HCT – Chapter 150 A Grand Gift from Lian Po

Lian Po had originally planned to crush the state of Han in one swift campaign.

Even if Qin couldn’t immediately occupy all the territory, he at least intended to surround Han’s capital, force the King of Han to pay a hefty ransom for it, and thus prove himself worthy of the Qin king’s trust.

But then King Zhu of Qin told him: Take your time. Fight slowly and farm while at it—there’s no rush.

Lian Po was baffled. Since when does war involve not rushing? This was an army of a hundred thousand—aren’t you worried about food supplies?

King Zhu replied in a letter: Zhu Xiang is already over there huffing and puffing, planting fields and stockpiling grain. No need to worry.

Lian Po didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

But the letter also revealed the real reason behind this “no rush” strategy, making it clear that this wasn’t entirely a joke.

Qin’s greatest enemy at the moment was Chu. King Zhu was preparing to strike a fierce blow against Chu, so all his attention and resources had to be concentrated there. To avoid arousing suspicion from the King of Chu, the campaign on the Three Jin front was to proceed slowly—as long as they didn’t lose, it was acceptable.

Lian Po scratched his head till his scalp hurt.

What do you mean “as long as we don’t lose”? Are you seriously expecting me to grab land in Han and farm with a hundred-thousand-strong army, like Li Mu did on the border—turn the battlefield into a provincial town?

That job should go to Li Mu! I only know how to fight with money, not how to farm!

Lian Po wrote to the King of Qin, requesting to go south and switch places with Li Mu.

It’s just naval warfare, right? With a bit of training, I can manage it. He wanted to be like Li Mu—backed by Zhu Xiang for logistics, and only responsible for the actual fighting.

But instead of agreeing, the King of Qin simply sent Lian Po a huge stash of money and valuables.

“I trust you, Lord Lian!”

It was the first time Lian Po had received such a nauseatingly sweet letter from a ruler. His eyes almost hurt reading it.

There had been rumors that the King of Qin was sickeningly sentimental with his favored officials—turns out it was true.

Still, Lian Po didn’t really believe a word of it. Because when the King of Qin abandoned his trusted ministers, he was just as ruthless.

Although Lian Po was a rational man, he still gave in under the weight of that disgustingly affectionate letter and braced himself for farming.

This kind of tactic worked well with scholars of the time. Even if they knew it was fake, they still fell for it. It was hard to resist.

Although Lian Po wasn’t good at farming, having lived in Zhu Xiang’s household for so long, he had at least picked up a thing or two.

When Zhu Xiang left Zhao, Lian Po had spent a long time worrying with Lin Xiangru over Zhao’s grain shortages, and they’d done quite a bit to help—so he wasn’t entirely clueless about civil affairs.

He just didn’t have the patience for it.

So while inspecting the fields, he grumbled about Zhu Xiang and Li Mu the entire time.

You two youngsters avoid these tedious chores and dump them on me, an old man. Where’s the respect for elders?

Then one day, Zhu Xiang sent over a batch of cabbage seeds from a thousand miles away to improve the army’s meals. Lian Po praised him to anyone who would listen, calling Zhu Xiang “filial.”

He’d praise him in the morning and curse him in the afternoon. One day he’d rave about him, and the next he’d rant. Lian Po’s deputies were so confused, they were on the verge of a split personality.

“Didn’t that craftsman we captured recently say he was good at repairing irrigation channels?” Lian Po, after another round of cursing Zhu Xiang, suddenly remembered something. “Isn’t Zhu Xiang working on this kind of stuff down south? Let’s send him a gift.”

In a moment of whimsy, he ordered the captured artisans from Han to be sent south—with irrigation engineers gift-wrapped like a present—to Zhu Xiang.

Far away in Wu Commandery, Zhu Xiang had no idea he was about to receive a deluxe package of waterworks experts, tied up with a metaphorical ribbon.

After soothing Ying Zheng’s stomach, Zhu Xiang had taken charge of restoring order in Wu Commandery.

The dead could not come back to life. Those whom Ying Zheng had executed had indeed broken Qin law, and Zhu Xiang could not overturn the law to claim Ying Zheng was in the wrong.

