HCT – Chapter 128 Sweet and Sour Perch Flowers

The tasks Ying Zheng assigned to Li Si and Meng Tian were mostly mechanical data tabulations.

Zhu Xiang copied the numbers from the documents into the forms and recalculated everything using an abacus. He mused whether he should pre-print some standardized forms—it might significantly improve work efficiency.

Zhu Xiang worked at remarkable speed. The materials that took Li Si and Meng Tian several days to organize—Zhu Xiang had already handled most of them by the time Ying Zheng woke up.

Li Si and Meng Tian had already sorted out the majority of the files. Ying Zheng had circled any mistakes or omissions, which was one reason Zhu Xiang’s work went so quickly.

After getting up, Ying Zheng freshened up with the help of an old servant. His two little tufts of hair were still loose when he ran off to find his uncle.

Seeing his uncle busy at work, Ying Zheng buried his head in Zhu Xiang’s arms and climbed onto his lap.

“Uncle, you’re way better than them!” Ying Zheng casually flipped through the documents Zhu Xiang had processed and mumbled, “Uncle, you’d make a great Prime Minister.”

Zhu Xiang chuckled. “I’m not the type to have the patience for that. Zheng’er, don’t get too disappointed in Meng Tian and Li Si just because of one shortcoming. Train them well, give them time to grow.”

Ying Zheng pouted. “I’m only nine years old and already better than them. They’ve had way more time to grow than me!”

Zhu Xiang replied, “If they have to compare themselves to you, how could they ever stand a chance?”

He tousled Ying Zheng’s hair playfully. “Your uncle and aunt are rare talents in this world. You’re our child—it’s only natural you’re stronger than others.”

Ying Zheng turned away, but the corners of his mouth couldn’t help curling up. “Even if you and Aunt aren’t geniuses, I’d still be amazing.”

Zhu Xiang nodded. “Of course. But with an uncle and aunt like me and Xue, you’ll be even more amazing.”

Ying Zheng’s grin widened uncontrollably. “Fine, I’ll give you that.”

Zhu Xiang said, “Go play outside for a while. I’ll finish up these documents soon.”

Ying Zheng shook his head. “Let’s do it together.”

Zhu Xiang divided the stack of documents into one large and one small pile, then lifted Ying Zheng onto the chair next to him. The two worked side by side.

By coincidence, just as Zhu Xiang finished his stack, Ying Zheng also closed the last document in his pile. The coordination between uncle and nephew was perfect.

Once they finished, they both stretched, rotated their necks, shrugged their shoulders, and let out a big yawn at the same time.

“The lotus seed and white fungus soup should be ready by now. Come on, let’s go have some,” Zhu Xiang said, taking Ying Zheng’s hand as they walked out. “I also had a plate of chilled lotus root and some water chestnuts prepared—refreshing and appetizing.”

Ying Zheng complained, “No meat?”

Zhu Xiang replied, “We’ll have meat tonight. Xiang He caught a perch; I’ll make steamed perch for you.”

Ying Zheng protested, “I don’t want steamed.”

Zhu Xiang, ever patient, asked, “Then how about sweet and sour?”

Still dissatisfied, Ying Zheng asked, “Only one sweet and sour perch?”

Zhu Xiang said, “There are also some river shrimp. Want them boiled?”

Ying Zheng shook his head vigorously. “Why do you always like to steam and boil things?”

Zhu Xiang sighed, “I should be asking why your taste is so heavy. Sometimes eating lighter, steamed or boiled dishes is better for your health.”

Ying Zheng retorted, “Didn’t you say older people should eat steamed and boiled dishes? That means I should be eating flavorful dishes while I’m young—eat my fill now!”

Zhu Xiang laughed. “Alright, alright, you’ve convinced me. How about spicy dry pot shrimp?”

Ying Zheng finally nodded in satisfaction. “Acceptable.”

Zhu Xiang tapped his nephew lightly on the forehead. Acceptable, huh.

The two strolled slowly outside. On the way, Zhu Xiang wanted to call Meng Tian and Li Si to eat with them, but Ying Zheng refused.

They couldn’t even do their jobs properly—now they want to mooch food too? No way!

Zhu Xiang laughed helplessly and let Ying Zheng have his way.

He figured Meng Tian and Li Si probably wouldn’t have the face to come join them anyway.

