HCT – Chapter 143 The Little Pony Leaving the City

Afterwards, Lin Zhi began discussing military strategy and truly set Zhu Xiang aside.

Bored and forbidden from walking around freely, Zhu Xiang went to the military camp, where he started pointing fingers at how Li Mu and Wang Jian trained their troops.

He even pulled together a squad of new recruits, insisting on competing with Li Mu and Wang Jian.

Though Li Mu didn’t quite understand what craziness had overtaken Zhu Xiang—most likely something he caught from Lin Zhi—he couldn’t exactly tell Lin Zhi to go to hell now, so he and Wang Jian accompanied Zhu Xiang in this little competition.

Compared to Li Mu’s half-hearted attitude, Wang Jian was genuinely interested.

Lin Zhi had brought a decree from the King of Qin: once the matter with Crown Prince Zichu was settled, Wang Jian would be sent to Bashu to lead a separate army. His days of serving as Li Mu’s deputy to accumulate merit and experience were coming to an end.

Before leaving, Wang Jian wanted to measure himself against Li Mu.

And in his chats with Zhu Xiang, he’d heard the man had some insightful thoughts on warfare. Wang Jian thought perhaps Zhu Xiang was one of those hidden talents who just didn’t lead troops because of a soft heart. Now that Zhu Xiang had taken the initiative to compete, Wang Jian was thrilled.

Zhu Xiang, Li Mu, and Wang Jian each took twenty soldiers. Zhu Xiang picked first; Wang Jian and Li Mu drew lots. The competition was set for ten days later.

However, the commanders were not allowed to participate directly—they could only issue commands. Given Li Mu and Wang Jian’s combat prowess, if either of them charged on horseback, they’d scatter the twenty recruits in an instant.

The competition’s scenarios were all set by Zhu Xiang, consisting mostly of simulated terrains like forests and lakes.

Zhu Xiang had complete confidence in his training results. And yet, before even a stick of incense had burned at the start of the match, his forces were completely wiped out. The defeat was so baffling that no matter how hard he thought, he couldn’t figure out how he lost.

For the next half-day, Li Mu and Wang Jian calmly had their two teams of twenty face off directly, then sighed: with only twenty people, what strategy or tactics was there to compare? Just have them brawl.

Zhu Xiang squatted to the side, questioning life.

No strategy or tactics? Then how did you instantly wipe me out at the beginning? What exactly just happened to me?

In the past ten days, Zhu Xiang had become quite familiar with his squad of twenty. They now sat in a circle with him, equally bewildered.

They believed Lord Zhu’s training was very effective. They were eager to win him honor. If it had been a head-on brawl like what Li and Wang’s soldiers did, they were confident they wouldn’t have been worse off.

So then… how did we all get wiped out at the start? What exactly just happened to us?

In the end, Wang Jian narrowly came out ahead—but that had little to do with military skill. It was just that his team had one particularly strong soldier, who beat down the others one by one after a group fight.

Zhu Xiang, meanwhile, was still turning things over in his head, trying to figure out how he could have possibly lost. Li Mu and Wang Jian couldn’t help but laugh.

Li Mu asked, “You’ve never commanded troops in battle before. Isn’t this kind of outcome perfectly normal?”

Wang Jian had originally wanted to say he expected Zhu Xiang to do better. But seeing how crestfallen the man looked, he held back and offered comfort instead—it really was normal.

Zhu Xiang let out a long sigh. He didn’t have the heart to tell them that he’d thought he was standing on the shoulders of five thousand years of military geniuses, carrying a massive keyboard and commanding virtual armies online for years. Surely he’d be like those other time travelers—anonymous until they led troops, and then they’d instantly become renowned generals.

Zhu Xiang stood up and asked in a daze, “But even if I failed, there should be a reason, right? Why did my troops charge headlong into an ambush, like I deliberately ordered them into a trap? Like we were throwing the match? How could you two predict my commands?”

