HCT – Chapter 157 Mourning Tofu

King Zhu of Qin had remained physically weak for some time, and many people were aware that he was nearing the end. He and those around him had mentally prepared themselves for this.

Zhu Xiang had also prepared himself.

But no one expected that before sending off King Zhu, Zhu Xiang would first have to bid farewell to another elder—Fan Ju.

Fan Ju was already quite old. After the death of King Zhaoxiang of Qin, his spirit quickly withered, as if a part of his life had left with the late king.

He returned to his fief, but even with the attentive care of his descendants, he couldn’t recover his spirits.

When King Zhu summoned him back to Xianyang, Fan Ju’s children and grandchildren had hoped he would refuse.

But Fan Ju would not allow it.

He forced his frail body back to Xianyang to respond to King Zhu’s call.

Fan Ju had a residence in Xianyang. He hadn’t reclaimed it when he returned to his fief. Out of concern for his health, his descendants accompanied him back to the capital.

When Zhu Xiang returned, Fan Ju had sent his descendants to visit him; once Zhu Xiang recovered from illness, he too went to visit Fan Ju, whose legs were already quite inconvenient.

At that time, Fan Ju was still in good spirits.

After returning to Xianyang, Fan Ju’s mood had greatly improved. Everyone thought his health was on the mend.

On the day before he passed, Fan Ju seemed perfectly fine—he even had a bowl of porridge before bed.

But the next morning, when his descendants came to help him up, they found he had passed peacefully in his sleep.

So quietly—it was hard to believe.

King Zhu refused to accept that Fan Ju had simply passed away. He suspected foul play and ordered Zichu to thoroughly investigate the matter.

But after many rounds of examination by royal physicians and famous folk doctors alike, the conclusion remained the same: the Lord Yinghou, Fan Ju, had indeed passed peacefully in his sleep.

Forever.

At his age, passing painlessly in one’s sleep was considered a “joyous death.”

But King Zhu could not bring himself to accept it.

Zhu Xiang helped him to Fan Ju’s memorial hall, where he stood staring blankly at the coffin for a long time, repeatedly asking Zhu Xiang, “How could Lord Ying just sleep away like this?”

Zhu Xiang didn’t know how to respond.

He too hadn’t come to terms with it.

Over the past few years, his relationship with Fan Ju had grown distant, but when Zhu Xiang first arrived in Qin, Fan Ju and Bai Qi had lived in his home. The bond forged during that time could not be easily erased.

When Zhu Xiang first arrived, a stranger in a foreign land, he had relied entirely on Fan Ju and Bai Qi for protection.

The laws of Qin and the unspoken rules of its bureaucracy were all taught to him personally by those two. They had been guides for both him and the young Ying Zheng.

Back when King Zhaoxiang was alive, they had treated Zhu Xiang like Lord Lin and General Lian had treated their protégé.

Of course, unlike the pure mentor-student bonds of Lord Lin and General Lian, the relationship between Fan Ju, Bai Qi, and Zhu Xiang had its share of complex entanglements and interests. But their goodwill toward him had always been genuine.

Just a few days ago, when Zhu Xiang visited Fan Ju, the old man had spoken of how, once he felt a bit better and his legs were steadier, he would go stay at Zhu Xiang’s estate for a while to rest.

He still oversaw the security of the Qin royal palace and had much on his plate. Regardless of whether King Zhu passed soon, with both Zichu and Zhu Xiang back in Xianyang, it was time for an old man like him to step aside and let the younger generation take over. He would stay a while longer at Zhu Xiang’s estate, and then return to his fief.

Zhu Xiang had already had Fan Ju’s old courtyard cleaned and prepared, waiting for his arrival at any time.

No one expected Fan Ju to leave like this.

Even the already aged Bai Qi stood silently before Fan Ju’s coffin for a long while.

He finally said, “After the former king passed, Lord Ying aged rapidly. It was as if he might follow at any moment.”

Then he added, “Now, just when his spirits seemed to lift, he really did leave.”

When everyone thought Fan Ju would die soon, he held on. And when they thought he’d live a few more years, he quietly departed.

Why is the world always so full of surprises?

Fan Ju’s death was so sudden that his descendants, while setting up the memorial hall, were left dazed—unable to cry for a while.

Ying Zheng set aside state affairs and, in the manner of a junior, personally closed Fan Ju’s coffin.

His face was blank with shock.

