After helping Ying Zheng get acquainted with Lu Buwei and Li Si, Zhu Xiang simply left him in their care. He then joined Xue in the same carriage, taking care of her since she wasn’t used to long journeys.

Zhu Xiang patted Ying Zheng’s head. “You’re their leader now. Zheng’er, do your best! Teach them well on the way.”

Ying Zheng glanced sideways. “Uncle, could you not pat my head while entrusting me with great responsibility?”

Zhu Xiang sighed melodramatically. “No can do. If I don’t pat it now, it’ll be too late in a year or two. Zheng’er, why did you grow up so fast? You still looked like a tiny three-head-tall ball of chubby meat just yesterday. Now, I can’t even let you ride on my shoulders anymore.”

With a face full of nostalgia, Zhu Xiang reminisced, but Ying Zheng clearly didn’t. Flushed and annoyed, he pushed Zhu Xiang. “Go keep Aunt company!”

Zhu Xiang was shoved away by the little strongman and sighed repeatedly. “Sigh, fine. Zheng’er’s all grown up now, can’t stand his uncle anymore. Don’t push, I’m going.”

“Just go!” Ying Zheng snapped unceremoniously.

Seeing his nephew’s flushed face, Zhu Xiang chuckled. “Zheng’er, you’re blushing.”

Through gritted teeth, Ying Zheng barked, “I’m! Not!”

“Alright, alright, you’re not.” Seeing he’d pushed the boy to his limit, Zhu Xiang stopped teasing.

There’s a limit to teasing nephews — overdo it, and you’ll lose the chance to tease them at all.

Back in the carriage with Xue, Zhu Xiang’s smile faded, his expression turning worried. “Feeling better? Still dizzy?”

Xue was curled up in a quilt like a dumpling. She shook her head. “I’m fine. Why are you here? You should be with Zheng’er.”

Zhu Xiang replied, “Zheng’er’s already quite familiar with Lu Buwei and Li Si. Han Fei’s there too. The three of them are enough to look after him.”

Xue still looked uneasy. “They’ve never taken care of a child before. I’m worried they’ll miss something.”

Zhu Xiang gave a wry smile. “Zheng’er isn’t exactly your average child. Don’t worry. If you hadn’t refused — afraid he’d catch your illness — he would’ve insisted on caring for you instead.”

Xue said, “What’s there to take care of? His Majesty sent Zheng’er out to experience Qin’s customs. He should be seeing more of the world.”

“Okay, okay, got it.” Zhu Xiang raised both hands in mock surrender. “Can I take care of you, then?”

Xue remained stubborn. “No. It’s just a bit of dizziness, nothing serious. You being here and talking only gives me a headache. I’d rather nap alone.”

Zhu Xiang offered, “How about I sing you a lullaby?”

Xue shook her head. “Your singing’s terrible.”

Zhu Xiang looked offended. “Impossible! I studied under Xunzi, currently the most famous Confucian scholar. My ‘music’ is absolutely top-tier.”

Xue covered her ears. “Don’t want to hear it. Noisy. That’s why I told you not to come.”

Zhu Xiang: “…” Did I just get classified as noise?

He said, “Then lie down. I’ll tell you a story instead. Distract you a bit — maybe that’ll help.”

Xue hesitated, then recalled the amusing stories Zhu Xiang used to tell when he wasn’t busy and gave a small nod.

Zhu Xiang sat beside her, letting her rest her head on his lap, then carefully adjusted the quilt wrapped around her.

The carriage was spacious. Xue was petite and could lie on her side comfortably. The quilt cushioned the jolts, and with Zhu Xiang protecting her, she wouldn’t fall off the seat even if the road got bumpy.

“What story are we telling today?”

“Anything’s fine.”

“There’s got to be something you’d want to hear.”

“Hmm… not really.”

“Stories of immortals? Or tales of foreign lands? Or maybe legends of great sages?”

“Immortals.”

“Alright, then today we’ll tell the tale of the Investiture of the Gods. It all begins with Pangu opening up the world…”

Zhu Xiang cleared his throat and began telling the canonical version of The Investiture of the Gods — not the internet’s modernized “Great Desolation” versions.

