HCT – Chapter 117 Candied Pumpkin Strips

Zhu Xiang sat in his chair, watching the flickering shadows cast by the honey candle, its flame gently swaying.

He wasn’t thinking about anything; his mind seemed completely blank.

It wasn’t until the candle had burned halfway down that Zhu Xiang rubbed his eyes and slumped weakly against the back of the chair, drawing his empty thoughts back in.

He was a professor, after all. Even if he wasn’t a historian, he still knew that he was going against the tide of his era.

The decline of women’s status in ancient times was closely tied to the development of the feudal system, which in turn was rooted in the inherent issues of a small-scale agrarian economy.

Women’s status had been on a downward slope since the Zhou Dynasty, with a clear decline starting in the Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods. The shift in attitudes across three generations of Confucian scholars demonstrated this regression vividly.

Confucius was wary of women, excluding them from the realm of the “gentleman”; Mencius believed women should be obedient and began emphasizing chastity; Xunzi, from his perspective of humanity’s inherently evil nature, regarded women’s beauty as a source of disaster and openly supported the theory of “women as the cause of chaos.”

By the Western Han Dynasty, Dong Zhongshu’s doctrine of “the husband as the head of the wife,” and Ban Gu of the Eastern Han codifying the “Three Bonds and Six Disciplines,” women’s status had fallen even further. By the time of Zhu Xi in the Southern Song, with his rigid moral system of the “Three Bonds and Five Constants,” women had reached their lowest point in history.

It wasn’t until the decline of the feudal economy in the late Ming dynasty that voices advocating gender equality began to emerge among the people.

The great Ming philosopher Li Zhi once wrote, “At the beginning of humankind, there were only the two forces of yin and yang, the two identities of man and woman. There was no hierarchy in principle.” In the early Qing dynasty, the thinker Tang Zhen also said, “In terms of birth, men and women are the same.” These were early calls for gender equality.

By modern times, the movement for women’s liberation began in earnest.

Women’s status had declined with the rise of feudalism and improved as that system broke down—a valley-shaped curve through history.

There were minor fluctuations along this curve, such as during times of war when women had to step up in the absence of men, or when empresses like Lu Zhi and Wu Zetian showed empathy for women after coming to power. Even benevolent emperors like Emperor Wen of Han or Emperor Taizong of Tang considered women among the people they ruled. These caused small ripples, but the overall trajectory remained: a steady decline and eventual rise. This was the law of history.

And Zhu Xiang now stood at the very start of that downhill curve.

He had thought for a long time. By the time the candle burned halfway again, the flame had grown faint.

Zhu Xiang stretched, then slowly stood up.

He was still the same person he had been before the Battle of Changping. If he hadn’t seen anything, he could pretend to know nothing. But once he saw—and if it was something within his power—he couldn’t help but act.

Yes, he was defying the momentum of history. But that didn’t mean his efforts were meaningless.

Even if he only managed to slow the decline slightly, or provide a tiny push for the curve to rise a thousand years later, it was still worth it.

In the late Ming and early Qing, when the feudal moral code was at its harshest, some great scholars still dared to shout for gender equality. Compared to that, Zhu Xiang merely left behind a few discreet plans without making a public declaration. Even Xunzi wouldn’t be able to accuse him of anything.

If Xunzi refused to support him, Zhu Xiang could always go directly to the King of Qin. Given their relationship, the King would trust him—and be willing to entertain his wild ideas.

Letting women earn merit and receive rewards in this era, when the population barely reached twenty million, would help stimulate their productivity. Offering only titles and material rewards would not trigger the taboo of “women meddling in politics.” The King of Qin had no reason to say no.

As for the butterfly effect this might cause a thousand years later—who could possibly predict such distant outcomes? If he hadn’t come from two thousand years in the future, even he wouldn’t dare to guess.

Honestly, Zhu Xiang could’ve just lied to Xunzi, hidden his true intentions.

