HCT – Chapter 134 Xunzi Gets Drunk on Rice Wine

Zhu Xiang couldn’t bear seeing Lin Zhi being scolded. He felt very down, sighing even while preparing the fish.

Traditionally, pickled fish (suancaiyu) should be made with grass carp, but Zhu Xiang worried the elderly might choke on the bones. Since he also wanted to treat them to a specialty from the Yangtze River, he chose the long-whiskered catfish.

This fish—known as changwenwei, also called jiangtuan or huiyu—primarily inhabits the Yangtze River basin. After having them caught, Zhu Xiang carefully kept them alive in tanks on the boat, changing the water daily. By the time they arrived in Xianyang, over a dozen were still alive.

The fish’s deliciousness became widely recognized during the Song dynasty, thanks to a famous promotional poem by gourmet Su Shi titled A Jest on the Huiyu:

“Pink perch without bones,
Snow-white blowfish doesn’t poison.
Tell Heaven and the River Lord,
To gift us the shimmering-scaled spirit fish.”

In this poem, Su Dongpo compared jiangtuan to the finest delicacies of the time—blowfish and shad.

Zhu Xiang believed King Qin would also sing its praises after tasting it.

After demonstrating how to remove gills, scrape scales, gut, and clean the fish, Zhu Xiang handed the task over to palace cooks. He then began preparing the seasoning:

He heated the pot with soybean oil, then stir-fried shredded ginger, garlic, pickled chilies, Sichuan peppercorns, and more. After that, he added the fish tail and halved fish head to release their aroma. Then came chopped pickled mustard greens, water, and fish bones to boil into a broth. Meanwhile, he lightly blanched the sliced fish meat in boiling water and transferred it to a serving bowl. Finally, he scooped out the pickled greens and poured the steaming broth over the fish, letting the residual heat finish the cooking. Zhu Xiang’s pickled fish was complete.

For those who preferred bolder flavors, one could stir-fry a pot of red chili oil and pour it over the dish. But since both King Qin and Xunzi were elderly, and Zichu had a weak digestive system, Zhu Xiang skipped the extra spice.

With the most complicated dish finished, the rest of the meal was easy. With palace cooks assisting, Zhu Xiang only had to wield the wok himself. Soon, everything was ready.

Pickled fish pairs best with rice. Zhu Xiang steamed a basket of fresh rice brought from the south and warmed a bottle of rice wine before going to change clothes and clean himself up.

Even though the meal would leave him sweaty anyway, Zhu Xiang always kept himself tidy and odor-free when dining at the same table as King Qin.

Though Zhu Xiang seemed carefree before the King, he was very attentive to the smallest details. Lin Zhi often teased him for being overly cautious.

Even if King Qin didn’t care, there was no harm in being careful. Living through the Warring States for so long, Zhu Xiang’s greatest skill was appearing bold and carefree—hands clasped behind his back in a swaggering pose—while actually treading carefully on thin ice.

“Your Majesty, the pickled fish is ready! Warm your body with some soup first!” Zhu Xiang said attentively, ladling a bowl for King Qin Zhu, then another for Xunzi.

Zichu gave a dry cough. “Shouldn’t the third bowl be for me, the Crown Prince?”

Zhu Xiang feigned concern. “You injured your hand? Where does it hurt?”

Zichu snatched the ladle from him and served himself.

King Qin Zhu almost choked on his soup from laughter.

He was delighted—wondering how long Zichu could endure Zhu Xiang. Would he get to see them finally have a scuffle before Zhu Xiang left?

King Qin Zhu missed the days when Zichu and Zhu Xiang used to “spar”—so amusing, like watching a dance.

Seeing King Qin and Xunzi finish their soup, Zhu Xiang asked smugly, “So? Isn’t it super appetizing and delicious?”

King Qin Zhu stroked his beard. “Zhu Xiang’s culinary skills remain unparalleled.”

Xunzi replied mildly, “It’s alright. It would be better a bit lighter.”