Those versions had absorbed many later philosophies, changing the concept of deities drastically. For example, in today’s era, the Supreme Deity might be Donghuang Taiyi, one of humanity’s ancestral figures, but in the “Great Desolation,” he was turned into a demon clan figure and demoted to second-in-command.

Given how seriously this era treated sacrificial rites, saying things like that might earn him a smack on the head from Ying Zheng.

So when telling Investiture of the Gods, Zhu Xiang deliberately blurred any official deity names worshipped today — for example, when King Zhou composed a poem for the Nuwa Temple, he’d simply not name Nuwa at all.

Even though it was supposedly canonical, Zhu Xiang’s storytelling was riddled with references from animations, novels, and his own imagination. When he forgot the actual plots, he just rummaged through 5,000 years of Chinese history in his head and made things up.

If he couldn’t recall the many gods of the Shang and Zhou dynasties, he’d throw in random historical names:

Zhu Yuanzhang and Zhu Di dueling Tang general Li Shimin at the Yellow River Formation, or Emperor Wu of Han Liu Che leading Wei Qing and Huo Qubing in a drunken ambush of Lü Bu…

He made up so much that even he lost track of the plot.

“Then Zheng’er punched the Dragon King’s third son. And then?” Zhu Xiang went on enthusiastically, while the carriage had already come to a stop. Xue was listening so intently, she no longer felt dizzy.

Ying Zheng peeked his little head in through the carriage door. “Uncle, what fun story are you telling? You’re telling stories behind my back!”

Zhu Xiang said, “It was your aunt who wouldn’t let you ride this carriage to avoid getting sick — not me.”

“I don’t care! I want to hear the story!” Ying Zheng leapt into the carriage. “What? What Dragon King’s third son?”

Zhu Xiang coughed. “Legend has it that Ying Zheng was the son of General Ying Zichu, who guarded Qiantang Pass…”

Ying Zheng’s grin split ear to ear, showing all his missing teeth. “Uncle, you’re saying my father was a general?”

Zhu Xiang replied, “It’s just a story. Don’t interrupt.”

“Alright, go on, Uncle.”

Outside the carriage, Lu Buwei, Li Si, Han Fei, and Ying Zheng’s quiet attendant Meng Tian all strained their ears to eavesdrop.

Zhu Xiang recast Nezha’s story with Ying Zheng as the protagonist.

When he reached the part where the Dragon King floods Qiantang Pass and Ying Zheng has to cut his flesh and bones to repay his parents, Zhu Xiang felt it was too ominous and changed the script. Ying Zheng’s great-grandfather and grandfather descended from the heavens, suppressed the Dragon King, then gave his father a beating — thoroughly venting on Ying Zheng’s behalf.

“It turns out that the wise and valiant Uncle Zhu Xiang of Ying Zheng, seeing the danger, rushed beyond the heavens and invited the secluded celestial immortals Ying Ji and Ying Zhu to rescue him,” Zhu Xiang concluded proudly.

Xue first covered her mouth laughing, then nearly rolled off Zhu Xiang’s lap in hysterics.

Ying Zheng laughed so hard his stomach hurt. “Uncle, there’s no way the original story went like this. You definitely slapped someone else’s tale onto me.”

Xue added, “What’s this about ‘beyond the heavens’? You didn’t mention that part before.”

Zhu Xiang laughed. “It’s just a made-up story — you can spin it however you want.”

Xue said, “Still, you can’t forget the beginning while making up the ending. My love, your Investiture of the Gods is not very good.”

Zhu Xiang sighed. “Alright, alright. I’ll think carefully and make up one where I remember what happened earlier.”

He really couldn’t remember every plot point of a long novel, so he decided to tell some short Liaozhai tales instead.

This time, both Xue and Ying Zheng were thoroughly engrossed and didn’t complain.

When the carriage started moving again, Ying Zheng refused to leave, even if he got sick — he insisted on staying to hear more stories.

Unable to deal with his whining, Xue finally relented.

The others outside had no choice but to return to their own carriages.

“I really want to hear more…”

“I thought the first version was more fun.”

“Only Lord Changping dares to make up stories about the Crown Prince like that.”

“Yeah, if the Crown Prince were here, he’d be laughing along.”

