Once again, Zhu Xiang was struck by Lin Zhi’s Daoist-like freedom, passed down from the orthodox lineage of the Laozi.

This must be the ultimate realm of Daoist thought spoken of in Zhuangzi’s Free and Easy Wandering.

Lin Zhi—he could already be counted among the Daoist sages.

After chatting with Lin Zhi for a while about the new land tax, Zhu Xiang’s mood lightened considerably.

He prepared a few cold vegetarian dishes and brought them over to Xunzi, who was still working overtime, to try and reconcile.

Xunzi gave a cold snort and accepted the food, but still didn’t speak to Zhu Xiang.

When Zhu Xiang heard the next day that Xunzi had accepted his food, and the dark circles under his eyes had lightened significantly, he finally let out a sigh of relief.

As long as Xunzi wasn’t angry, it was fine.

Lin Zhi was in charge of the land tax; Xunzi oversaw the rites and legal codes. Although Zhu Xiang had spent quite some effort helping with both, in the end, neither were his responsibility.

He could now focus all his energy on strategizing for the trade war.

As the scent of osmanthus began to fill the air, Zhu Xiang picked the blossoms. Half were made into osmanthus perfume for Xue Ji, and the other half turned into candied osmanthus for use in future desserts.

His policy proposal for the King of Qin was finally completed as well.

The scheme Zhu Xiang had been mulling over for so long ultimately came down to something quite simple: have Lu Buwei leverage his powerful merchant connections to run a cotton and linen textile business and purchase raw materials from other states.

At the same time, Qin would sell grain to Chu.

Even if Qin couldn’t sell much grain to Chu, reducing just 1% of Chu’s domestic grain supply would still count as a victory in this trade war.

Anyone who’s studied economics knows: if a market loses 1% of its grain, prices don’t rise by just 1%—they rise until that 1% of the population starves to death.

At that point, rumors about Qin soldiers on the southern banks of the Yangtze helping Chu people flee would easily attract large numbers of migrants.

The core issue in southern Qin was a lack of manpower for development. But with the high-quality rice and wheat seeds provided by Zhu Xiang, along with supplementary crops like pumpkin and potato, and traditional grains like millet and legumes, once the land in southern Qin was developed, it could supply a great deal of food to Qin—and by extension, to Chu.

Zhu Xiang would place Qin’s textile factories in the south, sourcing textile raw materials from Chu and selling them grain.

Once cotton and linen were spun into cloth, the fabric would effectively become a new form of currency, enabling continued purchasing of Chu’s goods.

Zhu Xiang would then buy all of Chu’s specialty products except for grain and resell them to the other six states to acquire more grain.

This way, Chu’s people, motivated by profit, would shift their focus to other industries. The grain shortage that followed? Qin would help them fill the gap through “proxy imports” from the other six states.

Chu’s feudal lords held real power, and the king’s decrees rarely reached the grassroots. Even if someone in court realized the flaws in the system, the King of Chu would struggle to reverse what was happening on his own land. He couldn’t force the people to grow grain by decree alone.

“Even if some clear-headed nobles realize what’s happening, they’d still be powerless to stop others from being blinded by profit. Besides,” Zhu Xiang said, “for most nobles, as long as they have enough to eat, letting some commoners and slaves starve in exchange for more wealth is a very good deal. Not to mention, our cotton cloth is a novelty—they’ll definitely love it.”

King Zhu of Qin read the policy memo and asked, “You even want them to ‘steal’ our cotton seeds? Why not just sell them directly?”

Zhu Xiang smiled. “If we actively sell them this novel seed, they might suspect it’s a Qin trick. But if they steal it themselves, they’ll think it’s foolproof and safe to plant.”

King Zhu chuckled. “Then we’ll need Li Mu to put on a good show with them.”

Zhu Xiang replied, “We can just have some Qin soldiers or rich merchants’ servants play the part—no need to trouble Li Mu personally.”

King Zhu said, “Once cotton cloth prices rise, they’ll definitely replace farmland with cotton fields. Ah, merchants always chase profit. That’s why Qin should crack down harder on commerce.”

Zhu Xiang was speechless. That’s way too heavy-handed.

“Commerce increases tax revenue and can help balance uneven domestic resources. Some areas simply aren’t suitable for farming. If the people can’t do business, they’ll starve—and the state won’t collect any taxes either,” Zhu Xiang explained. “For example, the southern hills aren’t ideal for crops, but are perfect for overseas trade. The arid west, if farmed recklessly, will only expand the desert. That land is only good for herding and trade. Many of the small states in the Western Regions survive solely on commerce.”

King Zhu asked, “There are countries that survive on commerce alone? Then if we cut off their food supply, won’t they be at our mercy?”

Zhu Xiang laughed and said, “That’s true. But typically, these small countries exist independently outside the larger ones. Forcibly seizing their land isn’t cost-effective—it’s better to let them manage those territories and assist in facilitating trade routes between major powers. Small nations have their own ways of surviving.”

King Zhu of Qin thought of the small nations that still existed today and remarked with emotion, “There’s much wisdom in these small nations that I, too, must learn from. Zhu Xiang, do you disagree with Qin enforcing a complete ban on commerce?”

Zhu Xiang replied, “Agriculture is the foundation of a nation, and food is the lifeblood of the people. Ensuring agricultural production is of utmost importance. But regulated commerce is also a way to support agricultural stability.”

After organizing his thoughts, he continued, “For example, one region may be better suited for growing cotton and hemp, while another is more suitable for cultivating grain. If they are part of the same country, they can specialize and then trade through commercial networks. This also helps prevent regional fragmentation.”

