HCT – Chapter 185 The Dream of Establishing a Family and Career

Zheng Guo was a burly man with a dark face and a full beard, his expression tinged with sorrow. No wonder he looked so troubled—he had been captured from Han and was now separated from his homeland by mountains and rivers. How could he not feel sorrow?

Originally, Zheng Guo had come to Qin in 247 BCE to build a canal. Even after his identity as a spy was exposed, he still managed to persuade Qin’s ruler and ministers to let him continue the project. That showed he had considerable eloquence. He was clearly not some lowly commoner, but a scholar from a family with learning and tradition.

In the chaotic Spring and Autumn and Warring States era, even descendants of kings often fell into peasantry, tilling the fields. For a scholar to fall to the level of a craftsman was nothing unusual.

When Zhu Xiang summoned Zheng Guo, he also called over the Mohist and Agriculturalist followers who had been by his side all along.

The once tightly organized Mohist and Agriculturalist schools had already disbanded. Xu Ming and Xiang He had been their last leaders. This was a difficult decision they had made so that their schools’ ideas could continue to be passed down.

Now they remained at the Academy of Xianyang, hoping—like Xunzi—to continue their teachings by becoming professors there.

Xu Ming was researching hybrid breeding like Zhu Xiang, while the Mohists pored over the physics and chemistry knowledge Zhu Xiang had written down for them. Besides fulfilling Zhu Xiang’s wish of turning techniques into true knowledge, they were also rewriting books—trying to reshape the simple philosophies of the Mohists and Agriculturalists into something rulers could actually use as “tools.”

It was pitiful to become nothing more than “tools,” but if not even that, then even the finest philosophy was no more than an illusion—beautiful to look at but ultimately empty.

They had no choice but to accept this.

Although the Agriculturalist and Mohist organizations had disbanded and had no official “leaders,” in the hearts of their disciples, Zhu Xiang was their final leader, and they voluntarily followed him.

So even though Zhu Xiang had no “retainers” in name, his household was full of servants and attendants—most of them Agriculturalist or Mohist disciples who had brought their families along to blend in and snatch up work.

King Zhu of Qin knew well that the Agriculturalists and Mohists would never truly dissolve. For the sake of stability, he tacitly allowed it.

He was not King Zhao of Qin—he would not insist on replacing everyone around Zhu Xiang with his own men, making Zhu Xiang feel suffocated.

And once Qin King Zichu inherited the throne, there was even less concern—he directly told Zhu Xiang to take charge of his own people.

Thus, if Zhu Xiang raised his arm and gave a shout now, the hundreds of household servants around him would draw their weapons and show the world what it meant for the Hundred Schools of Thought to “mix with society.”

After all, both the Agriculturalists and Mohists had once reached the status of “not Confucian, then Mohist / not Confucian, then Agriculturalist.”

What’s more, Zhu Xiang also had quite a number of Confucian disciples at his side.

So when Zheng Guo’s sorrowful face saw the two “servants” by Zhu Xiang’s side holding swords in their arms, his expression froze. He no longer dared to look mournful and instead forced a flattering smile.

“Go ahead, don’t be nervous. Take a look at this map first—I want to construct several irrigation canals in Guangling,” Zhu Xiang said. “I’ve heard that you have great talent in waterworks. If you do well, I’ll recommend you to the King of Qin to serve as an official gongfeng (court engineer).”

Zheng Guo’s flattering expression stiffened.

Zhu Xiang smiled at him and continued: “I heard you once came from a family of craftsmen who served the Han court. If you truly have ability, you can also become a gongfeng in Qin. When you go to Xianyang, if you miss your family, you can bring them over once you’ve set up your household.”

Zheng Guo’s mind went blank for a moment, then his sun-darkened face flushed with excitement. “Thank you, Lord Zhu Xiang!”

Zhu Xiang said, “This is Jiao Yun, who is also skilled in waterworks. He is a scholar of the Mohist school.”

Jiao Yun set down the sword he was holding in his arms and nodded at Zheng Guo.

Zheng Guo, seeing Jiao Yun’s sharp, warlike demeanor, broke into a cold sweat.

Good heavens—this one looked every bit a Mohist disciple, fierce and intimidating.

Zhu Xiang said to Jiao Yun, “Sit down as well.”

Jiao Yun only sat after Zheng Guo awkwardly perched himself, but he kept the sword resting on his knees, as if threatening someone. The sight left Zhu Xiang rather helpless.

