HCT – Chapter 135 Matsutake Ham Chicken

Zhu Xiang was utterly shocked by what Xunzi said.

In his previous life’s history, Xunzi was one of the earliest sages to promote the theory of “Women as the Root of Calamity.” Every time netizens criticized the tendency to blame the fall of dynasties on imperial consorts, they would inevitably bring up Xunzi.

Xunzi was the first to attribute the downfall of the Xia and Shang dynasties to the likes of Mo Xi and Daji. Among the sages, he was the one most averse to women being involved in politics.

He believed that women must submit to their husbands—even if the husband behaved unreasonably, the woman must accept it without resistance. For him, women participating in politics was as chaotic a sign as actors or people with disabilities being involved in governance.

How could such a Xunzi utter the words: “I, too, hope that day will come in the future”?

And yet, Xunzi had indeed said that.

After this debate, all the lingering awkwardness between Xunzi and Zhu Xiang completely vanished. Xunzi resumed his position as Zhu Xiang’s teacher, checking whether he had been neglecting his studies and enlisting his help to organize the manuscripts he had accumulated over the years since arriving in Qin.

Zhu Xiang was once again shocked while helping sort through his writings.

Xunzi was actually considering revising his “Theory of Innate Evil,” dividing the extreme view into: “a small number of sages are inherently good” and “most people are innately evil to varying degrees.” He had begun to think dialectically.

Seeing Zhu Xiang dumbfounded, Xunzi stretched his neck to peek at the manuscript he was reading, his eyes almost bulging out of their sockets.

“What’s wrong with it?” Xunzi asked.

Zhu Xiang stammered, “Ah, no, nothing wrong.”

Xunzi sneered, “Nothing wrong? Didn’t you used to say that most children are born like blank slates, possessing only animalistic survival instincts, and that they lean towards good or evil through education? But people have different personalities—some remain good no matter what hardships they face, while others live happily with kind parents and still choose evil. Now you’re saying I’m not wrong?”

Zhu Xiang argued slyly, “That’s more or less what you’re saying. Uncontrolled survival instincts can also be categorized as evil.”

Xunzi took out his ruler and gently knocked Zhu Xiang on the head. “Keep sorting.”

Zhu Xiang didn’t even feel the pain. “Yes, sir!”

He continued working while Xunzi sat nearby, sipping tea and supervising.

As he watched Zhu Xiang’s busy figure, Xunzi’s gaze gradually blurred. His mind began to wander.

Xunzi knew that Zhu Xiang had realized his thoughts had changed significantly since they first met.

Even he hadn’t expected that, in his old age, he would overturn beliefs held for decades and begin constructing a new philosophy.

All of this had happened because he met Zhu Xiang.

After witnessing the collapse of ritual and music in the Warring States period, Xunzi had firmly believed in the innate evil of mankind. He thought that only by establishing a comprehensive and rigid hierarchical system—where everything was orderly—could the common people be saved from chaos and suffering.

Male superiority and female submission were part of this “orderly hierarchy,” just like the strict distinctions between monarchs, ministers, and commoners.

But this student of his, though careful to conceal it, had always been challenging the foundation of his beliefs through his actions.

Zhu Xiang said, “Are kings, dukes, and generals born superior?” He believed the difference between nobility and commoners was nothing more than access to family resources. At home, he treated Xue Ji as an equal and often encouraged her to make major household decisions.

At first, Xunzi thought Zhu Xiang was just naïve and that once he read more books and experienced more of the world, he’d naturally change.

But when Zhu Xiang volunteered to be an envoy to Changping, he gave him his first shock, making him question whether his theories were truly flawless.

Later, when he was imprisoned by the King of Zhao, countless commoners spontaneously gathered and risked their lives to besiege Handan City in an attempt to rescue him. Xue Ji displayed fierce determination—first protecting the child and escaping danger, then venturing to Handan to find a way to save his husband.

For the first time, Xunzi leveled his gaze, truly looking at commoners and women.

