HCT – Chapter 167 Zhao Ji Pleads Her Innocence

After Qin King Zichu of Qin ascended the throne, he claimed that Zhao Ji was in poor health and did not allow her to live in the palace traditionally reserved for the queen of Qin. Instead, he arranged a separate and secluded residence for her.

Upon seeing Qin King Zichu do this, all the opportunists who had once flocked around Zhao Ji before his ascension instantly scattered like birds startled by a shot.

Now honored as the Empress Dowager, Xia Ji found herself in tears when she discovered that Qin King Zichu regarded Empress Dowager Huayang as his legal mother and foster mother. As a result, Empress Dowager Huayang enjoyed privileges that slightly surpassed her own. Xia Ji wept, lamenting that she had given birth to this child in vain. However, this also jolted her awake from the flattery of others, and she returned to her previous humble and low-key demeanor.

Others who witnessed this could only sigh. Qin King Zichu truly lived up to the title of Qin king—just like all his predecessors. Anyone hoping to influence him through the inner palace was simply dreaming.

The kings of Qin had always been harsh and unfeeling. Even the formidable Empress Dowager Xuan, during the time of King Zhaoxiang of Qin, was allowed to co-govern and discuss state matters only when she was still useful. He even supported her in using her beauty to seduce others. But once she was no longer needed, he stripped her of her honorary title and drove her brother and other sons out of Xianyang.

Soon after, Qin King Zichu also began purging those who had manipulated Empress Dowager Xia and Zhao Ji during this period. Zhao Ji’s once-bustling residence returned to being deserted, the psychological blow immense.

Still, Zhao Ji remained the Queen of Qin, and her official status improved significantly. She now had more attendants serving her. Among them were some who still held influence.

But these palace attendants were not content to serve a queen who had lost favor and saw no hope of rising in status. They began devising ways to help Zhao Ji restore her relationship with the crown prince.

After all, Zhao Ji and the crown prince were biological mother and son. How could there be lasting resentment between true blood relatives? Moreover, the crown prince was a disciple of Xunzi, and Confucians held filial piety in the highest regard. Even if only for appearances, the crown prince would have to show proper respect to his mother.

Thus, as long as Zhao Ji could meet with the crown prince—even if he was unwilling in his heart—she could request morning and evening greetings from him, and he would be obligated to comply. Otherwise, the world would condemn him as unfilial.

Though the crown prince’s position was secure, he still had a younger brother. He likely didn’t want minor matters like this to draw attention to that sibling.

The palace attendants understood clearly that the relationship between the crown prince and Zhao Ji could never be fully restored to that of a loving mother and son.

So many years had passed, and the crown prince had never once visited Zhao Ji. In his heart, he surely bore no affection for the mother who had abandoned him in his youth.

But that was fine. They didn’t need the crown prince to genuinely love Zhao Ji. They just needed him to act the part—to show surface-level respect. That alone would significantly improve their lives.

Serving a mistress who had lost favor meant hardship for them too. So they desperately encouraged Zhao Ji to tearfully recount her hardships to the crown prince, hoping to stir his pity.

The crown prince had been too young to remember the events of his childhood. As long as Zhao Ji cried and said she had no other choice, he should be able to understand.

When Zhao Ji was fleeing for her life, if she hadn’t entrusted the crown prince to Lord Changping’s care, the boy might have perished. That was the act of a loving mother.

Qin King Zichu was an ambitious and energetic ruler. Even during the official mourning period, he could not stay idle in the palace.

In the ancestral lands of Guandong and Guanzhong, the state of Qin had begun implementing a new land reform law. Every day, Qin King Zichu bumped along in his carriage, personally overseeing the progress of this reform across various regions.

Lin Zhi, the architect of the new land law, and Zhu Xiang, the person who best understood farmers, were both dragged along by Qin King Zichu to travel and supervise.

Especially Zhu Xiang.

Qin King Zichu had already approved Zhu Xiang’s return to Southern Qin after spring. But before he left, Zhu Xiang had to finish inspecting the designated areas. Otherwise, they’d have to send someone to deliver a letter over a thousand miles away.

So the three of them set off together, leaving Cai Ze behind to assist Crown Prince Zheng in governing the state.