He remembered living with Fan Ju as a child. Fan Ju ate little. When Ying Zheng’s gluttony was curbed by his uncle and aunt, he would often sneak snacks from Fan Ju.

Fan Ju once got a fragrant roast chicken, of which he only ate the wings, neck, and a drumstick—the rest was for Ying Zheng.

There were always cakes, candied fruits, and jerky. Whenever Ying Zheng went to Fan Ju’s place, there were endless treats.

Of all his elders, Fan Ju was the most indulgent.

Even Bai Qi would discipline him—only Fan Ju endlessly fed him.

Zhu Xiang once complained to King Zhaoxiang that if Ying Zheng grew up round like a ball, Lord Fan would bear undeniable responsibility.

But Ying Zheng did not grow into a ball. He stood tall and upright, like a pine tree.

When Fan Ju saw him return from Southern Qin, he smiled and said, “The late king did not live to see this version of Zheng’er, but I did. I’ll tell him when we meet again—he’ll be very happy.”

Ying Zheng had replied, “Then Grandfather Fan must praise Zheng’er well before Great-Grandfather.”

But he never imagined Fan Ju would go so soon to do just that.

Ying Zheng said to Zhu Xiang, “Uncle, Zheng’er’s heart feels heavy.”

Zhu Xiang returned from his daze and replied, “So does Uncle’s.”

He looked at the coffin, then down at the yellow paper in his hands.

Was Lord Fan really gone?

He had thought Fan Ju would live a few more years, so he hadn’t disturbed him too often.

If he had known… if he had known…

But even if he had—what then?

Zhu Xiang felt lost.

Fan Ju’s sudden death caused a great stir in Xianyang.

Some spread rumors that he had been murdered. Although King Zhu finally announced that Fan Ju had passed peacefully in his sleep—an auspicious death—whispers continued to circulate, some blaming spies from the Six States.

King Zhu could have used this matter to make a move, but he suddenly lost all interest.

After Fan Ju lay in state for seven days in Xianyang, his descendants took him home. King Zhu gave special permission for Fan Ju’s son to inherit an extra generation of his fiefdom.

Before the coffin was taken back to his hometown, King Zhu instructed them to carry it to King Zhaoxiang’s tomb for a final tribute.

While alive, Fan Ju had once asked King Zhu for this favor, hoping his coffin could pause before the late king’s tomb, in the hopes that he might catch up with his sovereign.

At the time, King Zhu of Qin had not allowed it, believing it violated the rites and protocols. But now, he had agreed.

After Fan Ju passed away, King Zhu of Qin ordered Bai Qi to immediately step down from his post and take a proper rest.

Bai Qi moved into Zhu Xiang’s estate. Every day, he taught Ying Zheng and Zhu Xiang martial arts and military strategy. He looked to be in good spirits.

But Fan Ju had also seemed well the day before his death. Zhu Xiang was on edge, afraid something might happen to Bai Qi too.

Thankfully, nothing happened to Bai Qi.

Things progressed just as they had mentally prepared for: after the weather turned cold, King Zhu of Qin gradually began to decline.

The world remained ever unpredictable.

When one is prepared, calamity seems to hold off; but the moment one lets their guard down, misfortune strikes.

King Zhu of Qin suddenly lost consciousness and was in a coma for several days.

When he woke, he could no longer get out of bed, and even his speech had become slurred.

At this point, the king—who had always appeared indifferent about life and death—suddenly grew vulnerable.

He grabbed Zhu Xiang’s hand and cried, “Am I going to die? I don’t want to die.”

He cried like a child, terrified, too afraid to even close his eyes, fearing that if he did, he might never open them again.

He asked Zhu Xiang, “Zhu Xiang, are you an immortal? Do you know what the world after death is like? I’m really scared.”

Zhu Xiang could only make up stories about the underworld, telling him it was a beautiful place, and that he would not suffer after death.

He became fearful of the dark, insisting on keeping candles lit through the night, unwilling to be alone.

The imperial physicians were deeply alarmed.

The king’s body was already severely weakened. His refusal to rest properly only accelerated his decline.

Zichu, Zhu Xiang, and Ying Zheng took turns trying to persuade the king to take short naps, promising they would remain by his side.

King Zhu of Qin continued to sob, appearing helpless and pitiable, but in the end, he could not resist the pull of sleep and drifted off. When he awoke, he was once again anxious and fearful of the dark and of death.

This continued for several days until he finally regained some emotional control.

He dismissed Zichu and Ying Zheng, leaving only Zhu Xiang by his side.

