Zhu Xiang carried Ying Zheng, who was clinging to him like a koala, and dashed forward for dozens of meters before finally putting down the burdensome nephew and gasping for breath.

Although he very much wanted to dash straight to Xue, pick her up, and spin her around in a dramatic 360-degree circle, it was clear his stamina hadn’t yet broken through human limits.

“So heavy!” Zhu Xiang grumbled, blaming his chubby nephew.

Ying Zheng shot him a disdainful look. “It’s called growing up.”

After catching his breath, Zhu Xiang and Ying Zheng got into a carriage headed for the Xianyang Palace.

Because Xue was still helping Queen Huayang with child-rearing and managing the harem—in essence, the chief lady-in-waiting overseeing the inner palace—King Zhu had especially allocated a palace hall for her to serve as a workshop, to make it easier for her to study spinning and weaving machines.

Ying Zheng had taken a carriage from Xianyang Palace to bring the good news to Zhu Xiang, so naturally, Zhu Xiang had to return the same way to see Xue. Ying Zheng had wanted his uncle to just ride a horse instead, but Zhu Xiang felt that would be too flashy. Ying Zheng scoffed at his uncle’s refusal to use the privileges he clearly had.

When they arrived at the palace, Zhu Xiang sprinted once again—this time not even sparing a glance at the spinning machine—and immediately scooped up the Xue who had come to greet him, fulfilling his long-standing wish to spin her around in circles. “My lady, you’re amazing!”

Xue blushed and squealed. “Put me down!”

She smacked him on the head with a chop-like blow, and Zhu Xiang obediently let her go.

The onlookers burst into good-natured laughter. Xue gave Zhu Xiang a shove, tidied her disheveled hair, and turned her head away, refusing to meet his eyes.

Zhu Xiang rubbed his nose and muttered, “What are you all laughing at? Haven’t you got wives?”

“If you keep talking, she’s going to run off,” Lin Zhi, coming to the rescue of the shy Xue, steered the conversation elsewhere. “Come look at the marvelous thing she’s made.”

King Zhu smiled. “Your lady is a model among women.”

Only then did Zhu Xiang step into the crowd to examine the new spinning wheel Xue had created.

Zhu Xiang wasn’t well-versed in textile tools. While he had seen traditional textile tools in museums or books, he had never studied them in detail. So, after arriving in this era, he hadn’t personally attempted to reform textile machinery.

However, the basic principles behind pre-Industrial Revolution machines weren’t complicated. The people of this era didn’t lack the ability to understand them—they simply hadn’t thought of them yet. Back when Zhu Xiang was in Handan, he and Xiang He had discussed reforming textile tools using mechanisms like treads, gears, and levers to reduce manual labor.

But human energy is limited. Zhu Xiang had devoted all his efforts to agriculture, with little time to think about other matters, and since he knew nothing about textiles anyway, he had simply let it go.

Xue, being in poor health, was not allowed to work the fields. Instead, she became highly skilled in spinning, weaving, and embroidery.

After cotton was introduced, she was assigned the task of studying how to spin and weave it. She worked with Mohist thinkers and craftsmen, combining their practical knowledge with the theories Zhu Xiang had once mentioned, and eventually came up with a truly innovative tool.

Although Zhu Xiang in his previous life had known little about textile tools, in this life he had become familiar with those used in this era by observing Xue at work.

At present, civilian spinning tools mainly consisted of hand-cranked wheels. The weaving tool was called a “ju weaving machine,” composed of two horizontal rods, a “yuzi” (a wooden bar for controlling the warp), and a weft-beating knife.

During weaving, women tied one end of the thread to the crossbar of the ju weaving machine, the other end to their waist, and sat with their legs stretched straight on the ground while weaving—hence the name “ju weaving machine” (ju meaning to sit on the ground with legs extended).

Zhu Xiang knew that in aristocratic households, the house-trained weavers also used a kind of “slant loom,” which allowed them to sit upright. This loom had two foot pedals underneath and required both hands and feet to operate, making it far more efficient than the ju loom used by ordinary families.

The new spinning wheel invented by Xue was inspired by the slant loom. She transformed the hand-cranked spinning wheel into a treadle-powered spinning wheel, freeing up the spinner’s hands and doubling the efficiency.