The perch was a large one. Zhu Xiang, whose knife skills had become increasingly refined since his transmigration, filleted the fish, cut the flesh into fish scale-shaped slices, rolled them up with his fingers after coating them with starch, and tossed them into hot oil—each one bloomed into a delicate fish “flower.”

He made a whole plate of these fish flowers, cooked the sweet and sour sauce, poured it over the flowers, and garnished the dish with some green leaves. A beautiful and appetizing plate of Sweet and Sour Perch Flowers was complete.

The dry pot shrimp was simpler and didn’t require Zhu Xiang to cook personally.

The chef they’d brought opened the shrimp backs, removed the veins, stir-fried them with aromatic spices and soybean oil, then simmered them briefly with a splash of water until fully cooked.

Both the sweet and sour fish and dry pot shrimp were perfect dishes to go with rice. Zhu Xiang steamed a big pot of rice with dried pumpkin and invited Xu Ming and Xiang He to join them for the meal.

At the table, Xu Ming and Xiang He asked Zhu Xiang about the earth and stars.

Zhu Xiang mentioned the Earth’s rotation and revolution, saying it was just a “hypothesis”, and encouraged them to seek the answers and verify it for themselves.

While shoveling rice into his mouth, Ying Zheng rolled his eyes at his uncle. Uncle clearly knew what he was talking about, yet he insisted on calling it a hypothesis. What a poor liar. Fine, his uncle really wasn’t suited for court intrigue. Better not let him become Prime Minister after all.

Ying Zheng just wanted the elders to stay healthy and continue serving as Prime Minister and Chancellor for him. As for Li Si and the others—best not to mention them.

The next day, when Meng Tian and Li Si came to work, they learned that all the tasks they had left behind had already been completed by Zhu Xiang. Their spirits sank even lower.

Zhu Xiang smiled and encouraged them. “Everything starts from unfamiliarity to mastery. I believe as long as you put your heart into learning, you’ll pick it up quickly.”

He took out a numerical chart and taught them the numbers and mathematical symbols.

Both Meng Tian and Li Si had excellent memories. With Zhu Xiang’s systematic teaching, they quickly memorized the symbols.

Zhu Xiang then brought out the multiplication and division tables. Since they already had good mental arithmetic, they didn’t need much time to grasp it.

Once they mastered the multiplication tables, Zhu Xiang began teaching them vertical arithmetic. It was their first time experiencing the convenience of using symbols in calculations.

The two were deeply ashamed. They had previously ignored the significance of these symbols—what a huge mistake.

Meanwhile, Ying Zheng was working nearby, occasionally glancing up at his uncle teaching Meng Tian and Li Si, feeling a bit embarrassed and annoyed.

He understood that his uncle was purposefully letting him observe this lesson to show him that Meng Tian and Li Si were not incompetent—they had just been taught the wrong way.

Even though he had the authority of a prince of Qin and could command Meng Tian and Li Si, for intelligent people, understanding the why behind a task made them work far more efficiently than being forced to do it.

Ying Zheng muttered internally: Uncle, if you’re unhappy, just say so. Why do you always have to go in circles?

Almost as if he’d heard the boy’s inner grumbling, Zhu Xiang looked over and winked at his scowling nephew.

Ying Zheng snorted and buried his head back into his work.

Fine, fine, I get it. I’ll be more patient next time! Uncle, you’re such a nag!

Zhu Xiang smiled and continued teaching Meng Tian and Li Si.

Once they finished learning vertical arithmetic, next up was abacus calculations. That would take longer to master, starting with memorizing the basic formulas. Meng Tian and Li Si, now motivated, finally regained a bit of confidence.

Zhu Xiang stayed in Wucheng for half a month. When Li Mu and Wang Jian returned fully loaded with spoils, Li Mu was shocked to find Zhu Xiang in Wucheng. He thought Zhu Xiang must have fallen ill and was extremely anxious.

Wang Jian was also surprised. Although he had long known that General Li Mu cared deeply for Lord Zhu Xiang, wasn’t this a bit too much?

Wang Jian began to reflect on himself.

Although he had only recently become friends with Lord Zhu Xiang, he realized he cared too little. He needed to learn from Li Mu.

He must work harder! Wang Jian clenched his fists.

Zhu Xiang had no idea about Wang Jian’s internal self-reflection. If he had known, he would’ve been utterly speechless.