What shook him most of all was Zhu Xiang himself.

Born a commoner, living in a mountain village outside the city, in the Spring and Autumn era he would have been dismissed as a “wild person,” never having had the opportunity for formal education.

His parents were ordinary farmers, and his eldest sister was notoriously immoral.

From what Xunzi learned from Lin Xiangru, Zhu Xiang only began formally learning to read and write after becoming his disciple. Before that, he had only picked up a few mangled characters from merchants—his writing was clumsy and incomplete.

And yet, Zhu Xiang seemed to be born with innate understanding. His sincere heart remained unchanged despite betrayal by family, persecution by kings, and the lure of power through marriage.

Xunzi believed in the innate evil of man, and thought that even the sage he revered most—Confucius—must have gone through arduous learning and self-cultivation to achieve greatness.

But what about Zhu Xiang?

The more he understood him, the more confused he became.

Could it be that there truly were people in this world who were born good?

He discussed the theory of human nature with Zhu Xiang, wanting to hear his thoughts. Zhu Xiang spouted a bunch of things that sounded like nonsense at first, but the more he pondered, the more reasonable they seemed.

Zhu Xiang said that human nature was chaotic at the start—some lean towards good, some towards evil. It’s like a carriage: some start off straight, others veer left or right. Education is like reins that correct a horse’s direction.

Xunzi wouldn’t change his philosophy just because of what Zhu Xiang said. But he also wasn’t a stubborn fool.

As the saying goes: A gentleman says, “One must never stop learning.”

Even on the last day of life, one must continue learning. So isn’t it natural to correct misconceptions when learning new knowledge?

Since coming to Qin, Xunzi had entered a new environment, gained new perspectives, and began to reassess and correct the flaws in his ideas.

He still didn’t fully agree with Zhu Xiang’s theories—but some of his thoughts had indeed been subtly changed by his influence.

The world Zhu Xiang yearned for was, in truth, more beautiful than the one he had imagined.

And that world wasn’t a fantasy, nor an empty hope. Even if he himself couldn’t live to see it, if one followed the path Zhu Xiang envisioned, perhaps future generations truly might witness that day.

“Xunzi, it’s lunchtime. I’ll go make something. We’ll continue sorting after the meal,” Zhu Xiang’s voice broke Xunzi’s reverie.

Xunzi replied indifferently, “Mm.” He had originally wanted to tell Zhu Xiang which of his beliefs had changed because of him. But seeing his shocked expression earlier, for some reason, he felt a spark of irritation and didn’t want to tell him anymore.

In your eyes, am I really such a stubborn old man who can’t change?! Hmph!

Zhu Xiang was completely unaware that he had once again provoked petty, grudge-holding Xunzi, and would soon suffer his revenge in the form of a mountain of homework.

Ever since Zhu Xiang returned to Xianyang, King Zhu of Qin had been eagerly looking forward to every single meal.

Even though Zhu Xiang always said his cooking couldn’t compare to the palace chefs and was merely “novel,” and that once the palace chefs learned his recipes, they’d cook far better than he ever could.

But King Zhu of Qin didn’t agree. He firmly believed that Zhu Xiang’s cooking was better—even if it was just a simple bowl of noodle soup.

After a few days of eating heavily seasoned dishes, Zhu Xiang decided to make something lighter today.

He had brought some matsutake mushrooms from the south and planned to stew them with ham and a small hen into a nourishing chicken soup to help the elders and friends recover their health.

He sliced the matsutake and ham, added them to a young hen in an earthen pot, and slow-cooked it with just a touch of salt. The flavor was so delicious that Zhu Xiang couldn’t resist sneaking a drumstick for himself.

When King Zhu of Qin saw the hen missing a drumstick, he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.  “Zhu Xiang, if you’re going to sneak food, you might as well carve the chicken and bring it out properly.”

Zhu Xiang brought out the pot with the whole uncut hen in it—only the drumstick was missing, making it glaringly obvious.