Zhu Xiang responded, “Xunzi doesn’t like spicy dishes. Next time I’ll make a plain boiled fish. Jiangtuan is also excellent prepared that way.”

Xunzi nodded, and Zhu Xiang continued serving King Qin Zhu and Xunzi.

King Qin said, “Leave the serving to the attendants. You should eat too.”

Only then did Zhu Xiang put down the chopsticks.

All cooks sample their food while cooking, so Zhu Xiang was already half full. After a few more bites, he set his chopsticks aside and went to the kitchen to slice fruit.

King Qin Zhu sighed, “He even has to cut the fruit himself?”

“He can’t sit still,” Xunzi replied.

King Qin Zhu chuckled. “True. I heard he even killed a dragon in Dong’ou. What kind of dragon was it?”

Zichu said, “He told me on the way back that he never killed a dragon.”

King Qin Zhu said, “I believe that. But he definitely killed something. Otherwise, where did the rumor come from?”

Lin Zhi guessed, “Maybe it was a really big snake?”

Cai Ze frowned. “That dangerous? Why let Zhu Xiang fight personally?”

Zichu speculated, “Maybe he just watched while the guards handled it?”

Lin Zhi nodded. “Possible. With his skills, how could he slay a snake himself?”

Cai Ze still frowned. “Even watching is dangerous. He shouldn’t have been that close.”

Just then, Zhu Xiang returned with fruit platters, each piece adorned with tiny bamboo skewers. Apples and other fruits were carved into little bunny shapes. “What’s dangerous?”

King Qin Zhu said, “We were talking about your slaying of the dragon.”

Zhu Xiang was both amused and helpless. “I never killed any dragon.”

King Qin Zhu said, “I know it wasn’t a dragon. So what size snake did you kill to be mistaken for one?”

Zhu Xiang shook his head vigorously. “Not even a snake! I didn’t kill anything! I just took Qin troops to farm in Dong’ou…”

Xunzi’s half-closed eyes snapped open. “Qin troops went to farm in Dong’ou?!”

Zhu Xiang saw Xunzi reaching into his sleeve, where a ruler already glinted halfway out. He quickly scooted back. “Xunzi, let me explain!”

King Qin Zhu chuckled. “Master Xun, Zhu Xiang would never harm Qin’s interests. Let him finish before punishing him.”

Zhu Xiang: “…” So I’ll still be punished after explaining?

Zichu wanted to speak up for Zhu Xiang, but Lin Zhi tugged his sleeve and gave him a look.

Lin Zhi: Don’t you want to see Zhu Xiang get hit? Shut up!

Zichu immediately closed his mouth.

Cai Ze’s brow twitched slightly.

Zhu Xiang noticed his friends’ antics and gave Lin Zhi and Zichu a glare before starting to recount his Dong’ou journey.

He had written official reports before, but now he described everything in detail, and everyone’s eyelids twitched as they listened.

King Qin Zhu exclaimed, “You… You lied to Li Mu and went straight to the savage Dong’ou?!”

Xunzi took a deep breath. “A gentleman does not stand under a crumbling wall. Will you ever learn?”

Lin Zhi was fascinated. “Interesting. I want to go myself.”

Zichu nodded halfway, then saw his father’s disapproving gaze and quickly lifted his chin.

Cai Ze covered his forehead silently, exhausted. What’s the point of saying anything? Zhu Xiang doesn’t stay under my nose anyway. I can’t stop him from doing anything.

Zhu Xiang quickly added, “That was a small matter! The important part came after!”

He went on about how he led the Qin army to help resist typhoons, clean up farmlands, measure land, plow, and plant… The more he said, the weirder the others looked.

Xunzi was the first to comment, “If the Qin army must march again, then let it be a righteous army.”

His feelings were complex. Sometimes, Zhu Xiang was the ideal Confucian; other times, he defied every tenet of it. Truly frustrating.

King Qin Zhu focused elsewhere. “The barbarian calling himself King of Dong’ou actually let Qin troops freely roam ashore? Was he already planning to submit?”

Zichu said, “Maybe Zhu Xiang simply stunned him with his methods.”