All he could do was pull the families of the dead from the fields, return their registered land to them, and let them continue their lives as wealthy landowners.

But he had quietly relocated their holdings—transferring them to Qianzhong or Nan Commandery instead.

The condition was that in this new location, they had to be able to hold onto their land, and officially declare enough taxable land to avoid suspicion.

The land Zhu Xiang “returned” was only what had been formally registered. The hidden land discovered by Ying Zheng’s investigation was not included.

At the time, the so-called local “powerful families” were essentially gentry whose ancestors had held noble ranks.

They once had official land entitlements in the area, but even if their descendants lost their positions and the land was reclaimed, years of managing their estates had rooted them deeply in the region, forming large clan networks.

In this era, the gentry were the foundation of the state. The common people were truly treated like livestock—like in a certain caste-based society in future generations. Most scholars of the time didn’t even consider commoners the same species.

When they said “commoners,” they usually referred to those with surnames and lineage—descendants of former officials who had lost their rank and now had to farm for a living. Rarely did great sages like Xunzi consider actual farmers as “commoners.”

So when Ying Zheng shook the foundation of the Wu gentry, they were terrified. Many even began planning to flee north.

After Zhu Xiang returned, they calmed down slightly, hoping he would overturn Prince Zheng’s decision.

Their influence and status were rooted in this land. If they fled north, they would become true commoners. Unless absolutely desperate, they wouldn’t willingly abandon their ancestral homes.

Zhu Xiang invited them all to a banquet and said:

“You’ve all heard the story of Shang Yang’s reform, where he erected a pole at the city gate, haven’t you?”

The scholars nodded—they had, of course.

Regardless of whether they supported reform or not, everyone in the Seven States knew of such significant events.

Zhu Xiang continued:

“Qin governs with Legalist principles. Its laws have always been strict. Even the Crown Prince’s tutor was mutilated for breaking the law—do you think you are exempt?”

He swept a stern gaze across the room and said:

“Prince Zheng executed them because they violated Qin law. To violate Qin law is to challenge Qin itself. Perhaps you haven’t yet realized that you are now citizens of Qin. If you think Qin’s laws are harsh, then abide by them first, and petition the King of Qin to amend them—not disobey royal commands. Do you understand?”

The scholars, awakened by Zhu Xiang’s words, left the banquet in a daze. After returning home, they wept bitterly and secretly cursed the Qin state as barbaric and King Qin as a cruel tyrant who ruled without benevolence.

How could a state that treated scholars like this ever unify the world? Was this not the behavior of a despot like Xia Jie or Shang Zhou?

“Uncle, was that really appeasement?” Ying Zheng asked, trembling again when he realized Zhu Xiang wasn’t angry. He came over to nitpick, saying Zhu Xiang hadn’t done a good enough job.

Zhu Xiang ruffled Ying Zheng’s hair roughly and replied, “Of course it was. First, I gave them a sweet date—pardoning the families of those who should have been exiled. Then I told them, now that they are Qin people, they must follow Qin laws. If they don’t, Qin has plenty of cautionary tales for them.”

Ying Zheng clutched his head to shield himself from Zhu Xiang’s unruly hand. “That’s not appeasement, that’s a threat. If you threaten them like this, won’t it harm your reputation?”

Zhu Xiang chuckled. “What reputation? I’ve always mingled with mud-legged commoners. When they praise my name, they’re secretly full of disdain. They only show respect because I have high status, the full support of the King of Qin, and all those mystical rumors surrounding me. They don’t dare curse me openly, that’s all.”

He patted Ying Zheng’s now messy, nest-like hair. “I never had much of a reputation to begin with, and I don’t care for one either. Zheng’er, don’t let yourself be misled by fame and vanity in the future.”

Ying Zheng replied with an exaggeratedly mature tone, “Alright. Sigh… Why does every conversation with you turn into a lecture? Uncle, you’re so naggy.”

Zhu Xiang was speechless.

Was his little nephew only like a future emperor when he wasn’t around? Most of the time, he was just an annoying, mischievous brat.

