HCT – Chapter 20 King Qin’s Honey Water

The 54th year of King Nan of Zhou passed by in a flash. Zhu Xiang felt like he had just celebrated Zheng’er’s birthday, and now, half the year had already gone.

Ying Zheng felt the same way.

He still remembered the lively atmosphere on his birthday. The villagers sang and danced spontaneously, as if he was their king.

No, even when he was king, no commoners had ever celebrated his birthday voluntarily or rejoiced at his birth. They wouldn’t offer their scarce grain nor hope, without asking for anything in return, just to see him smile.

When Ying Zheng entered his dream chamber, he remained clear-headed, understanding that these people treated him well because he had a beloved uncle.

Even though Uncle had been recommended multiple times by Elder Lin, he was never able to gain an official post in Zhao. Yet the commoners, blessed by his kindness, had spread his good name far beyond Handan, to every corner of Zhao.

Many refugees flocked to the areas around Handan to reclaim land. They believed that as long as they farmed where his uncle could see them, they would be able to grow enough food to fill their stomachs.

In his dream room, Ying Zheng sat cross-legged, leaning lazily against a future version of himself, deep in thought about how much had changed this year.

Zhu Xiang was thinking the same.

His physical world hadn’t changed much; he was still limited to the vicinity of Handan.

Before, when he walked along the fields, he would see roving swordsmen brawling in groups, plainly dressed women giggling and pointing at the bare-chested men, and strong young farmers humming crude songs while tilling with iron plows…

The elderly sat basking in the sun at their doorsteps, and barefoot children ran to and fro. Though the commoners lived a bitter life, when the weather was fine, the crops turned green, and even someone falling in the field could bring a smile. And during harvest, those smiles would bloom even brighter, full of vitality.

In his past life, Zhu Xiang had chosen to become a farmer simply because he liked the smiles of farmers during harvest. He loved life-filled things—whether it was the sprouting seedlings or the bright eyes of farmers looking out over golden fields.

It was harvest time again, but this year, Zhu Xiang did not see the joy on farmers’ faces.

As the millet and grains in the fields ripened and turned golden, painful expressions—laden with deep longing and worry—began to creep across the faces of the elderly, women, and children toiling in the fields. It was as if someone had cast a withering curse upon them, draining both body and spirit as the grain was reaped.

Most of the harvest was taken by Zhao officials. What was left for the farmers was barely enough to last through winter.

It was then that the potatoes Zhu Xiang had them plant came into play.

Initially, the officials wanted to confiscate the potatoes as well. But Zhao hadn’t yet accepted “roots and weeds” as food, so the officials fed the above-ground parts of the potato plants to livestock to test if they were edible.

The entire potato plant contains trace amounts of toxins. Of course, dismissing toxicity without considering dosage is unreasonable; the poison at most causes an upset stomach—not death. But the taste was bad, and livestock got diarrhea after eating them. Thus, the officials dismissed this famine-rescue crop.

Zhu Xiang had tried to promote the idea that potatoes are for eating the “roots.” But officials instinctively chose to focus on parts that grow in sunlight—leaves, flowers, and fruit—and turned their noses up at the dirty underground “weeds.” Once they were sure potatoes had minor toxicity, they excluded them from the tax quotas.

A flicker of cautious smiles finally returned to the commoners’ faces.

Lin Xiangru saw all of this. He even suspected that the misleading rhetoric aimed at Zhao officials likely came from Zhu Xiang. Some of the unusual people around Zhu Xiang may also have taken part—such as that overly talented carpenter, Xiang He, and the farmer Xu Ming who kept many books at home.

Neither man had been conscripted, suggesting they had connections.

But Lin Xiangru chose to pretend he hadn’t noticed.

Because of King Zhao’s foolish greed, the commoners had lost most of the grain they had toiled all year to grow. Lin Xiangru feared that once the war ended, half the children of Zhao’s soldiers would starve to death, and half the next generation of commoners might vanish.

Thanks to Zhu Xiang’s help, the commoners had hidden some “roots” to survive on. Because of this, the next generation of Zhao had a slightly better chance to grow up.

On good weather days, Lin Xiangru would sometimes stroll in the fields with Zhu Xiang, leaning on a cane.