With a tone of shame, he said, “I’ve made such a fool of myself. If my father saw me like this, he would be disappointed again.”

Zhu Xiang replied, “This is human nature. The late king would not be disappointed.”

King Zhu of Qin sighed, “He would. He was often disappointed in me.”

He muttered a few complaints about King Zhaoxiang of Qin, then asked Zhu Xiang, “Was I a good king of Qin?”

Zhu Xiang answered, “Yes.”

King Zhu of Qin said, “When my father left, I promised him I would make Qin stronger. Did I fulfill that promise?”

Zhu Xiang replied, “You did.”

Although King Zhu of Qin did not conquer much territory during his reign, the kingdom’s grain production and population had increased significantly. Southern Qin had fully turned its heart toward the central court;

He promoted Xunzi, expanded enrollment at the Xianyang Academy, and made its entrance system standardized—this inspired the building of secondary academies across the land;

Xunzi also redesigned Qin’s ritual system, which could directly serve the unified empire in the future;

Xue Ji, with the Mohists and craftsmen, had invented new machines for spinning cotton yarn and cloth, enabling Qin to mass-produce cotton textiles—bringing commoners a step closer to surviving harsh winters;

Zhu Xiang had used these textiles to launch a trade war with Chu, whose internal strife was now beginning to show;

Lin Zhi had drafted a new land law, which proved highly effective in pilot programs in Southern Qin’s three commanderies and was now gradually being implemented across the kingdom…

And beyond these, King Zhu of Qin had many projects still in progress.

Xunzi’s system of conferment for women was still unfinished and under debate with other ministers; after the Confucians of Lu fled to Qin, King Zhu of Qin tasked them with compiling texts, and they had already collected many rare manuscripts and begun preliminary work…

King Zhu of Qin might not stand out as a ruler in the long arc of Qin’s history, but he had helped ease the tensions left by King Zhaoxiang’s aggressive expansion. He made the kingdom more cohesive, laying the groundwork for future monarchs to confidently resume the wars of unification.

A crucial figure in bridging past and future.

Zhu Xiang listed and analyzed each of King Zhu’s achievements, showing no awareness that he was overstepping his place.

And King Zhu of Qin had no such thoughts either—he listened intently to every word of Zhu Xiang’s commentary.

Then, he breathed a sigh of relief and said, “When I see my father, I should be able to hold my head high.”

After a moment’s silence, he added, “And when I see my elder brother, I won’t feel ashamed for having taken his position as crown prince and king. I’ve done well, haven’t I?”

Zhu Xiang said, “Yes, Your Majesty is a wise and virtuous ruler.”

King Zhu of Qin smiled. “With your words, Zhu Xiang, I can rest easy now. I’m feeling sleepy. Tell me another story—something about the underworld and reincarnation.”

Zhu Xiang tucked him in and began to speak again, telling those fanciful, fabricated tales as if he were soothing a child.

King Zhu of Qin closed his eyes. His expression once again showed traces of fear and unease.

But he still closed his eyes, letting sleep take him.

Zhu Xiang looked at the king’s slightly trembling hands and placed his own over the frail, bony hand.

King Zhu of Qin gripped his hand tightly, so tightly it hurt.

A quarter of an hour, half an hour… or perhaps even longer passed.

Zhu Xiang sat quietly by the bedside, racking his brain for stories.

Having run out of real ones, he started to make them up.

Zichu knocked on the door. Receiving no answer, he came in.

He saw Zhu Xiang holding King Zhu of Qin’s hand, tearfully spinning a jumbled, incoherent tale.

The king’s hand was slightly relaxed, his posture at ease.

Zichu came closer and saw that the king’s expression was peaceful as well.

The look of anxiety and fear had finally disappeared from the face of the old King of Qin.

Zichu had always thought he didn’t have deep feelings for his father.

But in that moment, his legs gave out and he collapsed beside the bed, gasping for air as though he couldn’t breathe.

Zhu Xiang stopped speaking.

He gently placed the king’s hand back under the covers and tucked him in one last time.

“Xia Tong, His Majesty is gone,” Zhu Xiang said.

Zichu clutched the fabric over his chest with both hands, closed his eyes, and after a long moment squeezed out three words: “I know.”

Neither Zhu Xiang nor Zichu spoke again.

Zhu Xiang quietly let his tears fall. Zichu was still breathing heavily.

