HCT – Chapter 2 Steamed Egg with Lard

After finishing the goat milk porridge, the child licked his lips and fell silent again.

Xue took the initiative to bring over another bowl, her face stern as she told him to drink slowly and be careful not to burn himself.

The child looked up at Xue, then buried his face back into the bowl like a little puppy.

Next to him, Lin Zhi drank directly from the pot, looking just like a greedy big dog.

After downing another bowl, the child patted his belly and said, “That’s enough.” Lin Zhi, on the other hand, had no idea what moderation meant. It wasn’t until Zhu Xiang said they had to hurry or the city gates would close that he regretfully put the pot down.

Zhu Xiang wiped the child’s milk-mustache-covered face clean, then tossed a handkerchief to Lin Zhi. “Don’t wipe your face with your sleeve—it’s unhygienic. You’ll set a bad example for the child.”

Lin Zhi muttered, “You live even more delicately than I do… All right, the carriage is ready. Let’s go.”

Zhu Xiang once again picked up the child and said to Xue as he turned, “Don’t worry. Once I find her, I’ll definitely give her a good scolding!”

Xue pressed her lips together and bowed slightly to Lin Zhi. “I entrust my good man to you, Lord Lin.”

Lin Zhi laughed, “Zhu Xiang, your wife doesn’t trust you!”

“Hmph.” Zhu Xiang glared at him and stormed out.

Lin Zhi followed with a smile.

After seeing the two off, Xue finally let out a long sigh and told the servants to clean the table.

Zhu Xiang climbed into the carriage with the child and asked for his name along the way.

The child, perhaps too young, only shook his head in silence.

Zhu Xiang introduced himself, and Lin Zhi took the chance to mock Zhu Xiang for showing up at his door years ago looking like a walking skeleton.

Zhu Xiang hadn’t intended to tell such a young child about his complicated history with the child’s mother, but Lin Zhi spoke too fast for him to stop.

Then again, Zhu Xiang thought, while he did feel sorry for the child, if his older sister refused to take him back, he would have no choice but to hand him off to another family.

As Confucius said—if you repay resentment with virtue, how will you repay virtue? Zhu Xiang, full of misfit ideals, might end up causing trouble for the child if he forced himself to raise him.

A healthy, young boy would never lack good-hearted families willing to adopt him. It was more appropriate to entrust this child—this accidental nephew—to the Lin family, who could find a stable, wealthy home for him.

So, whether the boy could understand Lin Zhi’s words or not, he ought to hear why Zhu Xiang couldn’t raise him.

The child’s expression remained blank, making it unclear whether he understood anything.

Awkward silence quickly fell inside the carriage. Even the normally chatty Lin Zhi fell quiet. Soon, the only sounds were the carriage wheels rumbling and the horses’ hooves clopping, alongside the trio’s breathing.

Lin Zhi closed his eyes for a nap. The child shut his as well, while Zhu Xiang stared absentmindedly out the window.

After two generations of wise kings, the Zhao capital of Handan had become a sprawling, prosperous city.

When Zhu Xiang first arrived in Handan, it was during the last year or two of King Huiwen of Zhao’s reign. The city, though already lively, was filled more with men in Hu-style clothes, wearing swords and riding horses, than with people dressed in elegant silks and glittering jewelry.

After King Huiwen’s death, during Queen Dowager Wei’s regency, Handan didn’t change much. But after her passing, the city transformed rapidly day by day, and luxury and decadence began to spread. Every time Zhu Xiang entered the city to deliver goods from the farm to the Lin family, he could visibly see the changes.

The carriage suddenly jolted violently as if it had hit a rock in the road. The window curtain fell halfway down from the jolt.

Zhu Xiang didn’t bother to lift it back up and closed his eyes to rest.

About an hour later, the carriage stopped in front of a private mansion.

The gates were wide open, and people were coming and going, moving items. Lin Zhi signaled one of the guards, who stepped forward to ask about the household.

“They moved out a few days ago. My master bought this house,” replied an old servant directing the movers. “Are you looking for the previous owners? My master doesn’t know where they went. We bought it from a broker. Maybe he knows.”