He too saw the sorrow on the people’s faces—but also the gratitude and hope in their eyes when they looked at Zhu Xiang.

He even heard an old man whisper to his grandson, “When Lord Zhu Xiang passes by, go and touch the hem of his robe. He’ll bless you to grow up and live to see your father return.”

The news that Zhu Xiang had promoted potatoes and misled Zhao’s grain collectors spread—but not completely.

Nearby commoners only knew that Lord Zhu Xiang kept them from starving. As for the specifics, the ragtag commoners astonishingly kept silent, not revealing a word.

It was a miracle.

Of course, some scoffed that commoners lacked the intelligence to even know how they were saved.

Zhu Xiang’s reputation spread again. Refugees from Shangdang gathered in the wilds around Handan, hoping to receive guidance from him.

It was no longer planting season, but they didn’t care. As long as Zhu Xiang said it could grow, they would plant their treasured seeds in the soil, tighten their belts, and wait for harvest.

A legend spread among the refugees: if you see Lord Zhu Xiang, you will live.

Zhu Xiang heard this too. Unable to bear it, he made an excuse to go up the mountain in search of famine-relief plants, then sat alone on a tree stump, buried his face in his arms, and wept bitterly.

He knew he couldn’t save everyone. Even famine-relief crops like potatoes couldn’t help every refugee who had lost their land.

In truth, people were still dying every day after their grain was taken. Yet no one blamed him. The living still clung to those fantastical rumors, worshiping him like a god who could save them all.

Zhu Xiang thought he had gone to the mountain alone. The roving swordsmen who once protected him had all been conscripted.

But in reality, the Mohists and Agrarians followed a hundred meters behind. Even Xun Kuang and Cai Ze, worried for him, secretly tailed him up the mountain.

Ying Zheng had demanded to see his uncle. Lin Xiangru took him by the hand and, with guards in tow, also ascended the mountain.

They all hid in different places—some may have noticed the others, some may not.

Silently, they listened to Zhu Xiang’s cries. They listened as he spoke bitterly to himself, calling himself useless. Then, as he collected himself and descended the mountain, they quietly followed, pretending nothing had happened.

Back in the dream chamber, Ying Zheng remembered the scene.

He hugged his knees, his little face downcast.

“Uncle is too soft-hearted. That’s not good.”

“Even when I become emperor, I won’t be able to make sure no one in the world ever goes hungry. How can Uncle possibly do it?”

“Why can’t Uncle be a little more selfish, think more about power and wealth—things that actually bring happiness?”

“And Zhao will be destroyed by me eventually. If Uncle is so attached to its people, will he end up opposing me?”

He mumbled to himself, sounding a bit aggrieved.

It was enough for Uncle to be good to him, to Aunt. Why care so much about strangers? Why cry for them?

What if Uncle falls ill from heartbreak?

Ying Zheng poked his own shadowy future self. “Aren’t you supposed to surpass the Three Sovereigns and match the Five Emperors in virtue? Can’t you come up with a way to protect Uncle?”

The shadow didn’t speak—it was only a database.

Frustrated, Ying Zheng jabbed it again and grumbled, “Useless.” Then he logged off and went to sleep.

Emperor’s wisdom? Hmph. Giving Uncle a hug later will be more helpful than anything.

And the “wise and clever” Ying Zheng did just that after leaving the dream room—he gave Zhu Xiang a big, loving hug.

Zhu Xiang, who had already composed himself after that bout of crying, was delighted. He spent half the day lifting Xiao Zheng high into the air, laughing as they played.

Reality, however, remained harsh. Zhu Xiang knew he was no divine being or saint. He couldn’t save everyone. So he kept doing only what he could.

He helped his neighbors first. Then the farmers around Handan who had land and strength. Then the ordinary people of Zhao. As for the refugees—he pretended not to see them.

A person’s energy is finite. So is their love. Ideals are one thing, but Zhu Xiang was someone who could see reality clearly. He wouldn’t let ideals interfere with the tangible work that needed to be done.

Zhu Xiang’s emotions and efforts were just a faint ripple in the grand currents of the Seven States—and even of Zhao. They did not affect national affairs.

The only noticeable shift was that General Lian Po began experimenting with growing potatoes in Changping to partially replace military rations.

