HCT – Chapter 11 The First Emperor’s Elixir of Immortality

The millet and glutinous millet had already been harvested, and now the farmers were beginning to plant winter wheat.

To promote the planting of winter wheat, Zhu Xiang deliberately dragged Lin Zhi along to visit nobles who owned stone mills, secretly learning how they worked. He then created a water-powered mill that could serve an entire village.

Zhu Xiang also wanted to make an animal-powered mill, but donkeys had yet to be introduced to the Central Plains, and commoners didn’t have good draft animals, so he had to give up on that idea.

The wandering knights in the village often found themselves idle and bored, so Zhu Xiang secretly asked their leader whether he could hire them to help turn the millstone.

The leader of the wandering knights was agreeable and volunteered to help Zhu Xiang select those willing to help the commoners with the mill.

Carrying his little nephew, Zhu Xiang made the rounds giving guidance on wheat planting, then took Ying Zheng to a carpenter’s home to have a child-sized table and chair made.

While the carpenter worked from Zhu Xiang’s design, Zhu Xiang casually chatted nonsense: “I heard that most famous wandering knights were trained by the Mohists. The Mohists are known for their sympathy toward the common people. Maybe those knights willing to help with the mill are actually Mohists!”

The carpenter almost cut himself with his saw. He said helplessly, “Master Zhu Xiang, what you’re talking about is the Dengling branch of Mohism from the Chu region. Those in the east waving the Mohist banner are just all talk—followers of the Xiangfu faction. How many times have I told you?”

Zhu Xiang argued, “Thoughts should be free. Just because most Mohist knights are in Chu, does that mean people in other states can’t agree with Mohist principles and become Mohists themselves?”

The carpenter sighed, “They can agree with Dengling’s ideas, but Mohism is a tightly organized group. Without the Mozi (chief), one cannot claim to be Mohist.”

Zhu Xiang retorted, “Then that’s unreasonable. An academic group shouldn’t be so tightly bound. No ruler would allow a private organization that’s more loyal to its leader than to the sovereign. Maybe during unification such a group is useful, but after that, they’ll be in danger.”

The carpenter paused, then said, “Master Zhu Xiang, I am not a Mohist.”

Zhu Xiang, stroking the sleepy Ying Zheng in his arms, replied, “Mmm hmm, sure, you say you’re not, then you’re not. I was just rambling. Xianghe, don’t tell anyone about this table and chair you’re making.”

The carpenter, Xianghe, sighed, “Master Zhu Xiang, aren’t you being too cautious? It’s just a piece of furniture. Even if people find out, no one’s going to accuse you.”

Zhu Xiang shook his head, “Not necessarily. Sitting on the ground is ‘ritual.’ Changing the furniture might be considered a breach of ritual. If someone uses that as an excuse to kill me, even Lord Lin couldn’t protect me.”

Xianghe frowned, “Who besides pedantic Confucians would kill over such trivial things? You drove Xun Kuang away—no one will kill you over furniture now.”

Zhu Xiang gazed silently at Xianghe. Just listen to how you talk about the Confucians, even directly calling Xunzi by name. At this point, and you’re still claiming you’re not a Mohist?

Xianghe seemed to realize he’d slipped and fell silent, burying himself in his work, refusing to respond to any more of Zhu Xiang’s nonsense.

Ying Zheng rubbed his eyes. He’d tried very hard to listen, but didn’t understand anything. Aha~ So sleepy~

“If you’re sleepy, go to sleep,” said Zhu Xiang.

Ying Zheng nodded, and skillfully crawled from Zhu Xiang’s side into his arms, burying his face like a little puppy and falling asleep curled up.

Xianghe said, “The sound of sawing wood is loud. You don’t have to stay here. Take your nephew home to sleep.”

“Alright.” Zhu Xiang picked up Ying Zheng. “Xianghe, if you ever decide to leave Zhao and travel, remember to leave me a fellow woodworker. I can’t live without your skills.”

Xianghe: “Zhu Xiang.”