Zhu Xiang had just stepped down from the carriage with the child in his arms and overheard this.

The child gripped Zhu Xiang’s robe tightly, then suddenly turned his head toward the old servant.

His bright eyes instantly filled with tears, which began to fall in large drops. With each tear, his gaze dimmed further.

Back when he had cried hysterically at Zhu Xiang’s house, Zhu Xiang had thought he was just throwing a tantrum again. But now the boy merely stared wide-eyed in silence, tears streaming down his face without even a sob.

Zhu Xiang’s heart clenched. He quickly pulled the child’s tear-streaked face to his chest and stepped forward to ask a curious neighbor peeking around the corner, “Elder, do you know anything about the previous family?”

As he spoke, Zhu Xiang slipped a few knife-shaped coins into the elder’s hand.

The old man tucked the coins into his sleeve. “I know them well! That house used to be lively when they lived there. Let me tell you, the man who owned it kept losing money in business and was about to sell the place when he suddenly married a wealthy widow. Then he started living large.”

Zhu Xiang: “?” A wealthy widow? Did my sister marry a rich man who died, inherit his fortune, and then pamper some young pretty boy?

The old man was quite the gossip, and with some money in hand, he went on even more freely. Soon, more neighbors joined in.

“That family got real lucky. The widow was beautiful and rich—but she had a foolish son.”

“Right! That boy caused a scene every day, even threatened to kill the man. He wasn’t even three and could barely walk—so violent already!”

“Kids that young don’t know anything. Someone must’ve been whispering in his ear.”

“Maybe it was the late husband’s relatives? She took a lot of money—no way they were happy about that.”

“You all keep badmouthing the kid. I think he’s pitiful. When they first moved in, he looked chubby. A while ago I saw him—thin and dirty like some street urchin. Heard his mother doesn’t care about him anymore. Even the servants look down on him.”

“Of course they do. Who wouldn’t?”

“Still, it’s sad. He’s just a little kid. Teach him right. No child is born obedient.”

“That’s true. Honestly, the widow remarried and ignored her son. That’s the real reason…”

The neighbors’ chatter snowballed into a full-blown gossip session, entirely ignoring Zhu Xiang.

He left the group with the child and returned to the carriage.

He now understood the general situation. Finding Chunhua next would be up to Lin Zhi.

Zhu Xiang looked down at the child in his arms. Whether the boy had understood the neighbors’ gossip was unclear—he wasn’t crying anymore, but his expression was utterly blank.

In the Warring States period, there was no stigma against widows remarrying. On the contrary, due to the high mortality rate during childbirth, widows who had borne children were often seen as desirable.

Chunhua probably remarried after her first husband’s death, bringing her inherited wealth with her. Beautiful, wealthy, and with a son—of course the neighbors thought that merchant had lucked out.

As for the little boy who resisted his stepfather and shouted about killing him, while some might pity such a young child, after a few complaints from his mother, their sympathy had worn thin.

Zhu Xiang didn’t know the full truth, but he took the neighbors’ words with a grain of salt.

How could people outside a private mansion know what went on inside? How loud could a toddler’s shouting be for passersby to hear it?

The child’s bad reputation had clearly been spread by that family themselves. How much of it was true and how much false—hard to say… Regardless, Zhu Xiang harbored a deep disgust and bias against Chunhua. He didn’t believe for a second that Chunhua was some innocent, blameless victim in all of this.

Chunhua had the gall to abandon her child at the doorstep of someone she had once discarded and nearly killed. And in the letter she left behind, she still had that commanding tone, showing not even a trace of guilt. Just from that attitude alone, Zhu Xiang’s “bias” might not have been bias at all.

“I was really abandoned, wasn’t I?” the child rubbed at his swollen eyes and finally choked out, “She thought I was a bother. She didn’t want me anymore.”

Zhu Xiang patted the child’s head and said, “It’s not that you’re a bother—it’s that she is. Your mother isn’t a good person. Don’t doubt your own worth just because she did something bad. She abandoned me once too. This isn’t the first time she’s done something like this.”

