HCT – Chapter 107 A Gentleman’s Hypocritical Heart

The scholars of the Xianyang Academy believed that once they argued their way to a conclusion, only then would Xunzi submit the finalized consensus document to the King of Qin.

But Xunzi had already drawn a line in his heart—once the time came, no matter how many objections there were, he would submit the memorial directly to the King of Qin in front of the entire court, delivering the final verdict in his capacity as Prime Minister.

The scholars of the Xianyang Academy likely didn’t know how to feel at that moment. Judging by King Zhu’s expression, he was clearly very pleased.

Xunzi never said how King Zhu should observe mourning. Every word he said was framed as being for the sake of the common people.

Ying Zheng and Zhu Xiang were also present in court, but they were seated behind a screen on the side, invisible to the officials.

Zhu Xiang sighed, his face filled with an amused expression, as though watching a spectacle.

Ying Zheng’s lips twitched as he recalled how, in his dream, the Qin Empire handled mourning rituals.

After unifying the realm, the First Emperor of Qin hoped to embrace inclusivity, accepting the teachings of the six eastern states, and in turn, expected the scholars from those states to accept him and the Qin Empire.

But no matter how much the First Emperor tolerated them, those scholars wouldn’t even spare him a glance, let alone offer sincere counsel.

That group of Eastern scholars couldn’t stop talking about the feudal system. No matter what advice the First Emperor sought, they would always redirect the topic to enfeoffment. When the Emperor tried to steer the discussion away, they simply repeated themselves relentlessly.

If Zhu Xiang had been present in that dream court of the First Emperor, he would have felt a familiar sense of exasperation.

He had often encountered the same kind of “broken-record” people when arguing online.

In short, the other party came into the conversation with a fixed agenda. No matter the topic, it was useless; they weren’t genuinely interested in engaging with him—they just had a goal to push.

Thus, the mourning policy under the First Emperor of Qin remained one set by the Legalist officials of the Qin bureaucracy, resulting in two extremes.

First, Qin citizens were forbidden from mourning their own parents: “By decree: When an official’s parent dies, he may take one month off after burial. For children or siblings, fifteen days. For stepparents or parental siblings, five days after burial.”

But at the same time, citizens were required to observe an extremely harsh three-year mourning period for the Emperor.

Ying Zheng, having experienced this contradiction in his dream, found his views diverging from those of the First Emperor. So, he reframed the issue and sought his uncle’s opinion.

Zhu Xiang told him that this was Qin’s policy of “exalting the ruler and suppressing the people”—a continuation of Shang Yang’s oppressive rule.

“But the people are still human,” Zhu Xiang had said, with a helpless smile. “Even a rabbit will bite when pushed too far—let alone the common folk. Whether or not a ruler accepts this truth, once the people’s anger accumulates enough to burn down his grand empire, it’s too late for him to understand. But his descendants surely will.”

Looking at his uncle’s smile, Ying Zheng suddenly felt a chill run down his spine.

After hearing Xunzi’s proposal, Ying Zheng lifted his head and asked softly, “Uncle, if the citizens only mourn the ruler for thirty-six days, won’t they look down on him?”

Zhu Xiang smiled. “They will be sincerely grateful to him.”

“I mean—” Ying Zheng clarified, “will they not undermine the ruler’s authority?”

Zhu Xiang rubbed his head. “Zheng’er, you need to understand one thing: Only a living ruler with power has authority.”

Ying Zheng bit down on a molar that hadn’t fallen out yet, his expression filled with indignation.

Zhu Xiang said, “Zheng’er, every monarch wants their authority to persist beyond death. But that’s just not possible. Look—whether a tyrant or a wise ruler, even those exalted as the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors—who truly fears them now?”

“Authority is built on fear. Once a man dies, that fear disappears.”

“Future generations may admire your achievements, revere you, even idolize or mythologize you—but they won’t fear you.” As Zhu Xiang said this, his gaze seemed to pierce through the palace walls, looking toward a distant horizon.

This was exactly how people of later generations treated the First Emperor of Qin. They admired him, revered him, longed for his legacy—and some even playfully called him “Brother Zheng,” as if he were a fresh-faced pop idol on stage.