He defended himself seriously, “I wasn’t sneaking a bite. I was merely tasting it for saltiness.”

Zichu retorted with no patience, “I’ve never seen a chef who ‘tastes for seasoning’ by eating an entire drumstick.”

Zhu Xiang shrugged, “Well, now you have.”

Lin Zhi fanned the flames. “Your Highness, scolding him is pointless. Zhu Xiang has no sense of shame.”

Xunzi immediately pulled out a ruler used for discipline and demanded Zhu Xiang answer whether he had any sense of shame.

King Zhu watched cheerfully as Zhu Xiang got smacked, then finally said, “I don’t mind. Let him eat as he pleases.”

Cai Ze quietly observed this scene, feeling out of place among this lively group.

He sighed and said, “Let’s drink the soup first. It’s cold outside. Once it cools, chicken soup won’t taste as good.”

Once Cai Ze reminded them, the crowd immediately stopped fooling around and began eating seriously.

Zhu Xiang brought out another pot of chicken soup.

So many people—how could one small hen be enough? He had just helped himself to one drumstick in advance. There were still plenty of drumsticks left. Zichu was just being petty. From now on, Zhu Xiang thought, I’ll only leave him chicken wings.

Zichu, having overheard Zhu Xiang’s grumbling and veiled threats, gave the remaining drumsticks to King Zhu and Xunzi, kept one for himself, and looked at Zhu Xiang with a provocative expression.

“Sorry, I’m the Crown Prince of Qin. I hold great status. You want me to eat chicken wings? Not a chance!”

Zhu Xiang smirked coldly. If the King weren’t here, you wouldn’t even get the wings!

King Zhu of Qin whispered to Xunzi, “Xun Qing, look at the Crown Prince and Zhu Xiang. Even during a meal, they’re glaring daggers at each other. I honestly can’t tell if they have a good relationship or a bad one.”

Xunzi replied slowly, “If their relationship is bad, then it’s all Zhu Xiang’s fault.”

King Zhu disagreed, “The Crown Prince should learn to accommodate Zhu Xiang. He’s older—how can he stoop to bickering with someone younger?”

Xunzi countered, “Zhu Xiang is a subject, and the Crown Prince is his sovereign. If he acts so arrogantly, he deserves some setbacks and discipline.”

King Zhu was firmly opposed. “How can that be arrogance? I find Zhu Xiang the most obedient and thoughtful of them all.”

Xunzi replied, “Zhu Xiang is indeed respectful and thoughtful toward Your Majesty—but toward the Crown Prince, he’s far too presumptuous.”

King Zhu waved his hand, adamantly rejecting the notion. Two youngsters bickering—how could that be arrogance?

Cai Ze and Lin Zhi, who had been eavesdropping on the “debate” between the King and Xunzi, exchanged a glance.

Seeing how fondly the King doted on Zhu Xiang, they were finally at ease.

Though King Zhu had punished many who slandered Zhu Xiang, they still feared those words might have left a shadow in his heart.

Thankfully, not every ruler is fooled by gossip—“three men talking makes a tiger.”

After the soup, Zhu Xiang diluted it and cooked some vegetables and hand-torn noodles in it.

The chef who helped boil the noodles saw the King eating these leftover soup noodles with a satisfied expression and felt deeply bitter.

In this world, probably only Lord Changping would dare to serve leftovers to the King and Crown Prince.

And yet both King and Crown Prince ate with great delight?! What was so good about noodles cooked in leftover soup?! The chef just couldn’t understand.

Every time King Zhu sighed that the chef’s cooking wasn’t as good as Zhu Xiang’s, the chef felt utterly bewildered.

He had worked side by side with Lord Changping and had never noticed any superiority in his techniques. In fact, Zhu Xiang’s control over heat and knife skills was far inferior. Sometimes he even spaced out and overcooked the meat or burned the edges of the flatbread.

