HCT – Chapter 154 First Emperor’s Headbutt

Ying Zheng didn’t get an answer.

Or rather, he didn’t want to know the answer.

After Xue Ji woke up, she didn’t leave with Zhu Xiang.

She told him that she wanted to stay in Wu Commandery a bit longer to handle some matters.

Most of the Chu refugees had fled to this region. Though the local government had already prepared emergency food aid, Xue Ji believed more could be done.

There was a large stockpile of cotton cloth. While the people of Chu had come to treat cotton cloth like worthless scrap, the cloth itself was still “clothing” in the phrase “clothing and food”—something that would never truly become useless.

With textile workshops no longer running at full capacity, the weaver girls now had spare time. Xue Ji intended to gather them to make clothes from the cotton cloth and sell them in the marketplace, exchanging them for local food and daily necessities.

Though the people of Wu could buy raw cotton cloth to make clothes for themselves, if the price of finished garments was only slightly higher than that of the cloth itself, they would likely be happy to save time and spend that effort elsewhere.

Furthermore, Southern Qin strictly controlled the area used for cotton farming, so ordinary people in Southern Qin didn’t grow much cotton. Cotton cloth still held decent value.

These families often wore hemp clothing that had lasted for years and were likely unwilling to cut cotton cloth to make new clothes. But if cheap ready-made cotton garments were available, perhaps they’d be willing to trade food and supplies for them.

Compared to direct government relief, letting the refugee women of Chu sew clothes in exchange for grain might provide a more sustainable path. It could also help them hone their tailoring skills—skills that might one day make them desirable wives to local men, giving them a chance at a new life.

Zhu Xiang listened carefully as Xue Ji laid out her plans for the refugee women.

“To marry well” was a phrase that might make modern women frown, sounding old-fashioned and outdated. But in feudal times, it was often the only viable path for a woman—especially one from a lower class.

Even under the new land law, which allowed women to head households, those female heads were usually widows. In this world, it was nearly impossible for an unmarried, childless woman to survive alone.

As a commoner woman herself, Xue Ji’s mindset was practical and grounded. She wanted to create a path for the refugee women—a path that involved showcasing their skills so they could either “marry out” or work as weaver girls in wealthy households.

Zhu Xiang said, “Xue, you could mobilize the wealthy families of Wu Commandery. Seeing the influx of refugees, they’re already expecting the government to come knocking for donations. I’ll spread some rumors and get them into the mood for charity. When they’re ready to open their wallets, that’s when you sell them the clothes.”

Xue Ji was briefly confused. “Why would they be ready to give freely, but I have to offer them clothes?”

Zhu Xiang replied, “They won’t willingly donate to the refugees on their own. If I ask them directly, it’s me cashing in on personal favors. But if I let them buy clothes at a discount, it’ll feel like they’re taking advantage of me.”

Xue Ji mulled it over but still couldn’t fully grasp it. She decided to remember it and figure it out through action.

Ying Zheng cut in, “How many clothes can commoners even afford? It’s the wealthy households that buy in bulk—for their servants and retainers, to maintain appearances. Aunt, you could ask them what they need and tailor clothes to order, like official uniforms. That way, you can charge more and make the business sustainable.”

Zhu Xiang praised, “Zheng’er, you’re quick-witted.”

Xue Ji’s mind opened up from Ying Zheng’s suggestion. She smiled and said, “Zheng’er, Auntie’s counting on your ideas for this.”

Puffing out his chest, Ying Zheng declared, “Leave it to me!”

Xue Ji said to Zhu Xiang, “If this works, I’ll go to Nan Commandery and Qianzhong Commandery next. I’ll sell clothes to the wealthy households there too.”

Ying Zheng added, “Teacher says the Qin army still has to buy their own clothes. He’s doing well financially now and wants to issue a full set of uniforms to boost morale for the war against Chu. Auntie can take this time to practice. Once the weaver girls are skilled and the cloth stockpile is used up for military uniforms, it still won’t be enough.”

Ying Zheng scoffed, “The people of Chu treated cotton cloth like trash—ridiculous.”

Zhu Xiang sighed, silently agreeing with him.

This trade war with Chu didn’t have to lead to such a humanitarian crisis.