Let’s not even mention the die-hard fans who blindly ignored the First Emperor’s brutal rule. Even those who acknowledged his tyranny didn’t fear him—because he had been dead for millennia. No matter how cruel he had been, how could he possibly harm the living now?

“Zheng’er, fear vanishes with your death. Only respect can last forever,” Zhu Xiang said as he pulled his gaze back.

“If you want future generations to remember you forever, then do more things that will earn their lasting respect.”

Ying Zheng’s face remained cold. “Oh.”

Zhu Xiang chuckled. “But even if Zheng’er does nothing special, you’ll still be remembered and respected by future generations. Uncle has no doubt about that.”

Only then did Ying Zheng’s expression soften.

King Zhu shot a look at Zhu Xiang and Ying Zheng.

What are you two chatting about over there? Get a grip—this is court!

King Zhu was itching with impatience. He really wanted to go over and chat with Zhu Xiang and Ying Zheng about today’s events—there was so much he wanted to share.

Unfortunately, he had to wait until the court session ended.

When Xunzi put forward the idea of “mourning in days instead of months,” someone immediately opposed it, saying it undermined the ruler’s dignity.

Xunzi calmly refuted him: “I heard that when the late king was gravely ill, the people who loved him prayed sincerely across the nation, and officials submitted petitions with blessings and omens. Yet the king was not pleased with their concern—he scolded them and decreed that anyone who did so again would be harshly punished.”

Xunzi’s lips curved slightly.

“I haven’t been in Qin long—may I ask, is this true?”

The man did not respond, but King Zhu, eager to stir things up, immediately said: “It’s true! I was right there—I was scared half to death!”

Ying Zheng leaned forward, ears perked.

Zhu Xiang patted his shoulder and cupped his hands around his ear like a megaphone.

Ying Zheng got the hint and did the same.

King Zhu caught sight of their little gesture and couldn’t help grinning widely.

Xunzi continued: “For citizens to pray for a virtuous ruler—this should be the greatest display of a ruler’s authority. Why then was the former king not pleased, and even issued punishment?”

He cast a slow glance at the official who had challenged him and asked leisurely: “I do not understand. Would the esteemed lord care to enlighten me?”

The man’s face darkened, but he dared not respond.

Though King Zhaoxiang was already gone, King Zhu had fully performed the role of a dutiful son. Who would dare criticize the late king in front of him?

Meng Ao scanned the court and cupped his hands, saying: “When the late ruler was gravely ill, not only was the nation suffering from famine, but the six states at the borders were watching like hungry wolves. At that moment, the people and officials should have focused on farming and preparing for war. The late ruler believed that anything impeding Qin’s rise should not be allowed—even if it was prayers for the ruler.”

Meng Ao swept his gaze across the room again, sneering: “The late ruler left behind a will that mourning must not interfere with governance. Chancellor Xunzi’s proposal allows the people to express their grief and show reverence for the king, while also honoring the will of the late ruler—causing no disturbance to the people, nor hindering governance. What more do the esteemed lords have to complain about?”

King Zhu slammed his gold-ringed hand heavily on the throne’s armrest.

“We would also like to hear—what dissatisfaction remains among you?”

Zhu Xiang put down his hand, his face full of theatrical regret.

This current King of Qin was different from the late king—he disliked beating around the bush. If it were the late King of Qin, he would have let the courtiers argue among themselves, then seize more handles against them, and deal with them slowly over time.

But King Zhu of Qin went straight for the outcome. Once he got the answer he wanted, he would proceed directly without any detours or additional complications.

Compared to the late king, King Zhu’s way of doing things could be considered quite lenient toward his ministers—they no longer had to fear that a careless slip of the tongue during political discussions would bring terrible consequences, as it did under the previous reign.

However, for an onlooker like him, this kind of court session lacked a bit of liveliness. Even Ying Zheng looked rather disappointed.

Though some in the court looked down on this “Old Crown Prince” who had just become King of Qin, in Qin, the king’s authority was absolute. Since King Zhu had made a decision, no one dared to say more.

