HCT – Chapter 194 Roasted Sweet Potatoes After Autumn

When Zhu Xiang summoned Ying Zheng back, the young prince had already prepared a draft in his head for scolding his uncle for being reckless with his own safety.

Yet the moment he returned, he ended up being the one scolded by Zhu Xiang for an entire afternoon, unable to get a word in edgewise.

Your uncle is still your uncle.

Ying Zheng’s eyes went blank, rolling so far back that only the whites showed.

But no matter how impolite a face Ying Zheng pulled, Zhu Xiang refused to stop nagging. From crossing the Yangtze by night to chasing down to the Huai River on horseback, he dragged out every detail to repeat and repeat again.

When Zhu Xiang learned that Ying Zheng had actually gone to the battlefield, he nearly fainted on the spot.

How old is my nephew? Such a young child—how could he possibly be on a battlefield?

Li Mu!!!

Li Mu had already slipped back to the warship, pretending he had never returned from Wu Commandery.

He stood at the prow, hands clasped behind his back, heaving a long sigh.

He hadn’t expected Xiang Yan’s army to collapse so quickly, and he had rushed too far ahead with Ying Zheng in tow. If Zhu Xiang found out, there would be no avoiding a beating.

Once an army breaks, the larger its numbers, the faster it scatters. At that point, just a handful of pursuers is enough to keep them running.

But pursuing is one thing; destroying them entirely is another. Herding them like sheep posed no danger, but trying to annihilate them would only provoke desperate resistance—“never chase a cornered foe.”

The limit of pursuit was the Huai River. Once the routed soldiers were cut off there, they would truly become “cornered prey.”

Li Mu had calculated well—dealing Chu a heavy blow, ensuring that Xiang Yan would lose favor with the Chu king after this defeat, and at the same time giving Ying Zheng an enormous military achievement.

At just fourteen years of age, the crown prince had personally led ten thousand men in pursuit of a hundred thousand Chu troops, chased them across half the Chu heartland, and only withdrew after reaching the Huai River. Such a feat by a Qin royal heir was enough to earn a lordship.

Yet Li Mu also knew, no matter how perfect his calculations, Zhu Xiang’s response would only be: “I don’t care, I don’t care,” followed by a furious beating.

“Ah…” Li Mu sighed again, considering whether he ought to simply turn his ship around and sail back to Nanyue.

Evasion.

Zhu Xiang’s mood was exactly as Li Mu guessed.

When he learned that Li Mu had disguised himself as a guard and stayed by Ying Zheng’s side the whole time, only leaving once the boy had returned, he understood that Li Mu had confidence in keeping him safe.

But what if something had happened?!

Zhu Xiang’s hands shook with rage, his vision went dark again.

Ying Zheng, who had been putting on a dramatic display of rolling his eyes, was so startled he leapt out of his chair, rushing to pat his uncle’s back to steady his breath.

“Water! Bring warm water!” Ying Zheng cried in panic. “Uncle, drink, take a breath. Don’t be angry, don’t be angry. I swear, no next time—I won’t go to the battlefield again.”

Having indulged in the thrill of being a general once, Ying Zheng no longer had the urge to keep doing it.

He knew his own safety was most important. As crown prince, there was no need for him to risk his life for military merits. This time had simply been a convenient opportunity to harvest a little glory in passing.

“I really didn’t want to go, but my teacher said it was an excellent chance, so I went along. At the time, how could I disobey the general’s orders?” To soothe his uncle, Ying Zheng immediately “sold out” Li Mu. “Uncle, when you see my teacher, you should scold him properly—it was far too dangerous!”

Zhu Xiang nearly choked on his water.

He cast a speechless glance at his nephew.

Ying Zheng looked completely innocent.

Zhu Xiang’s head throbbed—he wasn’t sure if it was from anger or from sheer exasperation.

Was there something wrong with the way he raised this child? Knowing Ying Zheng’s temperament, Li Mu could not be more than five parts at fault—it must have been Ying Zheng himself insisting on going to the battlefield, and Li Mu had merely come up with a way to make it possible.

As if I were the one begging Li Mu for help…

The resentment in Zhu Xiang’s chest suddenly dissolved.

Indeed, the problem lay in his own child-rearing. How had his Zheng’er ended up with the exact same temper as him?

Thinking this way, Li Mu suddenly seemed rather blameless.

“Enough. You’re not hurt, that’s what matters. But there must never be a next time,” Zhu Xiang said. “As for me, at most I’ll give you a scolding. But have you thought about how you’ll explain yourself to your aunt?”