“Cloth currency” was different from fiat money in later eras. Fiat money, once its credit collapsed, would cause hyperinflation and turn into worthless paper. But “cloth currency” was a physical commodity—it held intrinsic value and was more like a broad form of barter.

For the basic needs of warmth and food, cloth currency could always provide “warmth.” The demand for it was never truly exhausted.

If the King of Chu wanted to solve the flood of cloth currency, all he needed to do was purchase it in bulk from the people and turn it into military uniforms or official clothing. Hold out for a year, adjust crop distribution, crack down on land monopolies, and the crisis would be over.

Even if he didn’t dare crack down on landowners, he could start a war and seize land from other nations.

But once he took action, Qin would also seize the opportunity to sow chaos in Chu—because any move he made would either harm noble interests or make enemies of other countries.

The King of Chu and his court ministers likely saw this, which was why they chose to do nothing at all.

The starving masses wouldn’t rebel. What could truly destabilize Chu’s rule was dwindling treasury reserves, dwindling food supplies, or rash conflicts with lords or foreign powers.

Zhu Xiang snapped out of his thoughts and said, “Li Mu’s army is well-supplied thanks to Southern Qin’s farming colonies and trade with Baiyue. You can confidently ask him for money or food.”

Xue Ji let out a breath of relief. “Then I won’t worry anymore.”

What Zhu Xiang said to her made her think, for the first time, about something beyond just “Zheng’er and my beloved.”

Everything she had done so far—from staying in Xianyang as a hostage, socializing with noble ladies, entering the palace as an official to support the Queen, to designing textile machines—had been “for her beloved and for Zheng’er.”

Xue Ji herself had no real ambition. If she had any ideals, they were simply that her beloved and Zheng’er could live better lives.

That was also her reason for helping with the trade war against Chu—she only wanted to fulfill Zhu Xiang’s goals.

It wasn’t until she saw the refugee crisis firsthand that she began to consider the true cost.

Only after Zhu Xiang explained the weight of “cost” did Xue Ji feel a genuine, urgent desire to do something.

Was it atonement? Perhaps not. She still felt lost. But she knew that confusion wasn’t a reason to stop. She had to keep moving forward, keep her hands busy, and think as she worked.

If she stopped to think everything through before acting, she would miss the chance to act at all.

All she knew now was that she had to do everything in her power to help these Chu refugees survive.

It wasn’t just the able-bodied adults—those helpless women and children also needed to survive, as much as possible.

Therefore, this time Xue Ji did not accompany Zhu Xiang to Nan Commandery and Qianzhong Commandery as originally planned. She made a new plan on her own.

It was also the first time in her life that she had ever done such a thing.

When Xue Ji made this plan, she was filled with apprehension. Yet her husband and child trusted her more than she trusted herself—not only did they fully support her, they also quickly helped her improve and complete the plan.

Xue Ji carefully noted down the additions from Zhu Xiang and Ying Zheng and continued working hard to study and learn.

One day, perhaps she would be able to perfectly complete a task without needing any help from her husband or child.

Zhu Xiang parted ways with Xue Ji and Zheng’er at the docks and traveled to Nan and Qianzhong Commanderies to oversee the resettlement of refugees, using his status as Lord Changping to suppress the chaos brought by the massive refugee influx.

Among the refugees were not only desperate civilians struggling to survive, but also opportunistic criminals, and even Chu spies intending to stir unrest in southern Qin.

Although the local governors had sufficient authority to handle the disturbances, there was a risk that some might use the excuse that refugees cause trouble to refuse them entry altogether.

Now that southern Qin had grown relatively prosperous thanks to Zhu Xiang’s efforts, the locals were not eager to share their prosperity with outsiders.

In Zhu Xiang’s eyes, they were all people; in the eyes of Qin natives, they were Chu people; and to the southern Qin locals who were originally from Chu, these newcomers were potential threats that could worsen their own situation if unrest broke out.

Therefore, Zhu Xiang had to use his own reputation to suppress the voices opposing the refugees.

Everyone knew that Lord Zhu Xiang was famously compassionate toward the people. He would never allow large numbers of refugees to die before his very eyes. So if anyone wanted to object, they would have to personally go argue with him—and if they couldn’t convince him, the governors would definitely follow Lord Changping Zhu Xiang’s orders.