Xunzi had expected someone to continue arguing with him. He had prepared a bellyful of sarcasm and elegant rhetoric—but the matter was already settled just like that.

Xunzi felt both regret and satisfaction. A monarch like King Zhu was indeed the most fitting to fulfill his ideal of unifying the world. Without this kind of authority, how could one unite the hearts of people from the Seven States?

Once this matter was settled, the remaining topics became easier.

If the common people only needed to mourn for thirty-six days so as not to delay governance, then naturally the monarch could do the same.

But after confirming that the new King of Qin only needed to observe mourning for thirty-six days, King Zhu made an exception—for himself.

His reasons were: first, the current mourning system had only been implemented after the passing of King Zhaoxiang of Qin, so he couldn’t apply this new system retroactively; and second, he was deeply grieved and insisted on mourning the late king for a longer period.

So King Zhu, following the old traditions of Qin, mourned for King Zhaoxiang for one full year. During this year, the reign title would not change, but King Zhu would continue to manage state affairs himself and not neglect governance due to mourning.

Crown Prince Zichu immediately led the court officials in flattering him, praising the king for lightening the burden on the people while personally observing a longer mourning period—truly a benevolent and filial ruler!

King Zhu stroked his beard as he listened to the ministers’ flattery, his beaming smile giving no hint of whether it was genuine or not.

For a moment, Zhu Xiang thought he saw the late King of Qin still sitting on the throne, wearing a gentle smile while sweeping the court with a chilling gaze. He rubbed his eyes.

Such a major issue like the mourning of the monarch had sparked arguments for so long, yet once it reached the court, it was over in less than half an hour.

After that, the court discussed the remaining matters of King Zhaoxiang’s burial—such as the arrival of envoys from other states for the rites—and then moved on to national matters like farming, military readiness, and administrative policies.

In recent years, the climate had fluctuated. Most of the time it remained warm, but occasionally, extreme cold would strike—like when Zhu Xiang had left the State of Zhao.

Such climate fluctuations often brought severe droughts and floods, causing crop failures and misery for the people.

In the past, Qin would deal with famines by launching military raids against the other six states. But now, as Qin prepared for the unification of the world, it could no longer afford to stir up more hatred. Not only must it reduce plundering, but it also had to help rebuild order and production in conquered lands.

This strategic shift for Qin was the greatest challenge King Zhu faced.

In fact, even the debate over mourning was a prelude to this transition—had it been the old Qin, the scholars of Xianyang Academy would not have had any chance to argue at all.

How to respond to public testing of the waters, how to transform the image of Qin and its monarch in the eyes of scholars from the six other states, while still upholding royal authority and national governance—on all these matters, King Zhu had no firm answers.

No one had done this before. He could only explore step by step, forging a path for those who came after him.

Once the court meeting ended, aside from the mourning issue, no national policies were finalized. King Zhu merely gave provisional orders for the most urgent matters.

After the session, he asked Crown Prince Zichu and the two Prime Ministers to stay behind, and dismissed the rest.

When Zhu Xiang and Ying Zheng stepped out from behind the screen, the expressions of Zichu, Xunzi, and Cai Ze were all rather complicated.

They had long known that even when King Zhu was still Crown Prince, he had doted excessively on Zhu Xiang and Ying Zheng. Who would have thought that after ascending the throne, this indulgence would remain unchanged?

Rumors outside claimed that Zhu Xiang was the real power behind Qin’s throne—and here the monarch truly let him listen in on government matters from behind a screen?

“I just want Zheng’er to learn more,” said King Zhu, noticing the skeptical gazes of the Prime Ministers. “He’s not a child anymore. It’s time he began studying state affairs.”

Xunzi said with a hint of sarcasm, “How wise Your Majesty is. If outsiders learn of this, they won’t say the Crown Prince holds too much power—they’ll think it’s Prince Zheng who’s the real threat.”

King Zhu laughed cheerfully, “Let them say what they like. Zheng’er isn’t afraid. Grandfather will protect you.”

Ying Zheng replied, “Zheng’er knows. Old Master Xun is just jealous of me!”

Xunzi’s gaze turned cold.