Even among close friends, Li Mu’s level of concern was in a league of its own. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he had once rescued Zhu Xiang personally from prison and witnessed the horrors of his condition firsthand.

“I’m not sick. Zheng’er’s two little assistants are still a bit inexperienced, so I’ve been teaching them,” Zhu Xiang explained.

Li Mu sighed in relief and asked, “Last time you trained so many students—why not assign a few experienced ones to help Zheng’er?”

Now that Zhu Xiang and Ying Zheng were jointly managing Wu Commandery, they could reassign officials at will.

Zhu Xiang replied, “Meng Tian was entrusted to Zheng’er by the late king; he’s also the son of Meng Wu. Li Si is exceptionally talented and will eventually hold power in court. Having them learn and adjust alongside Zheng’er now will make them more useful to him in the future.”

Zhu Xiang spoke about Li Si’s memorial to the King of Qin. After hearing it, Li Mu reluctantly agreed with his assessment.

“But that doesn’t stop you from assigning a seasoned hand to guide them,” Li Mu said.

Zhu Xiang gave a bitter smile. “I was planning for Zheng’er to guide them. Who knew Zheng’er’s patience is… sigh.”

Li Mu laughed. “Zheng’er was born to be a king—how much patience do you expect a king to have?”

Zhu Xiang spread his hands. “But he’s not a king yet. He shouldn’t always handle things with a king’s mindset.”

Li Mu said, “That’s your job to teach him.”

Zhu Xiang, disgruntled: “Zheng’er calls you teacher too. Can’t you be a little more responsible?”

Li Mu replied, “Fine. I’ll take some time to properly teach him horseback riding, martial arts, and military strategy.”

Zhu Xiang let out a heavy sigh.

Teach him riding, martial arts, and strategy for what? Was Zheng’er going to personally lead troops into battle?

Forget it. More skills never hurt. Learning riding and military arts alongside his duties could serve as both physical exercise and mental relaxation.

This time, Li Mu didn’t seize any territory but brought back a large amount of supplies.

He applied his tactics from Yanmen Commandery to Wu Commandery. Back then, he would often lead troops to raid nomadic tribes for resources, which kept the city well-stocked with livestock. Now, he turned to raiding Dongyue.

The parts of Dongyue near Wu Commandery had adopted agricultural practices; most people there farmed. Further south in Minyue, the flatlands narrowed and the mountain tribes grew more ferocious.

Minyue people, nestled between mountains and sea, relied on fishing and hunting. Li Mu specifically chose to train his troops by raiding them.

On his way back from the raids, he would sell the loot in the more developed northern Dongyue areas near Wu Commandery in exchange for grain to supply his army. As long as they didn’t count casualties, every campaign ended with a significant profit.

Li Mu sat beneath a trellis of pumpkin vines, sipping the rice wine Zhu Xiang brewed, and explained his strategic intentions:

“Dongyue isn’t a unified entity. If we loot the southern tribes and give the spoils to the northern tribal chiefs, we can divide them from within. The Dongyue people are short-sighted and greedy for small gains. They’ll fall into civil strife soon enough.”

“Minyue won’t withstand the Qin army’s attacks. They’ll retreat inland. That’s when the Qin army can land and build fortresses, gradually gaining a foothold.”

“As Minyue’s living space is compressed, their fear of Qin will grow, and they’ll escalate attacks on northern Dongyue tribes—further fueling the internal chaos.”

Li Mu smiled. “Even if I seize southern lands now, I don’t have extra troops to hold them. The goal is to train soldiers. Let them be in chaos for ten years or so. Once His Majesty unifies the realm, we’ll slowly clean them up.”

Zhu Xiang praised, “You military men all have dark hearts!”

Wang Jian spat out his wine. “Not me! I don’t! I’ve always fought honorably!”

Li Mu gave him a sidelong glance.

He admitted Wang Jian was more skilled at large-scale direct warfare. That was likely because Qin was strong, and Wang Jian had always studied strategies based on overwhelming force.

Li Mu, however, was different.

Even when Zhao was at its peak, the border forces stationed in places like Yanmen were limited. When the nomads came south each year, Li Mu and other frontier generals had to make each soldier count as several. So, he excelled in cunning tactics.

Although neither approach was superior, Li Mu was confident he wouldn’t lose to Wang Jian in a direct confrontation with large armies, and believed Wang Jian could pull off clever strategies too if needed. Still, he slightly envied Wang Jian for growing up in a powerful state.