The child said nothing.

Zhu Xiang had meant to use his own experience to comfort the boy who had finally realized he’d been abandoned. But maybe the child was just too young—he didn’t seem to understand the comfort, and his face showed no sign of being soothed.

Zhu Xiang had a headache. He didn’t know how to comfort a child this young—one even younger than he had been when he was abandoned.

Fortunately, before long, Lin Zhi returned to the carriage, breaking the awkward silence.

“They’ve been gone three or four days already. I’ve sent people to track that brat down,” Lin Zhi said. “To dump a kid at your door after three or four days on the road—she was really set on abandoning him. Let’s go back for now. Once I have more news, I’ll come tell you.”

Zhu Xiang hung his head and said, “Thank you. Sorry for the trouble.”

Lin Zhi patted him on the shoulder. “Why so polite with me? If you really want to thank me, let me come eat meat at your place next time.”

Zhu Xiang forced a smile. “Sure. Don’t bring any—we’ll use mine.”

Lin Zhi grinned. “Deal.”

He looked at the child in Zhu Xiang’s arms. “Are you going to adopt him?”

Zhu Xiang sighed. “Looking at him always reminds me of myself back then. I’ll ask Xue. If she agrees, I’ll adopt him. Her feelings come first.”

Lin Zhi laughed. “Everyone else puts family legacy first. You’re really something else.”

Zhu Xiang replied, “I’ve always been strange. You’re just now realizing?”

Lin Zhi chuckled. “I’ve known for a while. Still, you should try to change some of those odd traits.” Like valuing other people’s lives too much—even refusing to go to war.

Zhu Xiang gave a bitter smile. “I’ll change. I am changing.”

Lin Zhi laughed again.

Zhu Xiang sighed.

After Lin Zhi was done laughing, he tried to comfort him. “Even though you had to change to become an official, it’s fine if you don’t. My father and I can protect you. You’re doing alright as you are.”

Zhu Xiang only smiled bitterly and thanked him, saying no more.

He adjusted the way he held the child. The boy had closed his eyes again, apparently tired out from crying.

Lin Zhi looked at the boy with pity in his eyes. “If Xue doesn’t want to raise him, I’ll take him home for now. I’ll find someone to adopt him eventually, so you two won’t end up fighting.”

Zhu Xiang muttered, “Xue and I never fight.”

Lin Zhi mocked, “Yeah, the second her voice rises, you start apologizing like a coward. No backbone at all.”

Zhu Xiang shut his mouth and pretended not to hear.

The trip back to the city was quicker due to fewer carts on the road.

Xue had been waiting at the door, wrapped in a coat and working on shoe soles. When she heard the sound of the carriage, she immediately set her needlework aside and came to greet them.

The moment she saw Zhu Xiang stepping down with a child in his arms, her face turned stormy.

“By the time we arrived, Chunhua had already been gone several days,” Zhu Xiang explained briefly as he stepped inside.

Lin Zhi knew Zhu Xiang was likely about to lose face in front of his wife, so to save his friend some dignity, he deliberately stayed outside in the carriage, waiting until they finished discussing before coming in.

Xue’s brow arched. “And then?”

“And then… then…” Zhu Xiang smiled awkwardly. “I thought this child was quite pitiful. Maybe we could…”

Before he could finish, Xue cut him off loudly: “Husband! Do you remember what Chunhua did? Father and Mother died from overwork, and you fell ill from grief. And she ran off with all the family valuables! She was unfilial to your parents, and disloyal to you. And now you want to raise that wretch’s child?!”

“Wretch” was a vulgar term for a lowly servant, considered foul language in their time.

Xue was so angry she cursed. Zhu Xiang immediately covered the child’s ears, nodding and bowing in apology. “It’s my fault, my fault, don’t be angry. People say nephews resemble their uncles—he looks so much like me, and he was abandoned like I was. I couldn’t help empathizing… But we won’t raise him, we won’t. I’ll have Lin Li take him away right now—”

Before he could finish, Xue grabbed his arm. “Wait. Nephews resemble uncles? Is that a saying?”