Ying Zheng immediately hid behind Zhu Xiang.

Not only did his aunt’s beatings hurt, but Xunzi’s disciplinary ruler was also quite painful.

“Xun Qing, you’ll be guiding Zhu Xiang in arranging the funeral for my royal father,” said King Zhu quickly, changing the subject to prevent Xunzi from smacking his precious grandson. “If Zhu Xiang acts as the ceremonial officer, my father may be more pleased. I’m grateful for your effort in this matter.”

Xunzi bowed respectfully, “It is my duty—it does not deserve special thanks.”

King Zhu said, “As for the opposing scholars from Xianyang Academy, there’s no need for you to concern yourself with them, Xunzi. I’ve decided to assign them to a new task—compiling books.”

“Compiling books?” Xunzi was momentarily stunned, then glanced at Zhu Xiang.

Zhu Xiang immediately responded instinctively, “It has nothing to do with me! It wasn’t my idea!”

Cai Ze sighed, “Zhu Xiang, your reaction makes it clear you were the one who proposed it.”

Zhu Xiang: “……”

He cleared his throat and said, “Fine, it was me. The book compilation project has been delayed for too long. Now that papermaking and printing techniques have improved and costs have decreased, perhaps it’s time to begin. Moreover, Qin must prepare to train more scholars after unification. Without compiling these books, how will we gather ideas and create a set curriculum for future examiners?”

He looked seriously at Xunzi. “Once Qin unifies the realm, all schools of thought will serve Qin—not restricted to just one. But accepting all does not mean confusion. When the land is unified, thought must also be unified. That’s why creating a ‘Qin Learning’ is crucial.”

Xunzi gave a cold smile. “And assigning unruly scholars to bury their heads in bookmaking so they stop making noise—isn’t that also important, Zhu Xiang?”

Zhu Xiang looked evasive. “I never said that.”

Xunzi took a deep breath and said, “Compiling books is a major task. After wars, countless precious classics vanish in the flames. Even if it’s just to preserve these texts for future generations, it must be done. But Your Majesty, how do you intend to treat the histories of the other six states?”

King Zhu pondered for a long time. Xunzi waited patiently.

Ying Zheng looked up at his grandfather.

What would Grandfather decide? Would he destroy the histories of the six states, leaving only that of Qin?

“Keep backup copies, but rewrite the History of Zhou,” King Zhu finally said. “Each state’s histories contain things unknown to others, but all also conceal things to protect their own monarchs. The Zhou dynasty has fallen. Now it is Qin’s era. In Qin’s version of Zhou’s history, we no longer need to conceal anything for the Zhou kings or feudal lords.”

Confucius had once laid down a principle for historians: “Conceal the faults of rulers.” From this came the term “Spring and Autumn style.”

What King Zhu meant was: now that it was Qin’s time, the Zhou king and the other feudal rulers were no longer true sovereigns. So, in writing history, scholars could draw from all state records to reconstruct the truth.

Of course, another meaning left unsaid was this: only the King of Qin was a true sovereign now—so history only needed to avoid mentioning certain things about the kings of Qin.

Xunzi listened, then slowly broke into a radiant smile.

He knelt deeply in genuine respect and bowed to King Zhu: “Your Majesty is truly wise.”

Seeing Xunzi show such reverence, King Zhu felt a little awkward.

He hurriedly helped Xunzi up and said, “I hope that the official history of Zhou can serve as a reference for future Qin kings. Therefore, the court historian should record both the gains and losses of the Qin state. As long as the record is fair and accurate, even if it involves the mistakes I’ve made, I do not fear being written into the annals. A true ruler should possess such magnanimity.”

Xunzi bowed once more. “I shall obey Your Majesty’s command.”

Ying Zheng clenched his small fists within his sleeves for a long while, then slowly and reluctantly loosened them.

In the memories of his dream-world counterpart, his grandfather had reigned for only one year after mourning his predecessor and passed away just three days after changing the era name.

That one year and three days of reign revealed little about what kind of Qin king his grandfather truly was.

But the grandfather before his eyes, even though not yet past the mourning period of a year, was someone Ying Zheng could be certain of—he would be a wise and great king of Qin.