Zhu Xiang: “Hmm?”

Xianghe: “Get lost!”

Zhu Xiang realized he’d annoyed the honest man and ran off with Ying Zheng in his arms, slipping away quickly.

The apprentice helping Xianghe measure wood looked up after Zhu Xiang left and asked, “Master Mozi, has Lord Zhu Xiang figured out your identity?”

Xianghe gave a cold snort: “So what if he has? Will that mouth of his shut up because of it?”

The apprentice couldn’t help laughing.

After Zhu Xiang’s reputation for farming and improving yields spread, not only did people from the Agriculturalist school secretly blend into Lin Xiangru’s territory pretending to be refugees and buy land, the Mohists also heard the news.

Although the Mohists had split into three factions after Mozi’s death, and there were now three Mozi (chiefs), they still functioned as a tightly organized society. Though they fought and argued when they met, information was still shared.

Qi Mohism—also called the Xiangfu faction—opposed all forms of violence, including peasant uprisings, and tried to persuade rulers with the ideal of “universal love” to achieve world peace.

They were idealists—pitiful dreamers—but also the most compassionate toward the people.

Once Qi Mohism confirmed the news, they immediately sent word to the Qin and Chu Mohists, asking these more militarized branches to protect Zhu Xiang.

A great sage who could increase crop yields two to three times must not be allowed to die!

Qin Mohism was the most pragmatic. They believed unifying the world was the only way to end the suffering of the common people. Skilled in invention, they were working energetically under the King of Qin.

Chu Mohism had originally opposed annexation wars, acting as knight-errants. But after Wu Qi’s death, they began accepting Qin Mohism’s ideas and gradually migrated to Qin.

The aging Chu Mozi had planned with Xianghe to pass the Chu faction’s leadership token to him upon his death, reuniting Dengling’s Chu Mohists with Xiang Liqin’s Qin Mohists.

But upon learning of Zhu Xiang’s importance, Xianghe personally led a team from Qin to Zhao, while the Chu Mozi went to Qin to take over Xianghe’s former duties temporarily.

Xianghe told the King of Qin only that he had personal matters to handle—he didn’t mention Zhu Xiang.

He knew the King of Qin well. If the king found out how capable Zhu Xiang was, he might send assassins to eliminate him to prevent Zhao from gaining the upper hand.

Though Xianghe admired Zhu Xiang more after getting to know him, and sincerely addressed him as “Lord Zhu Xiang,” sometimes he just wanted to smack the young man’s grinning face.

Zhu Xiang behaved polite and refined around strangers, but once familiar, he constantly said things that could infuriate people. Xianghe thought, if Zhu Xiang were his own student, he’d be beating him three times a day with a discipline rod!

Zhu Xiang, of course, didn’t know Xianghe was the Mozi of the Mohist school. He just assumed he was a regular Mohist disciple.

He had no idea how important he had become, or that both the Agriculturalists and Mohists had already sent people to protect him.

Xianghe even made his disciples swear a blood oath: if Zhu Xiang were ever in danger, one group would return to Qin with the leadership token, and the rest would die defending him.

Good thing Zhu Xiang didn’t know. If he had, the pressure might have made him flee into the mountains that very night and hide until the Han Dynasty was founded.

If he could live that long.

After making the Mohist Mozi want to hit him, and advising several Agriculturalists pretending to be Lin family tenant farmers on seedling cultivation, Zhu Xiang finally returned home with his First Emperor nephew.

Once Ying Zheng was tucked into bed, Zhu Xiang went to find Xun Kuang to copy books.

Xun Kuang had decided to retire at Zhu Xiang’s home, and Lin Xiangru had even arranged to expand the estate to provide Xun Kuang with his own courtyard.

Once it was completed, people claiming to be Xun Kuang’s students—whom he refused to acknowledge—started sending books by cartload every day. The books filled two entire rooms.

In an era when books were extremely valuable, Zhu Xiang shamelessly joined in copying them, saying it was to help Xunzi preserve backups.