Meng Tian rode on horseback outside. Lu Buwei, Li Si, and Han Fei sat in one carriage, and their conversation gradually shifted from the story’s content to their envy of Zhu Xiang.

Especially Lu Buwei and Li Si — their tone was absolutely dripping with sourness.

Fortunately, it was only envy and not full-blown jealousy. Han Fei rolled his eyes internally and said, “Lord Zhu Xiang is a great and talented man, worthy of respect. If you’re not convinced, why don’t you make up some stories to make the young prince laugh too?”

Li Si retorted, “You think you can make up stories?”

Han Fei puffed up proudly. “Not now! Which is why I’m not envious!”

Li Si: “…I’m just envious, that’s all.”

Han Fei straightened up. “If you’re envious, you should learn!”

Seeing Li Si and Han Fei about to argue, Lu Buwei quickly smoothed things over. “Han Fei is right. Rather than envy him, we should take this chance to learn from Lord Changping.”

Han Fei agreed. “Exactly!”

Li Si: “…I never said I wouldn’t learn.”

Han Fei patted Li Si on the shoulder. “Let’s learn together.”

Li Si, helpless: “Fine…”

He really wanted to curse Han Fei, but didn’t dare. If he caused a scene and Lord Zhu Xiang overheard, would he think he was petty and jealous?

Han Fei… why does he always act so aloof and untouchable?

Li Si fumed silently and refused to speak to Han Fei before bed.

But when it was time to sleep, Han Fei lifted the flap of Li Si’s tent and presented a book as if offering treasure. “Come learn!”

Li Si: “What?”

Han Fei held up a lantern, opened a booklet filled with rough little stick figures, and began stammering out an explanation.

Inspired by Zhu Xiang’s stories earlier that day, Han Fei remembered how Xunzi once mentioned Zhu Xiang had written many fun tales to teach Ying Zheng during his early education. Even after moving to Southern Qin, Zhu Xiang had written stories about immortals to educate the common folk.

On a whim, Han Fei asked if Zhu Xiang had any storybooks with him — and to his surprise, he did. Zhu Xiang had packed them all into a chest and brought them along.

Zhu Xiang always carried certain things with him. First, because he didn’t have to carry his own luggage. Second, because he couldn’t bear to discard the things he had personally written—writing was hard work for him. And third, he believed these stories might be useful in enlightening the common people. Now that Han Fei asked about them, he casually picked one and handed it over to him.

Han Fei said seriously, “Lord Zhu Xiang calls this education through entertainment. A book personally written by Lord Zhu Xiang—let’s read it together!”

“Alright.” Li Si felt extremely conflicted. Didn’t Han Fei notice he was angry? Or did he simply not care?

Li Si decided he would wait until finishing the book before resuming his dislike for Han Fei.

Thanks to Zhu Xiang’s on-the-road storytelling sessions, Xue’s motion sickness eased considerably.

Once aboard the boat, she could finally get up and walk around.

She sighed, “After enjoying years of luxury in Xianyang, my body’s become delicate. When I traveled from Handan to Xianyang before, I didn’t feel this awful.”

Zhu Xiang replied, “We’re not as young as we used to be. Look how big Zheng’er is already.”

Xue nodded. “True. Zheng’er has grown up, and we’ve gotten old.”

Zhu Xiang chuckled. “We’re only in our thirties. How’s that old? We’re still young. We’ve got many years ahead—enough to help Zheng’er raise his own children.”

Xue gave a helpless sigh. Her husband would say one moment that they weren’t as young as before, and the next that they were still young—he had every contradiction covered.

Ignoring Zhu Xiang’s rambling, Xue took a fishing rod and went to fish with Ying Zheng.

Now that she had recovered, and with the beautiful scenery that couldn’t be seen back in Xianyang, Xue had no intention of staying cooped up in the cabin.

Seeing her regain her vitality, Zhu Xiang finally relaxed.

Before setting off, Xue had been worried about getting seasick, but unexpectedly, it was the carriage ride that made her ill.

Zhu Xiang’s comment that “we’re not as young as we used to be” had been true. Xue had suffered much when she was younger. Though her complexion had improved after years in Xianyang, a person’s health starts to decline once they hit thirty. Zhu Xiang worried that she might not be able to handle the rigors of the journey.