Lin Zhi laughed. “Most people could never do what Zhu Xiang does. No wonder he didn’t catch on right away. Can’t blame him.”

Cai Ze said, “Li Mu likely took full advantage of the situation.”

Xunzi glanced at them all.

He knew they weren’t wrong, but still—seeing them care only about the political gains and not Zhu Xiang’s virtue or the magnanimity of Qin disappointed him.

Then again, he had long accepted that Qin was a state of little propriety. Disappointed, yes, but not surprised.

If Qin could at least put on a façade of propriety and benevolence, the future of the world would still be better for it.

“Exactly!” Zhu Xiang continued about Lu Buwei’s negotiations with the King of Dong’ou and how one spiteful noble sold him cooked seeds.

Cai Ze said with disdain, “King Yue once sold cooked seeds to Wu to sabotage their harvest. That noble’s seeds could only ruin one household. Did he think Lord Changping lives off farming and meant to starve you to death?”

Lin Zhi said sternly, “Highly likely! Lord Changping is vital to Qin. If he died of starvation, it’d be like the state losing a wing. This plot is vicious!”

Zichu: “…” One friend sarcastic, the other dead serious—what was he supposed to say?

After some thought, Zichu said, “It was very vicious.”

Zhu Xiang gave Lin Zhi and Zichu a “are you two serious?” look.

King Qin Zhu couldn’t help but laugh until tears came. “Yes, yes, far too vicious! How dare he try to starve our Lord Changping! Off with his head!”

Xunzi said, “Foolish beyond belief. He threw away his life for nothing.”

Zhu Xiang quickly changed the subject: “Lu Buwei said negotiations were deadlocked, and I just happened to arrive—a pillow when he was dozing off. Qin troops are now building ports and camps in Dong’ou, making it easier to train for southern campaigns.”

Xunzi sighed softly.

Is Li Mu really preparing for southern campaigns? Well, after unifying the Central Plains, with the ambitions of Crown Prince Zichu and Prince Zheng, conquering Yue was inevitable. Using righteous armies now was better than Qin’s old brutal tactics.

“Yue people are combative. Don’t forget to educate them,” Xunzi reminded. “If you lack manpower, take some from the academy. After Lu fell, many Confucian disciples fled to Qin.”

Zhu Xiang was stunned. “Ah? Lu was destroyed? By who?”

“Chu,” Cai Ze said. “Lord Chunshen tried to sow discord about you. I turned his tactic against him—told the Chu King everyone knew Chunshen grew jealous after meeting you, and that he used Chu agents in Qin to slander you under the king’s name. I claimed he was trying to make the Chu King suffer the same fate as the Zhao King: scorned by scholars.”

Zhu Xiang was even more stunned. “The King of Chu believed it?”

Cai Ze: “Yes, he did.”

Zhu Xiang couldn’t help but feel some pity for Lord Chunshen.

He had baited Chunshen into making a move, drawing out pro-Chu elements in Qin and those who, vying for the throne, opposed Zichu and Ying Zheng. To them, getting rid of Zhu Xiang was the priority.

Zhu Xiang gave them ample reason to strike, drawing attention to himself so that his trade war efforts would be hidden under the grand spectacle of espionage and intrigue.

In the Warring States period, using spies was common—but trade warfare? That was a different beast. Even if Qi had once done it.

When someone made a move against young Ying Zheng, Zhu Xiang’s seemingly idle maneuver once again came into play.

The people of Chu and those hostile to Zichu and Ying Zheng shared similar interests and tactics, which made it easy for the King of Qin to suspect a collusion between them. This solidified his resolve to eradicate this faction.

Zhu Xiang merely initiated the scheme; everything else was executed by Lin Zhi.

What surprised them was that Cai Ze, in passing, also dealt a blow to Lord Chunshen—using a rather… bizarre excuse to sow discord.

Back when the King of Zhao distanced his people from him because of him, it was still understandable—he had been a “subject” of Zhao at the time. But now, creating discord in another kingdom by targeting one of their great statesmen? That was fair game.