Xun Kuang generously agreed.

Later, Cai Ze came to help copy books, and Lin Zhi was soon dumped there by his own father.

Lin Zhi was so furious he nearly fought Zhu Xiang. If Zhu Xiang weren’t so weak and likely to be seriously injured, Lin Zhi would have done it already.

“You went to the Mohist’s place?” asked Xun Kuang lazily, looking up from his book as Zhu Xiang arrived with ink and paper.

Zhu Xiang immediately replied seriously, “Xunzi, Xianghe is just a regular carpenter, unrelated to the Mohists!”

Although Xun Kuang claimed he wasn’t worthy of being called “Xunzi” yet, since he taught Zhu Xiang, the latter had the right to address him that way.

Xun Kuang sneered, “Why are you so nervous? I’m not going to debate him.”

Zhu Xiang thought to himself, I’m not afraid of you debating Xianghe. I’m afraid you’ll pull out your broad iron sword and chop someone down.

Though over fifty—which was very old for that era—Xun Kuang still had the strength to swing a broad sword that even a young man might struggle to handle.

Watching Xunzi train, Zhu Xiang finally believed that history’s legendary elderly generals really could fight.

He even wondered if General Lian, who always stole chickens and cursed him as useless and cowardly, could beat Xunzi in a fight.

Seeing Zhu Xiang constantly fawning, Xun Kuang snorted, “Their skills may have value, but their words are absurd and base. They dress sloppily, act rudely, indulge in comfort, disrespect proper rites, avoid hard work, cower when in danger, and endure insults without shame—they’re a plague on the world! You must never imitate them!”

Zhu Xiang’s face flushed deeper with every line of scolding. If Xianghe was a Mohist, then no matter what, they absolutely weren’t lazy, indulgent, cowardly, or shameless!

Zhu Xiang felt that this wasn’t indirect criticism—Xunzi was just criticizing the “tree” directly while pretending to curse the “mulberry.”

No proper dress, rude behavior, indulgent enjoyment, cowering in fear… Zhu Xiang felt like his kneecaps were being shattered by Xunzi’s verbal broadsword.

“Did you hear me? Absolutely must not imitate them!” Xun Kuang said sternly.

Zhu Xiang: “…” Xunzi, are you really scolding the Mohists… or just scolding me?

While Zhu Xiang was still struggling to figure out whether Xunzi was insulting him, the sleeping Ying Zheng once again entered the dream-realm chamber.

When he entered the dream chamber, Ying Zheng was momentarily dazed.

He used to count on his fingers how many times he had entered the dream chamber. It was his sanctuary to escape the painful reality.

But ever since being taken in by his uncle, Ying Zheng had been living too comfortably—eating, drinking, playing every day, riding on his uncle’s shoulders for strolls—he had actually forgotten to keep count of his dream entries.

Ying Zheng stared blankly for a moment as his intelligence gradually ticked up—+1, +1, +1. The once soft and adorable boy, always carrying a look of curiosity and confusion, was now becoming increasingly cold and rational.

He walked over and sat upright beside the spectral projection of his future self, reflecting on what he had seen and experienced in recent days.

Although in reality he often felt things were “too confusing,” “the more I think, the sleepier I get,” “this is too hard, I give up,” he still tried his best to remember the important things he thought worth remembering.

Like wetting the bed…

Ying Zheng slammed his forehead against the desk in the dream chamber.

It didn’t hurt in dreams.

But he wished it did—maybe pain could help distract him from his overwhelming sense of shame!

What have I even been doing these past ten days at Uncle’s house!?

Wetting the bed? Barking like a dog while playing with a wooden puppy? Swinging around a cloth tiger’s tail pretending to be Xunzi wielding a sword? Hiding woven grass toys in Uncle’s hair?

“I’m still a child, I am just a child. Doing childish things is totally normal,” Ying Zheng muttered, gripping his pants tightly and trying to convince himself.

