they chased me down and tried to beat me physically. I can’t win a fight, so Xunzi won’t let me go anymore.”

King Zhu’s smile froze. “They resorted to violence?”

Zhu Xiang sighed, “Xunzi says fighting isn’t necessary, but self-defense is. But I can’t bring myself to hit a bunch of old men.”

King Zhu chuckled, “You’re too good-tempered—not cut out for debate. Just stay home and help raise Zheng’er.”

Zhu Xiang sighed again. “I promised the late king I’d stay in Xianyang to support the new ruler, but I still feel like I’m not doing much. Maybe I’d be more useful farming down south and producing more grain.”

King Zhu joked, “What do you mean not doing much? With you here in Xianyang, I get to eat a few extra bowls every day.”

Zhu Xiang couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re right, I am quite useful!”

When Zhu Xiang and King Zhu returned to their courtyard, young Ying Zheng was practicing swordplay. When he saw King Zhu, he ran up and gave him a sweaty hug, then wiped his face on King Zhu’s sleeve before continuing his drills.

King Zhu gave him a flick to the forehead.

“Your Majesty, wait a bit—I’ll make you the milk drink I just learned to prepare,” Zhu Xiang said, carrying the milk into the kitchen.

King Zhu sat in the shade watching Ying Zheng train, while a servant fanned him with a hand-crank fan filled with ice chips, sending cool air his way.

In the kitchen, Zhu Xiang brought the milk to a boil, then immediately turned down the heat, keeping a close eye to prevent overboiling. He maintained a high temperature for a full quarter-hour before turning off the flame.

Drinking raw milk could cause brucellosis. Milk could fake-boil or froth up before reaching sterilizing temperatures. So Zhu Xiang kept it simmering on low heat for fifteen minutes to ensure full pasteurization.

This would reduce the milk’s flavor, but health came first—taste could be adjusted later.

As the milk heated, a skin formed on top. Zhu Xiang broke the skin and stirred it back into the pot, letting it cook further.

After a quarter-hour, the milk turned thick. He let it cool naturally, then placed fresh peach purée and green tea at the bottom of a cup before slowly pouring in the milk and mixing it well. A steaming fruit-milk drink was ready.

He then used saltpeter to cool it down. Once it reached a slightly cooler-than-room temperature, he brought it out.

King Zhu was old and Ying Zheng was young—both had weaker digestive systems and couldn’t handle too much cold. This temperature was just right.

“Your Majesty, please taste it,” Zhu Xiang handed the milk drink to King Zhu. “This year’s peaches are very sweet. It tastes great even without added sugar.”

Ying Zheng didn’t wait for an invitation. He walked over, took a sip, and complained, “I still want honey.”

Zhu Xiang poked his puffy cheek. “You’re already eight and still have baby fat—reflect on that! Eating honey, really?”

Ying Zheng straightened his back. “Only my face is chubby—my waist has no fat! It’s thinner than Uncle’s!”

Zhu Xiang had spent a year in Xianyang and had gained a bit of weight, much to Ying Zheng’s delight.

It used to be Uncle calling him a chubby dumpling. Now, if Uncle gained a bit more, he could call him a big dumpling in return.

Of course, Zhu Xiang wasn’t quite there yet. He just had a layer of soft flesh over his farming-earned abs.

As King Zhu sipped his milk drink and watched the uncle-nephew pair banter, he felt thoroughly at ease.

Even though palace matters in Xianyang remained unresolved, whenever he came here, he felt like he could finally breathe.

Zhu Xiang didn’t need to do anything special—just his presence in Xianyang was a huge blessing to King Zhu.

After finishing his milk fruit drink and enjoying the warmth of family, King Zhu waited contentedly for Zhu Xiang to prepare the next meal.

Today, Zhu Xiang planned to make “mock meat” using dried tofu, wheat flour, and rice flour to satisfy the family’s cravings.

Fortunately, chili peppers weren’t widely used yet. Even though their flavor was stronger than the five pungent spices, they weren’t classified as forbidden in vegetarian diets. Along with cumin and other aromatic spices, the food at home was still quite flavorful.

King Zhu of Qin praised Zhu Xiang, saying that the mock meat on the table was nearly indistinguishable from real meat.