Ying Zheng’s face turned pale.

He stammered, “Uncle, do you think if I change the name of the osmanthus cake, it would help?”

Zhu Xiang blinked in confusion. “What?”

…

In the end, Ying Zheng never renamed the cake. He stubbornly argued that he hadn’t personally fought—he had only ridden along with the army.

He hadn’t even bloodied a blade—how could that count as “going to war”?

Zhu Xiang gave him a look too complicated to put into words, then left Ying Zheng to explain himself to Xue Ji, absolutely refusing to intervene.

He really couldn’t stand the thought of the future First Emperor quibbling over osmanthus cakes.

Though perhaps it would be the Second Emperor instead.

After muttering this complaint in his heart, Zhu Xiang set his nephew aside and threw himself entirely into the work of postwar reconstruction.

Meanwhile, Ying Zheng came up with two backup plans: “argue that I never truly went to battle” and “offer her sticky rice cakes with sugared osmanthus.” Then he helped Zhu Xiang manage Guangling while sending Li Si back to Wu Commandery to assist his aunt.

“If I go home a little later, maybe Aunt will have forgotten all about this,” Ying Zheng said hopefully.

Zhu Xiang immediately wrote a letter reporting him in the family safety correspondence.

Xue Ji’s reply confirmed she knew—then scolded both Zhu Xiang and Ying Zheng together.

She focused her anger on Zhu Xiang, saying Ying Zheng’s behavior was exactly like his, a clear sign that Zhu Xiang’s teaching was at fault.

“If a son goes astray, the father bears the blame”—Zhu Xiang had to take full responsibility!

Reading her letter, Zhu Xiang thought for a moment, then promptly added a note to the battle report for Qin King Zichu.

“Xia Tong! Look at the kind of son you raised! If a son goes astray, the father bears the blame! Don’t you know the saying, a prince of precious blood must not idly risk danger? If anything happens to Zheng’er, it’s all your fault!”

Ying Zheng craned his neck, sneaking a glance at the letter to his father. Struggling to hold back his laughter, he quickly pulled his head back in.

Yes, he had been wrong to take risks—but wasn’t his teacher, his uncle, and his father even more at fault?

Hahahahaha.

Even though Ying Zheng didn’t laugh out loud, Zhu Xiang still caught the arrogant grin on his face.

With the tip of his brush, Zhu Xiang poked the boy in the forehead, sighing helplessly.

Could it really be that the problem was his parenting after all?

But Zheng’er was already fourteen years old—could he still turn into a refined and courteous gentleman… Forget it, the Zheng’er now was better. He couldn’t even imagine what a terrifying sight his nephew would be as a “gentleman.”

By the time Li Mu finally dawdled his way over to take his beating, the people of Guangling had already finished tidying up the battlefield and devoted all their energy to autumn farming.

Since they had beaten back the Chu army in only two days, the grain stores in Guangling City were still plentiful. They didn’t need support from Wu Commandery—being frugal, they could stretch it until the year’s harvest.

With the current warm and wet conditions in the Yangtze Delta, they could even plant another crop of soybeans or something similar and harvest three times in a year.

Zhu Xiang had originally planned to transport some grain from Wu Commandery, so that the people of Guangling could live a little more comfortably after the war. But the local scholars and elders representing the common folk politely declined.

They knew very well that now they were already Qin people and must rely on Qin’s protection. Having once “betrayed,” the people of Guangling urgently needed to prove their value to Qin, in exchange for its safeguard.

Especially since they had once shown disrespect to Lord Changping, yet he still stayed behind to defend them against the Chu. If they were to continue pestering Lord Changping for benefits, not only would the King of Qin and Crown Prince harbor resentment, but the reputation of the people of Guangling in the eyes of the world would also suffer.

With such resolve from the people of Guangling, Zhu Xiang fully supported them.

Sometimes, one simply needed to hold onto that breath in their chest—only then could life get better.

After Guangling was successfully defended, some scholars who had fled wanted to return.

They had abandoned their fields and houses, but now that Guangling was safe, they not only wanted to reclaim their land and homes, they even sought compensation from Zhu Xiang for the houses demolished during the war.

Zhu Xiang would never indulge them. Black and white written proof was left behind—did they think shamelessness alone would work? Did they really think his temper was made of mud?

Zhu Xiang was all geared up to scold them in person. But before he even saw their faces, the ones demanding their forfeited property were already chased off by a mob of Guangling farmers wielding hoes and pitchforks.