Li Mu downed his drink.

Thankfully, he was now a general of Qin.

Zhu Xiang’s eye for talent was truly sharp. After working with Wang Jian, Li Mu immediately saw that this not-yet-famous middle-aged general would someday rise to greatness.

Had he still been a Zhao general, Wang Jian would’ve become his greatest enemy—perhaps even a lifelong rival on the battlefield.

Wang Jian had a mighty Qin behind him, and led its elite army. Li Mu, on the other hand, had a declining Zhao, and would’ve had to use inferior troops and endless schemes just to keep pace.

Wang Jian could lose many times and still land a decisive final blow. Li Mu couldn’t afford a single defeat.

Li Mu grew melancholy at the thought of such a future.

Thankfully, he was now a general of Qin.

What he didn’t know was that if he had remained a general of Zhao, he wouldn’t even have had the chance to face off with Wang Jian. Because Wang Jian, upon realizing how formidable Li Mu was, would’ve submitted a memorial to Qin King Zheng before the campaign and used a ruse to have him killed.

Wang Jian: I specialize in large-scale, straightforward warfare. Using a ruse of discord? That doesn’t count as a “clever plot.”

Li Mu and Wang Jian then got into a discussion about strategy and even jokingly debated who would’ve won if Li Mu had still been a general of Zhao.

The only ones who knew the truth were Zhu Xiang and the half-aware Ying Zheng, who both quietly gnawed on water chestnuts without saying a word.

When the two generals started arguing, Ying Zheng finally wiped his mouth and said, “Teacher, I’m not stupid. You’re so amazing, and Zhao’s king is so foolish. Why would I send Wang Jian to fight you head-on? Wouldn’t it be better to use a ruse and have the Zhao King kill you?”

Li Mu was speechless.

Wang Jian covered his forehead.

Zhu Xiang nearly choked from laughing.

In the end, Li Mu cursed in his Yanmen dialect and dropped the subject of what would’ve happened had he remained in Zhao.

Wang Jian tried hard not to laugh, but his shoulders still trembled.

That round of strategic debate ended hastily, with the victor being Ying Zheng.

Ying Zheng clung to Li Mu’s back, laughing heartily.

Li Mu picked him up and spun him around twice, scaring the cheeky disciple who dared to use a ruse on his teacher.

Zhu Xiang shook his head with a smile and looked up at the imperfect moon above.

Zhao State…

Lord Pingyang and Lord Xinling were still there. Were they doing well?

Probably not.

Zhao State.

Lord Pingyang knelt in front of the haggard-looking Lord Xinling, his expression pleading.

Lord Xinling drank wine, refusing to look at Pingyang.

Zhao Bao, Lord Pingyang, bowed his head and said, “Lord Xinling, I beg you—please save Zhao.”

Wei Wuji, Lord Xinling, let out a drunken hiccup and slumped, saying, “I can’t even save myself—how can I save Zhao? You’re a royal of Zhao. The king trusts you. Aren’t you doing well as Chancellor?”

Zhao Bao gave a bitter smile. “I lack talent and learning—I’m not doing well at all.”

After Lord Pingyuan Zhao Sheng passed away, Zhao Bao inherited his responsibilities in aiding the state.

Although the King of Zhao had, after several blows, finally awakened to some measure of wisdom, his body had failed. He could no longer handle prolonged government affairs.

The King of Zhao, in a rare change from his usual suspicion, deeply trusted Lord Pingyuan and Lord Pingyang, handing over most governmental affairs to his two uncles.

Lord Pingyuan, in an effort to make up for past mistakes, died from overwork in office and earned a lifelong reputation as a virtuous statesman.

Lord Pingyang, Zhao Bao, didn’t lack the desire to emulate his elder brother, but he simply lacked his brother’s administrative and interpersonal abilities—he had the heart but not the strength.

He had repeatedly visited Lord Xinling, hoping Xinling would accept the position of Prime Minister in Zhao. However, Xinling, disheartened by the Wei King’s constant suspicion, spent his days drunk and refused to sober up.

The two men sat in silence. Zhao Bao thought he would once again return empty-handed.

At that moment, one of Xinling’s retainers hurried in, face filled with complicated emotions, and presented a visiting card.

It was made of paper.