When Cai Ze saw them off, his frown was so deep it could crush a mosquito.

He was deeply worried that the trio’s trip might bring him a heap of trouble.

Why hadn’t Zhu Xiang left yet? As long as Zhu Xiang stayed, Lin Zhi would have to go supervise the land reform instead. Wasn’t that the prime minister’s duty?

Cai Ze never imagined that before Qin King Zichu, Zhu Xiang, and Lin Zhi could stir up any trouble, his beloved Zheng’er would beat them to it—with something ruthless.

But he didn’t know it yet.

Before leaving, Zhu Xiang repeatedly warned Ying Zheng not to go see Zhao Ji, lest she come up with some foolish scheme and drag him down with her.

It wasn’t the smart people one had to fear. Smart people knew how to protect themselves, and their moves could be anticipated.

What was truly terrifying were the fools. Their minds were empty, and no one could predict what kind of self-destructive and spiteful move they might make, catching others off guard.

Seeing how tense Zhu Xiang was, Qin King Zichu also gave Ying Zheng a warning. He told him to use his orders as an excuse, and if things really got difficult, he should run to Empress Dowager Huayang and suppress Zhao Ji with Confucian values of filial piety.

Lin Zhi didn’t offer any warnings. He believed Ying Zheng was smart enough to know how to handle the situation.

Ying Zheng gave a polite verbal agreement. But the moment his royal father and maternal uncle had left, he immediately followed the palace attendants to “pay respects” to the mother he hadn’t seen in over a decade.

Well, not exactly a decade.

Ying Zheng and Zhao Ji actually met a few times every year—just enough to prevent others from accusing him of being unfilial. But each time, either Qin King Zichu or Xue Ji accompanied him.

Whenever Zhao Ji saw Qin King Zichu, she would be too frightened to speak. As for Xue Ji, she would directly hurl vulgar insults at her.

Though now the model wife of a noble—Lady of Lord Changping—Xue Ji had originally been a village woman from Zhao. If she hadn’t been so fierce, when Zhu Xiang was bedridden, the little straw hut they lived in would’ve long been seized by someone. They wouldn’t have lasted until Zhu Xiang got a chance to confront Lin Xiangru—they would’ve joined their deceased parents in the afterlife already.

Zhao Ji, even before she became Lu Buwei’s concubine, had never suffered hardship. She was well protected by her parents and Zhu Xiang. She had never seen someone as fierce as Xue Ji. So when Xue Ji was in Xianyang, Zhao Ji always feigned illness and refused to meet Ying Zheng.

Fortunately, Ying Zheng didn’t spend much time in Xianyang, so Zhao Ji had few chances to be scolded. If Xue Ji wasn’t accompanying him, she wouldn’t go see Zhao Ji either.

As for Zhu Xiang, he had been completely stripped of the “privilege” of seeing Zhao Ji. Even Ying Zheng didn’t trust him on that matter.

Ying Zheng arrived at the queen’s palace and looked at the quiet but meticulously maintained residence. A mocking smile appeared on his face.

His uncle was far too kind. Even though he hadn’t seen this woman—who nearly got him, his uncle, and his aunt all killed—for over a decade, he still wouldn’t go so far as to torment her.

Outsiders didn’t know the enmity between Zhao Ji and his family. To keep her from becoming a blemish on his and Zhu Xiang’s reputation, the king ensured she lived in material comfort.

Back when his aunt assisted Lady Huayang in managing the royal harem, she would often keep little Ying Zheng on her lap and teach him domestic affairs in the palace.

Though his aunt considered the name “Chunhua” unlucky and distasteful, she was still a kind person and never skimped on Zhao Ji’s living expenses.

So Ying Zheng knew very well—aside from being unable to leave the courtyard freely, Zhao Ji lived in considerable comfort.

Zhao Ji was picky herself. Her daily food and usage were probably even more extravagant than that of him and his uncle and aunt’s family of three. Because in their home, waste was not allowed. They wouldn’t take one bite of a lavish dish and throw it away, nor would they use fine silk scarves like disposable paper towels to wipe their hands once and toss them.

Ying Zheng lifted his foot and stepped through the palace gate.

He thought, perhaps Zhao Ji’s lifestyle wasn’t that much different from the crown princesses and queens of other states — not excessively extravagant. It was just that the three of them had lived far too simply.