Once the treadle spinning wheel was developed, King Zhao of Qin rewarded Xue and appointed her as the official in charge of improving and promoting cotton spinning. She led the noblewomen in spinning cotton yarn and cloth, and the cotton movement began to spread downward through society.

Later, Xue further improved the treadle wheel by shrinking the wheel diameter and increasing the number of spindles to three, thereby tripling the efficiency.

But Xue wasn’t satisfied.

If one wheel could drive more spindles, couldn’t the efficiency be pushed even further?

She tried many different spindle arrangements, but none succeeded. Her research stalled for years.

After Zhu Xiang and Ying Zheng left Xianyang, Xue was sorting through Zhu Xiang’s notes and found the concept diagrams he had drawn back in Handan—designs for textile machines powered by levers, gears, and belts. She noticed that gears and belts had yet to be applied to spinning machines. Could this be a breakthrough?

At that time, Xiang He happened to be in Xianyang. Xue took the drawings to him and then brought out the simple mechanics primer Zhu Xiang had written for Ying Zheng. She studied it with the Mohists and began testing new components for the textile machine.

That endeavor took several more years, until Zhu Xiang returned and King Zhao of Qin passed away.

At last, Xue managed to increase the number of spindles to six, once again doubling the spinning efficiency.

But what truly astonished everyone was not that the spinning wheel had become twice as efficient again—it was the fact that the path Xue had forged for improving spinning wheels was still full of potential ahead.

In other words, the spinning wheel that Xue Ji had developed didn’t require major modifications—just some fine-tuning of its components to make it more efficient and perfected.

Ten spindles? Twenty spindles? Thirty spindles? After calculations by Xiang He and Xue Ji, all of these were entirely possible!

“If we use waterwheels or animal power to drive it, perhaps a single wheel could power nearly a hundred spindles!” Xiang He said excitedly. “Although such technology may not be suitable for civilian use yet, the weaving workshops of the government and military could definitely make use of water and animal power!”

Zhu Xiang’s eyebrows twitched sharply.

No wonder his once-more-mature chubby nephew had come rushing over again, bumping into his waist. This was indeed shocking news.

“If the efficiency of spinning increases tenfold, can weaving keep up?” Zhu Xiang asked. “Has the loom also been improved?”

The advantage of improved spinning efficiency was the ability to quickly turn raw materials into semi-finished products, preventing waste. As long as cotton and hemp were turned into yarn, even with outdated looms, increased manpower could still result in more cloth.

However, Zhu Xiang believed that since Xue Ji had managed to improve the spinning wheel, she must have also made improvements to the loom.

Xue Ji nodded and showed Zhu Xiang the new loom she had developed based on the angled loom.

The improvement of the angled loom only changed its structure slightly, increasing individual weaving efficiency by two to three times. But looms powered by hydraulics and requiring teamwork saw a much more significant boost in output.

Zhu Xiang ran his hand along the loom’s shuttle, full of admiration.

Xue Ji placed the shuttle into the sliding groove—one person used the shuttle, the other wove—resulting in an efficiency two to three times higher than if each person worked their own loom separately.

Xue Ji had truly mastered the art of learning and innovation. Her brilliance was astonishing.

Zhu Xiang said, “If we attach springs at both ends of the groove, allowing the shuttle to rebound on its own, the efficiency might be even higher.”

“What’s a spring?” King Zhu asked.

Zhu Xiang replied, “It’s made by casting iron into a spiral shape. The casting is simple, but given the current quality of iron, the spring might not function well. Just make a note of it for now—once iron smelting techniques improve in the future, people can develop it then.”

This would give future generations a direction to further reform the loom.

“Isn’t it amazing? Isn’t it amazing?!” Ying Zheng’s nose was practically in the air with pride.

“Yes,” Zhu Xiang replied with a smile.

The beginning of the First Industrial Revolution lay in the development of textile technology. Zhu Xiang couldn’t remember what the spinning jenny looked like, but a textile machine without a steam engine likely had about this level of power.

Of course, while historians regarded the rise of textile technology as the start of the First Industrial Revolution, it didn’t mean that textile advancements alone could trigger such a revolution.