If he really ended up being killed by the King of Qin because of such a scheme, people across the realm would only condemn the King of Qin.

Just like how Qin had once sowed discord between the King of Wei and Lord Xinling.

“Has the King of Chu long been displeased with Lord Chunshen?” Zhu Xiang asked. “So Lord Chunshen attacked the State of Lu to win back favor?”

Lin Zhi replied, “When General Li Mu seized Wu Commandery in the east, Lord Chunshen insisted on going to war. So when this battle ended in defeat, the King of Chu grew resentful toward him.”

Zhu Xiang was speechless. “Then what if Lord Chunshen had opposed the war? The King of Chu would’ve just handed over all the southern lands beyond the Yangtze to Qin? Wouldn’t that be even more disgraceful?”

Lin Zhi shrugged. “Someone has to take the blame for failure.”

Zhu Xiang sighed. “I hope Chu preserves the classical texts of Lu properly.”

Lu was not only the birthplace of Confucianism but also a state closely tied to the Zhou royal family—founded by the Duke of Zhou himself.

“No state was dearer to the Zhou than Lu; and no state should have been more devoted to the Zhou than Lu.”

After the fall of Eastern Zhou rituals, when the Zhou kings had lost even direct control over their territories, Lu became a refuge for the ministers and nobles of the Zhou dynasty. It had the most complete preservation of Zhou rites and records:

“All the Zhou rites are preserved in Lu.”

These “Zhou rites” refer not only to the ritual-following scholars but also to the texts and records accumulated over centuries.

“The people of Chu acted too quickly.” After experiencing the benefits of the Xianyang Academy, the King of Qin was dismayed to hear that Lu had been destroyed.

Lu didn’t border Qin. Qin couldn’t attack it directly without crossing the three Jin states. They could only watch helplessly as Chu beat them to the punch.

“Perhaps it was exactly because of Lu’s importance to the Zhou heritage that Lord Chunshen chose to destroy it to curry favor with the King of Chu,” Lin Zhi said. “When I was dispatched to Chu, the King of Chu couldn’t stop praising the Xianyang Academy. Perhaps he wanted one for Chu as well.”

Xunzi scoffed, “Would Chu ever use foreign talent?”

Zhu Xiang followed up, “If Chu was willing to use foreign talent, Qu Yuan wouldn’t have drowned himself.”

Everyone twitched at the corners of their mouths.

That was savage, Zhu Xiang.

“Even if they won’t really do it, they’ll at least put on a show,” said Lin Zhi. “Since Lord Chunshen is personally leading the campaign, he should at least preserve Lu’s classics.”

Xunzi sighed, “The Confucians of Lu have brought some of their texts to Qin, but it’s only a small fraction of what was in Lu.”

Zhu Xiang patted his chest confidently. “Xunzi, I’m about to start a cotton cloth trade with Chu. I’ll buy back all the Lu classics they stole!”

Xunzi scolded, “How can you speak of it as mere business?”

Zhu Xiang lowered his head obediently.

Xunzi said, “Once you recover them, organize and copy them. Then send multiple copies to Xianyang.”

Zhu Xiang responded obediently, “Yes, sir.”

Lin Zhi winked at him—Xunzi was all bark and no bite.

“Not only has Lu been destroyed, but Wei has also nearly become a vassal state,” said Zichu. “To restore his lost authority after driving Lord Xinling away, the King of Wei ordered the execution of the ruler of Wei and installed his own son-in-law in his place.”

Zhu Xiang asked in confusion, “Executed?”

“The King of Wei summoned the King of Lu to a meeting, and when he arrived, he killed him,” Cai Ze said with a sneer. “He thought doing this would restore his prestige.”

The King of Qin rubbed his head. “That’s… worse than what my royal father did.”

King Zhaoxiang of Qin’s greatest scandal was tricking King Huai of Chu into entering Qin, then detaining him, which eventually led to King Huai dying in sorrow while imprisoned.

But even King Zhaoxiang merely placed him under house arrest, feeding him well and keeping him comfortable, just not letting him return home.