Had he known, he might’ve let her stay behind in Xianyang.

But seeing how happy she looked now, he figured that even if the journey was tough, she would rather travel together with him and Zheng’er.

Zhu Xiang shook his head and began pondering how to prepare the fish for the day’s meal.

Zichu had once said that during a southern campaign with the old King of Qin, they ate so much fish they felt sick. Zhu Xiang couldn’t let that happen to himself.

Looking at the scenery flashing past on either side of the Han River, Zhu Xiang suddenly wondered—when the old King of Qin stood at the prow of the ship, gazing upon the splendid mountains and rivers of Qin, did he feel the same joy he did now?

He stood there in a daze for a moment, then went back to the cabin to retrieve his zither.

While Xue and Ying Zheng fished at the back of the boat, Zhu Xiang sat cross-legged at the front, gently plucking the strings.

“The wind does not rise,
nor rattle the cart.
Looking back on the road of Zhou,
my heart is filled with grief.

The wind does not blow,
nor does the cart roll.
Looking back on the road of Zhou,
my heart is filled with sorrow.

Who can cook the fish?
Place it in the kettle.
Who will return westward?
Carry my heartfelt song.”

— “The Cedar Wind: No Wind” (《桧风·匪风》)

Some interpret this poem as lamentation from officials of the displaced State of Gui, longing for the Zhou dynasty. But more commonly, it’s taken at face value—as an expression of homesickness.

Zhu Xiang sang it with this literal meaning in mind.

First, he used the poem to look westward in remembrance of the late King of Qin. Then, the phrase “willing to cook fish” alluded to Zichu’s anecdote about the old king insisting on eating fish—expressing his wish to cook for the king. Finally, he hoped someone would carry this song of peace to the departed king.

“What is Lord Zhu Xiang singing?” Li Si whispered.

Han Fei replied, “Missing Xianyang, perhaps?”

Lu Buwei said, “Maybe he just thought this poem suits the moment? Or maybe he just liked the line about cooking fish.”

Li Si and Han Fei exchanged speechless glances, clearly not wanting to engage further with Lu Buwei.

Meng Tian chimed in, “Who knows? Lord Changping himself said his actions don’t always have deep meaning.”

Li Si and Han Fei hesitated.

Could it really be that Lord Zhu Xiang was just inspired to sing that poem because of today’s fish?

Zhu Xiang’s singing reached the back of the boat. Xue, holding her rod in one hand and her cheek in the other, listened to the low, melodic song.

Ying Zheng turned to glance toward the front of the boat.

Uncle rarely sang seriously. The emotion in his voice—nostalgia, melancholy—made one wonder who he was thinking of.

Zhu Xiang continued singing. The rushing waters kept rhythm, making his low voice even more stirring.

When the late King of Qin had stood at the prow years ago, he too must have felt that same passion.

After the song, Zhu Xiang put away his zither, all the gloom in his chest dispersed. Cheerfully, he set about cooking fish.

From the Han River to the Yangtze, Xue didn’t suffer any seasickness, and the boulder on Zhu Xiang’s heart was finally lifted.

Because of the previous “assassination” attempt on Ying Zheng, Zhu Xiang’s southbound trip was more grand than usual.

The middle reaches of the Han River belonged to Hanzhong Commandery, where governors had military authority. With an edict from the King of Qin, wherever Zhu Xiang went, the local governor had to send troops to escort him.

It was a grand procession—like the king himself was on tour.

Before they had even reached the Yangtze, Meng Wu’s massive boat was already waiting at the riverbank.

Seeing Zhu Xiang, Meng Wu immediately broke into tears.

He had been stationed at the strategic junction of the Han and Yangtze Rivers and couldn’t return to Xianyang for the late king’s funeral. Though time had eased his grief, seeing Zhu Xiang arriving from the north rekindled his sorrow. He couldn’t help but weep bitterly.

Meng Wu remembered how energetic the old King Zhao of Qin had been when he headed south. Who would’ve thought that journey would be his final farewell?

Retracing the last stretch of the king’s life path, Zhu Xiang was already feeling emotional. Upon hearing Meng Wu’s sobs, he too couldn’t help but cry with him.