Before Zhu Xiang arrived, there were many voices of opposition in Nan and Qianzhong Commanderies.

After his arrival, no one dared to confront him.

They all owed their good lives to Lord Zhu Xiang. Now that he wanted to save even more people, even if they didn’t want to share their resources, who could shamelessly stop him from saving lives?

Back then, Lord Zhu Xiang had saved them in the same way.

Some of the most vocal scholars even turned away in shame upon seeing Zhu Xiang’s carriage.

They sighed, telling themselves that they had only opposed the refugees for the sake of protecting their fellow villagers, and so felt no guilt before others. But when faced with Lord Zhu Xiang, they suddenly felt like selfish people acting out of personal interest, ashamed at heart.

Still, there were those quietly hoping to see Zhu Xiang fail.

With so many refugees flooding into southern Qin, could Zhu Xiang really absorb them all without causing disorder?

The governors of Qianzhong and Nan, Zhang Ruo and Meng Wu, merely sneered at such idle chatter.

Even without Zhu Xiang, Qin could handle the influx just fine.

Back when Qin first crossed Hangu Pass and expanded eastward, it continuously implemented policies to attract refugees from the Three Jin states to come farm its lands. Later, when developing Shu and Ba Commanderies, it was thanks to these refugees that things progressed.

Qin had long developed a mature system to resettle refugees—how could chaos possibly ensue?

Those critics understood neither Zhu Xiang nor Qin.

Qin was expanding too rapidly and was in urgent need of people. Hadn’t Li Mu even gone to Baiyue to buy people to drain swamps and plant rice? Their own commanderies still had vast stretches of unused land.

Qin originally had very limited territory. Not only was its bureaucracy filled with talent from outside, but its farming and military population also relied heavily on attracting outsiders.

In modern terms, one could call Qin an “immigrant state.” Though technically, all seven major states during the Zhou Dynasty shared similar roots, so it’s not quite the same—but the situation was analogous.

In other states, a refugee influx would threaten the regime’s stability. But for Qin, which had land but lacked people, the more refugees the better. Qin knew how to make use of them.

After crossing southward in fear and uncertainty, the refugees from Chu were warmly received by Qin officials, quickly assigned housing and farmland. Chu natives guided them through the process of signing documents to receive grain and tools, repeatedly urging them to work hard—these goods had to be repaid after the harvest next year.

“Lord Zhu Xiang is merciful. The goods lent to you are interest-free. But if you betray Lord Zhu Xiang’s kindness, hard labor will be waiting for you.”

The minor officials used Zhu Xiang’s name to calm the refugees, and threats of hard labor to make them obey.

Upon hearing these words, most Chu refugees knelt to the ground and bowed to thank Zhu Xiang. A small number, however, showed complicated expressions.

Those few were mostly lower-ranked scholars from Chu.

This disaster had affected a wide area, bankrupting many such minor scholars—what we might call small landowners in modern terms.

To have crossed so much of Chu territory and made it across the Yangtze to southern Qin, most of these people had some skills or capabilities. Those who were too poor had either died before they could set out or starved along the way.

Even in flight, those who made it out alive typically had some resilience—especially those who fled as clans, which gave them the best odds of success.

Zhu Xiang knew that many such scholars would come to southern Qin. When the officials registered refugee households, he specifically had them note down anyone who could write their own name.

He also posted announcements recruiting temporary clerks from among the refugees to help manage resettlement alongside southern Qin’s officials.

Those who could qualify as clerks were all Chu scholars who had fled south. Some even had ancestors who had held high office, though they themselves had now fallen into the commoner class.

These were the kinds of “commoners” that most scholars still recognized as their peers.

Zhu Xiang personally met with the “leaders” among the refugees and promised that settlements would be established for them, where they could serve as village elders and rebuild their clans.

Due to the limited productivity of the feudal era, the government couldn’t extend its authority all the way down to the village level. Order in villages and towns was generally maintained through clan-based self-governance.

To stabilize the refugees quickly, Zhu Xiang needed to rapidly restore order at the village and township level. Helping them rebuild their ancestral halls was the fastest way to do that.

No matter what inhuman atrocities the refugee leaders had committed during their flight south, the moment Zhu Xiang told them they could rebuild their ancestral halls, they instantly shed their beast-like nature and fully cooperated with him to maintain order.