Li Mu and Wang Jian exchanged a look. Neither knew how to answer.

Wang Jian muttered, “We just saw through it at a glance…”

Li Mu said, “It’s like eating or drinking—so natural I don’t even know how to explain it.”

From their expressions, Zhu Xiang more or less understood why he lost.

Basically, the two of them had seen through his intentions in an instant, communicated silently, and pulled off a flawless coordinated strike—first eliminating his troops, then slowly fighting each other.

And how did they see through him? Just… one look! One look, okay!?

Li Mu and Wang Jian had given Zhu Xiang, a self-proclaimed keyboard strategist, a small but earth-shattering lesson from two of the Warring States’ greatest generals.

Zhu Xiang swore, “I am never leading troops again!” What kind of nonsense was that? Any general in this era would pound him so hard he wouldn’t even find his head again!

Li Mu said, “You won’t have the chance to anyway.”

Wang Jian, looking at Zhu Xiang’s flustered expression, barely held back a laugh. “Qin already has too many generals and not enough merits to go around. Best you not fight us for them.”

Only then did Wang Jian realize Zhu Xiang was younger than him—barely past thirty, a young man who could still feel both excitement and defeat.

“You’re right. I won’t fight you for them,” Zhu Xiang finally felt somewhat consoled.

Though truthfully, this wasn’t so much consolation as the brutal realization of how vast the gap truly was.

“You do have some talent in training troops,” Li Mu said after dealing the blow, offering a bit of praise. “Guarding a city, or serving as a deputy, you could manage that.”

What Li Mu didn’t say was that while Zhu Xiang might not win battles as a commander, as long as he didn’t surrender, even the most advantageous enemy would only manage a Pyrrhic victory.

This was the first time he’d seen someone earn the loyalty of his troops after only ten days. They were ready to die for Zhu Xiang.

When Zhu Xiang’s forces were surrounded, if not for the fact that he and Wang Jian happened to think of the same ambush at the same time—and if Zhu Xiang hadn’t conceded after realizing the loss—several “casualties” might have occurred in a mere drill.

It was just a mock battle, yet Zhu Xiang’s troops had gotten genuinely fired up. They were ready to fight for real, just so their lord wouldn’t lose too badly.

Li Mu thought to himself: he’d rather die in a losing war against Wang Jian, due to disparity in national strength, than face someone like Zhu Xiang in battle.

A general still has a heart. He’s not a beast. To fight someone like Zhu Xiang—to watch his men fight to the last without surrender—would leave a permanent shadow on even the victorious.

That’s why many generals, after defeating a worthy opponent, would go to great lengths to protect the man’s family, preserve his ancestral rites, and even erect temples in his honor.

Later, Li Mu shared these thoughts with Wang Jian.

Wang Jian agreed, then reminded him, “Your opponent isn’t me. It’s Prince Zheng.”

Li Mu recalled Ying Zheng’s vow to sow discord, and his expression darkened. He suddenly realized—Wang Jian in private was not a decent man either. Very punchable.

Did he not have a single normal friend?

Oh, and Chancellor Cai also sighed with him about the misfortune of befriending the wrong person.

Zhu Xiang stayed in the military camp for over a month before finally receiving notice from Bian Que lifting the ban on fieldwork. Cheerfully, he hoisted his hoe, mounted his little short horse, and departed from Wu City.

When Lin Zhi saw him off, he scolded Xue Ji and Ying Zheng: “Abandoning wife and child just to farm—such a man should be condemned by the world!”

Ying Zheng agreed, “Uncle is right!”

Xue Ji was at a loss whether to laugh or cry.

Her good husband merely went to inspect the fields—how was that abandoning wife and child? Then what about herself, living and working in the textile workshop? Wouldn’t that make her someone who abandoned her husband and child?

“Brother, don’t say such nonsense,” Xue Ji said.

