HCT – Chapter 18 Roasted Potatoes with Salt

Ying Zheng’s dislike for his uncle didn’t even last until bedtime.

Zhu Xiang performed just one magic trick, and Ying Zheng clung to him, repeatedly lowering his little head with the hat on it to nudge Zhu Xiang, begging him to do another one.

The magic Zhu Xiang performed was the simplest “disappearing bead” trick—just a matter of fast hands and a bit of visual misdirection.

Farming and fieldwork were boring, so Zhu Xiang had learned a bunch of quirky tricks by watching videos. He even used them occasionally in class to grab the attention of his sleepy students.

Say what you will about his actual teaching, but thanks to those tricks, his students always gave him high marks in evaluations, praising him as lively, funny, and good-looking.

“When it’s your birthday, Uncle will show you an even better trick!” Zhu Xiang said cheerfully, rubbing his nephew’s chubby little head.

Ying Zheng hugged Zhu Xiang’s waist and legs tightly. “Promise!”

“Promise,” Zhu Xiang replied, still patting his nephew’s head.

Children are full of energy—but they run out of it just as fast. After playing for a while, Ying Zheng was yawning nonstop and was carried off to bed by Xue.

Li Mu, Cai Ze, and Zhu Xiang were all still young and decided to stay up a bit longer to keep watch for the New Year.

Despite having just eaten roast lamb, the three grown men were hungry again. They lit a bonfire in a new spot and roasted some potatoes while warming themselves.

When men gather, the topic always turns to national affairs. The three chatted about Handan, the northern Xiongnu, and the other six kingdoms.

Zhu Xiang dipped a roasted potato in salt. “Do you think the wars will ever end?”

Cai Ze said, “Only when the world is unified will the wars end.”

Li Mu added, “For people of our generation, I’m afraid we won’t see the end of war.”

Zhu Xiang handed them each a potato. “What if I told you the wars will end in our generation?”

Cai Ze and Li Mu looked at him in surprise. Zhu Xiang rarely talked about national matters—he always found a way to steer the conversation back to farming.

Cai Ze laughed. “Oh? Finally dropping the act? Let’s hear it.”

Li Mu was curious. “The seven kingdoms have coexisted for centuries. Why are you so sure the chaos will end in our generation? Did you divine it?”

Zhu Xiang shook his head. “It’s not divination. The common people have reached the limit of what they can endure. If a strong state raises its banner with the goal of unification, morale in the others will be low. A powerful general might delay unification, but not prevent it. The momentum is unstoppable.”

Seeing the shock on their faces, Zhu Xiang shook his head with a faint smile. “Just treat it as me talking nonsense. In an era dominated by noble clans and scholars, talking about the will of the people probably sounds like a madman’s fantasy.”

Cai Ze and Li Mu fell silent, deep in thought.

Zhu Xiang bit into his potato.

It was soft and fluffy, and a little salt made it quite tasty.

Well… not that tasty. How good can roasted potatoes with salt be? Even diet food tastes better. At least use some oil, cumin, Sichuan peppercorns, and chili powder.

Zhu Xiang mentally ran through the food from his past life and sighed. He really wanted to recreate those dishes, but didn’t dare—for fear of becoming too famous and being forced into the palace.

“Your view is interesting,” Cai Ze finally said. “According to you, even commoners can determine the fate of the world?”

Li Mu quietly studied Zhu Xiang’s face, illuminated by the firelight.

“When the ones fighting are no longer the nobles’ private soldiers but the farmers themselves, then yes, the commoners can decide the outcome. Among the seven states, the one where commoners live best will have the strongest fighting force,” Zhu Xiang said, poking at the fire. “Honestly, all the commoners in the seven kingdoms have it bad—but some have it worse than others. It’s a race to the bottom.”

Cai Ze asked, “Why bring this up now?”

Zhu Xiang thought, Because Li Mu is about to head north to fight the Xiongnu, and Cai Ze has already decided to join Qin. This is probably the last time the three of us will be sitting around a fire, eating roasted potatoes.

