Currently, the average temperature remains quite high, so after harvesting the late rice in Wu Commandery, there’s still time to plant a season of legumes.

Zhu Xiang held the soybean seeds with deep emotion. Soybeans were truly a lifeline for commoners in ancient times.

As the weather cooled, developing the Hangjiahu Plain would become somewhat easier—but not by much. The problem was simply a lack of available labor.

After inspecting the Hangjiahu Plain for a few days, Zhu Xiang sat on a large rock by the lake, sighing repeatedly.

Even with Li Mu capturing people from the south to open up the land, the total headcount barely reached one to two thousand.

Doesn’t that number sound surprisingly small? As if Li Mu hadn’t made much of an accomplishment.

But that’s not the case.

In the earliest historical records about Minyue, when they first claimed kingship, they had only a few thousand people.

By the time of Qin Shi Huang’s southern expedition, even with all the Baiyue tribes combined, their total population was just sixty to seventy thousand. Yet, thanks to their knowledge of the terrain, they were able to inflict a kill ratio of nearly 1:5 on the Qin army, who were unfamiliar with both the local environment and the humid climate.

During the Western Han period, the Central Plains recuperated and Baiyue also developed to some extent, but even coastal cities had only tens of thousands of permanent residents.

At this point in time, regions south of the Yangtze River were truly still wilderness—sparsely populated and undeveloped, and that was no exaggeration.

Zhu Xiang considered asking the King of Qin for more manpower. But after calculating how many people Qin could realistically spare, he had no choice but to abandon the idea.

The population in this era was already quite low. The warring states frequently sent out armies of a hundred thousand or more—partly due to inflated reports, but also because they truly mobilized their entire nations.

That’s why, during the Battle of Changping, after Qin buried the captured Zhao troops alive, Zhao lost an entire generation of men.

After unifying the realm, when Qin Shi Huang wanted the scholars of the East to submit to him but failed, and then tried to win over the people’s hearts by asking them to verify and report their landholdings—causing prices to soar—he eventually resorted to Qin’s traditional method of maintaining control: military expeditions and forced labor to exhaust the people.

According to historical records, Qin Shi Huang ruled over roughly 20 million commoners at the time. So when he conscripted laborers, about one-fifth of the total population was drafted—which is why the Qin Empire collapsed so quickly.

Zhu Xiang sighed again. Later generations seriously hoped for Qin Shi Huang to live forever and unify the globe. But with a population of just over 20 million, and considering how he used them, you really wouldn’t need to learn foreign languages—because there’d be no one left alive to speak them.

He might even have been overthrown by his own desperate subjects before immortality did him any good.

That 20 million might not have included the hidden population, but it still represented the portion Qin actually controlled.

Even after unification, this was all they had. Even accounting for the heavy casualties of war, Qin’s total population now wouldn’t be significantly higher. Without any modern machinery, it was incredibly hard for Zhu Xiang to develop the Hangjiahu Plain.

The war captives dug drainage canals and filled mud pits with soil in silence.

Zhu Xiang stared blankly at the fields, which seemed to show no visible progress.

After a while, he slapped himself hard across the face and adjusted his mindset.

Hadn’t he already known the limitations of this era? Why was he getting impatient? Turning the southern lands into a breadbasket took the ancestors nearly a thousand years of continuous effort. Did he really think one transmigrator could finish it all in a year or two?

He just needed to make a good start and strive to make the more geographically favorable southern regions habitable within a hundred years for future generations.

With the pressure from King Zhao of Qin gone, Zhu Xiang had been operating almost too smoothly recently. It had made him impetuous, thinking he could accomplish anything.

The sluggish progress in developing the Hangjiahu Plain sobered him up, brought him back down to earth, and reminded him to slow his plans—and get some rest.

He kept telling Ying Zheng to strike a balance between work and rest, yet he himself was the most exhausted of all.

As Zhu Xiang took a step back, Xue Ji began to get busy.