Ying Zheng had thought he wouldn’t cry.

Though he had been sad for a while before the king’s death, he hadn’t shared a particularly deep bond with his great-grandfather, who had even tested him.

But seeing his uncle and Meng Wu embracing and crying, his nose suddenly tingled, and in his mind appeared the late king’s kind smile before his passing.

Ying Zheng wrinkled his nose, clasped his hands behind his back, and turned away from Zhu Xiang and Meng Wu.

The two wept for a long time, and after bowing repeatedly toward the north, they finally stopped crying.

Their raw emotions made the people on the boat feel awkward.

They should have shown similarly sorrowful and respectful expressions. But no one had expected this scene, so no one was mentally prepared. Nor had they readied handkerchiefs dabbed with ginger and garlic (to stimulate tears). All they could do was frown and feign grief, which looked rather forced.

Zhu Xiang wiped his tears, scanned his surroundings, and noticed the awkwardness. He quickly pulled Meng Wu into the cabin.

Mourning the late king was one thing—but if someone petty took offense at their inability to cry and falsely accused Meng Wu of disloyalty to the new king, that would be trouble.

Though Meng Wu stopped crying outwardly, his sorrow had not yet closed its floodgates.

Fortunately, he remembered his escort duties, temporarily handing over command to his deputy before returning to the cabin with Zhu Xiang for more weeping.

Meng Tian, who had been completely ignored by his own father, looked conflicted.

Was his father ignoring him out of grief—or had he truly forgotten he was even there?

In the cabin, Meng Wu cried to Zhu Xiang again, reminiscing about all the good things the late King Zhao of Qin had done.

When he was alive, the king had placed great pressure on his officials—but after his death, all his ministers remembered him as a wise and heroic ruler.

This time, Zhu Xiang didn’t cry along. While comforting Meng Wu, he also told some funny stories from after the new king’s coronation.

Like how Lin Zhi missed out on becoming Chancellor, and Cai Ze got the position instead—Lin Zhi then filled Cai Ze’s old role. Or how Ying Zheng couldn’t catch a single rabbit while hunting—not even a fox.

Meng Wu was successfully amused into laughter through tears.

“Lin Zhi’s personality… was that deliberate?” Meng Wu wiped his swollen red eyes. “If he really wanted to be Chancellor, he wouldn’t have made the new king think he was unreliable.”

Zhu Xiang sighed, “Lin Zhi clearly relied on His Majesty’s leniency and acted willfully. He never cared much for power or position—comfort matters more to him than status.”

Meng Wu thought about Lin Zhi’s personality and figured Zhu Xiang’s explanation might be right.

He said, “The role of Chancellor is still a high post. Sigh, who would’ve thought—back when I welcomed you all into Qin, that each of you would turn out to be so capable.”

Zhu Xiang grinned mischievously, “That’s a bit disingenuous. When you received us, the late king personally came to meet us—you knew we were exceptional.”

Meng Wu: “…That’s true. Alright, you were already amazing then. Not many got the honor of being received outside the city by the king himself—not even Lord Yinghou had that privilege.”

Zhu Xiang patted Meng Wu on the shoulder. “Wipe your face. Your son’s here too. Have a good chat and catch up with him.”

Meng Wu was stunned. “My son?”

Zhu Xiang was also puzzled. “You didn’t know Meng Tian has become Zheng’er’s close attendant and traveled south with him?”

Meng Wu shook his head. “I didn’t.”

Zhu Xiang was exasperated. “Do you not care at all about what’s going on in Xianyang? Even if you don’t, what about family letters? You didn’t receive any?”

Meng Wu scratched his head. “Xianyang is so far from Nanjun. Isn’t it normal for me not to know such trivial things?”

Zhu Xiang thought for a moment. “That’s true. Meng Tian had just become Zheng’er’s attendant when we set off south. Your family letters probably haven’t traveled as fast as we have.”

He hesitated, unsure whether he should tell Meng Wu about what had happened to Ying Zheng during the hunt.

Meng Wu asked, “Did something happen in Xianyang? Is it related to Tian’er?”

Tian’er… While there was nothing wrong with calling him that, Zhu Xiang felt it was strangely out of place.