But ordering a foreign monarch to visit and then murdering him outright—this was far beyond that.

Xunzi silently took a sip of rice wine. Even the King of Qin found the King of Wei’s actions excessive. Wei King—hmph.

Zhu Xiang also quietly sipped his wine to calm himself.

With rites and music crumbling, each king seemed more ruthless than the last. In this twisted comparison, even the “barbarian” rulers of Qin and Chu, long spurned by Central Plains civilization, now appeared relatively more moral.

The King of Wei’s act was even more despicable than the infamous Qin King Zhaoxiang—whom people joked had the conscience of a deep-sea trench.

What kind of hellish joke was this, one that you couldn’t even laugh at?

Another sip of wine to settle the nerves.

In actual history, the King of Wei didn’t execute the ruler of Wei until 252 BCE, only after Lord Xinling died in 253 BCE from depression.

The King of Wei, jealous of Wei Wuji, stripped him of military power. After the last failed coalition of the six states against Qin, with nothing left, Wei Wuji was put under house arrest in Wei and drowned his sorrow in drink until he passed away.

Only after his death did the King of Wei panic.

He knew Qin had not attacked Wei because they feared Lord Xinling.

Qin wasn’t incapable of defeating Wei, just that doing so while Lord Xinling lived would be costly. So they avoided it.

But now that Lord Xinling was gone, all the nobles of Wei knew: Qin could strike at any moment.

Back when the King of Wei was marginalizing Lord Xinling, the entire court backed him.

Although some sympathized with Wei Wuji, they couldn’t oppose the King. Most Wei nobles not only envied Lord Xinling but also disapproved of his conduct.

He made friends and took retainers based on talent, not birth, and treated them as equals. Even his brother-in-law, Lord Pingyuan, had grumbled about this.

Some fellow princelings especially resented him.

Every time Lord Xinling held power, he placed his retainers in key posts.

This was customary in the Warring States: nobles had their own retainers who became subordinates when they gained power.

But Lord Xinling’s retainers came from poor backgrounds—his battlefield vanguard, for instance, was once a mere dog butcher.

The aristocrats of Wei couldn’t stomach such people standing above them, gaining glory they couldn’t earn.

So while they respected and relied on Lord Xinling, they also “looked down on” him.

But all of this changed after he died.

While he lived, even if they mistreated him, Lord Xinling would still defend Wei if Qin attacked. So they had no fear.

Now that he was gone, even if they prostrated themselves before his tomb, he couldn’t lead troops for them anymore.

So dissatisfaction with the King of Wei grew rapidly, and his prestige plummeted.

In desperation, he killed the prince of Wei and appointed his own son-in-law to the throne, annexing the state of Wei to flaunt his authority.

Right now, though Lord Xinling wasn’t dead, he had gone to defend the Zhao border and clearly stated he’d never return to Wei. So the King of Wei’s panicked measures came early.

But Wei was just a tiny buffer state among several kingdoms. Seizing it gave no benefit, and the way he treated its ruler earned only disgust.

“If such behavior boosts the King of Wei’s prestige and makes the nobles support him, then Wei deserves to be destroyed,” Zhu Xiang commented.

Xunzi nodded in silent agreement.

It wasn’t just that Xunzi found the King of Wei’s actions contrary to ritual and law—he felt the same way about the King of Qin. But even he acknowledged the Qin king was a capable ruler.

Xunzi was always pragmatic.

The King of Wei had ruined his own reputation and gained nothing in return. If such foolishness was enough to win the support of Wei’s intellectuals, then the whole kingdom was foolish—and didn’t deserve to exist.

When Xunzi was disappointed in Qin, he would compare the rulers of the seven states in his mind, sigh deeply, and accept reality.

What choice was there?

Qin and its kings weren’t ideal, but the other six were worse—so bad that Xunzi saw no hope of them ever winning.

Frankly, even if divine forces helped them defeat Qin and unify the world, they might not rule better than the few Qin kings Xunzi had met.

That’s what Xunzi told the Lu Confucians as well.