The looms were ready. During Zhu Xiang’s last trip south, he had planted some cotton in Wu Commandery. This year, the cotton had already been harvested. After the autumn harvest, as the farming season quieted, it was the perfect time for Xue Ji to start recruiting for the textile workshop.

Even with her experience in Xianyang, Xue Ji still found things difficult.

Old Qin citizens in Xianyang had been under intense labor regimens since the time of Shang Yang’s reforms. They didn’t resist hard work. As long as there was pay, they could hustle hard enough to make citizens of the other six states doubt their own existence.

But the commoners in Wu Commandery were completely different.

In the resource-rich lands of Chu and Yue, starvation was rare, so the people were more laid-back. Back when Wu Qi implemented reforms, he had to force the commoners into action before they started to move. But after Wu Qi died, the King of Chu repealed the reforms, and the people once again grew lazy.

The local women couldn’t understand it at all. They had already worked hard farming all year—why did they still have to do more labor?

For fabric, they could just weave some at home, enough for personal use and paying taxes. Why bother gathering together to weave, and even learn new skills?

Xue Ji had never encountered a situation where people refused to earn extra income. She didn’t know what to do.

Fortunately, Lu Buwei had returned.

As a businessman, he knew exactly how to “motivate” people to work. The textile workshop finally began running.

“What did Lu Buwei do?” Zhu Xiang asked curiously.

Xue Ji shook her head. Lu Buwei had issued too many announcements—she couldn’t understand them all.

So Zhu Xiang went to find Lu Buwei, hoping he could mentor Xue Ji.

Lu Buwei was surprised. He hadn’t expected Zhu Xiang to actually support Xue Ji learning the art of business.

While there were women who ran businesses in the civilian population, they were usually widows seeking a livelihood. Among noblewomen, the ideal was still to keep their hands clean and untouched by coarse labor.

Moreover, noble families usually left business matters to their servants or retainers. For a noble to personally engage in business was seen as beneath them.

“Xue Ji feels frustrated by her setbacks in this matter, so naturally she should learn how to do it right. Only then will she feel at ease,” said Zhu Xiang. “Whether she decides to go into business in the future or not isn’t the point—gaining knowledge is never a waste.”

Though Lu Buwei still didn’t quite get it, since Zhu Xiang had said as much and it wasn’t too difficult, he began to teach Xue Ji how to do business and manage the workshop step by step.

What Lu Buwei did was quite simple—just a mix of carrots and sticks.

He first spread rumors in the village: that Qin would soon only accept cotton cloth for taxes, not hemp or ramie cloth; that the new loom was highly efficient, so officials might raise the tax quotas based on it; that Qin would start conscripting women to serve in the army’s logistics division, weaving uniforms, and those who couldn’t use the new looms might be executed…

In short, he exploited the commoners’ fear of the Qin state and its military to stir up panic.

Then, he had someone issue a clarification, debunking the rumors:

“Of course Qin won’t only accept cotton cloth, nor will it raise taxes. It’s just that cotton cloth is worth the same in taxes as hemp and ramie. Those who know how to use the new loom can finish a month’s worth of tax cloth in a single day—so effectively, their burden is lighter.”

“Moreover, the textile workshop provides food and lodging, plus cloth. With your grain saved, even if there’s a disaster next year, you won’t starve.”

At first terrified, the women of Wu Commandery now heard the benefits. After careful consideration, they realized that even if the rumors were false, they still stood to gain cloth and save grain—so there was no downside.

Thus, recruitment for the textile workshop went from deserted to overcrowded almost overnight.

Zhu Xiang, listening in on Lu Buwei’s lessons to Xue Ji, saw that he was teaching seriously and felt reassured enough to leave.

Ying Zheng, however, was not reassured.

Though he deeply trusted his aunt, he did not trust Lu Buwei.

So he sent Li Si to study alongside them and ordered him to report Lu Buwei’s words and actions daily.

Li Si, having sensed Ying Zheng’s dislike of Lu Buwei, was just about to act on it—when Zhu Xiang stopped him.

“You are a worthy minister, not a sycophant,” Zhu Xiang said kindly. “Your current position can bring you great success without staining your character. I trust you’re not someone who’d smear himself in mud.”