“Meng Tian got involved, so I suppose I should tell you.” Zhu Xiang said, “His Majesty had been on the throne for less than a year when a Qin prince already started to make moves to seize power and tested Zheng’er.”

Meng Wu raised an eyebrow. “The Crown Prince is appointed by the King of Qin. Since the position is already settled, anyone who tries to seize it is offending the King’s authority.”

“Indeed,” Zhu Xiang replied. “They probably think our current monarch is gentle-natured and won’t hold them accountable.”

Zhu Xiang explained the day’s events in detail, though he deliberately left out his private conversation with King Zhu of Qin.

He could share such words with Zichu, but it was better to keep them from others. Not because he didn’t trust Meng Wu, but because walls have ears. The more people who knew, the greater the chance it would reach the King. If King Zhu learned that he’d been repeating their private words, he would surely grow distant.

Even if King Zhu treated him generously, there were still boundaries between ruler and subject.

“Zheng’er is bold.” Meng Wu let out a breath of relief. “Good thing he was alert enough not to let the assassin near him.”

It sounded like a joke, but if that man had managed to reach Zheng’er, even unarmed, an adult’s strength could still injure him.

Meng Wu couldn’t help but think darkly: maybe those people really did mean to kill Zheng’er under the guise of a joke.

Zhu Xiang didn’t see it that way. If Zheng’er had actually been assassinated, the involved prince would at least be exiled. Zichu was still the crown prince and had a son raised in Queen Huayang’s palace — his position wasn’t shaken.

Zichu wasn’t valued merely because of Zheng’er being a “promising royal grandson”; Zichu himself had the capability to become King of Qin.

“Maybe the person who orchestrated it isn’t among that foolish bunch. Maybe he’s just waiting for both sides to suffer losses,” Meng Wu speculated maliciously. “If Zheng’er got hurt, your relationship with the Crown Prince would weaken too.”

Zhu Xiang had originally wanted to joke that Zichu could just have another nephew with Chunhua. But that kind of joke would be disrespectful to both Zichu and Chunhua, so he didn’t say it.

Besides, he knew very well that not all nephews were equal.

Not mentioning Zheng’er’s status in his original history or his own intelligence, the shared experiences between him and Zheng’er were irreplaceable. Only Zheng’er could be his and Xue’s child — bloodline aside.

“They won’t get the chance to harm Zheng’er,” Zhu Xiang said resolutely.

“In the south, you and Zheng’er are absolutely safe,” Meng Wu replied. “The King probably had this in mind when sending you two south.”

Zhu Xiang smiled. “Actually, though the King appointed me as governor of Wu Commandery, there’s another decree — Zheng’er is the true governor of Wu, and I’m in charge of overseeing the south. Congratulations, you’re now the governor of Nanjun.”

Zhu Xiang stretched out his hand.

Meng Wu didn’t understand the gesture and hesitantly placed his hand in Zhu Xiang’s.

Zhu Xiang: “……”

Meng Wu: “?”

Zhu Xiang flung Meng Wu’s hand away and scolded, “I’m asking for a bribe! You, the governor of Nanjun, not giving me a gift? I’ll go back and badmouth you!”

At the end of King Zhao of Qin’s life, he carved out new territories in the south to form two new commanderies: Nanjun and Wu. Meng Wu became governor of Nanjun, while Li Mu was temporarily assigned Wu Commandery.

Governors handled both civil and military affairs of a commandery. Li Mu had been appointed general by the King and commanded Qin’s naval forces, free to attack any southern territories outside Qin’s domain. He shouldn’t have had to serve as governor.

Originally, Li Mu recommended Wang Jian as governor of Wu, but King Zhu hesitated — Wang Jian wasn’t familiar with Zhu Xiang and might make him uncomfortable. So he appointed Ying Zheng instead.

Wang Jian had no objections. The new King didn’t know him well, so it was unlikely he’d be given great responsibilities immediately. Besides, training naval troops under General Li Mu sounded more exciting than being a mere governor.

His value would show on the battlefield.

During the Warring States period, there were already “inspectors,” and rulers or prime ministers often toured the country.

The King’s appointment of Zhu Xiang was essentially to act as the King’s representative in the southern territories — to supervise the officials and troops, and help guide farming.