Qin had started replacing bamboo and wooden slips with paper several years ago. Though other states tried to follow, papermaking technology was a major obstacle. They could steal the techniques from Qin, but the cost was too high. Except for Zhao, which gritted its teeth and kept up, the rest had already given up.

For the nobility, there wasn’t much difference between bamboo slips and paper—they didn’t care about the cost.

But Zhao had too many holes to patch, so papermaking workshops were few and paper hadn’t become widespread yet. Especially for visiting cards—nobles preferred wooden or bamboo tags. Only Qin people used paper for such purposes.

Lord Xinling grew angry. “A visiting card from a Qin man? Throw it out!”

The retainer replied in a low tone, “It’s from Lord Zhu Xiang’s messenger.”

Both Lord Xinling and Lord Pingyang were stunned.

After a moment of silence, Lord Xinling put down his wine bowl, asked for water, tidied his appearance, washed his hands to rid them of the stench of alcohol, and changed into fresh clothes before accepting the thin visiting card.

Lord Pingyang looked at the rarely neat Lord Xinling. Though Xinling’s eyes still held the haze of wine, for a moment, he looked just like the confident and dashing man he used to be.

What Zhu Xiang had sent was more a letter than a visiting card.

Upon learning from his Favorability System that Lord Pingyuan Zhao Sheng had passed away, Zhu Xiang had always wanted to send a condolence gift.

However, Zhao had kept the funeral secret, and he couldn’t explain how he knew about Lord Pingyuan’s death.

Lord Lin had truly visited him in a dream—but he couldn’t claim Lord Pingyuan did the same, could he? So, he waited until the King of Qin was informed before sending the gift.

With this delay, by the time the gift arrived, even King Zhu was nearing the end of his mourning period.

Zhu Xiang initially intended to send the gift directly to Lord Pingyuan or Lord Pingyang, but then reconsidered—he was a high-ranking official of Qin. If he sent gifts directly to Zhao’s royal family, while he himself might be fine, it would likely invite gossip and trouble for Lord Pingyuan and Lord Pingyang.

As it happened, Lord Xinling was in Zhao and was also Lord Pingyuan’s brother-in-law. So Zhu Xiang sent the gift to Lord Xinling’s residence, asking him to pass it on.

At the same time, there were many things he wanted to say to Lord Xinling.

After handing the short letter to Lord Pingyang, Lord Xinling personally went out to receive the envoy sent by Zhu Xiang.

Zhu Xiang didn’t have many servants around him and usually used men from the King of Qin. This time, however, he made an exception and sent one of the few household servants he had. The man had seen both Lord Xinling and Lord Pingyang before, though they didn’t remember him.

The servant was dressed like a merchant, very modest in appearance.

After presenting the gift and another thick letter, he said nothing more, only answering when Lord Xinling asked.

His behavior fully expressed Zhu Xiang’s sincerity—he had come as a friend, not as a representative of Qin.

Besides valuable items appropriate for the occasion, Zhu Xiang also sent pumpkin seeds and instructions on how to plant them.

This had been approved by King Zhu after Zhu Xiang submitted a report.

Pumpkins could relieve famine, though they didn’t store well and were difficult to transport. They could help the people of Zhao but couldn’t easily become military rations for Zhao’s army. So King Zhu was willing to share this benefit, to polish his image of benevolence.

Qin was now preparing in earnest to unify the world. Unlike King Zhaoxiang of Qin, King Zhu valued Xunzi’s teachings about “a righteous and benevolent army.” If he could earn a good reputation that would help reduce resistance when Qin conquered the other states, why not?

After all, polishing one’s image didn’t cost much in manpower or resources and could go hand in hand with military preparations.

Zhu Xiang gently conveyed this in his letter and listed both the advantages and limitations of pumpkins.

After his brother’s death, Lord Pingyang rarely showed emotion, but now he looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“He’s still the same Zhu Xiang, hasn’t changed at all,” Zhao Bao thought of his past unpleasant interactions with Zhu Xiang, and tears welled in his eyes as he looked at the pumpkin seeds. “Even now as a Qin official, he still remembers the common people of Zhao.”

Lord Xinling said, “Political stance is one thing, but it doesn’t change the friendship between him and me. Let’s see what advice he’s given me.”

Lord Xinling ordered accommodations for Zhu Xiang’s envoy and handed all the gifts to Lord Pingyang, keeping only the thick letter from Zhu Xiang for himself.