Jiao Yun was not originally a Qin Mohist but a follower of the Mohist Juzi (Grand Master) from Chu.

The Qin Mohists and Chu Mohists had discussed merging. Now that the Mohist organization was dissolved, the Chu Mohists had not left but followed Zhu Xiang to southern Qin. Since they were Chu natives, it was like returning to their homeland to work.

The Qin Mohists were mostly craftsmen, the Chu Mohists mostly warriors, and the Qi Mohists mostly debaters.

At present, the Qi Mohists lived comfortably at the Jixia Academy, while the Qin and Chu Mohists had either taken up posts across Qin as officials or—if they disliked being bound—stayed at Zhu Xiang’s side as nominal “servants,” but in reality, private retainers.

So when people said Zhu Xiang did not take retainers, it was merely that he rejected the formal title.

The King of Qin turned a blind eye, and others dared not speak.

Even if someone mentioned it before King Zhu, he would only say, “We’ll discuss it later.”

But if it were Qin King Zichu, he would simply have the person executed in the marketplace.

In Xianyang, there were even rumors. Many once thought that during the reigns of King Zhao of Qin and King Renwen of Qin, Lord Changping had already enjoyed enough favor. But now, with Qin King Zichu on the throne and Crown Prince Zheng by his side, they finally understood what it meant for someone’s power to be overwhelming.

When Qin King Zichu heard these songs sung during his tours, he nodded repeatedly. Yes, well said. Zhu Xiang, do you hear that? Better reflect.

Jiao Yun was one of the Chu Mohists who had no desire to take office. He was exceptionally skilled—able to draw a strong bow while galloping on horseback. General Li Mu once said that if Jiao Yun went north, he would make an excellent commander in hunting down the nomads. But Jiao Yun had no such ambition. He preferred to let his martial skill remain hidden.

This time, as Zhu Xiang set out for the north bank of the Yangtze, Li Mu had dragged Jiao Yun out from the kitchens—where he was chopping meat—and made him change clothes to serve as Zhu Xiang’s personal guard.

Li Mu instructed him that if the Chu truly lost their senses and attacked Guangling, then no matter whether Zhu Xiang agreed or not, Jiao Yun was to knock him unconscious if necessary and bring him back safely.

Jiao Yun did not nod, but simply said he would protect Lord Zhu Xiang well.

Zhu Xiang silently accepted this arrangement.

But whenever he saw Jiao Yun carrying that long sword everywhere, always looking ready to strike at any moment, he felt uneasy. He didn’t know if others were afraid of Jiao Yun, but he himself was—afraid Jiao Yun might injure him by mistake.

Although Jiao Yun was a Chu Mohist warrior, that was only one “inclination.” As a Mohist scholar, even if not as learned as Xun Qing, he was still a “man of letters,” not just a brawler.

Jiao Yun had solid knowledge in hydrology, hydraulics, and geology, skilled at designing ships and dams. His expertise overlapped considerably with the work of building irrigation canals.

Li Mu had chosen Jiao Yun as Zhu Xiang’s guard with this very point in mind.

Although Jiao Yun might seem frightening at first—perhaps from being accustomed to chopping all sorts of meats in the kitchen, so that he carried a constant aura of killing intent—once he began discussing technical matters, he turned into a solid, honest, almost clumsy man, like a completely different person.

Zheng Guo, whose heart had been racing from fear, gradually calmed down and began seriously discussing things with Jiao Yun.

The area of the Yangtze River Delta was much smaller now than in Zhu Xiang’s past life. Without having actually surveyed the land, Zhu Xiang would not impose his previous-life knowledge on this world. He merely listened, occasionally stating his needs, but refrained from giving technical advice.

Zheng Guo’s expertise was indeed solid. He casually brought up techniques that would count as “black technology” for this era—for instance, using flood irrigation to wash away saline-alkali soil.

Jiao Yun, meanwhile, was thoroughly familiar with the terrain around Guangling. It seemed that back when he had roamed as a Chu swordsman, he had spent some time in this region.

After just half a day of exchanges, Zhu Xiang could not yet obtain a full plan. He only wanted to test Zheng Guo’s abilities, let Zheng Guo see his side’s capabilities and requirements, and lay a better foundation for future work.

Once Zheng Guo left with an excited look on his face to rest, Zhu Xiang asked, “You’re quite familiar with Guangling?”