Returning was fine. Some in Guangling had also sent their families away—now that the city stood, they were welcome to return.

But as for abandoned property, not even an inch of cloth would be given back. That was the price of deserting Guangling.

Still want to force Lord Changping’s hand? Do you have a death wish!

Some clans still had members in Guangling and tried to use family ties to negotiate. But people of this era, though selfish about family interests, also held a contradictory sense of honor.

Without exception, anyone who tried such things was cast out by their clans. In serious cases, their ancestral tablets were thrown out of the family shrine. Some were even nearly cut down by their own kin.

Meng Tian had just been watching the drama unfold from the side, but when he saw swords drawn, he hurried to intervene.

Outside the battlefield, Qin people were usually mild-tempered, rarely fighting or brawling. To see swords pulled and men nearly cutting each other down—it left young Qin general Meng Tian with a fresh sense of awe for the fierce Chu spirit.

After fighting side by side with Zhu Xiang, Meng Tian’s manner toward him had grown much more casual—finally like a true junior.

Meng Tian pulled Zhu Xiang aside and complained about the matter. Zhu Xiang only smiled:  “Before Shang Yang’s reforms, Qin people were the same—if anything, even fiercer than the other Six States. They’re only enduring now, not stripped of their blood. If faced with injustice, they can still rekindle that fierceness.”

It was old Qin people who lifted Liu Bang to the throne.

After founding the Han, Liu Bang spent his later years quelling rebellions—essentially wiping out the Six States all over again, unifying the realm anew.

And it was the old Qin people who followed him to sweep the Six States a second time.

“Do not mistake their gentleness as weakness. If the fire in their hearts ever ignites again, by then it will already be too late,” Zhu Xiang said.

Ying Zheng knew this was said for him.

He recalled the memories of his other self from that dream.

Had the fire in the Qin people’s hearts ignited then?

Though it belonged to another world, Ying Zheng felt a real bitterness rise in his chest, as if he himself had lived it.

He shook his head to cast off that strange feeling and changed the subject: “Teacher has arrived—won’t Uncle go greet him?”

Zhu Xiang pulled out from under the table a wooden club as thick as an arm.

Ying Zheng: “…”

Meng Tian: “I have things to do!” And promptly slipped away!

Li Mu knew Zhu Xiang wouldn’t greet him, but he hadn’t expected that upon meeting, Zhu Xiang would raise such a massive club.

If that thing came down, even he would be bedridden for a month.

Li Mu turned on his heel and bolted.

Zhu Xiang chased after him, club raised high.

Li Mu’s deputy general gaped wide-mouthed.

What’s happening? Why is this happening? Should I not have come with the General to pay respects to Lord Changping and the Crown Prince?

Han Fei edged closer to Ying Zheng.

Ying Zheng pulled a handful of roasted pumpkin seeds from his sleeve, shared half with Han Fei, and began cracking them between his teeth.

Han Fei, who had nearly overcome his stutter with sheer willpower, fell right back into it: “C-Crown Prince, y-you won’t intervene?”

Ying Zheng spat out a shell. “Uncle’s just scaring him. How could he really smash that club down?”

Han Fei asked, “Th-then why did General Wu Cheng run?”

Ying Zheng gave him a look of puzzlement. “Of course he has to run—otherwise how would Uncle vent his anger?”

And he went right on cracking seeds.

Han Fei stared at Ying Zheng’s unconcerned expression and couldn’t help but admonish him:  “Crown Prince, in this matter the fault lies more with you. You ought to persuade.”

But the little tyrant Ying Zheng completely ignored him. “Aunt said: if a child is not taught, it’s the father’s fault; if a disciple is not taught, it’s the teacher’s fault. I’m not wrong.”

Han Fei: “…”

Madam of Wu Commandery! You can’t coddle him like this! This child is the future King of Qin! How can the King of Qin be so spoiled? If he can’t tell right from wrong in the future, what then?!

Han Fei resolved that when he returned to Wu Commandery, he must persuade the Madam—she must not dote on the Crown Prince so recklessly!

Ying Zheng glanced at the seeds in Han Fei’s hand. “Not eating? Then give them back.”

Han Fei immediately began cracking melon seeds. He especially loved eating pumpkin seeds, often reading while snacking on them. He hadn’t had any for a long time, and he’d been craving them.