Lord Pingyang worried Zhu Xiang might try to persuade Lord Xinling to join Qin, so he shamelessly used the excuse of wanting to know more about Zhu Xiang to stay as well.

Lord Xinling didn’t expose him, but neither did he share the letter.

He only told Lord Pingyang firmly: “I will never go to Qin.”

“Because Qin’s next target will definitely be Han and Wei,” he said coldly. “Even if Wei doesn’t want me, I am still a Prince of Wei.”

Lord Pingyang bowed deeply, emotions churning in his heart.

Lord Xinling then went to a study he hadn’t entered in a long time, lit a honey candle, dazed for a while, then opened Zhu Xiang’s letter.

Zhu Xiang wrote plainly and directly, without excessive formalities, and shared amusing anecdotes from his time in Qin.

He wrote about his dissatisfaction with the fangshi (occultists), about Li Bing’s water control projects, and about his own journey south to farm.

There were no secrets in the letter—everything written was already public knowledge. But as someone who experienced them firsthand, Zhu Xiang offered detailed and personal accounts.

For instance, during his conflict with the fangshi, he didn’t use mystical powers, just exposed their tricks.

When working with Li Bing to blast open mountains and build dams, Zhu Xiang didn’t mention gunpowder but explained how he used thermal expansion and contraction to crack rocks—and then grumbled that there were no demons blocking the way.

The campaign to destroy mountain temples, too, was just about clearing out criminal cults—no spirits or demons involved.

“My martial skills are average. Master Xunzi often scolds me as a rotten piece of wood—how could I have the power to slay demons or gods?”

Lord Xinling couldn’t help but laugh.

He had actually believed those rumors, only to discover the truth was so “ordinary.”

Outside speculation had wildly exaggerated the facts—so much so that Zhu Xiang, the honest man himself, felt embarrassed when hearing them.

Wei Wuji and Zhu Xiang had only met once. But some friendships, like love at first sight, leave a lifelong impression.

Wei Wuji knew this was how he felt about Zhu Xiang. Now Zhu Xiang had written back, and he was truly happy.

It was just a pity that the King of Qin would never let Zhu Xiang leave Qin, and he himself would never enter it. The two might never get to share a drink again.

Zhu Xiang’s anecdotes lightened Wei Wuji’s mood and dissolved much of his guardedness.

After all, he hated Qin, and Zhu Xiang was the King’s favorite. Though he admired Zhu Xiang, he had worried that the King might use the letter for ulterior motives.

But now it seemed Zhu Xiang was indeed favored by the King of Qin—enough that the King allowed him to write freely.

The Zhu Xiang Wei Wuji had seen was the “Great Sage Zhu Xiang,” already with threads of gray in his black hair and a weary face—he hadn’t seen the lively Zhu Xiang beneath that image.

But this letter offered a glimpse beneath the sage’s aura to the real person inside.

After Zhu Xiang left Zhao, Wei Wuji had visited Lin Xiangru and Lian Po, who spoke of him fondly, saying that in private, Zhu Xiang was like an overly energetic, headache-inducing “child.”

Judging from the tone of the letter, Zhu Xiang really did seem like a carefree and cheerful man—someone who’d get along with him particularly well.

Wei Wuji ran his fingers over the paper, imagining what Zhu Xiang looked like after emerging from his grief.

Zhu Xiang’s writing was wordy—sometimes he’d forget what he wrote earlier, repeating the same stories like a spinning wheel, making Wei Wuji chuckle.

Turning another page, just as he expected, Zhu Xiang finally began encouraging him to pull himself together.

As a friend, how could he write such a long letter and not offer words of encouragement?

Everyone who had past ties with Wei Wuji had written to persuade him; even old acquaintances from the Qin State subtly advised him to take up an official post there.

Wei Wuji read the amusing anecdotes that Zhu Xiang had written, and unlike the letters from others urging him to pull himself together—which he would usually toss aside without hesitation—he read Zhu Xiang’s words with a light heart.

“You wish to return to Wei but cannot, and taking office in other states does little to ease your inner turmoil. You’re much like a younger acquaintance of mine.”

Wei Wuji raised an eyebrow. Who else was like him? He thought hard but couldn’t think of anyone across the Six States who dared to compare themselves to him.