Li Si broke into a cold sweat.

He didn’t understand how Zhu Xiang had sensed his intent the moment it arose. Could Zhu Xiang read minds?

After Li Si left, Ying Zheng slowly emerged from behind the screen and insisted, “I didn’t tell him to frame Lu Buwei! I only told him to help Aunt!”

“A ruler only needs to show the slightest displeasure toward someone. Even without giving any orders, others will act for you,” Zhu Xiang replied. “You may know that harming someone you dislike will only cause you trouble. But those who seek to please you may not be that wise.”

“So a ruler should never show his preferences openly?” Ying Zheng asked.

Zhu Xiang shook his head. “That’s impossible. No matter how much you try to hide, those eager to please you will observe and figure them out.”

After thinking for a moment, Ying Zheng said, “A ruler must learn to judge how to treat his subordinates. If someone uses my preferences to hurt someone I do not permit to be harmed, I must disregard personal feelings and punish those I favor—and reward those I dislike.”

Zhu Xiang replied, “That’s very difficult.”

Ying Zheng folded his arms. “That’s why Master Xun and Uncle always say that a ruler must act with impartiality, not out of personal interest.”

Zhu Xiang smiled. “You already understand well.”

“Of course,” Ying Zheng replied. “But I really didn’t expect Li Si to try to frame Lu Buwei. Even if he doesn’t try to flatter me, don’t I already value him enough?”

Zhu Xiang said, “People’s desires are endless. He came from a humble background and is surrounded by great talents. He always feels insecure and hopes to cling tightly to you. Such a man—under a wise ruler, he is a virtuous minister; under a tyrant, he becomes a flatterer; if your descendants can’t keep him in check, he becomes a traitor.”

Ying Zheng nodded. “Then we must raise strong heirs.”

He thought of the many incompetent sons from the dream version of Emperor Qin Shi Huang, and his lips twitched.

“My sons will not be like those useless dream-sons of the other Ying Zheng. Once they’re born, I’ll hand them over to Uncle to raise!”

Zhu Xiang heard this and felt genuinely gratified.

Most rulers, once they figured Li Si out, would plan to bury him with them upon death—fearing their heirs wouldn’t be able to control him.

Ying Zheng, however, had unhesitatingly chosen to educate his heirs well.

Zhu Xiang could tell that Ying Zheng wasn’t just saying what he wanted to hear because Zhu Xiang was present—he truly and confidently made that choice himself.

When Fusu is born, he’ll raise the child himself. Though he wondered if the child would still be named Fusu. His nephew was still just a child, and yet Zhu Xiang was already imagining the boy’s son.

In winter, Zhu Xiang did some calculations and decided to make a trip back to Xianyang.

Ying Zheng asked in confusion, “Why are you going to Xianyang at this time?”

Zhu Xiang replied, “I promised His Majesty that once his mourning period was over, I’d cook him a grand feast.”

Ying Zheng’s eyelids twitched, and the corners of his mouth spasmed. “You’re going to travel thousands of miles, spending nearly half a year to go back and forth between Xianyang and Wu Commandery… just for that?”

Zhu Xiang ruffled his nephew’s hair. “A promise made must be a promise kept.”

Ying Zheng waved him off, telling his uncle to scram—he would take good care of his aunt.

Sometimes, he really didn’t understand what his uncle was thinking. But since things in Wu Commandery were calm now, and Grandfather had granted Uncle the freedom to travel back and forth, he might as well go if he wanted.

So Zhu Xiang headed north, carrying several jars of pickled vegetables.

Although he still hadn’t managed to grow Chinese cabbage, he had cultivated several different varieties of leafy greens. With Wu Commandery rich in sea salt, Zhu Xiang extravagantly used premium sea salt to pickle all the vegetables into kimchi.

He added chili peppers and Sichuan peppercorns, emphasizing a bold, spicy, and savory flavor—the favorite taste of the entire Qin royal family.