In truth, Zhu Xiang’s culinary skills hadn’t quite reached the point of making mock meat taste like the real thing. Rather, the palace cooks in Xianyang had surpassed Zhu Xiang after gaining access to the wide variety of seasonings he provided. Still, King Zhu felt the food Zhu Xiang made tasted better.

Today, Zichu, Cai Ze, Xunzi, and the others didn’t come to disturb King Zhu—they remained in Xianyang City to handle government affairs.

After eating and drinking his fill, King Zhu started venting to Zhu Xiang.

He complained about the arrogant royal relatives and in-laws, and about the scholars who had come to study in Xianyang from the East. As soon as King Zhaoxiang of Qin passed away, these people started making noise, taking advantage of his mild temperament—even going so far as to spread rumors that Zhu Xiang was trying to seize power.

Did they think the people of Qin didn’t know what a sowing discord strategy looked like?

“Saying Uncle’s trying to seize power is absurd. If anyone is, it’s my father,” said Ying Zheng, doing his best to smear Zichu. “My father’s been way too busy lately. He should get some rest.”

“If your father rests, then your grandfather will be so overworked he won’t even have time to sleep,” King Zhu said as he pinched Zheng’er’s chubby cheeks. “You care about your father, but not about your grandfather?”

“I care about both. I’ll help Grandfather then,” Zheng’er replied.

“You’re still growing; you can’t overwork yourself,” Zhu Xiang said, gently pressing Zheng’er’s head. “Xia Tong has been overworked lately, but even so, it’s nothing compared to Your Majesty. With so much happening now, and with the feudal lords of the Six States soon to arrive in Xianyang, neither Your Majesty nor Xia Tong can afford to rest.”

King Zhu sighed, “Exactly. The more they criticize Xia Tong, the more I should promote him—just to show them that sowing discord won’t work on me.”

He sighed again, frustrated. “I’m planning to issue a decree with generous rewards to appease the royal clan and in-laws, hoping they’ll back off once they’ve had enough.”

Zheng’er pouted, “They won’t necessarily back off.”

“If any in-laws continue to cause trouble, I’ll send troops to attack their states. And if any members of the royal clan stir up trouble, I’ll send them off to open up farmland in southern Chu,” said King Zhu.

Zhu Xiang immediately corrected him, “Your Majesty, wrong wording—it’s southern Qin, not southern Chu! Southern Qin!”

King Zhu quickly corrected himself, “Right, southern Qin.”

He stroked his beard. “General Li has been fretting over the lack of people to develop the land. But those noisy scholars are the real headache. I still haven’t figured out how to deal with them. Zhu Xiang, do you have any ideas?”

The moment Zheng’er heard “scholars from the East,” his expression darkened.

He had already heard from Xunzi about the farce at the Xianyang Academy. Curious, he had gone into the dream realm to see how his future self had handled similar issues.

He wasn’t expecting to get angry.

In the dream, he was already Qin Shihuang, and the Six States had all been conquered by Qin.

From assuming power to unifying the world, the Qin Shihuang of the dream had a smooth and glorious reign. Although there were occasional setbacks during the wars of unification, the overall momentum of Qin was unstoppable—like a storm sweeping through the decaying foundations of the old order.

For Qin Shihuang, unifying the realm wasn’t even the hard part.

The real challenge began after the unification.

Though Qin had taken control of the Six States’ territory, the hearts of their people hadn’t truly submitted.

Qin had always ruled with Legalist principles, but Qin Shihuang believed that to win over the hearts of the Six States’ people, he needed to embrace Central Plains culture.

Thus, he established the position of “Doctor” (bo shi) and widely invited Eastern scholars to enter Qin—granting them a status even higher than the famed scholars of the Jixia Academy, since these Doctors could participate in government affairs.

Zheng’er recalled a term his uncle once mentioned in a story: the “Doctors” set up by Qin Shihuang were essentially a think tank.

By the time of unification, the Hundred Schools of Thought had mostly been reduced to Confucianism and Mohism. But Mohism had already declined and barely participated in politics. Qin Shihuang hoped to use high-ranking titles and generous rewards to win over Eastern scholars, led by the Confucians of Lu.

But the Confucians of Lu were strongly resistant to Qin. Even when they entered Qin, they were cold and disdainful toward Qin Shihuang and the Qin state.