“I just want to say, unification is inevitable. You two will soon be loyal to different rulers. If you find yourselves on the wrong side of the tide, don’t be too noble. Do your best, but if you can run, then run. Once unification is achieved, we’ll still need to think about how to help the battered people live better—and defend against the Xiongnu to the north.”

Zhu Xiang stirred the fire. “If you can avoid dying, then don’t die. You have to be alive to do more.”

Cai Ze was stunned, then chuckled. “So that’s what you’re getting at? Do I look like someone who’d die with my lord? General Li here might, though.”

Li Mu: “…Are you complimenting me or insulting me?”

Zhu Xiang and Cai Ze nodded together. “Complimenting.”

Li Mu gave a helpless laugh. “I… sigh. For a general, dying in battle is honorable. I can’t abandon my troops, can I? But you’re right. These days, victory doesn’t just depend on generals—it’s about morale. If you treat your soldiers well, they’ll fight for you. I’ll remember that.”

Zhu Xiang: “Ah, yeah. Dying in battle is sometimes unavoidable. But if it’s not a battlefield death, and it’s some foolish king trying to kill you—if you can run, then run. Going to Cai Ze wouldn’t be bad. He’s good at keeping himself alive.”

Cai Ze didn’t even blush. “Yes, I only seek wealth and power. I’m definitely the best at self-preservation among us.”

Zhu Xiang pointed at himself. “No, I’m the best at staying alive. I don’t even seek wealth. And even if I did, it would be through risky ventures.”

Cai Ze frowned. “Well, when you put it that way…”

Li Mu laughed so hard he nearly choked.

As a military man, he should’ve disdained such cowardice—but hearing his two friends argue over who was better at staying alive, he felt no disdain. Instead, he laughed uncontrollably.

“You better not let Xunzi hear any of this. He’d be furious,” Li Mu said, clutching his aching chest.

Cai Ze and Zhu Xiang exchanged glances and each grabbed one of Li Mu’s shoulders.

“If Master Xun finds out, it must’ve been you who tattled!”

“Hahahaha, I wouldn’t! Don’t tickle me—I’m ticklish!”

The bonfire crackled, sending sparks flying into the night sky.

A new year had arrived.

…

Due to the chaotic calendar systems at the time, not many people were celebrating what Zhu Xiang called “Spring Festival.”

In the village, most farmers followed the Xia calendar, with the New Year on the first day of the first lunar month. The Ji-surnamed feudal states still used the Zhou calendar, celebrating New Year on the first day of the eleventh month. Qin used the Zhuanxu calendar, with the year starting in the tenth month—but that month was still called the “tenth month,” not “first.”

Other feudal states each followed their own calendars.

In Zhao, the royal court held ancestor worship ceremonies on the first of the eleventh month, while most rural commoners held theirs on the first of the first lunar month. The government’s ceremonies required massive forced labor to build altars, and commoners were expected to stay away. Their staggered dates were a clever way for civilians to avoid conflict with official rituals.

On the first day of the first lunar month, Zhu Xiang went door to door delivering cooked potatoes. It was a novel New Year’s gift—and also a way to reassure people about planting them in idle land.

On the second day of the new year, it was Ying Zheng’s birthday. Zhu Xiang made sweet red bean paste and used it to fill peach-shaped birthday buns.

Ying Zheng held a bun in each hand, biting alternately from left and right, his mouth smeared with bean paste.

Zhu Xiang remembered how cautious he had been when he first arrived—taking small bites, licking his lips after each one, his little face spotless after meals.

At some point, his little nephew had grown increasingly wild while eating—more like a regular child now, stuffing his mouth and face full, frequently turning into a messy-faced little pup.

Is this just how it goes with kids? The more you dote on them, the naughtier they become?

“These buns are neat.” Lin Zhi pulled out a string of pearls from his robes. “These are Eastern pearls from Qi. Zheng’er, give Uncle Lin a bun and I’ll trade you these pearls.”

Ying Zheng looked up at the pearls, then down at the half-eaten bun in his hand. After a fierce internal struggle, he stuffed the half-eaten bun into Lin Zhi’s hand.

Lin Zhi: “…You could’ve given me one you hadn’t eaten.”

Ying Zheng’s eyes widened. “Oh, right!”