Zhu Xiang thought, the King of Qin must have had a hard year observing mourning. Given his deep filial piety toward the late king, he likely avoided any indulgent food. Bringing back some old-style pickled vegetables might help stimulate his appetite.

The fact that Zhu Xiang would undertake such a long and arduous journey just to cook a good meal for the King of Qin left Li Mu and Wang Jian speechless.

Lu Buwei and Li Si, on the other hand, both slapped their thighs in admiration—yet again, they had learned something new.

Meng Tian carefully handed Zhu Xiang a parcel, hoping he could deliver it to his family.

Especially the letter to his younger brother, which he had sealed with wax to prevent prying eyes.

Meng Tian and his brother had both been chosen as Ying Zheng’s “playmates,” but now only he remained with the prince. His younger brother must be feeling down.

Meng Tian wanted to tell his brother: don’t be sad—study hard! Your elder brother has listed everything you need to learn. If you come to serve Prince Zheng and know nothing, and get that look of disdain he gives to fools every day, then you’ll really be miserable!

Every time Meng Tian thought he was barely managing to keep up with Ying Zheng, the prince would prove to him again—he was still far behind.

Usually, these “speed runs” were eventually halted by Zhu Xiang. That proud little master would be dragged away by his great wise uncle and forced to rest.

That was when Meng Tian could finally breathe a sigh of relief.

He wrote to his brother while wiping his tears.

All bitter tears.

“Little brother, you must study hard. Don’t end up like me. Prince Zheng probably already thinks your big brother is an idiot.”

When Zhu Xiang passed by Meng Wu’s residence, Meng Wu, upon hearing that Meng Tian had written a letter, shamelessly opened it without hesitation—Zhu Xiang couldn’t even stop him.

Zhu Xiang was a bit angry. “Meng Tian sealed that letter specially. How could you not leave him a shred of privacy?”

Meng Wu was utterly confused. “Why does my son need privacy? Want to read it too?”

Zhu Xiang: “No!”

Meng Wu chuckled. “Good, if you’re not reading it, I’ll tell you what’s in it.”

Zhu Xiang covered his ears.

Meng Wu laughed so hard he couldn’t straighten his back.

Sometimes his friend’s inexplicable principles were quite funny. Whether it was his insistence on not reading Meng Tian’s letter, or making a special trip just to cook for the King of Qin.

After laughing enough, Meng Wu carefully reread the letter, confirmed it contained nothing inappropriate, and resealed it with wax.

“Where’s Han Fei?” Zhu Xiang only took his hands off his ears once the letter was resealed.

Meng Wu said, “Don’t know. He’s always running around outside. I have no idea where he is.”

Zhu Xiang frowned. “Could he be in danger?”

He’d originally told Han Fei to come to him once he finished his work. But Han Fei had written back, saying he was busy and wouldn’t be able to come to Wu Commandery anytime soon.

Since Han Fei had found something he wanted to do, Zhu Xiang naturally wouldn’t force him to come.

“I’ve sent people to protect him. He should be fine,” Meng Wu said. “If anything happens, it’s his own fault.”

Zhu Xiang: “…”

He raised his fist—small enough to fit in a stewpot—and made as if to hit Meng Wu.

Meng Wu dodged, laughing. “I’ve pretty much wiped out all the bandits around here. If he gets in trouble, he must’ve strayed off the main roads into the wilderness. That’s on him. Zhu Xiang, Han Fei’s not older than you. Why do you care for him like you do for Zheng’er? You think he’s a child?”

Zhu Xiang replied, “My mental age is more mature than his. Are you sure you have no news of him?”

Meng Wu said, “I heard something five days ago. He was fine.”

Zhu Xiang finally relaxed, then realized Meng Wu had teased him on purpose and gave him a fierce glare, taking back one jar of pickled vegetables he’d brought as a gift.

Meng Wu’s face fell. He regretted joking around.

But Zhu Xiang didn’t give him a chance to make up for it. He could only watch helplessly as Zhu Xiang boarded a boat and departed—making an obscene hand gesture from the bow as he left.

Meng Wu turned to his deputy and asked, “Does he still seem like a great sage to you?!”