Yet he would serve those overcooked stir-fries and slightly burnt flatbreads with confidence, and the King and Crown Prince would still sing praises with eyes closed.

At one point, the chef seriously suspected that Lord Changping was adding some kind of magical, invisible seasoning.

Unfortunately, the chef’s complaints spread, and King Zhu became furious and wanted to punish him.

Zhu Xiang advised, “He only wants to improve his skills so Your Majesty can enjoy better food—it’s not jealousy. I didn’t become Lord Changping just by cooking. Why would he be jealous of me?”

Only then did King Zhu let the chef off the hook.

The chef was deeply grateful and offered lavish gifts, earnestly asking Zhu Xiang for the secrets to his delicious cooking.

Zhu Xiang couldn’t help laughing. “You really think my skills are better than yours? I’m not as skilled as you. It’s just that I’m the King’s junior and the Crown Prince’s friend—so they say my cooking tastes better than anyone else’s. It’s just like when you cook for your parents.”

Finally, the chef understood his mistake.

What kind of fool was he, trying to compete in cooking with Lord Changping? Even if Lord Changping steamed a bland bun, the King and Crown Prince would still praise it with closed eyes.

How could his meals ever compare to dishes cooked personally by Lord Changping?

In order to atone for his mistake, he deliberately let it be known that he had sought advice from Lord Changping—hoping to show that he wasn’t jealous, but genuinely eager to improve.

But once the rumor spread, it twisted into a story of Zhu Xiang bragging about his close relationship with the King and Crown Prince, calling himself their family.

Soon enough, someone filed a memorial accusing Zhu Xiang of arrogance and failing to understand proper hierarchy.

King Zhu calmly said, “Bragging? It’s just the truth. What bragging? Zhu Xiang is my nephew.”

Then he had the accuser dragged away and immediately dismissed from office.

Zichu couldn’t even be bothered to pay attention to those trying to sow discord in front of him.

Zhu Xiang wouldn’t be staying long in Xianyang. He would soon head south to prepare for the summer harvest in Wu Commandery.

Before Zhu Xiang left Wu Commandery, he had already arranged for the spring plowing. But the summer harvest and planting were too important for him to feel at ease.

Would he waste time verbally sparring with these people when he could be using every day to discuss governance and scholarship with Zhu Xiang? If there were mind games to be played, he could wait until after Zhu Xiang left and take his time dealing with them.

On the day of the Beginning of Spring, Zhu Xiang picked some Chinese toon sprouts and made a meal of fried chicken with the sprouts for King Zhu of Qin. Then, under King Zhu’s reluctant gaze, he departed from Xianyang Palace.

Zichu again used public duty for private reasons—under the excuse of a business trip, he personally escorted Zhu Xiang all the way to the ferry crossing at the Han River.

Before leaving, Zhu Xiang repeatedly reminded Zichu to take care of his health.

Zichu responded kindly, “You take care of yourself too.”

Zhu Xiang rolled up his sleeves, revealing his well-defined muscles, and said with disdain, “You’re telling me to take care of myself?”

Zichu’s good temper faltered. “Get lost! And don’t come back!”

“That won’t do.” As the boat left the dock, Zhu Xiang stood at the bow, getting farther and farther away, and grinned smugly at Zichu. “Next time let’s compare and see if your body’s become even more scrawny.”

Zichu shouted, “Get lost!”

The boat Zhu Xiang was on slowly disappeared from Zichu’s sight.

Zichu wiped his eyes, irritated by the wind and sand, with his sleeve. When he lowered his sleeve, he had already returned to the calm and calculating image of the Qin Crown Prince.

It was time to settle accounts with those who had tried to harm Zhu Xiang.

While on the boat, Zhu Xiang was still organizing Xunzi’s writings.

Xunzi had his disciples copy many versions and gave one set to Zhu Xiang, asking him to organize them, read through them, and write down his interpretations.

Xunzi also collected the thoughts of other scholars from the Xianyang Academy and asked Zhu Xiang to read and comment on those as well—preferably with sharp, critical commentary.