But instead, he had told Xunzi the truth—and brought trouble upon himself.

Why?

Even Zhu Xiang didn’t fully understand.

Maybe, just maybe, it was simply because Xunzi was his teacher.

Zhu Xiang ruffled his hair, making the white strands even more disheveled.

He lit his lantern, blew out the honey candle, and went to bed.

Tonight, he had no intention of working overtime.

In the small warm chamber next to Zhu Xiang and Xue’s bedroom, little Ying Zheng—who had earlier insisted he was wide awake—was now snoring softly in his sleep, unresponsive even to a poke in the cheek.

Xue was sleeping restlessly, her brows tightly furrowed.

Zhu Xiang gently stroked her brow. It relaxed under his touch, and the corners of her lips lifted in a faint smile, as if she had been pulled from a nightmare.

“Xue, if you lived in modern times, you’d be an incredible inventor in practical technology. You’d hold dozens of patents, rake in billions every year, and be a top-tier CEO and business magnate.”

“And women like that always want to marry someone with a simple background—an only child, with loving parents, a young professor… Like me. We’d be a perfect match.”

“If we were in modern times, I could just lie down and call out, ‘Honey, hungry, food,’ and focus on my favorite research. Everyone would be so jealous.”

Zhu Xiang leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on Xue’s forehead.

A single tear fell onto Xue’s cheek, sliding down the corner of her eye.

Zhu Xiang felt injustice on Xue’s behalf. His heart ached for her.

She couldn’t possibly understand what he felt at this moment—might even reject it strongly, find it unsettling. That made Zhu Xiang all the more pained, all the more indignant on her behalf.

He would never tell her how he felt now. He wouldn’t burden her emotionally, wouldn’t put her at risk.

But he had to do something for her.

Not for her—Xue had said she didn’t need anything—but for himself.

It was just Zhu Xiang’s own selfish need for fulfillment.

Several days later, Xunzi did not come to see Zhu Xiang. Instead, Lin Zhi did.

Zhu Xiang was in his study, writing intensely, while Lin Zhi sat nearby, legs crossed, noisily munching on candied pumpkin strips.

Zhu Xiang threw down his brush and scolded, “Could you not make so much noise?!”

Lin Zhi offered him the pumpkin strips. “Want some?”

Zhu Xiang took a piece. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have work? Isn’t His Majesty going to punish you for slacking off?”

“What you’re doing now is also my job, remember?” Lin Zhi said around a mouthful of pumpkin. “Working with you like this—if His Majesty sees, he’ll praise me for being diligent.”

Zhu Xiang almost choked on his pumpkin strip.

When it came to shamelessness, he was nowhere near Lin Zhi’s level.

Zhu Xiang suddenly lost the mood to work and sat down to gnaw on dried pumpkin slices with Lin Zhi.

The dried pumpkin was made from old pumpkins, chewy and incredibly sweet.

Once they had finished the small bag of dried pumpkin, Lin Zhi wiped his mouth and said, “Today I saw that Xunzi has dark circles under his eyes. Did you make him angry?”

Zhu Xiang, guilty, said, “Why do you think Xunzi’s dark circles are because I made him angry?”

Lin Zhi sneered, “With Xunzi’s status and seniority, even the King of Qin is polite to him. If someone else had annoyed him, he would’ve scolded them on the spot. Only when it comes to you does Xunzi suppress his anger and lose sleep over it.”

Zhu Xiang grew even more uneasy. “Xunzi didn’t sleep all night?”

Lin Zhi pointed at his own eyelids. “They’re as dark as if smeared with ink—clearly a sleepless night.”

Zhu Xiang couldn’t sit still. How old was Xunzi now? If he went to work after an all-nighter, what if he got sick?

Lin Zhi chuckled. “So it really was you. Did you two argue because you asked the King of Qin to reward Xue Ji?”

Zhu Xiang didn’t respond.