The deputy didn’t even bother responding. “You brought it on yourself.”

Zhu Xiang journeyed upriver against the Yangtze’s current and entered the Han River.

To his surprise, he encountered a grain convoy from Bashu.

Li Erlang happened to be on one of the Shu boats.

“Uncle! Uncle!” Li Erlang bounced excitedly on the deck. He was much tanner now but just as lively and cheerful.

Zhu Xiang boarded his boat and handed over the jar of pickled vegetables he’d taken from Meng Wu. “How’s your father? Is the project going smoothly? Did Shu have a good harvest this year?”

Li Erlang answered one by one: “Father is in good health. The project is progressing well. Shu had a good harvest. Everything’s going great—Father just misses you and Prince Zheng a lot.”

After asking in detail about the progress on the Dujiangyan project, Zhu Xiang was full of admiration.

With the site selection and excavation times both shortened, Dujiangyan might be completed ten years ahead of schedule. Once it was done, such a monumental achievement might allow Li Bing to enter the court. Zhu Xiang might even get a chance to see him again in Xianyang.

Li Erlang was no longer the reckless, hot-blooded youth who once dreamed only of being a wandering swordsman. He had matured considerably, which was why Li Bing let him accompany the grain convoy to Xianyang to gain experience.

Li Bing had also prepared a letter and gift for Zhu Xiang. Even though he wasn’t sure if Zhu Xiang was in Xianyang, he sent them to his residence just in case.

Traveling with the Bashu convoy, Zhu Xiang visited the officials overseeing the grain transport, then invited Li Erlang onto his boat to help him with some of his recent academic struggles.

The Bashu officials all looked at Li Erlang with eyes full of envy.

They wanted to seek advice from Lord Changping too. He looked friendly enough, but there always seemed to be an invisible barrier that made them hesitate.

Was this sense of distance because of Lord Changping’s otherworldly aura?

Li Erlang whispered to Zhu Xiang with a grin, “They’re all jealous of me.”

Zhu Xiang replied, “Then you should make good use of this time to learn.”

Li Erlang nodded exaggeratedly. “I know, Uncle. Don’t nag. You’re still such a nag.”

Zhu Xiang corrected, “You should call me Shufu (paternal uncle).”

Li Erlang said, “Father said that when it comes to his friendship with you, age doesn’t matter.”

Zhu Xiang replied, “Even so, you should call me Shufu… never mind, call me whatever you want.”

He didn’t really understand the rules of address here. Maybe it was due to his status? Surely it wasn’t just because his hair had gone white?

Actually, Li Erlang used to call him Zhongfu, but Ying Zheng once told Li Erlang he disliked that title, so Li Erlang changed it to Bofu.

Remembering this, Zhu Xiang couldn’t help but smile.

Sometimes Zheng’er really didn’t hide his “quirks” at all. Even though he knew the boy’s behavior and intellect were clearly not those of the true Qin Shi Huang, he still suspected that Zheng’er might know something about the future.

Otherwise, why would he refuse to reconcile with Lu Buwei so adamantly, or hate the title Zhongfu so much?

Li Erlang asked, “They say you keep a distance from outsiders—seem easy to talk to but are hard to approach. But if they ask you a question, you’d definitely answer. I think they misunderstand you.”

Zhu Xiang said seriously, “The sense of distance they feel is real. I just don’t like talking to people I don’t know.”

Who enjoys making small talk with strangers for no reason? Even though Zhu Xiang could casually chat with farmers on the road for half a day, he had no interest in discussing academic matters with those officials.

“But if they do come to ask me questions, of course I’ll answer them.” Zhu Xiang blinked slyly and added, “So it’s better if they don’t come to me at all.” Li Erlang burst into laughter.

It felt like he had gone back to the joyful days when Zhu Xiang and Ying Zheng lived with his family in Shu Commandery. That was definitely one of the happiest memories of his life.

When Zhu Xiang came ashore, none of the officials from Bashu got to speak with him. Though they considered themselves shameless enough, they still didn’t dare disturb Zhu Xiang.