After a quarter of an hour of running away, Li Mu finally wore out Zhu Xiang’s anger. Almost out of breath, Zhu Xiang threw down the wooden stick, bent over with his hands on his knees, panting and cursing “Can’t you at least let me hit you once?!”

Li Mu leisurely walked back: “Why not just pick the stick up now and hit me once?”

“Forget it.” Zhu Xiang plopped onto the ground, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “What were you thinking, taking Zheng’er all the way to the Huai River?”

Li Mu sat down cross-legged beside him: “It was safe. So why not?”

Zhu Xiang picked up the stick and tapped him on the shoulder: “Shut up.”

Li Mu sighed. You tell me to answer, then you tell me to shut up. Really hard to serve.

Autumn was cooling down, and though the sun was high, it wasn’t scorching. Zhu Xiang had a cloth spread on the ground, along with pastries, fruit, and tea. They sat right there, talking casually.

Ying Zheng wanted to bring a cushion and join them, but Zhu Xiang pushed him off to work. It wasn’t just that autumn farming was busy—Guangling’s people also demanded a full implementation of Qin law, including land redistribution and the granting of titles to commoners and soldiers. As the acting county magistrate of Guangling, Zhu Xiang was overwhelmed. Now most of that work fell to Ying Zheng.

With a sigh, Ying Zheng dragged Han Fei away with him, leaving his uncle and teacher to chat.

Li Mu sipped the warm tea, replenishing his water, and said: “You look well enough.”

It was vague, but Zhu Xiang knew what he meant.

“On the first day of the siege I couldn’t sleep all night. By the second day, I was already numb.” Zhu Xiang said calmly. “People adapt quickly.”

Li Mu replied: “You won’t have another chance to defend a city.”

Hearing the confidence in his tone, Zhu Xiang gave a bitter smile: “Because from now on, Qin will only attack others, never defend itself?”

Li Mu said: “Yes.”

Zhu Xiang raised his teacup in salute: “If even Lord Wu Cheng says so, then it must be true.”

He had never imagined that he would one day be defending a city. Just as he hadn’t imagined that Xiang Yan and the King of Southern Chu would go to such extremes. But scorched-earth tactics were nothing unusual; in fact, they would become a norm for the next two thousand years. He simply hadn’t thought of it before.

“After the battle, I slept one night in the granary. The next day I was fine,” Zhu Xiang said.

Li Mu gave a wry smile: “That’s so like you.”

Zhu Xiang laughed: “One must look forward, walk forward. Once something is past, brooding over it only torments yourself and those around you. It serves no purpose.”

Even if one collapses emotionally in a moment, the next moment you should gather yourself and move on.

“So don’t worry, I’ll be fine,” Zhu Xiang said. “I have too much to do right now to waste time wallowing. Speaking of which, are you planning to build a naval port here in Guangling?”

Li Mu said: “Yes. Sea-going ships can’t enter the river, and river ships can’t go out to sea. This area has both river and sea—it’s the perfect place to concentrate our naval fleet.”

Zhu Xiang asked: “Aren’t you worried someone will burn it all down in one go?”

Li Mu smiled: “I’m not building a dock. I’m building the kind of military harbor you once talked about. Qin troops will be stationed there for training and farming. If Chu could burn down the entire military harbor, that would mean the Qin navy had already been annihilated. Lend me your men.”

Zhu Xiang said: “You mean Jiao Yun and the others? What’s this about lending—they’re all Qin people, you can command them anyway.”

Li Mu didn’t argue, but continued: “Right now, Guangling is the only major city on the north bank of the river. Chu people unwilling to migrate north will all come to you.”

For ordinary folk, following the Yangtze east by land was far easier than crossing the river. Guangling would become their only refuge.

Half-joking, Zhu Xiang said: “Let them come. However many, however few. You don’t know the farming potential of the Yangtze Delta.”

Of course, the delta was still small at this time—most of where modern Shanghai would stand was still under the sea. But with only twenty-some million people across the Seven States, even if Guangling took in refugees, it wouldn’t exceed a few hundred thousand. Zhu Xiang was confident.

Li Mu frowned: “What’s this ‘Yangtze Delta’?”

Zhu Xiang remembered that in this era the river was still called simply “the River”: “Since it’s so long, why not call it the ‘Yangtze’? The ‘delta’ is the triangular land formed by silt where the Yangtze enters the sea.”

Zhu Xiang often tossed out strange terms, but Li Mu ignored it and went on: “Once the Guangling military port is built, I’ll move west along the river, rebuilding the old dock cities.”