In the feudal era, women followed their fathers and husbands. While Xue Ji led the noblewomen in weaving back in Xianyang, her status rose with Zhu Xiang’s, but many aristocratic ladies still looked down on her humble birth and refused to befriend a farm girl.

So Lin Zhi adopted Xue Ji on his father’s behalf, even wrote to the ancestral home to have her entered into the family genealogy, raising her paternal status and making her a proper “daughter of Lin.” Thus, she could also be called Lin Xue, and began addressing Lin Zhi as “Brother.”

Meanwhile, Zhu Xiang still had no surname, nor did he intend to take one. He insisted on proclaiming his humble commoner origins.

Lin Zhi said irritably, “What nonsense am I spouting? He’s farming himself into illness. Won’t that count as abandoning his wife and child one day?”

Xue Ji sighed lightly and replied, “It’s not quite illness—just fatigue. He listens to advice. When he needs to rest, he rests. He’ll be fine. Even among commoners who work the fields, there are long-lived ones. My husband has no worries about food or clothing, and has a divine physician looking after him. Brother needn’t worry.”

Hearing this only made Lin Zhi more unhappy.

Ying Zheng added, “If Uncle stayed at home every day in comfort, he might end up sicker instead.”

Lin Zhi cursed Zhu Xiang a few more times and muttered in displeasure, “That’s true. No matter how much I worry, I can’t stop him from going into the fields—just like I can’t stop Lord Lian from going to battle at his age. None of you let me rest easy!”

Zhu Xiang had been forced to rest for over a month this time because Xue Ji was going to the textile workshop and couldn’t supervise him. So she took his medical records from Bian Que and asked Lin Zhi to keep an eye on him.

In ancient times, farming was physically exhausting. Even though Zhu Xiang didn’t toil for a living, he still suffered from overuse injuries and minor parasitic infections—“farmer’s ailments,” so to speak.

Especially during emergency harvests or disaster relief, Zhu Xiang always personally led people through hardship, rather than merely commanding from the field ridge.

But just as Xue Ji said, Zhu Xiang had no lack of resources, had divine medical care, and was careful about his health—so a few ailments weren’t a problem.

It was like how a general might get wounded on the battlefield, but still had to go to war. No one around Zhu Xiang could actually keep him from going into the fields.

The fields were Zhu Xiang’s battlefield.

“When he’s young, he can endure it. But once he’s old, all the health issues from farming will come back to haunt him. Let’s see how he regrets it then!” Lin Zhi grumbled—but in the end, he couldn’t do anything about Zhu Xiang.

Just like how he knew drinking was bad for him, but as long as there were no official duties, he’d drink himself senseless every day.

Of course, if his friends ever learned that he was comparing his drinking to Zhu Xiang’s farming, they’d surely scold him for being unworthy—for insulting Zhu Xiang.

Zhu Xiang’s farming was work, a dream! Your drinking is a vice!

“Zhu Xiang’s gone to farm. I should be off too,” Lin Zhi said to Ying Zheng. “Zheng’er, are you really set on being the one who wields the blade?”

Ying Zheng said, “Yes.”

Lin Zhi nodded. “Then come with me.”

Xue Ji asked worriedly, “Is it something dangerous?”

Lin Zhi smiled, “Not dangerous. We’re just giving more farmland to the commoners.”

Xue Ji was puzzled. “Then why call it wielding a blade?”

Lin Zhi chuckled again. “Because some people will oppose it.”

Xue Ji said, “Giving more farmland to the commoners is a good thing. Anyone who opposes that must be in the wrong. Zheng’er, there’s no need to hesitate.”

Ying Zheng raised his chin. “I never hesitate.”

Looking at the child whose height was nearly level with hers, Xue Ji felt both nostalgic and proud.

The boy who used to be skinny as a little monkey and easy to pick up with one hand had grown into a handsome young man.

Time really flew.