Jiao Yun’s eyes flickered, and he answered honestly: “I count as a Guangling native. But after making enemies in my hometown, I fled to Qianzhong Commandery.”

He paused, then added: “My enemies and family are all gone. I won’t bring trouble to Lord Zhu Xiang.”

Zhu Xiang laughed: “Look at my position—what kind of trouble could truly count as trouble?”

Jiao Yun chuckled simply: “Indeed. My troubles are nothing compared to the ones Lord Zhu Xiang invites for himself.”

Zhu Xiang: “…”

He coughed lightly and changed the subject: “What do you think of Zheng Guo?”

Jiao Yun replied: “As an artisan, his fundamentals are solid. But his lack of true respect for Lord Zhu Xiang is unpleasant.”

Zhu Xiang frowned slightly: “He seemed quite respectful to me, observing all the proper courtesies.”

Jiao Yun did not press the matter and said, “Perhaps I was being too suspicious.”

But inwardly he thought: It wasn’t about the outward forms of courtesy. Zheng Guo did not hold genuine respect for Lord Zhu Xiang. Still, that wasn’t a major issue. Perhaps he simply could not comprehend Lord Zhu Xiang’s noble character. Being an ordinary man, there was no need to mind it.

Zhu Xiang, hearing this, did not dwell on it, and continued chatting with Jiao Yun about the lands around Guangling, pondering where to begin.

When Zheng Guo returned to the compound where the artisans lived, he was immediately surrounded by his companions.

“You’ve met Lord Changping? Is he kind?” they asked nervously.

Zheng Guo thought for a while and said: “This Lord Zhu Xiang is not as the Hans say. Rather, he matches the way other states describe him.”

His companions reflected on Zheng Guo’s words, then sighed in relief: “Then I can rest assured.”

Zheng Guo thought to himself: Not only reassured—if Lord Zhu Xiang was truly as people from other states claimed, the man most able to embody the word ‘benevolence,’ then their future might not be so bleak.

Indeed, at this moment Zheng Guo did not feel heartfelt respect for Zhu Xiang. Respect wasn’t like money—not everyone had to like him. Moreover, Han’s own evaluation of Zhu Xiang played a role.

Zhu Xiang’s fame came from Changping, but the Battle of Changping stemmed from Qin and Han’s conflict over Shangdang. By the time of Changping itself, Han was no longer involved, but the Shangdang War had already destroyed Han’s chance at hegemony. Thus, some Han scholars resented Zhu Xiang for the fame he gained from Changping.

In Han, Zhu Xiang’s reputation was rather like those comments Zhu Xiang himself had once seen online in his past life: “He managed to keep his disguise so long without slipping, judge him by his deeds not his heart—fine, let’s call him a gentleman then.”

But today, after meeting him—even briefly—Zheng Guo realized that Han’s view was skewed.

Zhu Xiang treated even war captives reduced to slavery like himself with genuine kindness, offering promises that directly met their needs. How could such a man be a hypocrite?

“Lord Zhu Xiang said if we complete the irrigation canal in Guangling, he will lift our slave contracts and let us serve as state retainers under Qin’s government.” Zheng Guo said solemnly, “This is our one chance. We must do it well.”

The artisans around him did not retort or ask what if Lord Zhu Xiang went back on his word.

Even if no promise had been given, as slaves they would still have been forced to work hard under the lash. Now, with a promise, it was far better than nothing.

By the very first day, their doubts had already vanished.

Zhu Xiang moved them to a more spacious residence, provided free paper, brushes, and tools for their work, and even had people take their measurements, saying new clothes would be distributed.

Qin artisans had to look presentable, so that the newly incorporated Chu people could feel some hope when they saw them.

It was Xue Ji herself who took people to measure the artisans for their new clothes.

When she returned, she told Zhu Xiang that among the widows she had brought along, a few had taken a liking to some artisans, and asked if she could play matchmaker.

Zhu Xiang’s mouth twitched: “Madam, that is for you to decide.”

Xue Ji nodded: “Very well.”

Zhu Xiang smiled faintly and bent back over his desk, burdened with documents. Compared to later eras, the pre-Qin customs were more open—if a woman fancied a man, she simply asked the master’s household for permission. Quite refreshing.

…

Thanks to Lord Lian sending over these artisans, not only had their lives improved, but some even formed new families through Xue Ji’s matchmaking. They worked all the harder as a result.