He repeated it over and over until he felt a bit better, then finally turned to the real issues.

He looked down, tugged at the red string around his neck, and pulled out a jade pendant.

This pendant hung around his neck in the real world too. In the dream realm, he could bring in whatever he was wearing, so of course the pendant came with him.

In reality, he had only found the jade vaguely familiar. But upon entering the dream chamber, Ying Zheng immediately recognized where it came from.

All six kingdoms valued white jade, but only Qin revered black. The nobility of Qin preferred dark greenish-black jade, especially Lantian jade.

This pendant was made of the finest Lantian water-cang jade.

A protective charm he grabbed during his “grabbing ceremony”? Ying Zheng twitched at the corner of his mouth and lifted the pendant closer for inspection.

His uncle had told him the carving on it was of some strange-looking beast. Upon closer examination, Ying Zheng recognized it immediately.

It was a chi dragon motif.

Chi dragons symbolized power and status and were typically used only by royalty. The Qin-style chi dragon was different from those of other states—it didn’t look like a dragon at all but more like a weird beast… Wait!

Ying Zheng tapped himself lightly on the head with the jade pendant and muttered, “Why am I starting to talk like Uncle?”

He corrected his drifting train of thought and continued pondering.

“A Lantian water-cang jade pendant with a chi dragon motif—this could only belong to the royal family of Qin. Lin Xiangru was from a humble background, he wouldn’t recognize this.”

“In Zhao, if there’s still a down-and-out member of the Qin royal family left, who could it be?! Who else could it be?!”

Ying Zheng suddenly stood up and paced in circles with his hands behind his back, laughing in exasperation.

Xia Tong, Xia Tong, Xia Tong!

Father, you’re so arrogant—using that fake name—were you afraid people wouldn’t figure out your identity?!

He recalled his uncle mentioning a “dear friend Xia Tong.”

His uncle and aunt spoke highly of Xia Tong. When Xia Tong left, they even switched to giving him gold as a gift.

His father had completely tricked his uncle and aunt!

Ying Zheng clenched his teeth, quickly seeing through the scheme.

When he examined his future self’s memories, he had been puzzled by the sense that he had been born a few years too early.

In that future memory, he was supposed to be born after the Battle of Changping but before the siege of Handan. Yet now, before the battle had even happened, he was already walking and talking.

Now, he understood why.

In those memories, his father had never met his uncle.

But here, his father had concealed his identity and become friends with his uncle. Among the concubines gifted by Lu Buwei was the elder sister of his uncle. His father had conveniently become a relative by marriage.

Later, when he was sent back to Qin from Zhao, his uncle not only escorted him but also ended up serving Qin. His uncle’s involvement brought significant talent to Qin and helped dilute Lu Buwei’s influence over him.

A chain of stratagems—brilliant, truly brilliant!

Ying Zheng even suspected that being abandoned at his uncle’s doorstep might also have been part of his clever father’s grand scheme.

“Did Father not want Mother to return to Qin?”

He frowned, thinking.

“Father was ambitious, dreaming of unifying the realm, but his health was poor. In my future memories, he had already begun laying the groundwork for me when he ascended the throne.”

“Empress Dowager Xuan ruled from behind the scenes, and many top Qin officials were from Chu. If yet another queen dowager came from one of the Six Kingdoms, she could become a major obstacle to Qin’s unification.”

“So Father would want Mother to return to Qin.”

Ying Zheng understood well. Nobles from other states, like Empress Dowager Xuan, might help Qin in war, but they would never help Qin conquer their own countries.

Just like his future Chancellor Changping-jun, Xiong Qi—he tried to stop him from destroying Zhao, rebelled in Chen Ying, and was later crowned King of Chu in Huainan, seriously obstructing Ying Zheng’s future unification efforts.

Someone like his mother—lowborn, foolish, short-sighted—would never pose such a threat.

Ying Zheng took a deep breath and came to a conclusion:

“Father probably intended for Mother to bring me to seek refuge with Uncle. But he didn’t realize just how foolish, arrogant, and short-sighted she truly was.”