The scholars among the refugees quickly gathered around Zhu Xiang. They learned the Qin laws and language, transforming themselves into Qin officials and assisting in managing the Chu refugees.

Those among them who performed well would remain as local officials, continuing to govern the former Chu refugees who had now become villagers.

In later times, appointing locals to govern their own people would often lead to corruption. But at this time, if the officials were not fellow townsmen, the villagers would completely ignore them. Officials would be unable to get anything done.

This was a society governed by personal relationships.

Qin didn’t care if the petty officials were clean or not—so long as they could control the villagers and collect taxes.

From the moment he opened his eyes each morning, Zhu Xiang met with refugee scholars nonstop, working tirelessly to settle them in prearranged locations, restoring order among them as quickly as possible, and helping them return from wild beasts to human beings.

During this period, he turned a blind eye to the past crimes of the refugees. As long as they committed no wrong after arriving in Southern Qin, Zhu Xiang pretended not to know about the atrocities many had committed during their escape.

Because if he were to take every offense into account, most of the refugees—men, women, young, and old—had committed serious crimes like taking lives while fleeing.

Back then, they were beasts, fighting and biting their own kind just to survive. It was natural.

Zhu Xiang constantly reminded himself: back then, they weren’t human. He should not judge them by human moral standards. He had to treat all refugees equally and ensure they all had a chance to survive.

Only when society had regained order—when people could survive without harming others—would those who still did evil be punished according to Qin law.

Amid his busyness, Zhu Xiang practically memorized the entire Qin legal code.

Whenever a subordinate official asked him something, he could immediately recite the applicable law.

His mastery of Qin law astonished even veteran officials.

Ying Zheng, worried Zhu Xiang was shouldering too much alone, left Meng Tian in Wu County and sent his capable aides Li Si and Han Fei to assist Zhu Xiang instead.

Li Si and Han Fei considered themselves disciples of the Legalist school, highly familiar with the laws of every state.

But after assisting Zhu Xiang for a while, both began to feel defeated.

Zhu Xiang wasn’t a Legalist, yet his command of the laws seemed even greater than theirs.

Li Si, narrow-minded and prone to jealousy, saw Zhu Xiang surpass him in the very area he excelled in. But seeing Zhu Xiang’s bloodshot eyes, he found it hard to feel envious.

Han Fei said, distressed, “Lord Zhu Xiang, leave these trivial tasks to me—and Li Si. You—please rest.”

Suppressing his complicated emotions, Li Si added, “Lord Zhu Xiang, heed our words. Go get some rest.”

Zhu Xiang massaged his temples and smiled to reassure them. “If I can’t hold on, I’ll rest. But I won’t collapse yet.”

Seeing they were still worried, Zhu Xiang said, “Right now, only my reputation can suppress the refugee leaders and local gentry.”

Half-joking, he added, “Only I can make them give me face and keep the peace. The two of you don’t have enough weight—you’re only good for assisting me. Still, I’m glad to have you. You’ve made things easier. Thank you.”

Hearing Zhu Xiang’s thanks, Li Si felt a sharp pang in his heart.

He should have felt pleased—but he simply couldn’t.

All he could do was bow and say, “Please entrust more tasks to me, Lord Zhu Xiang. I will handle them well.”

Han Fei echoed, “Me too, Lord Zhu Xiang!”

Zhu Xiang nodded. “Alright.”

He must have been far too exhausted—even Han Fei was speaking without stuttering.

Zhu Xiang had a feeling he’d be returning to Xianyang soon. Before he left, he had to get the Southern Qin’s refugee resettlement efforts off to a strong start, so others could follow the plans he’d laid down.

He was right.

When Chu’s “White-Haired Elder” was lost, presumed dead after falling into a river during a pursuit, a royal decree from the King of Qin reached Southern Qin: Lord Changping (Zhu Xiang) and Prince Zheng were to return to Qin immediately.

Xue Ji hesitated for a long time before gritting her teeth and requesting to stay behind.

“This place needs Lord Changping,” she said. “But my husband must take Zheng’er back to Xianyang. So the Lady of Lord Changping will stay behind in his stead to comfort the refugees.”

Zhu Xiang hesitated. Ying Zheng refused firmly.