Most of these craftsmen already had wives and children back home, but finding new wives and children after relocating was normal. Both sides would simply accept it—eventually, everyone would live together as one household.

Xue Ji had asked the women who wanted to marry craftsmen. They all said they just wanted someone to rely on now. To them, craftsmen—who had skills—were far more dependable than ordinary men.

As for the matters of years or decades into the future, who could possibly think that far ahead? For now, the plan was to make use of the man’s craft to build up some family wealth, then have a child. With that, there would be security. Later, if things didn’t work out, they could split. After all, women now had their own fields and could register as independent households. Even with children, they could survive.

So, in their eyes, a craftsman with a trade was far better than a farmer. As for family background—irrelevant. Madam didn’t need to worry about that.

Xue Ji understood commoner women better than anyone. After asking about their needs, she stopped concerning herself with things noblewomen might fuss over. She only investigated whether the craftsmen had violent tempers. If not, then she approved the matches.

The women she kept at her side were the most skillful and resourceful in the workshops. If the craftsmen were later recruited as state artisans, they would at least hold official rank and receive salaries. Following such men would certainly make life better than for ordinary commoners. No wonder these women plucked up their courage, bashfully asking Xue Ji to play matchmaker early—grabbing hold of this chance.

They were indeed shrewd.

Even Zheng Guo remarried, taking as wife a childless widow skilled in weaving. His clothing and shoes were renewed, and a cheerful smile returned to his face.

With so much land and so many empty houses available, Zhu Xiang reorganized the housing arrangements so married craftsmen had private quarters—giving them small homes of their own rather than communal lodgings.

The craftsmen were moved to tears, their efficiency soaring.

In just ten days, Zheng Guo had redrawn the topography and hydrology maps around Guangling City and presented his proposal.

First, Zheng Guo wanted to remodel the Han Canal—making Zhu Xiang’s temples throb.

As expected of Zheng Guo, his plans were grand—impossible to finish in less than three to five years.

Zhu Xiang said, “The Han Canal is still under Chu’s control. Wait until Qin destroys Chu, then you can repair it.”

Zheng Guo rubbed his hands eagerly. “Lord Zhu Xiang, it’s a deal! You must recommend me when the time comes!”

Now that his living conditions had improved and his future seemed bright, Zheng Guo’s temperament had become sunnier. In Zhu Xiang’s presence, he no longer called him “Lord Changping,” instead showing signs of treating him as his patron.

Zhu Xiang laughed. “Of course.”

Indeed, any waterworks specialist would dream of digging a canal between the Huai and Yangtze Rivers.

Zheng Guo might even be imagining one between the Yellow and Huai Rivers, linking the Yellow, Huai, and Yangtze into a single network.

Sorry—but Qin couldn’t afford such manpower and funds yet. Zhu Xiang could only hope Zheng Guo wouldn’t open his mouth too wide with unrealistic fantasies.

Reluctantly, Zheng Guo produced his first irrigation plan.

This one was practical: modifying only the waterways near Guangling City.

With its lakes and dense river network, the area needed only short irrigation channels to bring water into the villages.

Looking at the plan, Zhu Xiang nearly facepalmed.

Why did Zheng Guo seem exactly like a modern-day contractor—presenting one grandiose, impossible scheme for the client to reject, just to highlight his existence—before submitting the real, feasible plan?

That first grand scheme was practically flawless. No way Zheng Guo hadn’t realized the Han Canal couldn’t be altered yet.

Zhu Xiang glanced at him. “Slippery.”

The still-young Zheng Guo scratched his head, smiling slyly. “I just felt that if I only showed you these small works, they wouldn’t demonstrate my true skill. I had to let Lord Zhu Xiang see what I was really capable of.”

“Fine, fine, I get it.” Zhu Xiang frowned sternly. “When you finish the irrigation channels in South Qin, I’ll recommend you to Guanzhong to build a great canal to benefit the whole region’s farmland. We’ll name it the Zhengguo Canal.”

Zheng Guo grew excited. “Lord Zhu Xiang, are you jesting with me?”

Zhu Xiang couldn’t keep a straight face. Smiling, he said, “I’m not. Guanzhong truly needs such a canal. If you have the ability, you can do it.”

Zheng Guo clenched his fists. “I’ll succeed! Just you wait, Lord Zhu Xiang! I’ll prove my talent!”