Qin Shihuang endured it.

Later, Qin Shihuang attempted to unify people’s hearts by conducting grand rituals to honor the gods of the Six States, starting with a fengshan ceremony at Mount Tai.

He ordered the Lu Confucians, who were well-versed in ritual, to devise the ceremonial procedures. They delayed him in every way, hinting that he wasn’t qualified to perform the fengshan.

Qin Shihuang endured it again.

He eventually abandoned the Lu Confucians and led his ministers up Mount Tai himself. On the way back, they encountered a violent storm. When he reached the foot of the mountain, the Lu Confucians mocked and ridiculed him.

Even then, Qin Shihuang—the most exalted man in the world—held back and didn’t harshly punish those who dared to mock the emperor.

Zheng’er watched in disbelief.

He poked at his dream self’s silhouette. “Hey, are you okay? Are you really me? Your temper is way too good. Even my cotton-soft-tempered uncle couldn’t endure that much!”

It was just too frustrating. Zheng’er couldn’t bear to watch any further and decided to check in on the rest of the dream later.

Still, if even that iron-willed self in the dream could endure it, then maybe even the stubbornest people could be won over eventually. If it worked, he could just tell Grandfather to be patient too.

After all, better to let others endure and enjoy the ripe fruits of their labor himself.

Seeing Grandfather asking Uncle for a strategy, Zheng’er stared at Uncle Zhu Xiang with bright eyes, waiting for him to say the word “endure.”

Zhu Xiang found Ying Zheng’s wide-eyed expression adorable and couldn’t resist pulling the eight-year-old into his arms for a cuddle.

Better take advantage of this now—he probably won’t allow this next year.

Zheng’er sighed and obediently leaned into his uncle’s arms, letting him play.

“Your Majesty, the strategy I offer—please don’t tell Xunzi,” Zhu Xiang said in a low voice.

King Zhu also lowered his voice, playing along. “Don’t worry, I won’t say a word to Master Xun.”

Zhu Xiang said, “The best way to deal with that group of scholars right now is—don’t take them seriously at all.”

Zheng’er’s eyelids twitched.

King Zhu hesitated, “But it wasn’t easy attracting so many scholars to Qin. If we ignore them, won’t that affect… affect my reputation?”

Zhu Xiang replied, “As long as Your Majesty still plans to unify the Six States and, after unification, does not grant land to the old nobles of those states, your reputation won’t be good anyway.”

Zheng’er’s eyelid twitched again.

King Zhu thought it over and sighed. “Enfeoffment, enfeoffment—they insist on enfeoffment! Haven’t they learned enough from Zhou’s example?”

Zhu Xiang said, “First of all, enfeoffment allowed the Zhou dynasty to last several hundred years. It’s the only proven model they know. Whether the commandery-county system can ensure lasting stability in such a vast empire is still unproven. Aside from sages, no one dares easily walk an untraveled path—even when they see the old road no longer works. And the world is mostly made up of mediocrities. Those noisy scholars are just that—mediocrities.”

King Zhu and Ying Zheng nodded in agreement.

Zhu Xiang continued, “Second, the so-called ‘famous scholars’ who can afford to read, earn a reputation, and come to Xianyang to study all have some connection to the Six States’ nobility. Some are even direct descendants or retainers of those royal houses. The enfeoffment system is in their own interest. If Qin wipes out the Six States and implements the commandery-county system, they’ll fall from noble elites to commoners. Of course they’ll oppose it.”

King Qin Zhu and Ying Zheng nodded like an old rooster and a young rooster pecking at rice.

Zhu Xiang said, “Your Majesty has summoned scholars to Xianyang to seek out more talents who can assist in governing the state of Qin, not to let them influence Qin’s national policies. Their words are for Your Majesty to hear—only by listening to different interest groups can Your Majesty gain a comprehensive understanding of all sides.”

“After that, Your Majesty need only choose a path based on the outcome you desire most. Once a decision is made, the rest of the voices are just noise and should not be heeded too much. Otherwise, they may believe they truly hold sway over Your Majesty and become even more unruly.” Zhu Xiang added a bit coldly, “If they make too much noise, it must mean they are too idle. Why doesn’t Your Majesty have them compile books?”