Zhu Xiang was helpless.

If he wrote harsh critiques, would Xunzi circulate them among those very scholars? Better not—he wasn’t really a disciple of the Confucian school, and it felt inappropriate to go around insulting others.

At this point, Zhu Xiang had forgotten he had even scolded Xunzi himself.

“As expected, they’re starting to favor moral theory over practical affairs.” Zhu Xiang sighed. “For today’s scholars, they’ve already learned the Six Arts of the gentleman before entering the academy. So the courses I designed—like arithmetic—can indeed be self-studied. That’s why the teachers at Xianyang Academy emphasize correcting moral conduct instead. It makes sense.”

But just because it was understandable didn’t mean Zhu Xiang agreed.

During his private discussions with King Qin and Zichu, Zhu Xiang raised his concerns about the training of officials. He shared negative examples from his past life—cases of officials who only studied Confucian classics but had no grasp of practical administration—recasting them as cautionary tales from a small Spring and Autumn-era kingdom.

At present, many Eastern scholars were coming to Qin. In the East, Confucianism had become the dominant school, overshadowing Mohism and nearly becoming the sole mainstream ideology. Thus, Xianyang Academy becoming increasingly Confucian-dominated was perhaps inevitable.

But Qin was founded on Legalist philosophy. Once the country was unified, it should absorb the strengths of all schools of thought—not let one school dominate.

At that time, King Zhu of Qin looked at Zhu Xiang with a very strange expression.

Though he knew Zhu Xiang said all this out of loyalty to Qin, he still had the urge to go tell Xunzi about it. He couldn’t help but wonder: if Xunzi heard this, would he expel Zhu Xiang from his tutelage?

Zichu, watching his father’s expression, grew anxious.

Although the king did not doubt Zhu Xiang and wouldn’t use political balancing tactics against him, not using checks and balances didn’t mean he didn’t want to see Zhu Xiang taken down a peg.

The king simply wanted to watch Zhu Xiang stumble.

But could such a thing really be taken lightly? What if Xunzi and Zhu Xiang really turned against each other?

Zichu couldn’t directly dissuade King Zhu because the king hadn’t actually said he would report Zhu Xiang. He could only return and secretly discuss countermeasures with Cai Ze and Lin Zhi.

Being the Crown Prince was truly exhausting. Did a prince always have to be at odds with the king, regardless of whether the king was suspicious of him?

Although King Zhu had a bit of a mischievous thought about watching Zhu Xiang make a fool of himself, he still seriously considered Zhu Xiang’s advice.

This was the first time Qin had established the Xianyang Academy, and the first time scholars from all Six Kingdoms had flocked to Qin in such numbers.

Even a king who constantly reflected on himself could become overconfident and overlook issues.

A Qin monarch should never be lulled by the “benevolence” illusion created by Eastern scholars. Every Qin ruler was a cold-blooded creature of interests—a dictator-king.

He should not—and must not—be deceived by any one school of thought. Legalism wouldn’t do, and neither would Confucianism.

Since Qin would unify the world, it should embrace all schools and make them its own.

But in this process of integration, Qin must uphold its own bottom line: All scholars and officials must be of use to Qin and capable of contributing to its future.

So a focus on practical affairs was something Qin must always adhere to—past, present, and future.

Even if King Zhu didn’t directly intervene in Xianyang Academy’s curriculum, he should at least reform the subject criteria for talent selection—prioritizing law and agriculture/warfare.

Zhu Xiang had originally wanted to add handicrafts and commerce to that list, but in the end, he didn’t tell King Zhu—only Zichu.

Once Qin unified the world and no longer needed to raise so many armies, the focus should shift more to people’s livelihoods. Commerce and handicrafts were vital to improving living standards.

Zichu said helplessly, “I understand. But that’s for after Qin unifies the world. Do you really think I’ll live to see it?”