Watching Zheng Guo leave with his scrolls in high spirits, Zhu Xiang covered his forehead.

What’s with “Lord Zhu Xiang, just you wait”—are you challenging me to a duel?

Jiao Yun, standing silently behind him as usual, asked, “Lord Zhu Xiang trusts him greatly?”

Zhu Xiang glanced at the half-heart on his favorability list. “I’m good at judging people. But Jiao Yun, if you’d like to go, I’d recommend you too.”

Jiao Yun immediately shook his head. “Not going.”

Zhu Xiang sighed helplessly.

He believed Jiao Yun was talented, but the man was simply lazy and disliked being bound by officialdom. Nothing to do but let him keep chopping meat in the kitchen.

If Jiao Yun weren’t following him, he’d probably end up monopolizing a street in some county town as a full-time butcher.

Zhu Xiang asked, “Look at Zheng Guo—once he married, his whole spirit changed. Don’t you want to try as well?”

Without lifting his brows, Jiao Yun said, “No.”

Zhu Xiang nagged like an old parent. “Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone to share life with? If you want to marry, I’ll personally play matchmaker.”

Jiao Yun muttered, exasperated, “Lord Zhu Xiang, do you dislike me eating too many kitchen scraps? Are you trying to drive me away?”

With a feudal face of “marriage cures everything,” Zhu Xiang said, “No. It’s just that you have talent but refuse to use it—it’s a waste. Maybe after marrying, you’d aspire to a career?”

He was simply annoyed that people close to him like Jiao Yun didn’t even appear on his favorability list.

To avoid arousing the Qin King’s suspicion, Zhu Xiang had deliberately acted aloof since arriving in Qin, never daring to “farm favor” with historical figures. The system was practically useless now.

If only he could draw corn or sweet potato seeds… Or at least some more varieties of rice, wheat, millet, and cotton.

Single strains degenerated too easily.

Jiao Yun remained unmoved. “Don’t want to. Too much trouble. Would Lord Zhu Xiang abandon me when I’m old?”

Zhu Xiang sighed. “No.”

A faint smile touched Jiao Yun’s lips. “Then it’s settled.”

“Ah!” Zhu Xiang groaned. Another failed persuasion attempt!

Still, he wasn’t too worried.

That “feeding four hundred million people in the Kang-Qian era was thanks to corn and potatoes” claim was false. It was really the laboring people’s intensive cultivation of rice and wheat. He’d repeated that explanation so many times he was tired of it. Naturally, he didn’t put blind faith in corn and sweet potatoes himself.

Corn and sweet potatoes were only supplementary famine foods, like pumpkins—adding to the diet in lean years or on poor soils. Nice to have, but not essential.

Pumpkins and potatoes were actually better famine relief crops. Sweet potatoes looked like high yield, but their water content was too high. When converted to dry grain equivalent, yields were about the same as rice or wheat.

Still, sweet potatoes tasted delicious—the leaves and flowers too. Thinking about it made Zhu Xiang hungry.

Li Mu had a special fondness for pumpkins. In his Guangling residence, he planted them, and they had grown lushly. Zhu Xiang picked pumpkin tips, flowers, and a tender young pumpkin, cooked a whole meal—and then realized Ying Zheng wasn’t there. With no one to devour the food, it was far too much.

Zhu Xiang sighed. “Without Zheng’er eating heartily, the dishes don’t even smell half as good. He’s the king of mukbang!”

Xue Ji laughed so hard she doubled over.

Zhu Xiang said, “Since we can’t waste food, send some to Fuqiu and Jiao Yun—oh, right, Fuqiu isn’t back yet. He said he was going to visit every village in Guangling to gather information on land and taxes. Why is he still gone?”

Hearing Zhu Xiang call Fuqiu—a youth nearly his age—“child,” Xue Ji bent over laughing again.

Fortunately, Jiao Yun also ate heartily, so nothing went to waste.

After stuffing himself, Zhu Xiang walked around the courtyard to digest. Tired, he sat on a stone bench to rest. Without realizing it, he fell asleep at the stone table—dreaming he woke up and continued strolling.

At that moment, someone visited. Without announcement, they entered the little courtyard full of pumpkin vines and vegetables.

“Lord Zhu Xiang, it’s been so long!” The newcomer’s face lit with joy, lively and dignified, just as when they parted.

Zhu Xiang was stunned. “Lord Pingyang?!”