“Zheng’er, it’s time you grew your hair,” Xue Ji said as she stroked his still-childish haircut. “In another year or two, your aunt will have to look up at you.”

Ying Zheng said, “Aunt need not look up at me. When I see Aunt, I’ll bow.”

Xue Ji laughed. “That’s too tiring. Zheng’er should walk tall, just like now. I only have to tilt my head a little, and you’ll seem even more upright and strong. That’s a good thing.”

Ying Zheng said nothing.

Lin Zhi clapped him on the shoulder. “Listen to your aunt. There’s no need for pretense in front of your uncle and aunt. We don’t care about superficial things—just that we live like a real family.”

Ying Zheng sighed, “Alright.”

Indeed—if he suddenly acted like a perfect filial child in front of his uncle, Zhu Xiang would probably be scared, feel his forehead, and ask if he’d eaten some unfamiliar mushrooms.

Zhu Xiang’s journey wasn’t just to inspect farmland in Wu Commandery—he also visited Nan Commandery and Qianzhong Commandery. On the way, he paid a visit to Governor Zhang Ruo of Qianzhong, who was preparing to spend his final days there, and brought him a gift of Chinese cabbage.

Laughing, Zhang Ruo followed Zhu Xiang’s guidance, pulled up the flowers in his courtyard, and opened up a small patch for growing cabbage.

Then, he accompanied Zhu Xiang on a field inspection of Yunmeng Marsh.

Once a swampy wetland, this area was now filled with rice paddies. Zhu Xiang had once left behind a legendary tale of battling an evil deity here.

Now, the air was filled with the fragrance of rice, and as the farmers waded through the fields, they caught a fish of unknown species to prepare a meal for Lord Zhu Xiang.

Zhu Xiang cleaned the fish on the spot, lit a bonfire, and grilled it with Zhang Ruo.

“There are often Chu people sneaking across the river these days,” Zhang Ruo told him.

Because of the trade war, Lu Buwei had organized several merchant caravans traveling between Qin and Chu through southern Qin territories.

When Qin attacked the southern lands of Chu, many Chu people fled north with the Chu nobility—some stayed behind for various reasons.

Now that life was better for those who remained, they thought of their family and old neighbors, and would ask merchants heading north to deliver letters back home.

Chu was a feudal state ruled by noble lords. The king had little land directly under his control, so Chu people who fled north often didn’t get enough land. Many became tenant farmers or even serfs for the noble lords.

Upon hearing from home that life was now better, some decided to take a chance, thinking they had nothing to lose. Others were simply homesick. So, some began sneaking south in search of their families.

Yunmeng Marsh’s development needed a lot of manpower. The more able-bodied workers, the better. Zhang Ruo had the Qin army arranged to receive them, assign them land, and teach them Qin law—a full-service experience.

At the time, governors held considerable power and could make their own regulations.

Zhang Ruo decreed that any laborer who helped reclaim land in Qianzhong would be granted ownership of that land after paying taxes for a few years—encouraging commoners to settle and farm.

This was a common strategy to promote land development during the Warring States period.

After spending some time with Zhu Xiang, Zhang Ruo also picked up his habit of “going to the countryside.” Most of his subordinates were either Zhu Xiang’s students from the Xianyang Academy or disciples of Confucian scholars from southern Chu who had studied under Zhu Xiang—and they all adopted this “inappropriate-for-their-status” practice.

Through their visits, they discovered that commoners were doing very little land reclamation, while most new land went to the powerful gentry. So they began considering policy changes.

After hearing Zhang Ruo’s reflections, Zhu Xiang said, “How much land can a single commoner farm? It’s enough if they can manage their own plot. Nobles have servants and retainers and can even hire commoners to work for them—naturally they can clear far more land.”

Zhang Ruo replied, “Ordinarily, as long as the land is being cultivated, I shouldn’t interfere. But seeing these Chu loyalists growing in power still makes me uneasy.”