He had meant it half-jokingly, but Zhu Xiang’s face immediately darkened and he scolded him harshly.

Zichu didn’t dare joke about not living to see Qin’s unification again and repeatedly promised he would be a good “First Emperor of Qin,” so Zheng could become the “Second Emperor.”

Zhu Xiang suggested, “Second Emperor really doesn’t sound good. How about continuing the tradition of temple and posthumous titles? You’ll be ‘Gaozu of Qin,’ and Zheng can be ‘Taizong of Qin.’ See, doesn’t that sound better?”

Zichu praised Zhu Xiang’s naming skills over and over, completely ignoring the fact that “Gaozu” and “Taizong” had existed since the Shang Dynasty.

Far away in Wu Commandery, little Ying Zheng shivered. He suddenly felt like his uncle was talking bad about him.

When Ying Zheng complained to Xue Ji, he nodded, “If anyone’s talking about you, it’s probably your uncle.”

Ying Zheng said, “Right? Uncle is the worst!”

Xue Ji laughed.

Ying Zheng always spoke ill of Zhu Xiang, yet still mentioned him every single day. He missed his uncle dearly.

Although Xue Ji also missed her husband, she wasn’t like Zheng, who brought him up several times daily.

She was even starting to feel a bit jealous.

But when she thought about it more deeply, she didn’t even know who she was jealous of.

In the end, she simply hugged Ying Zheng in her arms, ruffled his hair, and told him, “Uncle will be back soon.”

Ying Zheng, stubborn as always, said he hoped his uncle would stay in Xianyang and not come back.

Xue Ji laughed.

Zheng’s mouth was tough, but his actions told the truth.

The moment he heard that Zhu Xiang was returning to Wu Commandery, Ying Zheng couldn’t sit still. He rushed by boat to E Yi to wait for him.

Meng Wu wanted to tease Ying Zheng, but he didn’t dare.

Though he was friendly with Zhu Xiang, he wasn’t particularly close to Crown Prince Zichu or young Prince Zheng. Even if he could call Zheng “Zheng’er,” after witnessing the child’s many strategic maneuvers in Wu Commandery, he didn’t dare act casually.

At that moment, Meng Wu deeply admired Li Mu. Li Mu still had the courage to scold Ying Zheng with a stern face and even reported him to Xue Ji, asking her to smack his palms.

Ying Zheng grumbled a lot about this.

Would Aunt still spank his hands once he became the Qin Crown Prince? That would be so humiliating.

Would he have to become Qin King just to stop Uncle’s nagging and Aunt’s hand-smacking?

He thought about it… and then unhappily realized that even if Aunt stopped smacking him, Uncle probably wouldn’t stop nagging. Uncle even dared to nag Great Grandfather. What was one Qin King to him?

Heh.

Amid Ying Zheng’s inner complaints, Zhu Xiang finally arrived at E Yi.

When he spotted the now-taller Ying Zheng at the dock, his eyes lit up and he swept the boy up into the air for a spin.

Ying Zheng laughed so hard his eyes curved into crescents, but still complained, “Uncle, I’ve grown up. Don’t treat me like a child.”

Zhu Xiang replied with the same line as always, “Exactly. Since Zheng’er has grown up, I need to hug you a few more times while I still can.”

Ying Zheng said, “When I grow up, I’ll carry you.”

Zhu Xiang replied, “Better to give me a piggyback. You carrying an old man like me—what a sight for sore eyes.”

Ying Zheng laughed, and two faint dimples appeared on his cheeks.

Zhu Xiang was very satisfied. Even though Zheng’er had grown, his dimples were still there.

My Zheng’er has grown into a beautiful young boy with the sweetest dimples. So proud!

After resting in E Yi for a day, Ying Zheng rode a carriage back to Meng Wu’s residence. Along the way, he pulled a bag of raw garlic from his sleeve and began munching.

Zhu Xiang: Ah, my beloved garlic-chewing, beautiful boy-Emperor-to-be—so proud!