“There’s plenty on the table—why take the one he’s already bitten?” Zhu Xiang snatched the pearls from Lin Zhi and tucked them into the red cloth pouch on Ying Zheng’s chest. “Zheng’er, say thank you to Uncle Lin.”

Ying Zheng patted the red pouch on his chest. “Thank you, Uncle Lin.”

“Go ahead and spoil him—you’ll ruin your nephew,” Lin Zhi said, but didn’t mind the half-eaten bun. He took a bite. “Tastes great!”

“I’ll write the recipe down for you. Your cook can make as many as you want.” Zhu Xiang reached toward Lin Xiangru behind him. “Elder Lin, Master Lin, High Minister Lin, what birthday gift do you have for Zheng’er?”

Lin Xiangru pulled out a ruler and smacked Zhu Xiang’s outstretched hand before producing a scroll from his robe. “These are my notes on reading the Book of Songs. You should study it.”

The Book of Songs was the diplomatic code of the Spring and Autumn period. When envoys visited foreign courts, they rarely spoke plainly—instead, they quoted poems from the Book of Songs. It was essentially diplomatic jargon.

Though diplomats in the Warring States period had become more direct—men like Lin Xiangru would go so far as to draw swords on foreign rulers—Shi (the Book of Songs) still held immense value in non-lethal diplomatic contexts.

Saying “you should study the Book of Songs” at this time didn’t mean becoming a great poet in the modern sense. It meant learning the customs of various states and mastering diplomatic language—a necessary skill for any true scholar.

Lin Xiangru’s success in his mission to Qin had earned him high rank in Zhao. His expertise was diplomacy. His commentary on the Book of Songs could practically be considered a family treasure.

Zhu Xiang immediately said, “This gift is too much!”

Lin Xiangru shot him a glare. “No one in my household can understand the Book of Songs, and you certainly can’t either. Should I keep it to be buried with me if I don’t give it to Zheng’er?”

Zhu Xiang sighed. “Tsk, Lian Li is too useless. Looks like only my Zheng’er can inherit Elder Lian’s legacy. Zheng’er, say thank you to Elder Lian!”

Ying Zheng tried stuffing the scroll into the red cloth bag. “Thank you, Elder Lian.”

“That won’t fit. I’ll hold onto it for now,” Zhu Xiang said, half-laughing and half-exasperated.

Ying Zheng reminded Zhu Xiang, “Uncle, don’t forget to write it down!”

“I won’t, I won’t.” After putting the scroll away, Zhu Xiang turned expectantly toward Xun Kuang.

This opportunistic uncle, taking advantage of his nephew’s birthday to “collect gifts,” didn’t dare face Xunzi’s wrath and could only give him a look, urging him to offer a present.

Xun Kuang glanced at Zhu Xiang. “Just a scroll? I’ll gift Zheng’er a whole cartful. That should keep him reading for years.”

Lin Xiangru snorted, “Perfuctory.”

Xun Kuang replied, “You give one scroll and you’re not perfunctory, but I give a cart and I am?”

Seeing the two about to quarrel again, Zhu Xiang quickly raised Ying Zheng in a bow to stop the impending clash between the two elders.

Seeing it was the birthday boy’s day, both men gave a cold snort and let it go.

Zhu Xiang had never celebrated his own birthday. He and Xue only quietly celebrated each other’s birthdays at home. This was the first time he held a banquet at home—for Ying Zheng’s birthday.

He hoped that a relatively grand celebration could bring some happiness to Zheng’er, who had been abandoned by his parents.

The painful parts of childhood couldn’t be undone, but Zhu Xiang wanted to make sure that, from now on, every day of Zheng’er’s youth was filled with joy. If his childhood were happier, perhaps when he grew up to become the First Emperor, he might be a little more merciful to the people.

Zhu Xiang had always been cautious and never accepted gifts from commoners.

But today, for Ying Zheng’s birthday, he accepted gifts for the first time—but only a few; most of them would be returned later.

When the villagers saw that Zhu Xiang was finally willing to accept gifts, they came rushing from miles around.

A basket of millet, a few eggs, a hunted pheasant, fish from the river… Alongside these simple foods were handmade goods like cloth scraps, straw sandals, and wicker baskets. Some even invited literate people to write birthday wishes for Zhu Xiang’s little nephew, wishing him health and longevity.