What Lian Po did reached the ears of the Qin army.

Ever since Shang Yang’s reforms, Qin had turned itself into a machine of agriculture and warfare. In Qin, commoners had only two legal professions: farming or soldiering. Anyone who tried anything else—like commerce—would be punished.

Qin emphasized farming and war above all. So when General Wang He of Qin heard that a Zhao general was planting an unknown grain in his camp, he was immediately on alert.

Even though Wang He was still attacking Shangdang, far from Changping, he sent scouts to investigate.

Half of the scouts were lost. But the rest returned with several potato plants.

Wang He and a group of generals gathered around the potatoes, scratching their heads.

“…How do you even eat this?”

“They say it’s a root crop.”

“I think it looks a bit like taro!” said a general from Bashu. “Is it planted near water?”

The scout replied, “It’s planted on dry land.”

The general from Bashu said, “Taro that grows on dry land? That’s a good thing. It can’t replace grain, but it can stave off hunger during a famine!”

Wang He frowned. “The Zhao people are planting potatoes in their camp. I fear these potatoes not only stave off hunger but also have the ability to produce yields without intensive farming.”

A deputy general said, “Zhao’s supply lines are easier than ours to maintain. Lian Po is skilled at defending cities, and now with these potatoes, their provisions will be even more secure. That might become a major problem.”

Of course Wang He understood this. It was precisely because he’d keenly sensed this problem that he’d sent scouts to steal some potatoes.

Qin had been waging war against Han’s Shangdang region for over two years, with enormous consumption of resources. Now Zhao had suddenly inserted itself into the conflict, taking the strategic advantage of waiting at ease while the enemy toils. If Zhao relied on ample provisions and solid fortifications to fight a war of attrition, dragging out Qin’s offensive momentum, then with Qin’s current supply situation, they might be worn out and forced to retreat without ever suffering a formal defeat.

Lian Po leisurely planting potatoes in camp was clearly not preparing for a decisive battle against Qin, but rather setting up for a long-term war of supply attrition. Just thinking about it made Wang He’s head throb.

“Write a letter to Xianyang and ask His Majesty to decide,” Wang He finally gave up on trying to solve the issue himself.

He only knew how to fight battles. The complex matters behind warfare—those were best left to others in court.

Ideally, his own commander, Lord Wu’an, General Bai Qi, could be sent back to lead again. Then he could stop thinking altogether and simply follow General Bai Qi’s orders without question.

After Wang He’s letter was rushed back to Xianyang, the King of Qin immediately summoned Fan Ju and Bai Qi for consultation.

After hearing about the potatoes, Fan Ju thought for a moment and said, “These potatoes sound familiar. They may be connected to Prince Zichu’s friend in Zhao.”

Though Zichu had once asked Fan Ju for help, Fan Ju’s first loyalty was to the King of Qin—his benefactor. So he didn’t hesitate to “sell out” Zichu.

The King of Qin summoned Zichu and asked about the potatoes.

Zichu was somewhat angry.

He had deliberately emphasized Zhu Xiang’s importance to Fan Ju, hoping Fan Ju could find a way to protect Zhu Xiang. But Fan Ju had gone ahead and revealed everything about Zhu Xiang to his grandfather without even notifying him.

It wasn’t that Zichu thought Fan Ju should hide it from his grandfather, but he could have at least waited a day and talked to him first—it wouldn’t have affected the bigger picture.

Clearly, Fan Ju, spoiled by his grandfather’s favor, didn’t regard Zichu with much importance.

Zichu was angry, but he also knew that in his grandfather’s eyes, he didn’t hold nearly as much weight as Fan Ju. His long life as a hostage had made him a very skilled actor—no matter how angry he was inside, no one could tell from his expression.

Zichu respectfully replied, “Your Majesty, Zhu Xiang is skilled in agriculture and can increase crop yields by two to three times for commoners. He’s entered the mountains many times to search for edible plants during times of famine. The potato likely came from him.”

The King of Qin asked, puzzled, “Such a talented person, why haven’t I heard you mention him before?”