His uncle cooked for him, and his aunt sewed his clothes — their lives were truly plain.

“Zheng’er!” Zhao Ji had already removed all her ornaments and jewelry, and changed into a plain linen robe.

The moment she saw Ying Zheng walk in, she burst into tears and rushed forward to embrace him.

Though her figure had grown plump and no longer graceful, her face was still well-maintained from years of careful pampering. Her skin was smooth, like that of a young maiden in her prime. Her fingers, holding a handkerchief, were long and white like scallions, even more striking in color.

Tears hung delicately at the corners of her eyes, her eye rims were red, and her expression was mournful. Her voice, sweet like an oriole’s song, called out to Ying Zheng as if singing a sorrowful ballad — full of intense emotion.

Ying Zheng swiftly sidestepped Zhao Ji’s embrace, a flash of his aunt’s image surfacing in his mind.

His aunt wasn’t beautiful.

How beautiful could a common woman, worn down by hardship, be? Beauty requires money and care.

Her skin was rough. Even though his uncle often prepared “skincare products” and “makeup” for her, they couldn’t fully hide the traces of wind and frost on her face.

Her hands were especially unseemly — thick, calloused, and full of cracks. Every time she caressed his cheeks, the roughness would make him itch and laugh.

His aunt’s voice was also hoarse. They said it was from kneeling in the snow for too long, begging for food and medicine when his uncle was sick. Her throat had swollen so badly she couldn’t speak for days, and when she could again, her voice had permanently changed.

But his uncle always said that he loved hearing her speak and sing, even though she couldn’t sing.

His uncle, on the other hand, loved to sing.

“Zheng’er, you still resent me after all.” Seeing Ying Zheng dodge her, Zhao Ji’s voice grew even more sorrowful. Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes — she looked absolutely heartbroken.

Ying Zheng’s mind conjured another memory — the image of his aunt crying.

He had an excellent memory. When his uncle left for Changping, his aunt would often cry secretly behind his back.

Whenever she cried, her face would twist. Tears would quickly soak her entire face, and sometimes even her snot would run. She’d wipe it all with her sleeve, only making her appearance messier.

He’d always jump into her arms, open his mouth, and bawl along with her — until both their faces were soaked with tears and snot.

Those days were gone now. He hadn’t seen his aunt cry in many years.

While Ying Zheng was lost in thought, Zhao Ji had already started reciting the lines taught to her by the palace maids.

Zhao Ji had been favored by Lu Buwei for a reason. If she truly wanted to win someone over, her emotional intelligence wasn’t low. She knew exactly how to elicit pity and affection from others.

If she were completely useless, she wouldn’t have stood out from a crowd of songstresses.

Countless pretty young girls were bought into wealthy merchant households, but only a few were truly adorned in gold and silver and waited upon.

Now, as long as she treated her son like she once treated an honored patron, Zhao Ji believed she could easily gain his favor.

That’s what she thought.

She began her tale from the moment she gave birth to Ying Zheng, expressing how deeply she loved her son.

Then she spoke of how difficult life had been for the two of them after Qin King Zichu secretly left Handan.

She said she had secretly entrusted Ying Zheng to Zhu Xiang for raising, while she lured away the pursuing soldiers of King Zhao. She hadn’t intended to abandon him — she only wanted him to live.

She said a great deal. Said that others had misunderstood her.

She didn’t care what others thought. She only wanted her son to understand that she had never abandoned him.

The crown prince of Qin, Zheng, had a birth mother who deeply loved him. There was no stain in his life of having been rejected or discarded by his own mother. His life was flawless.

Zhao Ji said she only wanted her son to know this one truth.

Zhao Ji cried with full devotion. She wept so earnestly that even she began to believe the things she said.

Back then, Zhu Xiang was indeed doing well — he was a guest under Lin Xiangru. Was it wrong to entrust Ying Zheng to him? Of course not. She was the one who had suffered. Giving her son to Zhu Xiang was to let him live a good life.

While Zhao Ji sobbed, Ying Zheng slowly came back to himself, hands clasped behind his back.

Although his mind had wandered, every single word Zhao Ji said — he heard it clearly, remembered it clearly.