Seeing the pile of gifts like a small mountain, Ying Zheng’s mouth gaped open in astonishment.

“These are all for me?” he tugged at his uncle’s sleeve repeatedly, asking.

Zhu Xiang ruffled his hair. “Whose birthday is it in our household if not yours?”

Ying Zheng was puzzled. “But they don’t even know me. Why give me gifts? Is it to curry favor with you, Uncle?”

Zhu Xiang tapped his head lightly. “They’re doing it to make me happy, but it’s not flattery. Zheng’er, even if they didn’t bring gifts, I’d still teach them how to farm.”

Ying Zheng frowned deeply.

Zhu Xiang picked him up and said, “Remember the time you picked the prettiest potato flower and gave it to your auntie? Was that to curry favor with her?”

Ying Zheng hugged his head, a little confused, unsure whether to nod.

“You just wanted to make her happy, right? Not to exchange it for anything,” Zhu Xiang said.

Ying Zheng seemed to understand a little. “So they want to make you happy, but don’t expect anything in return?”

Zhu Xiang nodded. “Some relationships are transactional, but not all are purely about benefits. Take your time to watch and learn. You’re still young, no rush.”

Ying Zheng nodded, half understanding.

“Are you happy receiving gifts?” Zhu Xiang asked.

Ying Zheng nodded hard.

Zhu Xiang smiled and rubbed their cheeks together. “That’s all that matters! Now, let Uncle write everything down. Let’s use the gifts Zheng’er received today to treat the neighbors to a good meal, how about it?”

Ying Zheng was reluctant at first. It was his first time receiving so many gifts.

But when he saw his uncle’s bright smile, he nodded without realizing it. “Okay, Zheng’er will treat everyone.”

Zhu Xiang lifted him high and shouted, “Today, my Zheng’er is treating the whole village! Anyone with time, come lend a hand! We’ll set up some tables outside—everyone gets a share!”

Villagers immediately raised their hands to volunteer. Some slightly wealthier ones even ran home to fetch more food.

Xiang He squeezed through the crowd. “I’ve made lots of tables and stools. Let’s use stools today so no one dirties their clothes.”

Zhu Xiang looked toward Xun Kuang.

Xun Kuang snorted. “Do as you like.”

Xiang He took out a jade puzzle ring from his robe. “Birthday gift.”

The jade puzzle, two interlocking rings, was a favorite toy among noble youths. Though not made of the prized Lantian jade, the green jade Xiang He used matched Qin aesthetics well.

Ying Zheng was delighted and immediately started playing with it.

Xun Kuang narrowed his eyes and snorted coldly, but in the end, didn’t expose Xiang He’s true identity in front of Lin Xiangru.

Instead, he shifted his gaze toward a middle-aged farmer helping Zhu Xiang gather the gifts placed on the ground by the villagers.

The farmer hesitated for a long while, rummaging in his robe before finally biting the bullet and taking out a scroll. “Lord Zhu Xiang, could you accept this scroll?”

“Ah, of course.” Zhu Xiang didn’t even question how a farmer came to have a scroll. He tucked it away immediately. “By the way, your name’s Xu Ming, isn’t it?”

Xu Ming looked puzzled. “Yes… Why do you ask, Lord Zhu Xiang?”

“No reason. I just suddenly remembered someone by that name and asked casually.”

Zhu Xiang had long been trying to figure out who Xu Ming was—the man who had once asked if he belonged to the School of Agrarianism. Now he was sure: it was the same “Old Xu.”

At the time, when Xu said “Agrarian School,” Zhu Xiang had thought he just meant people who farmed, not one of the Hundred Schools of Thought.

Since Xu Ming appeared on the system’s goodwill rankings, he was probably indeed part of the Agrarian School—and likely a prominent member.

But as for the mysterious figure called “Great Master,” Zhu Xiang still had no clue. None of the people around him had “Ju” in their names. Could it be some powerful figure who’d heard of him but whom he didn’t know?

Zhu Xiang scratched his head and dismissed the thought—it didn’t really matter anyway.