“Are you okay?” After a while, Zhu Xiang wiped away his tears and gently rubbed Zichu’s back to help him breathe.

Zichu finally caught his breath and replied in a hoarse voice, “No. Not at all.”

He got up from the ground, propped himself up on the bed, and stared fixedly at the peacefully sleeping King Zhu of Qin.

“Zhu Xiang, I used to care about him. I really did.”

“Mm.”

Another long silence settled between them.

Zichu slowly stood up straight and adjusted his clothes and crown.

The twisted expression on his face gradually calmed and transformed into a natural, mournful one.

“You stay with Father a while longer. I’ll go—”

“You stay with His Majesty. I’ll notify them,” Zhu Xiang pressed a hand to Zichu’s shoulder. “Be Xia Tong for a bit longer. You won’t get many chances to be him again.”

Zichu lowered his head. Then the grief on his face faded, replaced by a wooden, emotionless look. “Alright.”

Zhu Xiang turned to leave. Ying Zheng was waiting outside the door.

He looked up at the tear marks on his uncle’s face and asked, “Has Grandfather gone?”

Zhu Xiang patted his head and said, “Go keep His Majesty company.”

Ying Zheng clenched his fists and said in a subdued voice, “Okay.”

He stepped into the room and shut the door behind him.

Zhu Xiang walked a few more steps outward and saw the Qin ministers, led by Cai Ze.

They were all kneeling in the courtyard, waiting for news of the King of Qin.

Waiting for the news of his passing.

“His Majesty has returned to the heavens.”

Zhu Xiang gave them the answer they were waiting for. Then the wails of grief began.

Zhu Xiang glanced at the weeping officials, but their cries didn’t move him.

“Lord Changping, where is the Crown Prince?” one of the royal family members asked. “He should be taking charge now.”

Zhu Xiang said, “The Crown Prince and Prince Zheng are bidding farewell to His Majesty. Give them a moment. His Majesty was not just the King of Qin—he was the Crown Prince’s father, and Prince Zheng’s grandfather. I hope all of you understand.”

The crying clansman stiffened, quickly shut his mouth, and didn’t dare speak again.

But the princes kneeling further back all had grim, even angry, expressions.

Zhu Xiang ignored them. He walked over to Queen Dowager Huayang and said, “Your Highness, please bring the young prince and say farewell to His Majesty.”

Only then did the dazed, tearless Queen Dowager come back to her senses.

She stumbled to her feet, ignoring Prince Chengjiao at her side, and rushed inward.

As she ran, the jeweled hairpin on her head fell to the ground, and she stepped on the hem of her dress, nearly tripping.

But the usually beauty-conscious queen didn’t care—just as she had no mind to care for her beloved grandson right now.

Queen Dowager Huayang never made a sound of mourning. Unlike the other consorts, she didn’t cry or scream.

She moved quickly but entered the inner chamber in complete silence, as if she weren’t grieving at all.

Perhaps… she really wasn’t.

Chengjiao stood frozen, not knowing what to do.

Zhu Xiang picked him up and said, “Come with your uncle.”

Chengjiao reflexively wrapped his arms around Zhu Xiang’s neck. Though Zhu Xiang was a stranger to him, he felt familiar and comforting.

As Zhu Xiang turned to leave, Chengjiao’s birth mother gave a quiet sigh of relief.

Lord Changping had called himself Chengjiao’s uncle. Even if Queen Dowager Huayang lost power in the future, her son’s prospects would likely still be good.

And if something happened to the Crown Prince, her son might even become the next Crown Prince.

Zhu Xiang knew everyone kneeling there harbored their own thoughts, but he no longer had the energy to care.

Nor was it his responsibility.

These would be Zichu and Zheng’er’s burdens to bear once they finished grieving.

He was only bringing those few people King Zhu still cared about to his bedside for a final farewell.

After that would be the court’s formal farewell to the late King of Qin.

“Uncle?” Chengjiao asked. “Are you really Chengjiao’s uncle?”

Zhu Xiang replied, “I’m the Crown Prince’s uncle, and I’m yours too.”

Chengjiao asked, “Are you and Auntie from the same family?”

Zhu Xiang said, “Yes. The one who’s been caring for your aunt is my spouse.”

Only then did Chengjiao relax, resting his head on Zhu Xiang’s shoulder.

He asked again, “What happened to Grandfather? What does it mean that he ‘went’?”

Zhu Xiang replied, “‘Went’ means…”

He paused, not knowing how to explain death to a young child.