Lin Zhi said, “I thought so. Zhu Xiang, you know the Confucians are wary of women interfering in politics—so cautious that if a bush rustles, they assume it’s a tiger. Speaking up for Xue Ji in front of Xunzi—weren’t you deliberately upsetting him? But don’t blame him. Xunzi is actually very kind to Xue Ji. He won’t stop you.”

Zhu Xiang said, “I know.”

Xunzi’s wariness of female interference in politics and of beauty bringing ruin was a macro-level ideology—he believed in the concept of “disaster caused by women,” but that didn’t mean he disliked any particular woman, nor was he a misogynist. He was not only good to Xue Ji, but often advised his disciples to respect their mothers and cherish their wives and daughters. Zhu Xiang didn’t resent him.

Lin Zhi said, “If you have these kinds of ideas in the future, discuss them with me first. If they’re feasible, let me handle them.”

Zhu Xiang rolled his eyes. “You know what ideas I have?”

Lin Zhi snorted, “How could I not? You blabbed plenty when I got you drunk.”

Zhu Xiang: “…” He didn’t like drinking. Every time he got drunk, it was because Lin Zhi forced him to. And Lin Zhi had the nerve to bring it up!

Lin Zhi said, “In your eyes, men and women are equally human, and you treat them the same. So when a woman performs meritoriously and gets no reward, of course you find it unfair.”

Zhu Xiang fell silent again.

Lin Zhi patted Zhu Xiang on the shoulder—and conveniently wiped his hands clean on it. “Don’t do things that go against the world’s norms, especially ones doomed to fail and ruin your family.”

Zhu Xiang said, “I know. I wasn’t planning to.”

Lin Zhi said, “You handled the topic shift well after that. I’ll help you.”

He winked slyly. “I’d also like to see Xue Ji become the first woman in Qin to be rewarded for her merit. If you have more policies concerning women, run them by me first, understand?”

Zhu Xiang gave in helplessly. “Mm.”

Lin Zhi said, “Your ideals are lofty, floating in the sky. I stand on the mountaintop—I can reach you, and I can reach the ground.”

He said this while patting Zhu Xiang’s shoulder again—still wiping his hands.

Zhu Xiang sighed, somewhat exasperated. “Fine. I do actually have another idea.”

Lin Zhi asked, “What idea? Is it about allowing widows to register as independent heads of households?”

Zhu Xiang was startled. “How do you know?!”

Lin Zhi laughed. “You pulled those records from my archives—how could I not know?”

Lin Zhi, a direct disciple of Lao-Zhuang thought, was currently serving as the Tingwei (Minister of Justice) in Qin.

Qin’s foundation lay in its laws. The Tingwei not only presided over trials but was also responsible for drafting and refining legal codes, and managing document archives. Since the Three Lords and Nine Ministers system had yet to be perfected, the Tingwei was also one of the King’s closest advisors.

Clearly, although King Zhu of Qin often grumbled about Lin Zhi, he held him in high regard.

Whenever Zhu Xiang needed access to archives, it required Lin Zhi’s seal. With one glance at the records, Lin Zhi could guess what Zhu Xiang was thinking.

Seeing that Lin Zhi had already figured it out, Zhu Xiang no longer hid it. “The population is sparse across the land, with most able-bodied men on the battlefield. Only widowed mothers remain at home. Qin allocates land by household. If a man dies in war and the widow has no son, the land is reclaimed. But in reality, widows often keep farming and paying taxes, and officials don’t check strictly. Since this already happens, we might as well legalize widows registering their own households.”

Lin Zhi said, “I’ve had the same thought. Especially after Qin unifies the six states—more men will die in battle. If women don’t farm and pay taxes, the national treasury won’t hold up. But I’d like to go further—allocate land based on individuals, and let women receive half as much land as men…”

Zhu Xiang suddenly stood up, knocking over his chair with a bang, startling Lin Zhi.

“What? You’re against it?” Lin Zhi laughed. “I thought you’d agree.”