Zichu answered honestly, “Zhu Xiang was once saved by Lin Xiangru in his youth and is deeply grateful. As long as Lin Xiangru remains in Zhao, Zhu Xiang will not leave. He cannot serve Qin, and I couldn’t bear to see him harmed, so I deliberately kept his existence hidden. King Zhao is foolish and has ignored multiple recommendations of Zhu Xiang from Lin Xiangru because Zhu Xiang is a mere commoner. Lin Xiangru is now old and ill. I thought he would pass within a few years, and then Zhu Xiang might be able to leave Zhao.”

After hesitating a moment, Zichu added, “My eldest son is currently living with Zhu Xiang, who has adopted him. But Zhu Xiang is unaware of my identity.”

He went on to explain how he’d hidden his identity to befriend Zhu Xiang, and how he’d discovered that among the concubines Lu Buwei sent him was Zhu Xiang’s elder sister, leading to their familial connection.

These petty maneuvers—if the King hadn’t asked, Zichu would never have revealed them.

But now that the King was asking about Zhu Xiang, Zichu came clean with all the little schemes at once.

He knew his grandfather was deeply shrewd and had an intense need for control.

His grandfather wouldn’t look down on his identity as a hostage—after all, the King himself had once been a hostage. On the contrary, he would be pleased to see that Zichu had managed these secret dealings under Lu Buwei’s nose, and see him as promising. Zichu’s full disclosure of his plans would only make the King trust and favor him more.

A life spent depending on others had trained Zichu to flatter without showing it.

The King of Qin looked deeply at Zichu, his hawk-like eyes seeming to pierce straight into his heart.

After a while, the King chuckled. “To bend and to stretch—you’ve done well.”

Zichu, his back drenched in cold sweat, barely managed to maintain a calm expression and bowed deeply to thank the King for his praise.

“Since Zhu Xiang is kin to you, then he will sooner or later be a man of Qin. After this victory over Zhao, we’ll demand the return of all Qin hostages. As your son’s guardian, Zhu Xiang will naturally return to Qin as well.” The King asked, “What is your eldest son’s name?”

Zichu replied, “My son is named Zheng.”

The King nodded, set aside the issue of Zhu Xiang for the moment, and turned back to discussing with Bai Qi and Fan Ju how to deal with Lian Po. Zichu obediently remained kneeling to the side, listening.

Now that the man skilled at farming would eventually come to Qin, the King no longer cared.

As for how much the potato might help Zhao in the war—he wasn’t concerned at all. The potato was a side note; what truly mattered was Lian Po’s determination to hold his ground.

Even without potatoes, given Qin’s stretched supply lines and Zhao’s shorter ones, every day Lian Po held his city raised the odds of Qin being forced to retreat.

In other words, if they could replace Lian Po and force Zhao to come out and fight a field battle, then Zhao’s mountain of provisions would be useless.

Though the two armies had yet to formally clash, the King of Qin, Fan Ju, and Bai Qi were already planning how to get Zhao to replace Lian Po—and how to lure Zhao’s forces into open battle.

They carefully considered who in Zhao could take command.

After a long pause, Bai Qi said, “Since King Zhao took power, he has abandoned old generals like Zhao She and Lian Po, and instead promoted Tian Dan. This shows his distrust of ministers who served under the late King. To replace Lian Po, the most suitable candidate would be someone who never served during King Huiwen’s reign.”

What Bai Qi referred to was one of the first major decisions King Zhao made after taking the throne.

King Huiwen had left behind an outstanding court—civil and military ministers like Lian Po, Zhao She, and Lin Xiangru were all top talents that even the King of Qin envied.

But the current King of Zhao, eager to prove himself, deliberately distanced himself from his father’s loyal ministers and preferred to promote those not associated with his predecessor. As long as someone hadn’t worked under his father, they could be considered part of his own team.

Back in the day, Yue Yi had nearly destroyed Qi, but was stopped by General Tian Dan of Qi. After Yue Yi was ousted by the King of Yan, he fled to Zhao and died there. Tian Dan later used his famed “fire oxen formation” to rout the Yan army and recover Qi’s lost territory.

The current King of Zhao traded fifty-seven cities—including three major ones—to bring Tian Dan into Zhao’s service and assigned him to attack Yan. He even appointed him Chancellor afterward.