But Chengjiao didn’t get the chance to ask further.

Zhu Xiang entered the room and set Chengjiao down.

Ying Zheng walked over, took Chengjiao’s hand, and led him to kneel before King Zhu’s bed.

Because Chengjiao had been raised at Queen Dowager Huayang’s knee, he had always been close to King Zhu.

Now seeing King Zhu peacefully asleep, he seemed to understand something and burst into loud sobs.

Ying Zheng closed his eyes, and more tears spilled from them.

Zhu Xiang stood at the door, silhouetted against the light, quietly mourning.

He had once again seen off a King of Qin—a senior elder.

Thanks to the precedent set during King Zhao of Qin’s passing, King Zhu’s funeral was organized in an orderly manner.

Crown Prince Zichu ascended the throne smoothly, with no obstacles. Thus began the era of King Zichu of Qin.

Like his father, King Zichu observed a full year of mourning. For the common people, however, the mourning was shortened to one day per year to avoid disrupting their lives.

The royal attire for King Zichu had long been prepared, and it fit him perfectly.

When he donned the crown and robes of the King of Qin, Zichu felt as though his soul was floating—it all seemed unreal.

After the succession ceremony, he sat alone on the throne, staring into space, until Zhu Xiang entered.

“Hey, King Xia Tong of Qin, how are you feeling?” Zhu Xiang asked.

Zichu snapped out of his thoughts and replied, “A little… strange.”

Zhu Xiang sat down on the steps below Zichu’s throne. “Strange how?”

Zichu said, “They suddenly feel so far away from me.”

Zhu Xiang replied, “Maybe because you’re sitting too high up. If you don’t like the distance, you can go back to sitting on a cushion.”

Zichu raised a leg and kicked Zhu Xiang. “Get lost.”

Zhu Xiang retorted, “I was just going along with what you said, and you tell me to get lost?”

Zichu gave him another light kick. Then feeling awkward, he slid down from the throne and sat on the steps as well.

“Where are Lin Li and Cai Ze?” he asked. “Busy?”

Zhu Xiang said, “I know you’ve just become king and want someone to talk to, but from now on, I’m probably the only one who’ll ever chat with you casually like this.”

He patted Zichu’s shoulder and said, “My condolences.”

Zichu cursed, “Get lost.”

Then he sighed. “I already told you to treat me like the King of Qin from now on. Why are you still calling me Xia Tong?”

Zhu Xiang said, “My head’s harder than iron. Here, drink a little.”

He pulled a gourd from his waist.

Zichu gave him a sideways glance. “I’m in mourning.”

Zhu Xiang rolled his eyes. “You think I’m offering wine?”

Zichu finally accepted the gourd—it was filled with sweet fruit juice.

Zhu Xiang asked, “Are you okay? You’ve seemed so drained. Still grieving?”

Zichu said, “Mm.”

In front of Zhu Xiang, he didn’t need to hide his emotions.

Although he felt embarrassed, he was still mourning his father’s death.

He had claimed so many times that he didn’t care about his father, and now he couldn’t pull himself out of the grief—utterly humiliating.

Every time he remembered what he’d said before, his face burned, and he felt a wave of shame and frustration.

Zhu Xiang didn’t try to comfort him—he simply took out another gourd and drank the sweet juice with him.

The two of them finished a whole gourd.

Zichu let out a deep sigh and said, “Come walk with me.”

Zhu Xiang stood up and extended a hand to Zichu.

Having not eaten all day, Zichu’s legs were a bit weak. He grabbed Zhu Xiang’s hand and was pulled up.

Zhu Xiang took a pastry out from his robe. “Eat while we walk.”

Zichu accepted the pastry and left the wide hall with Zhu Xiang.

“Zhu Xiang, stay with me a few more days before going to South Qin.”

“I’ll stay through the full mourning period.”

“Okay.”

Zichu held the pastry in both hands and quickly finished it.

Zhu Xiang handed him a bag of five-spice dried tofu. “It’s not meat.”

Zichu took a bite. “A little salty.”

Zhu Xiang replied, “You’ve cried too much. You need salt.”

Zichu nearly choked on the tofu. “I haven’t cried that much!”

“Oh.” Zhu Xiang pulled another packet from his sleeve. “Dried shrimp. Shrimp are insects, not meat. Want some?”

Zichu: “…”

And for the first time since his father’s death, he laughed.

“Get lost. Insects are still meat. I’m not eating that.”