“I agree, of course I agree.” Zhu Xiang took a deep breath, his voice mixed with emotion. “I just didn’t expect you to think that way. Isn’t it… isn’t it too radical?”

“It’s not,” Lin Zhi said. “With constant wars, many families are broken. Under the household-based system, lots of land is left untended and untaxed, and people are forced to sell it cheap. Since private sales aren’t always reported, many noble families end up with hidden land that’s tax-exempt. The current Land Law is too simplistic—it doesn’t account for population changes.”

He picked up the teapot, poured himself some water, and after moistening his throat, continued, “The Land Law says, ‘If a household has more than two adult sons and does not split them into separate households, their tax is doubled.’ But that’s too much hassle and still avoids taxing daughters. It’s better to give land to both men and women—easier to collect the head tax.”

Zhu Xiang: “…”

He picked up the chair, silently sat down.

Listening to Lin Zhi’s reasoning, Zhu Xiang also felt it wasn’t too radical. The King and the court might actually agree.

Which was better for ordinary women—paying head tax or receiving land? No question. In Zhu Xiang’s original timeline, women soon had to pay head tax, but land allocation didn’t come until the Northern Wei’s equal-field system, and even that was abolished early in the Tang Dynasty.

Before Northern Wei, only under very rare and harsh circumstances were women allowed to head households and receive land.

“When allocating land, you must consider the limits of how much land women and men can farm, and the corresponding corvée labor,” Zhu Xiang said. “Otherwise, you’ll end up with women crushed by taxes and men refusing to marry. I’ll compile a report for you.”

Northern Wei, due to war, had a shortage of men, so it gave women land. But under the Zuyongdiao (tax and labor) system, land came with tax and labor obligations. Since tax required grain and cloth, and women were also tasked with weaving, they couldn’t manage both farming and weaving. Husbands had to shoulder more work, leading to early Tang reports of “tens of thousands of households registered, yet most men unmarried.” Women bore the tax burden alone and suffered greatly.

Emperor Taizong of Tang listened to the public and canceled women’s land allocations and corvée duties. During the Tang era, there were few records of women doing forced labor.

So, contrary to what later generations thought, Tang’s cancellation of female land rights wasn’t oppression—it was out of compassion, and women were grateful. Taizong even encouraged widows to remarry, slightly slowing the decline of women’s social status during the rise of patriarchal norms.

However, after women were exempted from taxes and labor, their rights were no longer protected. By the Southern Song, women’s status plummeted, and they had no power to fight it.

Such things from centuries later were, of course, beyond the imagination of people living then.

But Zhu Xiang had read history—he could imagine it.

He would write out both the benefits and drawbacks of the equal-field system and hand it to Lin Zhi to weigh carefully.

As for future land policies, they belonged to a time when the population was large, per capita land was scarce, and commerce was booming—completely different from the current situation. For now, the Northern Wei model already suited the era.

Maybe it was even a bit ahead of its time—but that was for Qin’s king and officials to consider. Zhu Xiang was busy. He had fields to cultivate and a trade war to fight.

“Write in secret,” Lin Zhi said. “Don’t let others know. I follow Lao-Zhuang, you follow Xunzi—we’re not the same. If I suggest allocating land to women, it’s reasonable. If you do, it’s ‘improper.’ Got it?”

Zhu Xiang said, “But I remember Zhuangzi’s views on women were the same as Confucians.”

Lin Zhi replied, “I’m a direct disciple of Lao-Zhuang—Laozi came before Zhuangzi.”

Zhu Xiang’s mouth twitched. “Oh, right. Laozi did believe in yin-yang equality and even showed signs of mother-goddess reverence. But his philosophy definitely doesn’t include what you’re doing.”

Because if men and women were intellectually equal, that just meant both had to farm, serve, and pay taxes—being worked to death for Qin.

Laozi never said that!

Laozi longed for a return to the primitive: no state, no exploitation, no taxes for anyone!