If they were dissatisfied with Qin, they should go and support a more worthy ruler.

The world wasn’t static. It wouldn’t stay frozen in time as they hoped.

If it could, Lu wouldn’t have been destroyed, and the Lu Confucians wouldn’t be exiles now.

What Xunzi despised most were the Lu scholars who buried their heads in books and refused to face reality.

As disciples of the detestable Mencius, they had no qualities worth respecting.

The world would be unified. Six of the seven states would fall. Don’t harbor false hopes.

If they disapproved of Qin, they should support another contender. Spouting meaningless platitudes like “war is inhumane” or “the feudal states of Zhou shouldn’t kill one another” was useless.

Empty words. Useless people. Better off dead.

Xunzi sent Zhu Xiang to escort the Confucians of Lu southward precisely to let the southern barbarians knock some sense into their heads—lest they bury themselves in bamboo and wooden slips and remain ignorant of the world.

Hmph. That lowly Meng-school Confucian is just a little better at teaching—perfect for enlightening the barbarians. If the barbarians could be taught the soft and weak ways of Meng’s Confucianism, the slaughter during a Qin southern campaign would be significantly lessened.

After getting a bit tipsy, Xunzi dropped his usual reserve and, holding onto Zhu Xiang’s hand, launched into a long tirade against the Meng-style Confucians.

King Zhu of Qin had been a little drowsy and about to return to his bedchamber, but perked up instantly upon hearing Xunzi curse someone.

Zichu handed King Zhu a cup of water mixed with sour plum juice to wake him up. King Zhu held the cup and listened intently to Xunzi’s rants.

Lin Zhi took out a scroll and a brush from his sleeve, moistened the tip with his tongue, and began recording Xunzi’s words with great enthusiasm—these would be excellent ammunition for future verbal duels in court.

Even Cai Ze leaned forward, ears perked. Zichu glanced at his companions and also listened with focused attention.

Meanwhile, Zhu Xiang, whose hands were being gripped tightly by Xunzi, had his ears ringing from the curses and his face sprayed with spittle—he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. So it was true…

Xunzi really detested Mencius? No wonder Mencius’ later disciples also resented Xunzi so deeply.

While listening to Xunzi’s tirade, Zhu Xiang recalled gossip he’d heard during his own Confucian studies. Despite Mencius’ lofty and “benevolent” theories, he himself had a fiery temper and was infamous for his sharp tongue.

Mencius was a generation older than Xunzi, a former leader of the Confucian school. Back when Mencius was at Jixia Academy, he argued with everyone and was undefeated—he even boasted of being the tutor to the King of Qi. Xunzi likely studied under Mencius during that time.

The two held conflicting ideologies and probably clashed in Jixia. But Mencius had stronger debating skills and greater influence, managing to suppress Xunzi’s standing for life.

In a Confucian society that valued seniority, Xunzi was naturally considered inferior to Mencius.  Xunzi must have been rebuked by Mencius many times.

Zhu Xiang really wished he could’ve seen that scene.

He liked both Mencius and Xunzi. If the two ever got into a screaming match—or even a fistfight—he would’ve loved it even more. But since Mencius died early, by the time Xunzi had any real influence, he could no longer spar directly with his rival and had to resort to writing rebuttals instead. That must have felt lonely.

Most of the Confucians from Lu were Mencius’ disciples. Now that they had come to the Xianyang Academy, Xunzi must be feeling invigorated. Just listen to how energetically he’s ranting—it’ll probably help him live longer.

Zhu Xiang let Xunzi’s words pass from one ear to the other, his mind wandering off.

Xunzi was too drunk to notice Zhu Xiang’s perfunctory attitude. Otherwise, he might’ve pulled out his ruler and smacked him twice.

After cursing to his heart’s content, Xunzi passed out.

Zhu Xiang carried Xunzi to a palace prepared by King Zhu and served him until he was asleep.

King Zhu was very pleased with this banquet. Not only was the food delicious, but the drama was lively too.

Since Zhu Xiang left, he rarely saw such excitement anymore.