For Zhu Xiang, it was just going south to farm, and supervising on the side.

So yes, Zhu Xiang did have the authority to report Meng Wu to the King for slacking off.

Meng Wu was stunned. “Huh? A bribe?”

Zhu Xiang rubbed his fingers together and made a sleazy face despite his godlike looks. “You expect me to speak well of you for free?”

Meng Wu stared blankly for a moment, then realized Zhu Xiang was joking. Zhu Xiang’s exasperated look brought him back to his senses.

He immediately put on a stern face. “How can you ask for a bribe? I’m going to report you to His Majesty right now—Ow! Why did you kick me?!”

Zhu Xiang said, “Shouldn’t you be saying, ‘Feel free to go to my storeroom and take whatever you like’?”

Meng Wu laughed. “That’s exactly what Li Mu would say! But I can’t say the same thing — that would be boring.”

Zhu Xiang shook his head. “No, Li Mu would ignore me, then go tell Zheng’er not to copy his uncle. Then he’d go snitch to Xunzi. Li Mu’s just a big-tailed wolf who loves tattling!”

Meng Wu burst out laughing again.

Hearing the laughter inside the cabin, the people outside sighed in relief.

Lord Meng had finally stopped crying. They didn’t have to walk around with furrowed brows anymore.

After freshening up, Meng Wu came out again with a smile and politely greeted everyone. He even apologized to Xue and Ying Zheng.

Xue quickly told him not to worry.

Ying Zheng complained, “You and Uncle just left me alone. I’m upset. I’ve decided to bully your son.”

Meng Wu patted Meng Tian on the back. “Go ahead! Tian’er’s not that capable anyway, but he’s tough!”

Meng Tian: “?” Father, you never said that before. You always said I was the most promising of the Meng clan, even better than Grandfather.

Ying Zheng folded his arms. “Uncle Meng, you said it. Don’t regret it later.”

Meng Wu laughed. “Never. If being bullied by you, Zheng’er, that’s his blessing.”

Zhu Xiang chimed in, “Blessing? Then would you like that blessing?”

Meng Wu replied cheerfully, “Yes!”

Zhu Xiang: “……”

No shame, truly invincible. I’m ashamed to call you my friend.

Meng Tian’s face was blank.

Father, what are you saying? Have you lost all shame? Why are you acting like this in front of Lord Changping and Prince Zheng? Where did my serious, dignified father go?

For the first time, Meng Tian realized that his father could be unserious. He felt so awkward he wanted to dive into the river.

Zhu Xiang gave Meng Tian a sympathetic look.

Poor child. My friends — are any of them serious people? Even Cai Ze has to follow along with our antics!

Zhu Xiang continued, “Meng Wu, let me introduce you. This is Lu Buwei, and this is Li Si.” He added, “Besides farming, I have important things to handle on this southern trip. Ask Lu Buwei and Li Si about the details — don’t bother me.”

Meng Wu was speechless. “You have important tasks, and you’re handing them off to others?”

Zhu Xiang replied matter-of-factly, “Exactly.”

Meng Wu “ptui”ed at him and went off to chat privately with Lu Buwei and Li Si.

He understood — Zhu Xiang was giving them a relaxed setting and an excuse to talk. Whatever Lu and Li had to do must be a major undertaking that required his full cooperation. Having a private friendship with them would make future cooperation easier.

And who knew — after this, those two might rise high in court.

So Meng Wu left Zhu Xiang’s little family of three to go talk shop. Once again, Meng Tian was shocked.

Father! Prince Zheng and Lord Changping outrank you! Shouldn’t you see to their comfort first?

Meng Tian wanted to apologize on his father’s behalf to Zhu Xiang and Ying Zheng. But as a subordinate, it wasn’t appropriate for him to overstep. He felt so embarrassed his scalp tingled.

“I’m your father’s friend. We don’t stand on such ceremony,” Zhu Xiang said kindly. “Are you wondering why, even though I’m friends with your father, I’ve been cold to you?”

Meng Tian quickly said, “I wouldn’t dare.”

Zhu Xiang replied, “You’re Zheng’er’s close attendant now, and in the future, you’ll be his retainer. If I drew you too close before you got used to the sovereign-subject relationship with Zheng’er, it would do you more harm than good.”