They had thought they’d have another chance after disembarking, since there was still land to cover before reaching Xianyang. Surely they’d get a chance while resting together along the way?

Who would’ve expected that Crown Prince Zichu would personally come to the pier to receive Zhu Xiang.

Of course, Zichu didn’t say he was there to greet Zhu Xiang. On the surface, he was there to receive and escort the grain shipment from Bashu.

But as soon as people saw him stride straight toward Lord Changping without sparing even a glance for the Bashu officials, they all knew it was just a pretense.

“It’s rare that we reunite and you’re not sick.” Zhu Xiang bumped Zichu’s shoulder with his fist. “Not bad—you’ve toughened up.”

Zichu replied, “To stop you from nagging me, I’ve been lying low in Xianyang all these months, taking care of my health.”

Zhu Xiang nodded, “You’ve finally turned over a new leaf. I’m quite gratified.”

“Get lost!” Zichu cursed with a laugh.

After a few words, Zichu went to meet the Bashu officials.

When he found out that Li Erlang was the son of Zhu Xiang’s friend, Li Bing, the shallow, polite smile on his face transformed—as dramatically as a Sichuan opera mask—into a genuine one.

He removed a jade pendant from his waist and gave it to Li Erlang, encouraging, “Zhu Xiang often speaks of you and your father. Do your best, and great things await you.”

Zhu Xiang teased, “Once the water-diverting dam is finished, the locals will definitely build a temple for this father-son duo. As long as the dam stands, the temple will remain. Would being deified count as ‘great achievements’?”

Zichu shot him a look, “Still not greater than you cutting down mountains and demolishing temples. I heard you even killed a sea monster in Dong’ou this time?”

Zhu Xiang held his forehead, “What sea monster? What wild rumors are going around in Xianyang now? I haven’t even seen a large snake, let alone a sea monster.”

Zichu chuckled, “There are all kinds of tales about you. We’ll talk more later. My father has been dying to see you.”

He recalled the urgent letter King Zhu received from Zhu Xiang, which read: “As promised, I’ve returned to cook a good meal for the King before going back to Wu Commandery.” Zichu had been stunned when he saw it, then wiped at his eyes—unsure whether it was from being touched or just disbelief.

Zhu Xiang said, “Well, this time I didn’t just bring pickled vegetables—I brought a lot of dried seafood too.”

Though neither pickled vegetables nor dried seafood were suitable in large amounts for the elderly, it wasn’t like the inland King of Qin could get seafood often. After eating vegetarian meals for a whole year, a bit of indulgence would be fine. Zichu urged, “Then let’s go.”

Zhu Xiang said farewell to Li Erlang and rode off in the Crown Prince’s carriage.

The Bashu officials were left speechless. As they’d suspected, the Crown Prince was clearly there only to welcome Lord Changping, not them. All that talk about receiving grain? He didn’t even pretend.

The officials who came with Zichu stared at their noses, then at their hearts, pretending to be wooden statues.

They didn’t dare say it out loud, but both the Chancellor and Crown Prince had competed in a pitch-pot contest before the King just to see who would get to welcome Zhu Xiang. Whenever Zhu Xiang was involved, even the King acted strangely.

Inside the carriage, Zichu first asked how Ying Zheng and Xue Ji were doing, then brought up Wei Wuji. That was how Zhu Xiang learned that Wei Wuji had actually taken his advice and gone to the border.

He patted his chest, “If he can’t handle it, will he curse me?”

Zichu laughed, “Let him. It’s not like being cursed by him will cost you a piece of flesh.”

Zhu Xiang nodded, “True. If anyone gets cursed first, it’ll be Cai Ze.”

With Lord Xinling’s intelligence and sources, he must’ve figured out that Cai Ze was the one behind the scheme. Not that it needed guessing—Qin’s intrigues were always managed by the Chancellor.

“I gave him a hand. He’ll likely soon be appointed by the King of Zhao,” said Zichu. “Wei Wuji is both a Wei prince and a Zhao royal in-law. Him leading Zhao’s troops isn’t a problem. The King of Zhao is just narrow-minded, fearing he might turn his troops on Zhao.”