Even though his greatness and wisdom were completely different from those of the previous great-grandfather.

Was this confidence and ease due to the many years his grandfather had served as crown prince, having a firm claim to the throne, and thus a smooth transition to the kingship?

Could he himself one day learn to possess such confidence and poise?

“Xunzi, don’t get too tempted and go write the history yourself,” Zhu Xiang quickly said upon seeing how stirred Xunzi was.

Xunzi replied irritably, “I won’t for now. I’ll finish compiling the Qin rites first.”

Zhu Xiang exclaimed, “Xunzi, if you don’t serve as Chancellor anymore, what will happen to the court? Are you willing to hand over the court to the strategists and Legalists?!”

Cai Ze coughed. “Ahem.”

Zichu covered his forehead in exasperation.

Both Qin King Zhu and Ying Zheng watched Zhu Xiang’s antics with great interest.

Zhu Xiang went on dramatically, “If Lin Zhi returns from his diplomatic mission, the court might even fall into the hands of the followers of Laozi! How terrifying would that be?!”

Xunzi could no longer endure him. Although he didn’t have his ritual ruler (a disciplinary tool), he clenched his fist and delivered a heavy blow with the scabbard: “Shut up! If you care so much about the Confucianists, why don’t you enter the court yourself?!”

Zhu Xiang held his head. “No way, going to court requires getting up too early.”

Qin King Zhu: “…”

He rummaged through his own robes, then finally removed the sword at his waist and handed it to Xunzi. “Use this scabbard to hit him!”

Cai Ze immediately pulled Ying Zheng behind him to protect him in case Xunzi accidentally hurt him.

Zichu tucked his hands into his sleeves and silently watched Zhu Xiang digging his own grave.

Single-handedly, Zhu Xiang managed to make a mess of the touching exchange between Xunzi and Qin King Zhu about compiling the national history, and received several blows from Xunzi’s scabbard for it.

Xunzi scolded, “Can’t you ever be serious?!”

Zhu Xiang rubbed the sore spots and said, “I am serious. Everything I said was true.”

Zichu snorted. “I heard you sleep in every day till the sun is high. That part’s definitely true.”

Cai Ze sighed. No matter how much time passes, Zhu Xiang never changes. Will you ever grow up?

Qin King Zhu and Ying Zheng continued watching the scene gleefully, and Qin King Zhu even grabbed a handful of roasted soybeans from the table to share with Ying Zheng.

Zhu Xiang was deliberately provoking Xunzi.

He knew that with Xunzi’s intelligence, he would certainly see through the dangerous implications of the proposal he had made earlier. Xunzi was old, and holding in that anger might affect his health. So Zhu Xiang simply gave him an excuse to beat him up a few times—after venting, Xunzi would feel better.

Xunzi had indeed seen through his underlying intention, but being the rational man he was, he wouldn’t act on it. So Zhu Xiang had no choice but to act like a clown.

Even though everything Zhu Xiang said was true.

He refused to attend court not just because he disliked the atmosphere of debates, but mainly because court sessions were exhausting—early to rise, late to leave, even more tiring than a beast of burden.

After beating Zhu Xiang up, Xunzi felt much less angry.

He glared at Zhu Xiang a few more times, but ultimately couldn’t do anything about him. He returned the sword to Qin King Zhu, gave a few grunts, and no longer fretted over Zhu Xiang’s suggestion.

If he couldn’t relax his expectations for Zhu Xiang, Zhu Xiang would’ve driven him to death by rage long ago.

Seeing that Xunzi and Zhu Xiang had “reconciled,” Qin King Zhu smiled and ordered a feast. As they dined, they discussed court matters and also brought up Lin Zhi, who had been sent on a diplomatic mission.

Lin Zhi had gone to Chu and formally signed a treaty with the King of Chu, agreeing to divide the lands along the Yangtze River.

Qin would no longer proactively cross the Yangtze to attack Chu, but in turn, Chu must no longer assist the other Five Kingdoms against Qin. If Chu violated the treaty, General Li Mu would reignite war in southern Chu.