“Is that all you wanted to say?” Ying Zheng’s gaze finally fell on Zhao Ji’s tear-streaked face.

Zhao Ji had cried for so long, only to receive such a cold response from him. Her sobs hitched in anger — she almost cursed him for being unfilial.

Fortunately, a palace maid kept giving her warning glances, helping her suppress her fury.

Zhao Ji cried, “You must blame me for abandoning your uncle and aunt. But the truth isn’t like that.”

Ying Zheng’s brows twitched. His expression darkened.

Zhao Ji choked a few times before continuing: “Back then, your uncle was gravely ill. I sold myself into servitude and asked the broker to give the money to him for treatment. Who knew the broker would pocket the money and nearly get him killed. I had no way to explain!”

Ying Zheng’s brows twitched again.

(“That day, Chunhua took all the valuables and rations from home, saying she was going to buy medicine for her husband. I believed her. But she never came back.”

“The next day, I sensed something was wrong and went to the marketplace to find her. She hadn’t left yet — she was dressed in flashy clothes with makeup on her face and refused to acknowledge me.”

“I begged her — I said it was fine if she wanted to live a better life with a rich man, but surely that man didn’t care for our pitiful belongings. I begged her to leave them behind. But she told the broker, ‘Why not sell this woman too? Though she’s not pretty, she can work as a cook or servant.’ I bit the broker’s hand and only escaped because some wandering swordsmen found the whole thing intolerable and stepped in with their blades.”

“So Zheng’er, if you choose to acknowledge your birth mother, then even if your uncle still treats you the same… I will never see you again.”

“Forgive me. This is the only matter on which I must press you. It’s only her — I will never forgive!”)

(“Young Master, I really didn’t know about her family’s situation. You know how wealthy my household is — I’ve always paid full price for my servants. Why would I need a slave to bring money herself?”

“You can ask anyone in my house who knows her. Everyone knows she was an orphan, with no family left. No one ever heard of her having a brother.”

“I paid her full price for her indenture and gave her private money for clothes and such.”

“Think about it, Young Master — the world is in chaos, refugees everywhere. When I buy girls who sing and dance, they eat and dress better than any refugee. Refugees beg to come — would I need to cheat and steal?”

“I truly didn’t know anything about this — truly! Ah! Right! I’ll take you to the broker who brought her to my house. He’s still alive! I’ll bring him to see you!”)

Ying Zheng’s face lit up with a smile — as if he had remembered something that genuinely made him happy.

That was the first time he had ever killed someone with his own hands. He killed that old hostage who had tried to forcibly abduct his aunt to make her a slave. Even his uncle and aunt didn’t know about this incident. How could he sully their ears with such a minor matter?

His aunt also never told his uncle that she had found Chunhua at the market — she didn’t want him to know that Chunhua had incited the hostage to forcibly abduct her.

“You’re telling the truth?” Ying Zheng asked with a smile. “You sold yourself back then to pay for my uncle’s medical treatment?”

Zhao Ji wept and said, “It’s true, Zheng’er, it’s true!”

Ying Zheng still smiled. “Do you have any proof?”

Zhao Ji wiped away her tears. “So many years have passed, what proof could still exist? Lu Buwei and the hostage who sold me back then must know the truth, but would they dare admit they embezzled the money meant to save your uncle’s life? They’d definitely put all the blame on me. I’ve suffered… I’ve suffered so much…”

Zhao Ji burst into a fresh round of bitter wailing and cried for a long time.

Ying Zheng just sat and watched her cry, still smiling. The sight was so eerie that all the palace attendants lowered their heads and trembled.

Anyone who served in Xianyang Palace was a master of survival. Those who weren’t had long since died off Ying Zheng’s intentions were so obvious — of course they could sense something was wrong. But they didn’t dare even glance at Zhao Ji to warn her.

Had this been the Zhao Ji from over a decade ago, before giving birth to Ying Zheng, perhaps she might have noticed something was amiss. But over these ten-plus years, she was no longer a servant — she had lived for a long time as someone above others.

When she eloped with that wealthy merchant, Zhao Ji was his wife. The household may not have been opulent, but it was still a comfortable life. After returning to Qin, she was treated as Prince Zichu’s principal wife. Her so-called “fall from grace” was only relative to the other favored consorts of the princes — she still had many servants at her beck and call.