Zhu Xiang asked, “Did you scheme to widen the rift between the King of Wei and Wei Wuji?”

Zichu grinned, “Was a scheme even needed? Just leaking that the King of Wei visited me on the Han border was enough. Now the whole world knows Wei Wuji won’t return to Wei.”

Zhu Xiang sighed, “It’s not that he won’t return—it’s that he can’t.”

The King of Wei would rather bow and scrape to the Qin Crown Prince than recall Wei Wuji. His obvious fear of Wei Wuji made it impossible for him to return.

Zichu said, “Wei is already a vassal state, paying tribute to Qin.”

Zhu Xiang held his forehead, “Does the King of Wei think that just because he submitted, Qin won’t attack him?”

Anyone with half a brain knew Qin’s only goal was unifying the world. This wasn’t the Spring and Autumn era anymore, where a ruler could call a conference and get others to acknowledge him as hegemon just to retreat happily.

Zichu said, “He probably knows. But so what? Even if he does, this is all he can do—pray for peace. If Qin decides to attack Han or Zhao first, and Wei survives during his lifetime, then at least he won’t go down in history as the last king.”

Zhu Xiang was speechless: “That’s all the ambition he has?”

Zichu replied, “What more did you expect?”

Zhu Xiang muttered, “I don’t know how ambitious he is, but I do know anyone who plays with a fan in the dead of winter is crazy.”

Zichu froze mid-swish.

Zhu Xiang scolded, “I gave you that fan for summer, not so you could wear heavy fur and fan cold air into your face in winter!”

He confiscated Zichu’s folding fan.

Zichu glared, “The fan is decorative—it’s not necessarily for fanning!”

“Sure, sure.” Zhu Xiang said. “I’ll make you a feather fan next. You can switch between the two.”

Zhu Xiang mocked Zichu’s stylish fan moves, then demonstrated a few complicated tricks with the fan himself, tossing Zichu a provocative look.

Not to be outdone, Zichu snatched the fan back and attempted to imitate the moves—only to whack Zhu Xiang on the head with it.

Zhu Xiang clutched his head: “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Absolutely not,” Zichu laughed heartily.

Hearing laughter from within the Crown Prince’s carriage, those outside couldn’t help but smile. Zichu had become more and more stoic, his increasing authority making even long-time ministers nervous. But with Zhu Xiang back, their master seemed like his old self again.

Ah, things were always livelier when Zhu Xiang was in Xianyang.

The Crown Prince’s carriage was permitted to speed through the capital, and Zhu Xiang quickly arrived at Xianyang Palace.

King Zhu was working. When he heard Zhu Xiang had returned, he tossed his brush aside and told his ministers to stop chattering—he was going to see someone.

“Lord Zhu Xiang is back? Did something urgent happen in Nanjun?” Meng Ao asked cautiously. His son and grandson were stationed in the south, and he was worried.

King Zhu gave him a glance and replied, “If something urgent happened, he wouldn’t tell me here.”

Meng Ao immediately bowed his head, not daring to speak further.

King Zhu dismissed the court, then strode off with a smile, hands behind his back. But he didn’t find Zhu Xiang—only saw Zichu and Lin Zhi dividing up goods.

He asked, “Where’s Zhu Xiang?”

Zichu answered, “Father, the moment Zhu Xiang arrived, he went straight to the kitchen. Said he’s making you a feast.”

King Zhu then asked, “Lin Qing, why are you here?”

Lin Zhi replied righteously, “To mooch a meal, of course!”

King Zhu gave him a “you’ve got guts” look and sighed.

He was becoming more like his own father, but Lin Zhi still wasn’t afraid of him. He suspected Lin Zhi wasn’t even afraid of the previous king.

“And where’s Cai Ze?” King Zhu asked. “He didn’t come to mooch too?”

Lin Zhi said, “Cai Ze’s a hypocrite. He insisted he’ll only come if summoned. So Your Majesty mustn’t summon him!”