Lin Zhi’s mission had a minimum goal: secure this treaty to temporarily stabilize Chu so that Qin could concentrate its full strength on the Three Jin states (Han, Wei, and Zhao).

With years of groundwork laid by Cai Ze in Shangdang, along with agricultural techniques introduced by Zhu Xiang, Qin was rapidly digesting and consolidating the territories it had annexed from the Three Jin states.

According to Cai Ze’s judgment, Qin was now strong enough to continue devouring Wei and Han—and possibly even destroy them outright.

However, Qin King Zhu decided to take only parts of each state for now, leaving their capitals untouched.

As long as a state’s capital remained, the other six states would not unite—they would continue to see themselves as individual nations.

Once Qin took the capital of either Wei or Han, completely wiping out one of those states, that would be the moment Qin could swallow the entire realm in one bold move.

Among the six states, only Chu still had both military power and resources, along with a barely competent king and a decent chancellor. As long as Chu stayed neutral, the other five states would not be able to unite before Qin wiped out either Wei or Han. That was why, just before his death, Qin Zhao Xiangwang had sent Lin Zhi to visit Chu.

He had high hopes for Lin Zhi, the son of Lin Xiangru, and hoped that Lin Zhi would demonstrate his father’s brilliance during the mission.

Besides the minimum task assigned by Zhao Xiangwang, Lin Zhi had his own set of goals.

He hadn’t told anyone about those—not even Zhu Xiang.

Lin Zhi had laughed and said at the time that he didn’t want to speak of them—because if he failed, it would be too embarrassing.

“I hope Lin Zhi can return before the burial of the royal father,” Qin King Zhu sighed. “The royal father was very fond of Lin Zhi. He would surely want Lin Zhi to see him off.”

Qin King Zhu always ended up saying things like “The royal father loved…” whenever discussing serious matters.

From people to objects, from weather to scenery—the shadow of Qin Zhao Xiangwang lingered in his heart.

When Qin King Zhu was exhausted and dozing over his desk, he often dreamed of Qin Zhao Xiangwang.

In his dreams, Zhao Xiangwang would always chide him for being physically weak and tiring out over a few documents, then tell him to rest properly.

“Even if Zichu is also weak, you still have so many ministers! And if all else fails, let Zhu Xiang do it! He’s so lazy every day, he’s a disgrace of a son!”

Sometimes Qin King Zhu would wake up laughing, other times in tears.

He had never expected he would miss his father so much.

“He should make it back in time,” Zhu Xiang said. “He might even return with the envoy sent by the King of Chu to attend the funeral rites.”

Qin King Zhu smiled. “That would be good.”

In the south, Lin Zhi indeed returned to Qin along with the envoys sent by the King of Chu.

General Li Mu had originally planned to return with him, but Zhao Xiangwang had personally issued a decree instructing Li Mu to remain east of the Yangtze and not return to Xianyang.

Similarly, Meng Wu remained stationed in E Yi, guarding the critical junction where the Han River met the Yangtze.

“Lord Lin, is Lord Zhu Xiang still in Xianyang?” The envoy sent by the King of Chu was none other than Lord Chunshen, Huang Xie, who had already resigned from his position as Prime Minister.

Due to the defeat in the Jiangdong campaign, Huang Xie fell out of favor with the King of Chu. When Lin Zhi signed the treaty with the King of Chu, Huang Xie was entirely excluded.

However, it was Lin Zhi who persuaded the King of Chu to reconcile with Huang Xie. The King heeded his advice and recalled Huang Xie—though he did reduce Huang Xie’s fief.

Upon reinstatement, the first task given to Huang Xie was to represent Chu in paying respects to the late King Zhaoxiang of Qin and to covertly assess the current situation in Qin.

The King of Chu had once been a hostage in Qin, and Huang Xie had accompanied him during that time, even helping him escape back to Chu, earning the King’s favor. In this respect, he was quite similar to Lu Buwei.

Huang Xie had nearly lost his life in Qin. He harbored some resentment toward the state and was a firm hardliner—an unwavering hawk in matters regarding Qin.

Returning to Qin again brought up deeply complicated emotions for him.