Sigh, back when he was Crown Prince, ministers weren’t this afraid of him. Why are they so terrified now, not even willing to put on a show for him?

King Zhu shook his head, looking exactly like Ying Zheng. Ying Zheng really had inherited all the “virtues” of the previous Qin kings.

When Xunzi woke up the next day, Zhu Xiang was already awake.

Zhu Xiang fetched water and assisted him in washing up, just like when they used to live together.

Xunzi didn’t feel awkward despite Zhu Xiang’s elevated status now. After letting Zhu Xiang help him wash, he asked about Zhu Xiang’s view on the Confucians from Lu.

Though drunk the night before, Xunzi considered himself very lucid in thought and had clear memories.

Zhu Xiang said, “They’re immersed in the Zhou rites, believing they are absolute and that the sages’ words are immutable. They fail to see the changes in the world—that’s the real issue.”

He thought of how these Confucians clashed with Qin Shi Huang over the feudal and commandery systems, repeatedly provoking the emperor despite being at a disadvantage. As a result, Qin Shi Huang’s reputation suffered greatly—but what did the Confucians gain?

Nothing. Nor did the country or its people. Their endless quarreling brought no benefit to anyone.

If a school of thought offers nothing of use to the state or its people, what’s the point of its existence?

“Every generation since Confucius has interpreted his teachings in their own way,” Zhu Xiang said. “Whether later scholars accept those views or not, at least each generation believed in adapting to the times.”

“If Mencius were alive today, I don’t think he’d recognize those fossilized scholars as his disciples.”

Xunzi sneered. “Precisely because Mencius is dead that they dare call themselves his followers.”

He continued scolding: “Those Lu Confucians aren’t even as good as the ‘vulgar Confucians’ of Meng’s school! At least those ones have some value left in this world!”

Zhu Xiang listened helplessly as Xunzi compared them to bugs and rats—no, worse than bugs and rats.

After venting, Xunzi looked much more relaxed.

“Come walk with me,” he said.

Zhu Xiang knew Xunzi had something serious to discuss, so he dismissed the servants and walked with him through the empty palace courtyard.

To prevent assassinations, palaces rarely planted trees—gardens were built separately.
Most kings disliked bare courtyards and would stay in alternative palaces.

Zhu Xiang found this logic pointless—if someone wanted to assassinate a ruler, wouldn’t they just do it in the other palace?

Xunzi, however, liked the emptiness. To him, it symbolized frugality.

After walking a full circle and breaking a light sweat, Xunzi finally stopped.

Zhu Xiang looked at Xunzi’s face, his heart sinking. He could guess what Xunzi was about to say.

“Zhu Xiang, the matter you raised about granting noble titles to women—I’ve made a decision,” Xunzi said.

Zhu Xiang kept his head lowered.

“You’re not asking why?” Xunzi pressed.

Zhu Xiang gave a bitter smile.

“You’re afraid that what I decided is far from what you hoped—and that it’ll disappoint you?” Xunzi asked.

“I’ll never be disappointed in you,” Zhu Xiang said immediately.

“Because you believe you’re the one out of place in this world?”

Zhu Xiang stayed silent for a moment, then nodded.

Xunzi sighed. “I’ve adopted part of your proposal, but not all of it.”

Zhu Xiang still didn’t dare ask which parts.

Xunzi said, “I’ve decided to allow women to earn noble titles through their own merit.”

Zhu Xiang’s head snapped up, eyes sparkling. “Really?”

Xunzi snorted. “Would I lie to you?”

Zhu Xiang shook his head fiercely.

He beamed with such joy he could hardly contain himself. He wanted to thank Xunzi, but dared not. If he thanked him for this, Xunzi would probably beat him.

“But don’t get too excited,” Xunzi added. “The standards I set are harsh. Ordinary women will have a hard time earning noble titles on their own.”

He thought for a moment and added, “Almost impossible.”

But Zhu Xiang was not disappointed. “It’s enough just to open the gate.”

“Really?” Xunzi asked, skeptical.

Zhu Xiang nodded hard.