King Zhu twitched his mouth and kicked Lin Zhi, then told someone to summon Cai Ze and Xunzi. If Zhu Xiang was cooking, of course Xunzi and Cai Ze had to join.

Lin Zhi kept grumbling, “Why bother, Your Majesty? If he didn’t come, he clearly didn’t want to. Ow!”

King Zhu kicked him again. Not wanting another kick, Lin Zhi ran around Zichu.

King Zhu rolled up his sleeves and shouted with a laugh, “You dare run after I kick you? Stop! I order you to stop!”

Lin Zhi shouted back, “The sages said if a ruler or father does something wrong, the subject or son should correct them! I studied under Xunzi!”

Zichu facepalmed: “Thank goodness Xunzi isn’t here right now. He’d never let you drag his name into this.”

Lin Zhi laughed while running: “Too late!”

Zichu stuck out a foot and tripped him, letting King Zhu deliver two solid kicks to Lin Zhi’s backside. “When Xunzi arrives, I’ll tell him everything you did today!”

Lin Zhi raised his head and flipped a rude gesture at Zichu.

Zichu chuckled coldly. Let’s see if he’s still this cocky once Zichu becomes King of Qin.

Zhu Xiang, learning that King Zhu had left court early, quickly washed up and came to greet him—

Only to walk in on the scene of King Zhu chasing Lin Zhi around. He stood silently in the corner, watching Lin Zhi get what he deserved, and tapped his chest a few times, praying for him.

A palace servant asked curiously, “Lord Zhu Xiang, which deity are you praying to?”

That famous god-slayer Zhu Xiang was actually praying to a god?! Zhu Xiang replied, “A foreign deity from the Western barbarians.”

The servant asked, “Is it effective?” He wanted to worship too!

Zhu Xiang answered, “Of course it’s completely useless. They haven’t even founded a proper religion yet.”

The servant blinked in confusion, “Then why are you praying to it?”

Zhu Xiang smiled mischievously, “Exactly because it doesn’t work.”

He beamed, “Lin Li deserves a beating!” Even without knowing why King Zhu kicked him, Zhu Xiang was firmly on that side.

The servant was stunned. This is Lord Zhu Xiang? This isn’t the same person everyone talks about!

“Your Majesty! What did Lin Li do? Let me help beat him up!” Zhu Xiang rolled up his sleeves and eagerly joined the fun once Lin Zhi got tripped.

Lin Zhi shot a rude gesture at Zhu Xiang. Zhu Xiang said, “Your Majesty, Lin Li’s insubordination deserves prison time. Let’s lock him up and release him after I leave.”

King Zhu stroked his beard solemnly, “Agreed.”

Lin Zhi immediately dropped to his knees: “Your Majesty, I was wrong!”

Zichu couldn’t help scolding, “Lin Li! You’re the Prime Minister of Qin! Can you stop acting like a scoundrel? Have some dignity!”

Lin Zhi looked at him like he was an idiot: “I study Laozi and Zhuangzi. Have you ever seen a Daoist care about face? We just go with the flow.”

Zichu: “…” True enough. If Laozi and Zhuangzi were alive, they’d probably kick him out of their sect.

When Xunzi arrived and heard what happened, he whacked Lin Zhi twice with his cane.

“Don’t you dare say I’m your teacher ever again!” Xunzi’s spit hit Lin Zhi right in the face. “I’ve never had such a disgraceful disciple!”

Cai Ze strolled over to stand beside Zichu and Zhu Xiang. The three of them stood watching Lin Zhi get scolded.

“Zhu Xiang, what’s for dinner?”

“Sour fish, river shrimp with chives, seaweed and shrimp skin soup, stir-fried ham with winter bamboo shoots…”

“What’s ham?”

“Hmm… pork leg cured using a special method.”

“Oh. You go cook. Xunzi will take a while to finish scolding.”

“Alright.”

Zhu Xiang reluctantly left—turning back three times with every step. He really couldn’t bear to part with his dear friend Lin Zhi. He just wanted to watch him get scolded a little longer.