Zhu Xiang was, of course, referring to Han Fei.

Although Han Fei was a collateral member of the Han royal family, by this time, the title of “Prince” (公子) was no longer restricted to sons of the king; anyone related to the king could be so called. Even Ying Zheng, when he was just the great-grandson of the King of Qin, was addressed as a Qin Prince.

Even lords not of royal blood could be referred to as “Prince” — for example, Chunshen Jun, one of the Four Lords of the Warring States.

If Zhu Xiang had thick enough skin, he too could call himself “Prince,” though not “Prince Zhu Xiang.”

But since Han Fei was related to the King of Han, he could indeed be called “Prince Fei.”

In the letter, Zhu Xiang praised Prince Fei’s talent and described how the King of Han and the ministers of Han court all dismissed him with scorn.

Zhu Xiang wrote that Prince Fei had petitioned the King of Han for years, but the king found him tiresome and eventually shut him out completely. Upon reading this, Wei Wuji let out a bitter smile.

He wasn’t sure if this Prince Fei was truly as talented as claimed, but that kind of treatment—yes, it was truly miserable.

Zhu Xiang continued: even though the King of Han and the ministers scorned Han Fei, Han Fei still traveled all the way to Xianyang to study under Xunzi and seek strategies to strengthen the nation.

Wei Wuji shook his head with a smile.

“Zhu Xiang is probably being modest. That Han Fei must’ve gone there because of him.”

Zhu Xiang had anticipated this thought, and specifically emphasized in the letter that Han Fei had genuinely gone to learn from Xunzi and had nothing to do with him—he didn’t want to take credit where none was due.

Wei Wuji laughed out loud.

This kind of mutual understanding with Zhu Xiang brought him joy.

But the smile on his face quickly faded.

After Han Fei went to Qin, he saw the dead-end that Han faced.

Wei Wuji held his forehead with one hand.

Han’s dead-end… was also Wei State’s dead-end.

Was Zhu Xiang trying to gently tell him that Wei was already beyond saving, and that he should stop clinging to it?

He silently turned the page.

Han Fei refused to serve in Qin, and Zhu Xiang agreed with that choice—not to take office in Qin before Han was destroyed.

Wei Wuji was stunned. He rubbed his eyes.

“But Han Fei will take office in Qin only after it unifies the world and becomes the Qin Dynasty succeeding the Zhou. If he doesn’t, the foolish royal family of Han will likely be reduced to commoners.”

Wei Wuji nearly knocked over his wax seal pot, emitting a sound between a laugh and a sob.

“This Zhu Xiang—is he telling me to take care of my health, so that after Qin destroys Wei, I can take office in Qin to support the Wei royal family?”

He wanted to curse Zhu Xiang, but couldn’t. He was left laughing bitterly, filled with sorrow.

Zhu Xiang had pointed out—ruthlessly and accurately—what the future might bring.

If Qin unified the world, it would no longer divide the land among feudal lords. The Wei royal family would be reduced to mere nobles. If their descendants were especially foolish, they’d become commoners.

Were the Wei royals foolish?

Extremely foolish!

“So next you’re going to tell me to take care of myself and try to live long enough to clean up the mess after Wei is gone?” Wei Wuji gritted his teeth and flipped another page—and was stunned once more.

“But with your personality, and the speed at which Qin is unifying the world, you probably won’t live to see the fall of Wei.”

Wei Wuji: “…”

Taking a deep breath, he stepped out for a walk. Only after calming down did he return.

Now he believed what Lord Lin and Lord Lian had said. This brat Zhu Xiang… sometimes really deserved a beating.

“But for you to just fade away like this is such a waste. Now that Li Mu is in Qin and the northern three commanderies of Zhao have no great general, the nomads may stir again despite their earlier defeats. Since you’ll never return to Wei’s court, why not try guarding the frontier?”

“The Seven States are all part of Huaxia. The borders of the Seven States are the borders of Huaxia. No matter how fierce our internal fights, we cannot let outsiders invade. You, Prince of Wei, guarding the northern border of Zhao, are also protecting Wei.”

“But garrison duty is hard. You’re a prince, younger brother of the King of Wei, raised in luxury—perhaps not suited for hardship.”

“Forget I said anything.”

At the end of the letter, Zhu Xiang drew a simple doodle of a stick figure sticking out its tongue.