Xunzi couldn’t help it and flicked Zhu Xiang’s forehead a few times. “Is something like this really worth getting so excited about?”

Zhu Xiang nodded again, vigorously.

Xunzi was baffled. “Why? It has nothing to do with you. You’re a man.”

“I am a man,” Zhu Xiang replied.

Without waiting for Xunzi to continue, he went on: “But I believe the world should be fair. Granted, there will always be inequality in reality—lords and ministers are not the same as peasants and slaves. But I believe everyone deserves equal dignity.”

“It’s not about gender. It’s about merit deserving reward. Talent deserving opportunity. That’s all.”

“I know it’s impossible right now…”

He thought of the Xianyang Academy’s current selection systems, of history past and future.

“It took 1,300 years to go from using humans as sacrificial offerings in the Shang Dynasty to society’s general revulsion at human sacrifice by the Warring States.”

From only nobles being allowed to study, to peasants being granted education rights—it took another thousand years, from Confucius’ private school to the civil service exam.

And from Wu Zetian’s reign sparking female consciousness, to modern feminist awakenings—it was yet another thousand years.

Zhu Xiang—who was he? Just a professor of agricultural sciences.

How could he expect to erase a millennium of entrenched thought with one idea? Even with a system on his side?

“This is real history,” he said. “Here, the idea of educating commoners isn’t even accepted, let alone giving power to women. The dominant ideology still sees women as the source of chaos.”

“Women are said to be born deficient, unable to compete with men,” Xunzi stated. “That’s not just Confucianism—Taoism, Legalism, Mohism all agree.”

“I know,” Zhu Xiang replied. “Because there’s no birth control. Most women will bear children, and during pregnancy, they can’t serve as officials. And Qin’s only path to power is military merit.”

“If a woman wants to compete with a man, she must remain unmarried. But the Qin state prioritizes population—unmarried women are a threat. The state will never allow it.”

In feudal societies, population was everything. Laws harshly enforced marriage and childbirth. A woman who refused marriage could see her entire family punished.

In this world, women were like peasants—just another resource. To keep women bearing children, society denied them all other options.

So-called “powerful women” were limited to a few noble families, playing with authority for their clan—not for all women.

“But Xunzi,” Zhu Xiang said, “childbearing isn’t a flaw. If creating life is considered a defect and women are despised for it, that’s inhuman.”

“Are you scolding me?” Xunzi asked.

“Even if you’re my teacher, yes—I’m scolding you.”

Xunzi glared.

Zhu Xiang stared right back. “We all have mothers. Who says women are flawed is an orphaned brute!”

Even if Xunzi was Xunzi, Confucians cursing each other as lowly scholars was perfectly normal!

Xunzi’s face twitched. After several deep breaths, he forced a smile. “You’re right.”

“…Huh?” Zhu Xiang blinked.

He took a few steps back. “Xunzi, you can curse me—but don’t hit me.”

“Who’s hitting you? You’re right. Women are not flawed. I don’t accept that brute idea either.”

His expression grew calm. “Do you know why I support the ‘woman-as-curse’ theory? Because human nature is evil, and lust comes first. Beautiful women, even if unwilling, cannot escape being targeted. So beauty itself becomes the origin of chaos.”

“That’s why I teach them to value virtue over beauty.”

“I understand,” said Zhu Xiang.

It was a deeply conservative idea—and in two thousand years, people would scorn it. But for his era, Xunzi was already one of the most progressive thinkers.

“Right now, women can only gain status by marriage. Their birth and beauty are their only weapons. But once the noble title system is in place, noblewomen may follow in Xue Ji’s footsteps and value virtue.”

“That’s why I agreed with your suggestion,” said Xunzi.

Zhu Xiang bowed deeply: “Thank you, Master Xunzi.”

“Besides,” Xunzi added, “you once said—even if something can’t be achieved now, we must still plant the seeds so future generations can find a path, just like we now search ancient texts for guidance.”

“I don’t yet accept full gender equality. But I hope that day comes.”

No matter the gender, no matter the birth—only virtue should determine one’s worth.