“Ah, yes,” Zhu Xiang was startled and explained, “A child is literally flesh of their mother’s body, so they usually resemble the mother. But because of the differences between male and female traits, unless a boy has very delicate features, he’ll likely resemble his mother’s full-blooded brother more.”

“Let me take a good look.” Xue snatched the child from Zhu Xiang’s arms and carefully studied his face for the first time.

Previously, just knowing he was Chunhua’s child had filled her with resentment, so she hadn’t really looked at his features.

Forced to face her, the child showed a frightened expression.

“He does resemble you,” Xue’s tone softened.

She set the boy down and squatted beside him to study him again, even turning him around a few times.

The boy gave Zhu Xiang a pleading look.

Just as that expression appeared, Xue suddenly burst out laughing. “He really does look like you.”

Zhu Xiang was confused. “Xue, are you… not angry anymore?”

Xue said, “He looks like you, so I’m not mad.”

Zhu Xiang was a little scared by how fast her mood shifted.

“As long as you’re not angry, that’s good. I’ll take him now,” he said, reaching to lift the child again, only to have his hand slapped away.

Xue protectively held the boy. “This child—I’ll raise him.”

Zhu Xiang looked a little dumbfounded. “Huh?”

Xue explained, “He looks like you. If we raise him, he’ll be our son. My dear, I want to raise a child who looks like you.”

She looked up at him, her expression very serious.

Zhu Xiang’s face instantly flushed bright red. He squatted down too, scratching his head in embarrassment. “Um… a-alright then. Let’s raise him.”

Xue beamed with joy. She gently stroked the child’s hair and said, “Come now, call us Father and Mother.”

The child looked at Xue, then at Zhu Xiang, whose eyes were full of expectation. His lips moved slightly, barely making a sound.

Xue turned the child to face Zhu Xiang. “Why so quiet? Come on, louder—call him Father.”

The child lowered his head, fists clenched. Then suddenly he looked up, tears in his voice, and shouted: “I am the great-great-grandson of King Qin, the son of Prince Yiren, grandson of the Qin royal house—my name is Ying Zheng! I will not call anyone else my father—I cannot!”

And with that dramatic outburst, perhaps overwhelmed by the events of the day, the little body slumped and fainted on the spot.

Zhu Xiang caught the child in his arms, utterly dumbstruck.

The couple knelt on the ground, staring at each other.

Xue’s voice trembled. “D-dear, what did he say? He’s just babbling nonsense, right? Right? Or maybe I misheard…”

She kept rubbing her ears in disbelief.

Zhu Xiang’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly—”Ah-ba ah-ba”—before finally spitting out coherent words: “Ying? Ying Zheng? My nephew is Ying Zheng?! My sister is Zhao Ji?! No—that’s not right, my sister’s name is Chunhua!!”

Clutching the unconscious child, Zhu Xiang rolled his eyes back and fainted too.

Oh heavens above, my nephew is the Qin Shi Huang—Ying Zheng! What normal person can handle that kind of shock?!

Down he went. Thud.

“My dear! My dear, wake up—my dear!!”

Xue let out a soprano-level shriek so loud that Lin Zhi, who had been eavesdropping at the door, kicked it open in alarm and rushed in.

After a brief moment of darkness, little Ying Zheng once again found himself in that room.

The room was small, with only a wooden table and a single floor cushion. A phantom of a middle-aged man sat at the table, head resting on one hand, eyes closed as if asleep.

The man wore a tongtian crown and plain black robes. Only the red lower garment was embroidered with black-green patterns, giving him a simple and restrained appearance.

Ying Zheng knelt beside the man. His mind, which had been as muddled as paste moments before, quickly became clear and wise.

At the same time, sorrow and pain filled his eyes.

He couldn’t remember when it started, but every ten days or so, after falling asleep, he would find himself in this room and encounter the phantom of this man.