Zhao She had vehemently opposed this move, arguing that Tian Dan, as a Qi native, would never fight wholeheartedly for Zhao. Zhao already had loyal and capable generals like himself and Lian Po who were more than enough to lead the war effort. To abandon Zhao’s own talent in favor of a Qi general was tantamount to “destroying your army and killing your generals,” which would damage morale.

But King Zhao and his regent Lord Pingyuan ignored Zhao She’s warnings.

As expected, Tian Dan slacked off in Zhao and only captured three small cities before dying.

King Zhao’s foolishness revealed a deep insecurity—his brilliant father cast a long shadow, so he distrusted anyone from his father’s court and only trusted people outside it. To him, promoting such people proved his own abilities.

“Zhao She had repeatedly posed a threat to our Qin state. After the Zhao King assumed full control of state affairs, however, he gradually became cold toward Zhao She. But it’s not that the Zhao King didn’t recognize Zhao She’s abilities—he just didn’t want to reuse an old minister of King Huiwen of Zhao. Perhaps only after suffering setbacks will he come to his senses,” Fan Ju stroked his beard and sneered. “Lord Wu’an makes a valid point. In my view, since the Zhao King wants to appoint someone who hasn’t yet held office and is unafraid of Qin, who could be more suitable than Zhao She’s son, Zhao Kuo?”

A trace of mockery flashed in Bai Qi’s eyes. “That famous Ma Fuzu? He would be perfect.”

The King of Qin hesitated. “Ma Fuzu is young and impulsive. If he were to lead the army, he would indeed be the best choice. But he has no military experience. How could the Zhao King entrust such a great responsibility to someone who’s never been on a battlefield?”

Fan Ju cupped his hands and said, “Your Majesty, leave this to me. Lian Po will insist on a defensive strategy and likely retreat while engaging. After he suffers a few battlefield losses, I guarantee the Zhao King will replace Lian Po with Ma Fuzu!”

The King of Qin trusted Fan Ju deeply and said warmly, “I believe in you. Do what you must—you don’t need to consult me, just take what you need.”

Fan Ju accepted the task.

Bai Qi added, “I will feign illness. Once the Zhao King replaces Lian Po with Ma Fuzu, I’ll march to Shangdang at full speed.”

The King said, “I will issue strict orders for military secrecy. Anyone who leaks it will be executed. You may rest assured, General.”

Seeing the King’s high regard for Bai Qi, Fan Ju felt slightly wary. However, Bai Qi acted with great deference, which eased Fan Ju’s mind a little, and he set aside his suspicions for now.  Zichu quietly observed everything from the side, deep in thought.

After Fan Ju and Bai Qi left, the King of Qin summoned Zichu and asked, “Did you understand what just happened?”

Zichu, realizing his grandfather had finally started to value him, was excited. “Matters of war are not decided on the battlefield alone. Before the war even begins, the outcome may already be partially determined.”

The King of Qin nodded slightly and continued, “What else?”

Zichu pondered for a moment, concealing his suspicions that Fan Ju and Bai Qi might not get along. “That’s all I could glean.”

The King was not disappointed. “Though I’ve ordered you to study under Lu Buwei, his vision does not match that of the Prime Minister. You should consult the Prime Minister more often.”

Zichu was overjoyed. “Thank you, Your Majesty!”

The King of Qin had always closely guarded Fan Ju. Now that he was willing to let Zichu learn from Fan Ju, it meant he had acknowledged Zichu as his heir.

After asking a few more questions about Zichu’s studies and showing some concern for his well-being, the King dismissed him.

Once Zichu left, Fan Ju, who had previously withdrawn, reappeared from behind a curtain.

With no outsiders present, Fan Ju was much more at ease before the King. “Your Majesty, why have you suddenly taken an interest in Prince Zichu?”

The King’s smile also relaxed. He patted the seat beside him affectionately, gesturing for Fan Ju to sit. “Seeing his tireless efforts reminded me of myself when I was a hostage in Yan.”

Once Fan Ju was seated, the King personally poured him some honey water and continued with a laugh, “His future is uncertain, yet he still seeks the company of great talents. And also—”

The King couldn’t continue, laughing so hard he bent over.