He was already twelve—shouldn’t he be more mature by now? Even Gan Luo was already a minister at twelve!

Ying Zheng insisted he was plenty mature—at least more mature than his constantly quarreling uncle and father.

What he didn’t understand was how those two had the energy to argue every single day. Didn’t they ever get tired?

He quietly told Li Si, Han Fei, and Meng Tian, “When my uncle and father are together, their combined mental age is only five—no more.”

Li Si, Han Fei, and Meng Tian stiffened, clearly uncomfortable hearing Prince Zheng badmouth his uncle and father.

While Zhu Xiang was busy placating the scholars of Wu Commandery, he declined several of Lord Chunshen’s requests for a meeting, citing official duties.

Still, he wasn’t impolite—he sent Ying Zheng to receive Lord Chunshen instead. Ying Zheng even took the initiative to visit him multiple times, asking for insights on the world’s political landscape, giving Lord Chunshen a significant boost in face.

No matter what, Prince Zheng of Qin held a higher status than Lord Changping, Zhu Xiang. Moreover, Ying Zheng had personally sought Lord Chunshen’s counsel.

Seeing that Zhu Xiang repeatedly refused to meet, Lord Chunshen grew increasingly certain that Crown Prince Zichu’s injuries had not yet healed.

What puzzled him now was—if Crown Prince Zichu was still severely injured, why did he travel all the way to Wu Commandery?

Shouldn’t he be recuperating in Xianyang instead?

One of Lord Chunshen’s retainers speculated, “Perhaps it’s precisely because Crown Prince Zichu is near death that he came to Wu Commandery. The South has Li Mu and Meng Wu, both of whom support him. If he dies in Xianyang, everything is lost. But if he comes south, he can set things in place for Prince Zheng to revolt after his death.”

Lord Chunshen found the reasoning sound.

The only problem with this theory was that, based on Zhu Xiang’s character, he didn’t seem like the type to commit treason—even for his nephew.

“Zhu Xiang would probably rather die than rebel,” Lord Chunshen said. “His morals wouldn’t allow it. I’m more concerned that Crown Prince Zichu is setting a trap for those Qin princes who covet his position.”

The retainer said, “Master, once you meet the Crown Prince, you’ll know how serious his injuries are.”

Lord Chunshen sighed. Crown Prince Zichu’s presence in Wu Commandery was an “open secret.” But even open secrets were still secrets—he couldn’t just send a formal request to meet him.

When would Zhu Xiang finally agree to see him? Was he going to keep stalling indefinitely?

Lord Chunshen didn’t dare stay away from Chu for too long.

He was part of the new nobility, and the old aristocrats of Chu all resented him. They didn’t want him monopolizing the Chancellor position. If he stayed away too long, their slander would fill the King of Chu’s ears.

He decided to wait one more ten-day cycle. If Zhu Xiang still didn’t respond, he would have to return home in defeat.

Was he really going to go stand by the roadside to block Zhu Xiang’s carriage?

Just as Lord Chunshen was debating whether to sacrifice his dignity and ambush Zhu Xiang on the road, Zhu Xiang finally agreed to a meeting.

While Lord Chunshen was relieved, he also grew nervous—did this mean Crown Prince Zichu’s injuries were improving?

That wouldn’t be good news.

Zhu Xiang hadn’t been stalling Lord Chunshen as a form of pressure—he was genuinely too busy.

Ying Zheng had taken great delight in chopping people’s heads off. But after dealing with the local gentry, half of Wu Commandery’s officials were gone.

As everyone knew, local clerks and minor officials were usually recruited from among the local scholars, and the powerful clans absorbed most of them. By toppling the entire gentry class, Ying Zheng had effectively toppled the entire Wu Commandery bureaucracy.

With boundless energy, Ying Zheng took over all the government affairs of the now half-empty commandery and assured Zhu Xiang that it was no trouble at all.

Watching him, Zhu Xiang couldn’t help but think of King Zhu.

After hacking down half the court, King Zhu looked just like this—personally taking over all the duties.

Do all “tyrants” act the same?