Originally, Zhu Xiang wanted to elaborate on the benefits of commerce in stimulating the national economy, but he knew explaining it clearly to King Zhu, who wasn’t well-versed in economics, would be difficult. So he chose to highlight the point he knew the king cared about most.

With the Qin territory expanding, the king was certainly worried that the state might fall into the same fragmented fate as the Zhou dynasty. Even with a commandery-county system in place, managing a large domain could prove challenging.

Commerce could address some of these concerns.

Right now, regional division was easy because the self-sufficient peasant economy formed closed local economic circles. If commerce connected these regions, reducing that economic isolation and linking agriculture, textile production, small-scale industry, and trade, exchanges between regions would increase. This wouldn’t just help prevent regionalism in the simple way Zhu Xiang mentioned—it would also promote cultural and population integration across the entire country.

For feudal monarchs, it was more desirable to keep peasants bound to the land and exhausted from farming so they wouldn’t have time to plot rebellion.

But land can only support so many people—there would inevitably be a surplus of idle labor. Industry and commerce could absorb these excess workers.

“A strong nation should value both agriculture and industry-commerce equally,” Zhu Xiang said with some embarrassment. “The ratio should be adjusted according to different stages, but always with agriculture as the foundation. As for exactly how to make those adjustments—I can’t say for sure. I only know the general idea.”

He was merely a professor of agronomy. While he could talk a bit about economics, it was more like casual banter with friends—he wouldn’t know how to truly govern a country.

King Zhu of Qin had been listening with great interest, but upon seeing Zhu Xiang’s bashful smile, he rubbed his forehead and said, “You talking about balancing agriculture and commerce… how is that any different from saying nothing at all? What I want are concrete policies!”

Zhu Xiang replied, “But I really don’t know. There are so many capable people at court—they’ll surely come up with the specifics. But that’s all something to be considered after Qin unifies the realm. Before unification, agriculture and warfare must be the priority, or we won’t have enough troops. Commerce can only be equally prioritized once the world is at peace, the people have time to recover, and the granaries are full.”

King Zhu asked, “But before then, we shouldn’t completely prohibit commerce, right?”

Zhu Xiang nodded. “Keep a door open, so it’ll be easier to develop later. Besides, Zheng’er is counting on managing this land well first, then going overseas to make money off other nations.”

King Zhu looked exasperated. “What ideas are you planting in Zheng’er’s head? He’s a prince of Qin—why is he always thinking about money?”

Zhu Xiang looked surprised. “Your Majesty, don’t you feel strapped for money right now? Isn’t everything a monarch wants to do tied to money? The greater the ambitions, the greater the financial demands.”

King Zhu: “…”

Now that Zhu Xiang had said it so plainly—it really did seem true.

He was persuaded and no longer opposed Zhu Xiang instilling ambitious, wealth-building ideas in Ying Zheng.

However, he still needed to carefully consider whether to impose strict limits on commerce.

Zhu Xiang quietly added, “Even if you ban it, people won’t stop trading. They’ll just go from paying taxes to Qin, to smuggling in secret and paying nothing. Human nature is inherently self-interested—no matter how harsh the punishments, you can’t stop them from chasing profit.”

King Zhu’s expression turned odd. “You almost sound like a disciple of Xunzi. Have you upset him lately?”

How did even the king know about that? Zhu Xiang immediately replied, “My views were never fully aligned with Confucianism. I’ve absorbed ideas from many schools of thought. When I debated with Xunzi, we disagreed and had a bit of an argument. Once he realized he couldn’t change my mind, he calmed down.”

King Zhu was speechless. Are you sure he calmed down and didn’t just get more angry?

But he also understood that Zhu Xiang wasn’t a pure Confucian—his teacher just happened to be Xunzi. So it was normal for their philosophies to differ.

He didn’t ask exactly how Zhu Xiang’s ideas diverged from Xunzi’s—he already knew enough examples as it was.

Seeing Zhu Xiang’s unconcerned expression, King Zhu concluded that the disagreement was nothing serious and dropped the matter.

He summoned Lu Buwei and assigned him to work under Zhu Xiang’s command to prepare for the upcoming trade war.

To further deceive the state of Chu, King Zhu and Lu Buwei would put on a show in court—Lu Buwei would be “slandered and dismissed” by officials hostile to Crown Prince Zichu’s faction. That way, Lu Buwei could return to his old trade roots more convincingly.

Lü Buwei was overjoyed.

He finally had a chance to work closely with Lord Zhu Xiang day and night!

Getting dismissed? That was a small price to pay. As long as he could stay by Lord Zhu Xiang’s side, he’d have plenty of opportunities to earn back everything—with interest!

“You’ve got nothing left to do in Xianyang anyway. Take Zheng’er with you and head south. He’ll learn far more there than staying in the capital,” Qin King Zhu said. “Bring Xue Ji as well. We’ll need her to set up the textile workshops.”

Zhu Xiang replied excitedly, “Yes!”

He could take Xue to see the ocean and eat fresh seafood!

“As for Lord Ying and Lord Bai, let their descendants care for them now,” King Zhu said. “They must miss their families.”

King Zhu knew that King Zhaoxiang of Qin had placed Fan Ju and Bai Qi with Zhu Xiang not only because he was good at caring for others, but also to keep an eye on these former heavyweights of the court—and to continue using them as advisors even in retirement.

Although Fan Ju and Bai Qi had been living comfortably at Zhu Xiang’s estate and always claimed it was better than staying with their families, how could they truly not want to spend their final years surrounded by children and grandchildren?

It was time for them to truly rest.

Zhu Xiang bowed. “Your Majesty is wise!”