Zhu Xiang smiled: “So you’ll use Guangling to support the whole north bank of the Yangtze? You really do trust me. Come, I’ll give you something good to eat.”

As he spoke, a servant brought out a plate of roasted sweet potatoes.

Seeing Zhu Xiang produce yet another new crop after all these years, Li Mu’s face showed nostalgia.

“What’s this?” He copied Zhu Xiang, splitting one open by hand. Sweet fragrance wafted out, making his throat tighten.

“Sweet potato. Very sweet when roasted. High yield, grows in poor soil, perfect for hillsides and famine relief,” Zhu Xiang explained.

Li Mu blew on the golden flesh and took a bite. His eyes lit up: “So sweet, so good! Is it like potatoes?”

“Similar,” Zhu Xiang said. “But potatoes can serve as a staple. Sweet potatoes can’t, they’re more like a side dish.”

He explained the pros and cons.

“Farmers are clever. Once they start planting, they’ll choose what’s best. My job is just to spread the crop.” Zhu Xiang continued. “In Wu City’s restaurants, you could even serve sweet-potato dishes.”

In Qin proper, agriculture was strictly prioritized over commerce, and food establishments were tightly regulated. But Wu Commandery was different—commercial life thrived, with many private eateries, even taverns.

Since Wu Commandery produced abundant grain, Zhu Xiang hadn’t banned alcohol. He just slapped heavy taxes on wine merchants, cutting into wealthy traders’ purses.

Li Mu quickly finished his sweet potato, rinsed his hands, and said: “Explain its growing habits more clearly.”

Zhu Xiang described the conditions and precautions in detail.

Li Mu nodded: “Perfect for Nanyue.”

Zhu Xiang smiled: “Exactly.”

Nanyue was mountainous, with plenty of warmth and rain—ideal for sweet potatoes.

“With sweet potatoes, even Nanyue isn’t useless,” Li Mu said.

At present, he was raiding more than conquering. With only a few small plains suited for cities, most of the land was unfit for Qin’s development.

His main work in Nanyue was drawing maps, marking possible sites for cities. When Qin eventually moved against Baiyue, they would likely only manage the cities; the vast mountains would remain beyond their control.

Even a thousand years later, the situation was the same. Though Guangdong was a province, most governance ended at Guangzhou. Much of the South was like that—even Sichuan only really managed the Chengdu Plain, leaving the mountains a vacuum.

If Qin wanted to rule Baiyue, it had to plant its power firmly in certain city strongholds. With sweet potatoes to support the population, those footholds could endure.

Listening to Li Mu’s plans for Baiyue, Zhu Xiang nodded along, pouring him water as he spoke.

Li Mu wasn’t just a general—he had the makings of a statesman too.

Zhu Xiang thought, If Cai Ze really can’t stand the workload and insists on retiring, Li Mu could be pushed up as Qin Chancellor.

As for Lin Li—well, he’d only make a mediocre minister. But once Zheng’er became King of Qin, perhaps the position of Chancellor would vanish altogether.

Better for them old men to retire, leaving the future to younger ones like Han Fei and Li Si.

Though not much older than them himself, Zhu Xiang was already thinking about retirement.  Even if that day was still far off.

The news that Lord Changping, with twenty thousand defenders, had routed Xiang Yan’s hundred thousand Chu troops spread through the Seven States within days.

The world was stunned.

Xiang Yan and the Southern Chu king had mustered a hundred thousand, claiming two hundred thousand. Guangling’s defenders had already been halved, reportedly down to just five thousand Qin troops—the rest local conscripts.

So to outsiders, the story was this: Xiang Yan, the famed Chu general, had attacked Guangling with ten times the numbers, but by the second day of siege he was utterly defeated by Lord Changping.

Those who heard the report first thought it unbelievable.

If Lord Changping had merely held out with twenty thousand until Li Mu’s reinforcements arrived—that would make sense.

But this was a rout. A decisive victory. The Guangling garrison had charged out of the gates, driving Chu’s army all the way to the Huai River!

Could men really do such a thing?

Later they learned the defenders only pursued for less than a hundred li—the rest of the chase to the Huai was led by the Crown Prince of Qin with Wu Commandery reinforcements. He had been hurrying to aid Guangling, but upon crossing the Yangtze and seeing Xiang Yan already crushed, the fearless young bull had chased the Chu all the way to the Huai.

Prince Chu of Qin turned black in the face. He issued three edicts in succession, ordering Crown Prince Zheng back to Xianyang for a scolding!