Whenever he approached the man, his mind would sharpen like an adult’s, and he could “read” fragments of the man’s memories.

The man was his “future self,” already enthroned, unifier of the realm, the first emperor on a grand tour of his empire—Qin Shi Huang.

At first, Ying Zheng had been ecstatic, thinking this was a divine blessing. But soon he realized: it might be a curse instead.

There was a clepsydra on the table to mark the time. He could only stay in the room for half an hour. During that half hour, he possessed great knowledge, rapid thought, and believed himself omnipotent.

But once he left the room and woke in the real world, that wisdom would drain away like the tide. He would revert to an ignorant toddler not even two years old.

And what the tide left behind—faint impressions—didn’t make him smarter than his peers. If anything, it made him more reckless and foolish.

Children were naturally prone to arrogance. With a hint of ability, he began to act like he was invincible.

He stopped obeying his mother without question. He stopped believing in adults’ half-hearted lies. He stopped silently enduring pain and frustration.

He told his mother to behave with dignity. He threatened the merchant involved with her, warning him to consider their statuses. He scolded the servants who mocked him for being young.

In return, he was slapped by his furious mother.

That merchant mocked him by being intimate with her right in front of him.

And the servants, emboldened by their masters, began to withhold his food and care.

He became increasingly irritable and difficult to be around.

Ying Zheng constantly told people who he was, but everyone laughed at his delusions.

His father had already abandoned him—there was no hope of returning to Qin. In Zhao, his status was even lower than a commoner’s. At least commoners weren’t hated as symbols of Qin.

Even his mother said so, and plotted with the merchant to escape and avoid being dragged down by him.

Ying Zheng had overheard that conversation. After another dream in the phantom’s room, he realized his stupidity had pushed him to the brink of death.

A child not yet two years old cannot survive alone. Staying near his mother was the only way to one day prove his royal lineage.

He had to appear weak, stir her pity, just to stay alive—just to eventually return to Qin and achieve the great deeds he had dreamed of.

But the moment he left the dream world, all that reason became a child’s hysterical fear of abandonment. His behavior became even more erratic.

Thus, the cycle worsened. His mother grew ever more frightened and disgusted with him. She even sought out a shaman to exorcise the “evil” in him.

Ying Zheng had once smugly believed that knowing the future meant he could change it—that he could avoid the detours, the betrayals, and the suffering his future self had endured.

Especially the harm done by his mother—he thought he could prevent that.

She treated him so well now. If only he treated her kindly in return, and kept away the wrong people, then even if she did take lovers in the future, she wouldn’t abandon him.

He didn’t care that she had lovers. He only cared that his one and only mother could still love him.

And he did change the future—because now, he’d already been abandoned.

“…I’m sorry. I don’t think I can become you after all.”

Ying Zheng cried as he apologized to his future self, curling up tightly beside the phantom as though it were his only family.

Drenched with a bucket of cold water by Lin Zhi, Zhu Xiang crouched by the bedside, frowning as he watched Ying Zheng cry in his sleep.

Oh heavens above, my nephew isn’t just some random human baby—he’s the emperor baby!

The Emperor Baby!!!

Zhu Xiang was filled with jealous resentment toward his sister Chunhua.

Why’s her luck so absurd?! Good people die young, and troublemakers live forever, is that it?!

He gloomily fanned a bowl of lard-steamed egg under Ying Zheng’s nose, trying to coax him out of his nightmare with its delicious smell—while Xue stood nearby, completely speechless at the whole scene.

Sure enough, the smell woke Ying Zheng up.

Still sniffling, he opened his eyes. His stomach rumbled: “Hungry…”

Zhu Xiang chuckled. “Then eat.”

Ying Zheng sprang up, took the little wooden spoon, and started eating the steamed egg right from the bowl Zhu Xiang held.

The silky egg melted in his mouth, and he squinted in bliss.

As for the tearful apology he had made in his dream? Clearly, the flavor of lard-steamed egg had erased it from his memory.

After all, he wasn’t yet the First Emperor.

He was just a wobbly little Emperor Baby.