In the countryside, it was traditional to celebrate a child’s birthday with a feast for the whole village. Everyone knew Zhu Xiang had no children of his own, and now that he’d adopted a nephew—someone who would care for him in his old age—it would’ve seemed suspicious if he hadn’t held a celebration.

Lian Po originally wasn’t interested in a child’s birthday and had only sent a gift.

But upon hearing about the village feast, his restless nature kicked in, and he rode over on horseback to join the fun—earning another glare from Lin Xiangru.

Li Mu’s household had many cattle and sheep from Yanmen Commandery. Since he would soon leave Handan, he sent them all to Zhu Xiang’s home as birthday gifts for Ying Zheng.

Cai Ze somehow procured a sharp iron sword and gave it to Ying Zheng—only for Zhu Xiang to hang it at his own waist, making Ying Zheng pout.

“Uncle, remember, that’s mine!” Ying Zheng reminded him.

Zhu Xiang grinned. “Got it, got it. Come on, Zheng’er, let Uncle show you a sword dance!”

Xun Kuang scoffed. “Don’t embarrass yourself. Go cook.”

Li Mu laughed. “Zheng’er wants a sword dance? I’ll do one for you.”

Lian Po tightened his belt. “What’s the point of a sword dance? Let’s spar.”

Li Mu: “Huh? Wait—ah—!”

Ying Zheng sat on a high chair, kicking his little legs and swaying both his body and head as he watched the lively birthday feast.

…

At the village entrance, Lord Pingyang, Zhao Bao, had his carriage stopped beneath a large tree. Standing on the frame, he gazed at the distant bustle.

“My lord, why don’t you have Chancellor Lian receive you?” the coachman asked in confusion.

Zhao Bao shook his head. “Let’s not disturb him… sigh.”

The coachman didn’t understand why his master had traveled to Lin Xiangru’s fief only to watch from afar and sigh.

“Let’s go back,” Zhao Bao said after a few more sighs, deciding not to interrupt Lin Xiangru.

Not only was Lin Xiangru hosting a birthday party for a Qin prince held hostage, even Lian Po and the Li family’s son from Yanmen Commandery had come. That deeply worried Zhao Bao.

Or was it not about the Qin prince at all? Was it truly because Lin Xiangru regarded this Zhu Xiang as his own kin?

Then why would Lian Po and the Li family’s son disregard their status to attend a commoner’s nephew’s birthday?

And what about the villagers? Were they honoring Zhu Xiang only because he was under Chancellor Lian’s wing?

Zhao Bao recalled how Lin Xiangru had repeatedly recommended Zhu Xiang to the king—only to refuse when the king finally agreed to appoint him as an official.

“Was it because Lin Xiangru didn’t want Zhu Xiang to become a palace eunuch? Or was he upset the king rewarded him with rare plants rather than recognizing the agricultural achievements?” Zhao Bao muttered to himself.

He rubbed his temples and said to the coachman, “We’re not going back to the residence. Head to Lord Pingyuan.”

The coachman obeyed.

Zhao Bao sat in the carriage with his eyes closed in thought.

Now that Zhu Xiang was uncle to the Qin hostage prince, he had entered the ranks of the shi class. Recommending him as an official was now justifiable.

The king trusted his elder brother, Lord Pingyuan, more than him. And Lord Pingyuan was known for taking in talented retainers. It would be more suitable for him to recommend Zhu Xiang.

Zhao Bao sighed. “One Zhu Xiang is insignificant. What matters is not letting Lin Xiangru and Lian Po become estranged from the king.”

He had long urged King Zhao to show Lin Xiangru some respect by appointing Zhu Xiang to a minor post.

Lin Xiangru had never sought official positions for his kin; they all advanced on their own. Now, for once, he was asking a favor. Even if Zhu Xiang was a commoner, as long as Lin Xiangru recognized him as family, that status didn’t matter.

But the king’s favored courtiers opposed it.

With a new king came new courtiers. After the death of the late king and queen, the king’s favorites sought to replace old ministers like Lin Xiangru and Lian Po and naturally opposed everything they stood for.

Though Zhao Bao knew all the ins and outs, he preferred to keep his head down and not expose them.