Fan Ju patted his back and laughed as well. “And also, secretly forging ties of marriage with his closest friend? This Zichu… isn’t he a little too unscrupulous? I’m afraid when Zhu Xiang learns of this, he’ll be furious.”

The King wiped the tears from his laughter. “I really want to see how Zichu will deal with Zhu Xiang’s anger once he finds out.”

Watching his monarch act like a mischievous old man, Fan Ju couldn’t help but laugh aloud. “I will keep a close eye on Prince Zichu. If anything interesting happens, I’ll report back to Your Majesty immediately.”

The two men, both sovereign and minister and also close friends, laughed wickedly for a while before returning to serious matters.

“I had been worried Zichu would fall under Lu Buwei’s control, but he seems more capable than I imagined. Lord Anguo is mediocre—having Zichu brings me some peace of mind,” the King sighed, thinking of his outstanding former crown prince.

That crown prince hadn’t lived to outlast him. Every time the King thought of it, he felt deep regret.

Looking at neighboring Zhao, their late crown prince had also died before King Huiwen, leaving the throne to the incompetent Prince Dan. That only heightened the King’s anxiety. If Lord Anguo turned out to be another Zhao King, what then?

Fortunately, though Lord Anguo disappointed him, he still handled affairs better than the Zhao King. And now seeing Zichu remind him of his own youth, the King felt more reassured.

“I am growing old, and so are you. We cannot watch over the next generation forever. Zichu and Zhu Xiang are both young—perhaps they will become another you and me,” the King said earnestly. “You must teach Zichu well. When Zhu Xiang comes to Qin, you must also guide him. Help them become the next us.”

Fan Ju’s eyes grew moist, and he choked up. “Yes, Your Majesty. You can rest easy.”

Fan Ju thought: all the hardships in the first half of his life must have been preparing him to meet this ruler.

The two of them looked at each other with deep emotion. A palace maid risked a glance upward, then quickly lowered her head and rubbed the goosebumps on her arms.

Here we go again. His Majesty and the Chancellor are getting sentimental again!

…

In Shangdang Commandery, Wang He sighed in relief upon receiving the King’s order. He broke camp and began attacking Shangdang in earnest, planning to deliver a hard blow to Lian Po once the battle was done.

He only needed to maintain the appearance of aggressively suppressing the Zhao forces, making the Zhao state believe Lian Po was cowardly and avoiding combat. The rest was up to Lord Ying (Fan Ju) and Lord Wu’an (Bai Qi).

In Handan, the autumn harvest had ended, but winter wheat hadn’t been planted in time.

A twice-yearly crop rotation of millet and wheat required a great deal of labor, as well as fertilizer to maintain soil fertility. But with Handan’s population depleted, there weren’t enough people to plant the winter wheat.

Zhu Xiang tried the same method as before, hoping the nobles would send their retainers and private soldiers to help. But the winter cold made fertilizing and plowing dirtier and harder than harvesting. Even when Xunzi personally stepped in, he still couldn’t persuade the nobles.

Most retainers were scholars—minor nobles, still distinct from commoners. Having them help with harvesting had already been a humiliation. Asking them to plow, fertilize, and water the fields? That might drive some of them to suicide out of rage.

Scholars these days had very fragile pride.

Zhu Xiang had no choice but to increase potato cultivation.

Even without careful tending, simply burying sprouted potatoes could yield a small harvest—better than leaving land barren.

But just as he was promoting potato farming, a Zhao official reported him.

Potatoes were considered poisonous. Promoting their cultivation was framed as using toxins to invade fertile farmland, harming the Zhao state.

The official argued that they should plant forage crops instead—to feed warhorses and improve soil fertility for next year’s millet and grain crops.

Zhao had no shortage of agricultural experts. The report gained widespread agreement among them.

They claimed that Zhu Xiang’s reputation as a skilled farmer was undeserved—he was just a fame-seeker who deceived the peasants to gain influence for a higher office.

Now, they said, he’d finally shown his true colors: using poisonous plants to occupy valuable land, threatening Zhao’s future harvests, and wasting fertile fields. Such a man, who only sought fame at the expense of the state, should be executed!

Court officials were unanimous in their condemnation. The Zhao King agreed with their reasoning.