This time, he had resolved to observe Qin’s strengths and weaknesses with his own eyes, then continue persuading the King of Chu not to trust any agreements with Qin.

“Qin people are barbarians! Cunning and rude! Have they ever honored a treaty?!”

Looking at Lin Zhi, Huang Xie felt extremely conflicted.

How could the son of Lin Xiangru go and serve the barbarian king in a barbarian land? If you don’t care about such things, why not come to Chu? Even the King of Chu is better than the King of Qin.

As for Zhu Xiang, his emotions were even more tangled.

He had already sent people to invite Zhu Xiang to Chu! They had been so close—just a tiny step away—from making Zhu Xiang “Lord Zhu Xiang of Chu”!

Every time Huang Xie thought about it, he’d wake up in the middle of the night and slap himself.

Why didn’t I send people earlier? Why didn’t I make them move faster? If it had been Chu who rescued Zhu Xiang from prison, then Lin Zhi, Cai Ze, Li Mu, maybe even Lian Po and Xunzi—could all have been ministers of Chu!

So, during this mission to Qin, Huang Xie also intended to try persuading Zhu Xiang once more.

Although Zhu Xiang had already become a relative of the Qin royal family and it was unlikely he’d leave, what if? What if the King of Qin, like the King of Zhao, was a foolish ruler who feared Zhu Xiang? Wouldn’t that give him a chance to rescue Zhu Xiang?

“His late majesty saw Zhu Xiang as a grandson, and Zhu Xiang viewed him as a grandfather. He should be in the Palace now, observing mourning. Of course, he’s in Xianyang.” Lin Zhi knew what Huang Xie was thinking and mercilessly shattered his fantasy.

“When the current King was still Crown Prince, he was very close to Zhu Xiang. His Majesty is extremely filial to the late King. I imagine Zhu Xiang has been by his side all along. As long as Lord Chunshen meets the King, he’ll surely see Zhu Xiang.”

Huang Xie’s expression darkened. “Zhu Xiang is also deeply valued by the current King of Qin?”

How could that be? Isn’t it always new king, new ministers?

Lin Zhi smiled faintly. “Of course. Zhu Xiang’s name for benevolence and virtue is known across the land. Which wise ruler wouldn’t value him? Once you meet him, you’ll understand. You missed your chance to meet him in Jiangdong—this time, make sure to see him properly.”

Huang Xie’s face stiffened.

He stared at Lin Zhi. “Jiangdong?”

Lin Zhi was surprised. “You didn’t know? You were across the river from Zhu Xiang and the late King. Zhu Xiang even admired the great fires along the riverbank.”

Huang Xie: “……”

The Jiangdong campaign was his most humiliating failure. Not only did Lin Zhi bring it up, he even made it clear that Huang Xie’s decisions had been correct—it was just that the Chu army was too weak to achieve his goals.

The King of Qin was really in Jiangdong. Even Zhu Xiang had been there. If only he had won then…

But there were no “ifs.”

Huang Xie still believed his strategy had been sound—it was the Chu aristocrats who had dragged him down.

From the Jiangdong defeat, he understood deeply: all his previous compromises and attempts to integrate into the Chu nobility had not only been futile—they had likely made those same noble families secretly mock and despise him.

Even as the powerful Lord Chunshen, in the eyes of Chu’s noble clans, he was still just a lowborn scholar, no different from a commoner.

He would never be accepted by them.

After Lin Zhi brought up Jiangdong, Huang Xie lost all interest in further conversation.

Lin Zhi finally found peace and quiet. He focused on observing the landscape and roads, lighting a lamp at night to sketch maps.

He had already learned map-making from Lin Xiangru, and after befriending Zhu Xiang, Zhu Xiang taught him about topographical maps and modern cartography techniques. Moists had even created a few small tools based on the principles Zhu Xiang described.

During this mission into the heartland of Chu, Lin Zhi used his identity as a Taoist heir to travel freely and leisurely, pretending to be a carefree noble who didn’t take diplomacy seriously—while quietly memorizing and recording mountains, rivers, and roads.

Once back in Xianyang, this would be his first gift to the new King of Qin.