Mother had abandoned Uncle and Aunt without a shred of guilt. So she wouldn’t have come in person, as Father expected, to plead for their help and forgiveness.

Instead, she arrogantly dumped him at their doorstep, ordering them to raise him as if she were doing them a favor.

Ying Zheng once again sat beside the image of his future self. His young face darkened, then slowly turned red.

“What did Uncle do to deserve meeting my father and mother?”

He didn’t consider himself a good person.

He would be an emperor—emperor hood didn’t allow one to be good.

Yet even he, who scorned moral virtue, was speechless at his parents’ behavior.

Mother was whatever—she had always been like that.

But Father—was it really okay to deceive Uncle like that? When Uncle learns the truth, will he still treat me the same?

Ying Zheng realized—he had been dragged into this scheme too.

“Good thing he died early.” Gritting his little baby teeth, he uttered this extremely filial remark.

In just ten days of living together, Ying Zheng had already seen that his uncle was an honest, kind man without guile. Remembering how Uncle praised “Xia Tong,” and how well Uncle treated him, he was filled with awkward guilt.

Ying Zheng decided to keep it a secret.

The later Uncle learned the truth, the angrier he’d be. He would never tell him in advance.

Father, you can figure out how to explain this to Uncle yourself!

Ying Zheng took a deep breath and forced down the gloom and embarrassment.

Father wasn’t fit to be a father. He not only schemed against his friend, but even dragged his own child into the plan. Schemes and trickery—not the way of kings!

“If Father never met Uncle, where would Uncle be?” Ying Zheng, calming down, began to ponder the differences between his future memories and present reality.

Someone as talented as Uncle should have held official rank even if Ying Zheng had never known their family connection.

In his future memories—where was Uncle?

Such an outstanding man—how had he never heard of him?

Could it be that Uncle…

Was it the Battle of Changping? The war to destroy Zhao? Or… or…

Ying Zheng remembered—after Zhao was conquered, he had personally gone to Handan to execute those who had insulted him in childhood.

But he had been so young when he left Zhao—still not even at the age of topknots—and his memories of childhood were vague. Most of those he executed had been named by his mother.

Suddenly, a wave of terror surged in Ying Zheng’s heart.

Could it be that in that timeline… Uncle…

No, no way. That can’t be it!

Even though the dream chamber made his thoughts sharper than usual, his mind was still that of a child.

The fear overwhelmed him. For the first time, he left the dream realm early—before even half an hour had passed.

Ying Zheng jolted awake, kicked away his blanket, and stumbled outside.

“Uncle! Uncle!”

“Where are you, Uncle!”

“Waaah, Uncle!”

Zhu Xiang, halfway through copying a text and being pulled away by Xun Kuang to practice swordsmanship, threw down his sword—almost hitting Cai Ze’s foot in the process.

“Zheng’er? What’s wrong? Did you have a nightmare?” Zhu Xiang scooped up his crying nephew, gently patting his back. “Don’t be scared, don’t be scared. Uncle’s here. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“Uncle, don’t die, don’t die…” Ying Zheng’s mind was in chaos. He only remembered that Uncle had died—he hadn’t seen Uncle in that future. “Waaah, Uncle, you’re not allowed to die!”

“Huh? Okay, okay, I won’t die.” Zhu Xiang paused for a moment, then lowered his head and rubbed it against Ying Zheng’s bald little head. “Uncle won’t die. Uncle will always be with Zheng’er.”

Ying Zheng sniffled, “I’ll go find the elixir of immortality—one for me, one for Uncle!”

Zhu Xiang let out a helpless laugh.

So my future First Emperor already wanted the elixir of immortality when he was still just a little princeling?

[Ding! Host has been acknowledged by the destiny bearer of this era. Spacetime rejection rate decreasing. System activation progress: 99.1%, 99.5%, 99.9%, 100%.]

[System successfully activated.]

Zhu Xiang: “??!”