Ying Zheng insisted that he only needed two or three hours of sleep a day to feel energized. He could even go several days without sleep. This much government work? Barely enough to keep him occupied.

Zhu Xiang barked, “You’re clearly not fine—go get some rest,” and took on Ying Zheng’s overly heavy workload with a bitter smile, starting by selecting new petty clerks.

There weren’t enough officials in Wu Commandery, so he decided to grab people from Qianzhong and Nan Commandery.

If needed, they could even be taken from the north.

Of course, this expansion of the clerk force would surely bring in many spies—but Zhu Xiang didn’t care, as long as they could get the job done.

Given how tightly Wu Commandery now controlled its local administration, Zhu Xiang wasn’t concerned about disloyalty—he just needed capable hands. Even those who weren’t spies couldn’t be trusted to do their jobs properly, so it hardly made a difference. Petty clerks didn’t have access to sensitive information anyway. As long as Qin itself stayed stable, spies wouldn’t be able to accomplish much.

Only after filling half the vacancies among clerks did Zhu Xiang finally find time to meet Lord Chunshen.

Upon seeing the dark circles under Zhu Xiang’s eyes, Lord Chunshen hesitated again.

Was the Crown Prince Zichu truly in such poor condition that Zhu Xiang looked this haggard?

“There’s a great deal of work in Wu Commandery. I haven’t rested in days and look quite unpresentable—please forgive me for making a poor impression,” Zhu Xiang said with a bow.

Lord Chunshen hurriedly replied, “Not at all. I should be the one apologizing, visiting while you’re so busy.”

“What brings Lord Chunshen to see me today?” Zhu Xiang asked.

Lord Chunshen produced his prepared excuse.

He claimed his visit was for matters concerning cotton cultivation. Zhu Xiang noted how well-prepared he was and decided to play along, discussing possible issues in the process of planting cotton.

Lord Chunshen said with admiration, “I’ve used cotton cloth myself—it’s truly a marvelous thing. Stuffing cotton into a quilt in winter is far warmer than dry grass. You’ve accomplished yet another great deed, Lord Changping.”

Zhu Xiang lowered his eyes. “The cotton was always there—I merely discovered it and taught the farmers how to plant it. It’s hardly a grand merit.”

Lord Chunshen smiled. “I don’t see it that way. Heaven leaves gifts upon the land, but it takes someone to pick them up before they can become true blessings. Otherwise, they’re just weeds.”

Zhu Xiang replied, “You flatter me.”

After some polite back-and-forth, Lord Chunshen shifted the topic to the Crown Prince of Qin.

“I heard the Crown Prince has come to Southern Chu?” he asked.

“It’s Southern Qin,” Zhu Xiang corrected.

Lord Chunshen didn’t respond to the correction, and Zhu Xiang didn’t press it.

“Yes, Prince Zichu is in Wu Commandery,” Zhu Xiang said frankly. “So you weren’t waiting here for me, Lord Chunshen. You were waiting for him.”

“I came to see both of you,” Lord Chunshen replied. “It was merely a coincidence.”

Zhu Xiang smiled without replying.

That smile made Lord Chunshen feel like Zhu Xiang could see right through him.

But he’d already come this far—there was no turning back.

“Would Lord Changping kindly introduce me?” he asked.

“What do you wish to see the Crown Prince for?” Zhu Xiang asked in return.

“He has recognized Queen Huayang as his mother, which makes him kin to Chu,” Lord Chunshen said. “I believe he may be willing to meet with someone from Chu.”

Eavesdropping nearby, Ying Zheng raised his brows and shot a glare at his biological father beside him.

Zichu flicked his son on the forehead.

He didn’t know why Ying Zheng was glaring, but suppressing him usually worked.

Zhu Xiang laughed. “Do you believe that line yourself?”

“I do. Why wouldn’t I?” Lord Chunshen said.

Zhu Xiang looked at him, amused.

Lord Chunshen met his gaze head-on.

After a moment, Zhu Xiang ended their silent standoff and said, “If you want to meet Prince Zichu, I’ll arrange it. Whether he agrees to see you, though, is out of my hands.”