Zhu Xiang had been watching Meng Tian’s behavior around Ying Zheng. He was still immature, though already better than most his age.

For instance, he still didn’t treat Ying Zheng as his master. He thought of himself as a guard gifted by the King to a child.

That mindset was dangerous.

Meng Tian had been groomed by King Zhao himself to be Ying Zheng’s confidant. He should’ve known this. But since joining Ying Zheng, he hadn’t adjusted his role.

Maybe it was because Ying Zheng was still young, or because he wasn’t even crown prince yet.

Zhu Xiang hoped Meng Tian would wake up soon. His little nephew had little patience.

Right now, there were too many capable elders around Ying Zheng. Those men might accompany Qin all the way through unification and beyond. Ying Zheng didn’t have much need for peers.

He might only start recruiting peers once he had children.

So if Meng Tian didn’t find his proper place, Ying Zheng wouldn’t bother training or advising him.

But Meng Tian was Meng Wu’s son — the hope of the entire Meng clan. Zhu Xiang couldn’t help but offer a word of guidance.

He also hoped Ying Zheng could have someone close to him besides elders. Even if not a peer-friend, he should at least have a trusted right-hand man.

“Zheng’er has grown up. He already killed an assassin with his own hands,” Zhu Xiang said, this time not ruffling Zheng’er’s hair but patting his shoulder gently. “Next, he’ll become a commandery governor. He shouldn’t be surrounded only by elders. He needs his own confidants — people who can do things without the elders knowing.”

Ying Zheng frowned. “Zheng’er has nothing to hide from Uncle.”

Zhu Xiang said, “Not now, but eventually you will. It’s not that I would hurt you, or that you shouldn’t trust me. But everyone needs secrets. Like when we play cards — your trump card is only powerful if no one else knows what it is. Sometimes even your allies shouldn’t know. That’s how you surprise people.”

Ying Zheng mumbled, “Then does Uncle have secrets he won’t tell Zheng’er?”

Zhu Xiang nodded. “Plenty.”

Though he knew that, Ying Zheng still pouted unhappily.

Zhu Xiang continued, “For example, do you know where I hide the snacks you like? The ones I give you every day?”

Ying Zheng: “……”

His face collapsed. “No. And I still don’t know where you locked up the weapons Elder Bai and Elder Lian gave me!”

Zhu Xiang chuckled. “You also don’t know where your favorite storybooks are hidden.”

Ying Zheng grew annoyed. “Auntie!”

Xue suppressed her laughter. “Alright, stop teasing Zheng’er.”

Zhu Xiang grew serious. “I wasn’t teasing. Just being honest.”

He cleared his throat and steered the conversation back. “So I hope you grow up quickly and become Zheng’er’s first true right-hand man. I believe you can do it.”

He added earnestly, “Don’t mind what your father said about you being only tough. He praises you often in private, calling you the qilin child of the Meng family.”

Meng Tian’s face shifted through shame and shyness.

“Tean’er will follow Lord Changping’s guidance faithfully!” he said with a salute.

Zhu Xiang replied, “Don’t salute me — go salute your master. From now on, you’re Zheng’er’s first retainer.”

He patted Ying Zheng’s head. “Even if he’s young, he’s still your master.”

Ying Zheng brushed off Zhu Xiang’s hand. “I haven’t accepted him as my retainer yet.”

Zhu Xiang smiled. “Then Meng Tian, all the more reason to work hard.”

Meng Tian: “Yes!”

Ying Zheng snorted and scrutinized Meng Tian.

In his dream, the adult Ying Zheng liked Meng Tian a lot. But just because he liked Meng Tian didn’t mean I have to.

Not necessarily.

Right now, he didn’t like Meng Tian, because Meng Tian looked down on him.

But since Uncle said so, and for Uncle’s and Uncle Meng’s sake, Ying Zheng decided to give Meng Tian a chance to become his retainer.

If Meng Tian missed this chance, then this future favorite of the adult Emperor wouldn’t be needed.

Uncle Lin’s child, Uncle Cai’s child, and even General Li Mu’s child — there were plenty of talented replacements waiting in line. Meng Wu’s son better stand at the back for now.