Zhao Ji had long forgotten how to flatter others to survive. She was so blinded that she didn’t even notice the oddity in Ying Zheng’s smile.

Or perhaps it was because Ying Zheng was her son — still just shy of fourteen. The fabricated past she had told had happened so long ago that she assumed he wouldn’t be able to dig up any solid proof to refute it.

But Zhao Ji had a trump card. She was using it now — the trump card someone had taught her:

“Think about it. Our family raised a man like your uncle — how could I possibly be a bad person?” Zhao Ji sighed. “An older sister is like a mother. Our parents were busy working the fields to support the family. I was the one who raised Zhu Xiang… Ah?! You—you dare strike me?!”

Ying Zheng withdrew the hand he’d been hiding behind his back and, with a sideways swing, the back of his hand slapped Zhao Ji across the face.

Compared to boys his age, he was already towering and slender — and he now stood just a bit taller than the petite Zhao Ji.

“Who gave you the right to tarnish my uncle’s name.” Ying Zheng felt the pain on the back of his hand, but it made him feel a deep sense of satisfaction.

He knew he shouldn’t have done it. Even the great Ying Zheng had endured such treatment, at most imprisoning her for a while — and for the sake of being seen as a “filial son,” eventually released her and cared for her all her life.

A son striking his mother — no matter how wrong the mother might be — would always be judged as the one in the wrong.

His uncle had often reminded him: a man is naturally stronger than a woman, so a man must not strike a woman.

Men shouldn’t hit women. Sons shouldn’t hit their birth mothers. Anyone who did should be condemned by the world.

But it felt so damn good.

So good.

Why should he be condemned to death, simply because she was his birth mother — he couldn’t even slap her once?

Why?!

Ying Zheng’s unexpected action left Zhao Ji frozen in shock, her hand covering her cheek, eyes wide with disbelief.

The palace attendants, startled by the sound of the slap, looked up — and then quickly dropped to their knees, pressing their faces to the floor, trembling as if standing at the edge of a precipice.

The Crown Prince struck the Queen?! This must never get out. But if it didn’t, would any of them survive to keep it a secret?

“Hmph.” Ying Zheng snorted coldly and picked up a porcelain vase nearby.

While studying iron-smelting, his uncle had also researched ceramic-making techniques. Later, as iron production increased, porcelain was also successfully fired.

Fine porcelain required a special type of clay called kaolin, mixed with bone ash and other costly materials. After Qin’s King Zhao Xiang replaced palace vessels with porcelain, he was too reluctant to even break things in anger anymore.

But Zhao Ji had a temper. Porcelain in her palace often got “accidentally broken by servants.”

Considering that porcelain had been developed by his uncle and the craftsmen, she was always given replacements — perhaps a few scoldings, and if she broke too many, they just gave her sturdier bronze vessels instead.

Ying Zheng lifted the narrow-necked vase in his left hand and smashed it against his right — the hand he had used to slap his birth mother.

With a sharp crack, the vase shattered. His right hand instantly turned red and began to swell.

Frowning slightly, he clenched his injured hand. The fragments tore into his palm and fingers — fresh blood poured down his hand.

Zhao Ji was horrified, gasping loudly as she watched this gruesome act of self-harm. She backed away, shaking.

“Mother, do you remember why you abandoned me?” Ying Zheng was tasting a kind of pain he hadn’t felt since being raised by his uncle and aunt. His brows relaxed, and he smiled with nostalgia.

When his aunt beat him, it had always looked more dramatic than it was. After the spanking, he’d pull up his pants, wipe his tears, and go back to being naughty. Sometimes he didn’t even cry — just howled loudly.

This pain — it had been so long since he’d last felt it.

“You may not remember, but I do. I was born knowing. I remember everything,” Ying Zheng said, his nostalgic smile growing brighter. “Do you remember beating me when I tried to stop you from consorting with other men? Do you remember how the servants pushed me into the mud while you sat on the steps and cursed me? Do you remember…”

Ying Zheng licked his lips, recalling the hunger of his early years.

“All the servants looked down on me. I could only drink thin porridge every day. When I complained to you, what did you say? Hah… if not for hoping your prince would come take you back, you would’ve strangled me already — isn’t that what you said?”