“He will,” Lord Chunshen said confidently. “Once he knows I’m aware of his presence in Wu Commandery, he’ll agree to a meeting.”

Whether Zichu was genuinely injured or just pretending, he would need an outsider to help spread his message. That’s why Lord Chunshen was certain the prince wouldn’t turn him away.

From behind the wall, Ying Zheng mouthed furiously: Refuse him! Refuse him!

Zichu rolled his eyes at the boy.

Zhu Xiang chuckled. “Well, since you’re so certain, he probably will see you.”

Though, Zhu Xiang thought to himself, knowing Xia Tong, he just might say “Oh? You think I must meet you?” and reject you out of spite. Especially when someone else is covering for him. If it were Zheng’er in his place, he’d definitely do that.

After receiving the answer he wanted, Lord Chunshen took his leave from the commandery office.

Zichu and Ying Zheng emerged from behind the wall, hands clasped behind their backs.

Ying Zheng, wearing a stern expression, said, “So just because he asks, you’ll see him? Who does he think he is? Don’t meet with him, Father! If you do, it’ll look like the Crown Prince of Qin obeys a minister of Chu!”

“I’m not as childish as you,” Zichu said calmly.

After a pause, he added, “But it’s true—I don’t need to see him.”

Zhu Xiang glanced at the father and son duo. “Actually, it’s necessary to meet him. Otherwise, how will you trap him?”

“Trap him?” Zichu sat down. “I don’t have any use for him.”

“Exactly!” Ying Zheng chimed in. “We don’t need him.”

“There’s still use for him,” Zhu Xiang said. “Let him learn the truth—then he’ll urge the King of Chu not to act rashly. But if all the old noble lords of Chu believe you’re injured, and he goes against them, he’ll be seen as siding against the aristocracy. The king, however, is likely to believe him.”

Zichu considered it. “Alright. Since you put it that way. But Lord Chunshen is timid. I’m afraid he won’t dare bear the weight of sowing discord among the Chu nobility.”

“This isn’t about whether he does it,” Zhu Xiang said. “It’s about others saying he does. Rumors make reality.”

At the mention of ‘three men make a tiger’, both Zichu and Ying Zheng smiled in uncanny unison.

“But he might get scared and back out,” Ying Zheng pointed out. “If he resigns and retreats into seclusion, all our effort will go to waste.”

“No,” Zhu Xiang said, shaking his head. “He won’t retreat.”

He sighed. “He climbed from an ordinary scholar all the way up to the rank of Prime Minister. He’d rather die in that position than give it up. Every compromise he’s made was to protect that rank. If he gave it up, it would defeat the purpose.”

Zichu’s eyes gleamed. “True enough.”

He could relate.

Ying Zheng thought for a bit. “Alright, maybe you’re right. But I still think he’s not capable enough.”

“Then give him some more allies among the feudal lords,” Zhu Xiang said. “If they all believe he wants reform and support him as their leader, everything will be settled.”

Zichu nodded. “There were six families once contending for the position of Prime Minister in Chu. Only three are left—we can elevate those remaining three.”

Ying Zheng added, “Chu has also granted fiefs to newly rising generals. Those new lords probably resent the old ones. We can use them too.”

“I’ve set the wheels in motion. As for whom to choose, that’s up to you two,” Zhu Xiang said, rubbing his dark eye circles and yawning. “I’m about to drop. From here on, Xia Tong, you meet with Lord Chunshen. Whatever schemes you two cook up, that’s between you and your son.”

“Does this mean I can skip my nap?” Ying Zheng asked eagerly.

“Skipping your nap like it’s a life-or-death issue!” Zhu Xiang scolded. “Why can’t you just rest properly? And you too, Xia Tong!”

Zichu covered his ears.

Zhu Xiang was great at everything—except for how much he nagged.

Ying Zheng also clapped his hands over his ears.

Exactly—his uncle was great, except for being so annoyingly naggy.

So annoying.

Zhu Xiang couldn’t help but laugh at the pair.

Now this—this is what a true father and son look like.