King Qin Zhu was stunned, not understanding why Zhu Xiang suddenly brought up book compilation.

Zhu Xiang explained, “The scholars from the east are mostly Ru scholars of the Lu tradition, who regard Mencius as their foremost teacher. Though they oppose my teacher Xunzi, the teachings of Confucius-Mencius and Confucius-Xunzi share one common point: the goal of educating the people. As Qin’s territory expands, if we implement the commandery-county system, the court will need to dispatch many officials to local regions. Li Mu says that even now, there is a shortage of officials in Southern Qin. Once the six states are unified, the shortage will be even more severe.”

King Qin Zhu and Ying Zheng once again wore thoughtful expressions.

Zhu Xiang smiled and said, “If there are not enough officials loyal to Qin, wouldn’t we have to rely on former officials from the six states to govern? Qin is their enemy—would they manage affairs diligently? They may even deliberately stir up public resentment. Cultivating talent is like planting trees—it takes at least ten years to grow a competent person. If we don’t start now and wait until after unification, it will be too late.”

“Qin must cultivate its commoners into Qin’s own scholars. The Confucians wish to educate the people—the two goals align perfectly. But how should we educate? Teaching only laws and decrees won’t be enough to cultivate talent fit to govern. If Your Majesty orders the scholars to collate, revise, transcribe, and print the books of the world, you’ll have more texts to educate more talents.”

“Your Majesty, compiling books is a task that benefits the present and earns merit for generations to come. I believe the great Confucians who dedicate themselves to enlightening the world will fight for the opportunity.” Zhu Xiang coughed dryly, “But there are so many books—it might take more than ten, even several dozen years to finish…”

King Qin Zhu and Ying Zheng looked at each other.

They understood. Completely.

This wasn’t about compiling books—it was “house arrest” under the guise of book compilation.

Under the pretense of Qin needing more scholars, perfectly aligning with the Confucians’ mission to educate, they could naturally assign Confucians to the task of book compilation.

The Confucians had to take the bait. Otherwise, by default, Qin would continue promoting Legalist ideology to new scholars, perhaps even instilling Qin law directly, ignoring moral teachings altogether.

Without moral education, what kind of “education” would that be?

Once the Confucians accepted the bait, their energy would be diverted. They’d have no time to scheme for the six states or oppose the King. All Qin needed to do was send oppositional Confucians to compile books and place supportive ones in court.

“But should we really let the Confucians influence the training of officials?” Ying Zheng frowned.

Zhu Xiang said, “Zheng’er, laws are the bottom line, morality is the upper limit. To govern a country, one needs both Legalism and Confucianism. Make education a primary mission, uphold proper laws, and supplement with the power of kingship—only then can a nation be well governed. As for how to do it specifically, that’s for you to figure out.”

King Qin Zhu pointed to his own nose, “Even I have to figure it out myself?”

Zhu Xiang nodded, “Your Majesty must also think for yourself. The path of kingship must be decided by the king himself. I am merely a minister who offers suggestions. Your Majesty must not be biased or overly trusting.”

King Qin Zhu sighed, “You… everyone else tries to instill their ideas into the king, but only you tell the king to ‘think for yourself’!”

Ying Zheng covered his mouth and laughed.

Zhu Xiang said smugly, “That’s me—a different kind of scenery.”

“If you keep being cheeky, I’ll tell Xun Qing everything you just said.” King Qin Zhu threatened.

Zhu Xiang immediately panicked, “Your Majesty, you are the ruler—your word is law. How can you go back on it!”

King Qin Zhu burst into hearty laughter, his mood greatly improved.

He chuckled and said, “Zhu Xiang, people say you’re already acting as the de facto chancellor. Why not just officially take the role?”

Zhu Xiang hurriedly shook his head, “No, no. If I become chancellor, who will tend the fields and take care of your daily lives? There are plenty who can serve in court, but none can replace me in farming and looking after you.”

Ying Zheng clung to Zhu Xiang’s arm and said, “Right! Uncle must not be the chancellor! Uncle is only chancellor for Zheng’er!”

“Alright, alright, just for you.” King Qin Zhu relented.

Since Zhu Xiang was unwilling, he didn’t insist.