Ying Zheng pointed at his temple with his bloody finger. “You knew back then, didn’t you? That I was born with exceptional memory. You even cursed me as a monster. So what, ten years later, you forgot I’m a monster?”

“Mother, do your lies really need witnesses to prove them false? I remember every word, every deed — all of it.”

“And that hostage you mentioned — wasn’t he the one you ordered to abduct my aunt into slavery? I killed him long ago. My aunt’s revenge — how could I have left it unavenged all this time?”

“If you weren’t my birth mother, if not for my uncle’s kindness — would you still be alive now?”

Zhao Ji kept retreating until her back pressed against the wall.

She remembered now — remembered what he had been like as a child.

When other children were still ignorant, her son could already speak clearly and logically. Even as a toddler, he had shown cruelty — always shouting to beat and kill those around him, even threatening her not to be close to other men.

She hadn’t initially planned to abandon her son. She had hoped that Prince Zichu, after returning to Qin, would remember him and take her back to live a good life.

But this son — this monster — was too terrifying.

No matter how she scolded him, no matter how the servants bullied him, he rarely cried. He would just glare at them with hateful eyes, as if he truly understood life and death, as if he truly wanted to kill them.

How could a child have such eyes?! If that wasn’t a monster, what was?!

So she became afraid — desperately wanted to flee from him.

She had intended to kill him. But she feared that if the monster died, it would come back as a ghost to take her life.

Then she found out her younger brother was still alive. She hurriedly abandoned the monster at his doorstep — shifting the curse onto him.

She thought: they’re blood relatives — the monster will target her brother instead. That way, she’d escape the curse.

At the time, people still believed deeply in ghosts and spirits. She made full preparations. Not only did she abandon the monster, she even invited spirit mediums to perform rituals, ensuring the disaster would be transferred.

Who would’ve thought — the monster not only didn’t become a calamity, but ended up as the Crown Prince of Qin? And her useless brother had actually climbed up in the world as Lord Changping, basking in the wealth and glory brought by the noble son she had birthed?

Zhao Ji was filled with resentment!

“You—you’re a monster! A monster!”

Panicked, Zhao Ji grabbed a small porcelain water vat and hurled it at Ying Zheng.

Ying Zheng didn’t dodge. The vat smashed against his forehead, splitting it open.

Blood streamed down his cheek, mixing with water to stain half his face red.

He knew the vat’s walls were thin. It wouldn’t cause serious harm.

If he wanted to sever ties with Zhao Ji completely — and not be bound by the duty of “filial piety” — this little injury was nothing.

“I remember… when I left, didn’t you invite someone to burn spirit papers at home?” Ying Zheng stepped forward.

“You made me drink talisman water, saying I was possessed, that drinking it would cure me. You promised you wouldn’t beat me again. You swore you wouldn’t consort with other men anymore — that we’d wait together for Father’s return.”

“No — what you actually promised was: after I woke up, you’d take me to find Father, and we’d flee Handan together, to Qin, to Xianyang.”

“I believed you.” Ying Zheng lowered his head and took another step forward.

“No… it wasn’t that I believed you. It’s just — besides you, Mother, who else could I trust? I could only cling to you to survive. Who else could I rely on?!”

So he had drunk that bowl of talisman water and drifted into unconsciousness.

When he awoke, dressed in thin clothes, he had been dumped at his uncle’s doorstep.

Zhao Ji, terrified by the bloodied face and hands of Ying Zheng, finally broke down and cried in earnest.

He looked like a ghost from hell — one who had died once and now clawed his way out of the grave.

She grabbed anything she could get her hands on and hurled it at Ying Zheng.

Some he dodged. Some he blocked. Some he simply took head-on.

Soon, his cheek was slashed, and his left hand was bleeding.

“If my birth mother wants to kill me — how could I run?” Ying Zheng sighed.

At that moment, the door burst open.

Ying Zheng turned to see Xunzi fiercely whipping the gatekeeper with his cane.

“A light cane, take it; a heavy cane, run! Zheng’er, have you forgotten everything I taught you?!” Xunzi shouted.

“Come here!” he roared.

Ying Zheng instinctively ran toward him and was enveloped in the wide sleeves of the hunched old man.