Landmark events are like boundary markers—only when the land is fought for and governed does it become true territory. The boundary marker is just a symbol.

The spinning jenny was one such symbol.

The Industrial Revolution was an interplay of Enlightenment thinking, fundamental scientific development, and industrial technology—none of which could stand alone. Of these, Enlightenment thought and the natural sciences were the true foundation; industrial technology was merely the flower that blossomed.

If we only looked at technology, many traditional industries in Huaguo (ancient China) were already at the forefront globally at the time.

Therefore, even though Xue Ji had rapidly advanced textile technology, it would not drastically change the course of this era.

Productive forces and relations of production must develop in tandem. Without the growth of thought and culture, and with other fields lagging behind, moving from a feudal system to something better would require at least a thousand years of gradual accumulation.

Right now, the path forward did not even exist. It had to be discovered and forged.

Even if Zhu Xiang knew the path, a single person knowing it made him merely a pioneer. It would take many people walking it together to carve a road through the wilderness.

That said, it would be wrong to call Xue Ji’s invention insignificant.

Social progress requires a great deal of accumulation. Zhu Xiang’s agricultural research was one such contribution, and Xue Ji’s improvements to textile technology were another.

These contributions might not trigger a societal transformation right away, but when enough accumulations occurred in various fields, what Zhu Xiang and Xue Ji had done would help fuel the eventual leap in progress.

Moreover, for this current era, Xue Ji’s invention was vitally important.

For the common people, better textile tools meant they could weave more cloth and avoid freezing in winter.

For the state of Qin, which used both metal coins and cloth currency—namely linen and silk—the fact that Qin’s textile efficiency now surpassed other states’ by almost tenfold was like running a money-printing machine at full speed.

Qin King Zhu grinned so wide that his gums showed—it was indeed like that.

What Xue Ji invented wasn’t just a loom; it was a Warring States-era printing press for currency.

The trade war that had troubled Zhu Xiang was now easily resolved with the appearance of this “money-printing machine.”

Several strategies popped into his mind—ways to use this invention to destroy the economies of the Six States and reduce the difficulty of Qin’s conquest without spilling a drop of blood.

“Xue Ji deserves a reward!” Qin King Zhu said, beaming. “Zhu Xiang, tell me—what should I reward you with?”

Zhu Xiang was taken aback. “Reward me? Shouldn’t you reward Xue Ji?”

Qin King Zhu said, “Rewarding Xue Ji is the same as rewarding you! Do you want more fiefdoms or a higher salary?”

Zhu Xiang: “…”

He looked around. Everyone, including Xue Ji, was beaming with joy, and no one seemed to think there was anything wrong with this scene.

Zhu Xiang’s earlier excitement began to settle.

“You really have a calm temperament. Such a major achievement, and you’re not even thrilled,” Qin King Zhu said with admiration. “Fine then—I’ll decide the reward. I’ll increase your fiefdom by a hundred households!”

Zhu Xiang’s lips moved slightly before he smiled and said, “Since the merit is Xue Ji’s, why not reward her directly? That would also encourage more women to participate in textile innovation.”

Qin King Zhu replied, “Of course I’ll reward Xue Ji. I’ve already decided to announce it to the world!”

He stroked his beard and said, “Now, both of you will become famous across the land.”

Zhu Xiang cupped his hands and said, “I ask Your Majesty to bestow upon Xue Ji an honorary title or position—not as a noble or official, just a symbolic honor. Promoting textile work depends heavily on the involvement of noblewomen. For them, food and clothing are no concern, and they might be unwilling to let their accomplishments be claimed by their husband’s family. If given a title or status, even without real benefit, they may become more motivated.”

Qin King Zhu hesitated. “Wouldn’t scholars across the realm object to this?”

Xunzi frowned slightly, casting a shadowed glance toward Zhu Xiang.

Zhu Xiang responded, “It would be just like the noble ranks of wives of high ministers or feudal lords, only more standardized. The Rites of Zhou contains relevant records. Standardizing the ranks of noblewomen in Qin is also part of perfecting our system of ritual and law. Your Majesty can take this opportunity—Xue Ji’s great merit—as the chance to implement this reform.”

Xunzi’s brow relaxed, and he smiled. “Your Majesty, Zhu Xiang speaks wisely.”