The second gift would be the “official import-export routes” he had discussed while drafting the treaty with the King of Chu.

Zhu Xiang had once spoken to him about “grain warfare” and Qi’s current food crisis.

“With me in Qin, our food production is several times higher than the other six states. Grain is cheap in Qin and expensive elsewhere. If we export cheap grain and import specialty goods, not only will the wealth of the six states pour into Qin, their people might even lose interest in farming.”

Currency could be forged into weapons. Even if the six states refused to sell copper and iron to Qin, Qin could use their minerals to forge arms.

And if the people of the six states, like Qi’s people, began neglecting agriculture—even by just 10 or 5 percent—once Qin halted food exports, many in those states would starve.

Zhu Xiang had come up with this strategy while drunk, but even after sobering up, he never told Lin Zhi not to use it.

Lin Zhi knew Zhu Xiang never forgot anything he said when drunk. His silence meant inner conflict.

On one hand, Zhu Xiang knew many civilians would suffer. On the other, if the plan succeeded, it would hasten Qin’s unification—and possibly save even more lives.

A small sacrifice for enormous gain.

But these “sacrifices” were people. Why should people be treated as a price? If it were you being sacrificed, would you agree?

Zhu Xiang had always held onto such beliefs. So every time he proposed a ruthless, costly strategy, how tormented must he have felt?

Lin Zhi knew all this, and still used Zhu Xiang’s strategy.

Zhu Xiang had already silenced his conscience to offer these ideas. If Lin Zhi didn’t use them, it would betray Zhu Xiang’s internal struggle.

But he started with Chu—a state where, even in food shortages, wild herbs and animals could help people survive until they crossed the Yangtze to cultivate the fertile lands of southern Qin. Starving was unlikely.

That way, if the strategy worked, Zhu Xiang’s burden wouldn’t be so heavy.

Lin Zhi narrowed his eyes to measure mountain distances with his hand, lips curled in a smile.

Of course, no one in the world would ever know this plan came from Zhu Xiang.

Such a ruthless and venomous plan—who but a strategist like Lin Zhi could devise it?

Yes, today, Lin Zhi was one of the Vertical and Horizontal strategists.

Soon, envoys from the six states began arriving in Xianyang.

Zhu Xiang, after undergoing Xunzi’s brutal ceremonial training, now carried himself with impressive poise, astonishing his friends.

Zichu: “I see a monkey not only wearing clothes, but finally learning human etiquette.”

Cai Ze: “Yet another day of seeing Zhu Xiang act like a Confucian scholar. The last time was in Handan.”

Ying Zheng: “Is this still my uncle? Uncle, where are you? Zheng’er can’t find you anymore!”

Zhu Xiang immediately smacked Ying Zheng on the head, only to get smacked himself by Xunzi a moment later.

King Zhu laughed heartily.

But as the funeral drew closer, King Zhu’s mood grew heavier.

After the six states’ envoys paid their respects, his father would be buried. From then on, he would never see his father again.

Whenever his grief became too overwhelming, Zhu Xiang, Zichu, and the others would find ways to cheer him up.

King Zhu had over twenty sons, but all they did was cry harder than he did when they saw him, almost fainting as they wailed, “Your Majesty, please restrain your sorrow.”

Yet these sons had barely even known their father.

Each time King Zhu saw this, his heart ached even more.

So, he would hold Zheng’er’s hand and stand in the mourning hall, chatting with King Zhaoxiang and pouring out his grief.

“Father, they all think they’re clever, accusing Zichu of being too busy with work to miss you,” King Zhu said gloomily. “But missing someone isn’t measured by how many tears you shed.”

When Zichu worked with him on state matters, he would sometimes hand him documents facing the wrong way, appear dazed, or use the wrong titles—proof that Zichu, just like himself, missed their father deeply.

“Great-grandfather said not to cry too much in front of our ancestor—he’d scold you for it.” Ying Zheng handed him a handkerchief.

King Zhu gently rubbed Ying Zheng’s head. “Yes.”

Now that the six states’ envoys were here, he could not afford to show a single sign of weakness in front of them.