Even though emojis didn’t exist yet, the stick figure’s intent was clear—and it made Wei Wuji immediately clutch his waist.

Only then did he realize—after all this time in depression—he had long since removed his sword.

“Damn you, Zhu Xiang!” Wei Wuji burst into laughter out of frustration.

“I thought you were my friend, and here you are suggesting I, a Prince of Wei, guard the borders of Zhao?! What on earth is going through your head?!”

After finishing his teachings to Li Si and Meng Tian, Zhu Xiang could no longer sit still—he was ready to leave Wucheng.

Just then, Xue arrived. With someone to care for Ying Zheng, Zhu Xiang could depart without worry.

Li Mu handed his troops to Wang Jian, who continued south to drill the army, while Li Mu accompanied Zhu Xiang for a casual stroll.

Wang Jian had the feeling Li Mu had some new idea in mind. But since Li Mu said nothing, he didn’t ask—just silently pondered it.

Li Mu wanted to say Wang Jian was overthinking things. Sometimes, he just wanted to relax too.

Of course, casually surveying the rivers and mountains south of Wu County while Zhu Xiang plotted to expand the territory after instigating a rebellion in Dongyue—well, that was just a bonus.

As Zhu Xiang departed, he heard Ying Zheng shout behind him:

“My aunt is here! Uncle, you’d better go—I don’t need you anymore!”

He rode off on his short pony, suddenly recalling something. He turned to Li Mu, who was dressed like a wandering swordsman.

“By now, Prince Wei should’ve received my letter. I wonder if he’s livid.”

Li Mu asked curiously: “What did you write? Did you invite him to join Qin?”

Zhu Xiang rolled his eyes: “Of course not. I’m not that annoying.”

Li Mu continued playfully: “Then why would he be furious?”

Zhu Xiang grinned slyly: “After you left Yanmen Commandery, there’s been no strong generals guarding Yunzhong, Yanmen, and Dai. The nomads are starting to stir again after a few years of rest. I thought Prince Wei could take your place.”

Li Mu: “…”

He took a few deep breaths, his tone strange: “Asking the Prince of Wei to guard the borders of Zhao—Zhu Xiang, if he were here, I wouldn’t stop him from beating you up.”

Zhu Xiang rubbed his nose, smiling: “Zhao’s borders are the borders of Huaxia—of Zhou. As a Prince of Wei, part of the Zhou lineage, why shouldn’t he guard the frontier? No matter who unifies the realm, the borders must still be defended. We can’t fight among ourselves here, let the nomads benefit, and then have to fight them again after unification to take the land back—that’d be a hassle.”

Li Mu replied: “Hassle or not, Prince Wei is proud. He probably wouldn’t accept such a task.”

Zhu Xiang said: “I’m just trying it out.”

Li Mu sighed: “You really are… I don’t know how you come up with these things. When Prince Wei sees your letter, he’s going to be shocked.”

Zhu Xiang responded: “‘Zhu Xiang is always full of surprises.’ That’s what the late king said about me.”

Li Mu couldn’t help but laugh. That was just how his dear friend was. What more could he say?

Now that Zhu Xiang brought it up, Li Mu couldn’t help but lean toward his view.

If Prince Wei truly set aside his pride and endured hardship to guard the frontier of Zhao, then perhaps Li Mu would hold this famed Lord of the Warring States in higher regard.

As for the others, Mengchang Jun was long evaluated. Pingyuan Jun and Chunshen Jun—he’d met them both. Li Mu felt his judgment was fair.

As for Prince Wei—after being ruined by Cai Ze’s schemes, he had sunk into despair. He wasn’t all that impressive anymore.

Though Li Mu remained humble before his friend, he was proud before others. He didn’t overestimate the so-called Four Lords just because of their fame.

But if Prince Wei really did shed his pride, bear the hardship, and defend Zhao’s northern border from the nomads—then he would truly live up to the name of a Lord of the Warring States.

Qin was also resisting the Xiongnu and Rong-Di tribes. Their generals took turns guarding the border.

In Chu, sons of the royal family—who now served as Qin’s in-laws—often led troops to war and garrisoned the northern frontiers many times.

If a prince of Chu, as a foreign relative of Qin, could guard Qin’s border, then why couldn’t a prince of Wei—also technically a foreign relative to Zhao—do the same?

“My friend’s letter has no flaws,” Li Mu concluded.