There were too many rumors in Xianyang, and King Qin Zhu was also worried. He decided that after the funeral, he would let Zhu Xiang return to the countryside to farm.

Though his father had ordered Zhu Xiang to remain in Xianyang to assist him, King Qin Zhu cared more about the quality of life for Zhu Xiang and Zheng’er. He could manage state affairs himself. As long as he protected them, Zhu Xiang and Zheng’er could enjoy a few more years of freedom outside.

He couldn’t let Zhu Xiang and Zheng’er live more stifled than during his father’s reign.

King Qin Zhu spent the night at the villa and didn’t leave until the next day after eating the cream steamed buns Zhu Xiang had made.

Zhu Xiang had originally planned to bake cream bread, but he couldn’t control the temperature of the earthen oven. The baked bread was so hard it could crack walnuts. So, he had no choice but to steam cream buns instead.

When King Qin Zhu left, Zhu Xiang grumbled to himself. Being vegetarian was truly inhumane—both the King, Xia Tong, and Zheng’er were all in urgent need of nutrition, and they couldn’t even eat eggs.

Zhu Xiang stroked his chin, scheming silently.

What protein-rich foods could bypass the vegetarian mourning restrictions? Could seafood be allowed?

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Zhu Xiang shuddered and suppressed his wicked thoughts.

When King Qin Zhu returned to Xianyang Palace, Lady Huayang immediately came to plead guilty.

She wept like pear blossoms in the rain, begging King Qin Zhu to make Lord Yangquan reflect in isolation and forbid him from attending court.

Lady Huayang was terrified. She knew Lord Yangquan had been encouraged to criticize Zhu Xiang and nearly lost her soul from fright.

As King Qin Zhu’s favorite consort, she knew him very well.

Ever since King Qin Zhu was gradually entrusted with power by the late King, his temperament had increasingly resembled his father’s. He was becoming a true Qin ruler. He was not someone to be taken lightly, and he deeply trusted Zhu Xiang, regarding him as his most loyal and important minister.

What on earth clouded your judgment to speak ill of Zhu Xiang in front of the King? Do you really think you can outshine Zhu Xiang? Go look in the mirror and see if you’re even worthy!

Seeing that Lady Huayang was being sensible, King Qin Zhu comforted her with a gentle smile. Following her plea, he ordered Lord Yangquan to reflect behind closed doors and said the matter would not be pursued further, hoping she would discipline him well.

Lord Yangquan, who usually listened to Lady Huayang, also knew his limits after sobering up and obediently kept his head down.

King Qin Zhu didn’t address the rumors. Using grief as an excuse, he delegated more state affairs to Zichu and moved to a side hall near the mourning hall to observe filial piety for King Zhao Xiang.

He publicly declared that he was overwhelmed with sorrow and that nothing was more important than his father’s funeral.

He summoned Zhu Xiang and Zheng’er to join him in mourning, saying King Zhao Xiang had cherished them both in life. Zichu should have come too, but state matters needed someone to handle them—he, as Crown Prince, had to prioritize the country.

King Qin Zhu never mentioned the rumors—and they naturally died down.

The rumor-mongers realized from his actions that the King was not easily swayed. If they kept at it, he would likely find out who was behind it, and they would have nowhere to hide.

As the rumors faded, debate at the Xianyang Academy about how the King of Qin should mourn grew fiercer. Even as the feudal lords were about to arrive in Xianyang, there was still no consensus.

King Qin Zhu remained calm, but Ying Zheng’s expression grew darker.

This reminded him of when the Confucians had stirred trouble over his plans to perform the Fengshan sacrifices at Mount Tai.

The scene now was just like his dreams.

But unlike his dreams, this time there was Xunzi—someone who could overpower all the scholars—standing firmly on King Qin Zhu’s side.

Once the time was right, Xunzi directly presented his finalized mourning ritual.

“The ruler is the father of the people. Therefore, it is proper for the people to mourn their ruler as they would their own father. But a full three-year mourning period may violate the principle of filial piety if it causes undue hardship. Abstaining from wine, meat, marriage, and feasts for three years would be too burdensome on the people.”

“I propose replacing months with days: let the people of Qin observe a three-year mourning in name, but in practice only for three days! This way, we uphold Qin’s principle of governing with filial piety, while avoiding harm to the people!”