“Aunt, do you know how dangerous it is here? Once we leave, even with Teacher protecting you, you’ll face many hardships. There are still many capable people in Qin—there’s no need for you to stay here alone!” Ying Zheng said anxiously. “Aunt, come with me to Xianyang. This might be the last time to see Grandfather.”

Xue Ji gently stroked his hair. “Zheng’er, I must stay. The White-Haired Elder is already gone. Your uncle must return to Qin and continue serving as Chancellor. The only person the refugees can now rely on is Lord Changping. I am his wife—if I stay, I represent him. Go now. I will help you and your uncle settle the refugees here.”

She looked up at Zhu Xiang. “My love, you said these refugees are the ‘price’ we must remember. So one of us must stay behind to bear that ‘price.’”

Zhu Xiang placed a hand on Ying Zheng’s shoulder and nodded. “Alright. Xue, take care.”

Xue Ji smiled gently, as always. “You and Zheng’er as well.”

Ying Zheng flailed his limbs in frustration, then lowered his head and rammed into Zhu Xiang’s chest with a headbutt—almost causing internal bleeding.

After butting the uncle who was siding with his aunt and not helping him, Ying Zheng felt a little better.

He grumbled, “If Aunt insists on this, then I can’t stop her. Aunt, take care. I’ll assign a team of guards to stay by your side at all times. Don’t go soft on them.”

Xue Ji said calmly, “Zheng’er, don’t worry.”

Ying Zheng muttered, “I am worried… I’ll remind the guards extra times not to go soft.”

The more he thought about it, the more sulky he became. He headbutted Zhu Xiang again.

This time, Zhu Xiang was ready and blocked his charging head with both hands.

Zhu Xiang scolded, “You’re mad at your aunt, so why are you headbutting me?!”

Ying Zheng said, “I can’t headbutt my aunt—what if I hurt her?”

Zhu Xiang snapped, “And I don’t feel pain?!”

Ying Zheng declared, “I don’t care if you do!”

Zhu Xiang: “…”

This rebellious nephew is too much.

Who wants a warm little First Emperor? I’ll pay you fifty cents with free shipping to take him off my hands!

Xue Ji laughed behind her sleeve.

Thanks to Ying Zheng’s antics, the parting no longer felt so heavy.

Xue Ji and Li Mu escorted Zhu Xiang and Ying Zheng on their way. Li Si and Han Fei volunteered to stay and assist Xue Ji.

Meng Tian considered staying too, but Ying Zheng refused.

Ying Zheng said coldly, “Now that I’m returning to Xianyang, I’ll likely become Crown Prince. I need someone to liaise with the aristocrats in Xianyang. You’re not like Li Si or Han Fei—you’re the son of a noble clan.”

Meng Tian bowed his head. “Yes, my prince.”

Ying Zheng softened. “I know you’d rather get real things done than waste time with the useless folks in Xianyang. Once I’ve settled matters there, I’ll have more important tasks for you. Don’t worry.”

Meng Tian replied, “Yes, my prince!”

With hands clasped behind his back, Ying Zheng stood at the bow of the ship, watching the waves split by the mighty vessel.

Grandfather might be ill and aging. Ying Zheng was sad, but perhaps a man destined to be King of Qin couldn’t afford much personal sentiment. Compared to grief over a dying elder, what filled his heart more was the excitement of becoming Crown Prince.

If Uncle knew what I’m thinking now, would he be disappointed?

As Ying Zheng spiraled into his thoughts, a family servant rushed up in panic: “Master! Master has fainted!”

Ying Zheng stumbled and fell hard on the deck with a thud.

“Prince!” Meng Tian reached out to help him.

Ying Zheng slapped his hand away and scrambled frantically into the cabin. “Uncle?! Uncle!”

Zhu Xiang had collapsed from overwork. Now that he was relaxing on the ship, all his accumulated exhaustion hit him at once, and he fell into a high fever and unconsciousness.

When he finally woke, he felt a heavy, damp weight on his chest. Opening his eyes, he saw Ying Zheng lying on his chest, having cried for who knows how long.

Zhu Xiang quickly nudged his head. “Zheng’er? Zheng’er, don’t cry—I’m not dead yet!”

Ying Zheng raised his head, then slammed it down hard onto Zhu Xiang’s chest.

Zhu Xiang: “OWWW!”