Out of respect for Lin Xiangru and the still-fighting Lian Po—and knowing Zhu Xiang was the uncle of the Qin hostage—the Zhao King refrained from executing him. But he did require Zhu Xiang to pay a heavy fine to atone.

Lin Xiangru was nearly furious enough to vomit blood and wanted to argue with the Zhao King.

Zhu Xiang stopped him.

“They’re not wrong. If we didn’t care about the common people’s lives, then forage should indeed be planted to feed warhorses—not potatoes that deplete soil and can’t be fed to horses,” Zhu Xiang said solemnly. “Besides, my reputation has already stirred jealousy and suspicion among the nobles. If you go to plead with the King, they’ll only hate me more.”

Zhu Xiang smiled in resignation. “I’ve done all I could. The commoners have already quietly planted potatoes to feed themselves. Let’s leave it at that. If this escalates, they might ban potato cultivation altogether and order the peasants to dig them all up.”

Lin Xiangru was silent for a long time, tears streaming down his weathered face. “Zhu Xiang, when Zheng’er leaves Zhao, go with him. He’s part of the Qin royal clan. He’ll be better able to protect you than I can.”

Lin Xiangru had given up hope.

A state like Zhao did not deserve someone like Zhu Xiang.

“Qin might not be much better,” Zhu Xiang replied gloomily. “They have nobles too. They may not care about commoners’ lives either. Perhaps they’d prefer forage in fertile fields over famine-relief crops.”

“Sigh.” Lin Xiangru patted Zhu Xiang’s shoulder, swallowing his words, and changed the subject. “I’ll pay the fine.”

Zhu Xiang wanted to refuse, but in the end, he accepted Lin Xiangru’s help.

The King had fined him a thousand gold pieces. Even if he sold all of Zheng’er’s savings, he couldn’t scrape together that much.

Still, Zhu Xiang managed to gather eighty gold—everything he could quickly collect. Aside from their house, Zheng’er’s savings, and gifts from friends, he had sold everything he could.

Ying Zheng clung to his uncle’s arm, sobbing. “Don’t save money for me!”

He took out his father’s jade pendant again. “Sell this!”

Zhu Xiang ruffled his hair. “No. Zheng’er’s money stays with Zheng’er. You’ll grow up and take care of your uncle and aunt, alright?”

Ying Zheng wept bitterly.

After hearing his uncle had nearly been killed, he hadn’t slept well for days. Now, the house had been stripped bare, and Zheng’er was heartbroken.

It had once felt like a true home. Many things still had his childish carvings and doodles. Now it was all gone.

Even Xue couldn’t hold back her tears.

The family had only just begun to enjoy some peace. How had things become so precarious again?

Zhu Xiang tried to comfort both Ying Zheng and Xue, so anxious he barely had time to be upset himself.

In fact, a part of him felt relieved.

The heavy burden on his shoulders had made even the smallest effort feel difficult. Now, with the King removing him from office, his responsibilities were also lifted. It was escapism—unglorious—but it truly lightened the load on his spirit.

Escape might be shameful, but it feels so good. Zhu Xiang had never claimed to be a noble saint.

He needed a thousand gold to buy his life. Lin Xiangru and Li Mu immediately sent gold. Xunzi, Xiang He, and Xu Ming all contributed, even the impoverished Cai Ze somehow scraped together ten gold.

That was fine—debts of friendship could be repaid slowly.

But what truly overwhelmed Zhu Xiang again was when nearby farmers and small merchants, who’d somehow heard of the incident, started bringing what little money they had to help pay his fine.

When Zhu Xiang refused, they came at night and threw bags of coins over his courtyard wall.

When he awoke, there was a pile of money at the base of the wall.

Zhu Xiang looked at the scattered coins in silence for a long time.

Ying Zheng looked up at his uncle’s furrowed brow and felt as if his uncle had aged many, many years in just a few days.

“Zheng’er.”

“Mm?”

“…Nothing.”

Zhu Xiang had meant to tell Ying Zheng to remember the kindness of these people and repay it in the future.

But he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

That kindness had been shown to him, not to Ying Zheng. It was his debt to repay, not Zheng’er’s.

Zhu Xiang felt like he was trapped in a spider’s web—the more he struggled to escape, the tighter the strands entangled him.