HCT – Chapter 201 Two Chus Saving the People

The continuous drizzle didn’t bring much trouble to Guangling County, which had already been merged into Wu Commandery, but it brought enormous suffering to the land of Chu.

After the Chu civil war ended, before the country could even catch its breath, the ruler of Southern Chu launched an attack against the cities on the northern bank of the Yangtze River occupied by Qin. The King of Chu lent Xiang Yan as commander-in-chief and even dispatched some troops to assist.

Even fighting on their own land, it still took at least three civilian laborers to sustain one soldier’s logistics. The number of people left to cultivate the land in Chu dropped drastically.

The early–late rice rotation technique promoted by Zhu Xiang in Southern Qin had already been secretly brought into Chu. The Chu people began planting double-season rice as well.

After Qin waged the “cotton trade war” against Chu, the kingdom fell into famine and then into civil strife.

The terrible famine and chaos finally passed. Even the laziest Chu peasants became diligent, secretly learning Southern Qin’s rice rotation method.

If they could harvest twice a year, even if the yield wasn’t as high as Southern Qin’s, wouldn’t it still be enough to fill their stomachs? That was the humble hope of the Chu people.

Last year, when the King of Chu and the ruler of Southern Chu conscripted all able-bodied men, the early rice in the fields was nearly ripe.

Women of Chu carried babies on their backs, held farm tools tightly in hand, and, together with the elderly, rose before dawn and worked until late at night. If there was moonlight, they continued working under its glow.

A woman’s strength couldn’t compare to that of a man. What a man could finish in one hour often took a woman much longer. A slightly weaker woman might need twice or even three times the time.

But that didn’t matter.

There were twelve hours in a day. She built a straw hut by the field, lived and ate beside the paddy ridge. Unless she was too exhausted to move or there was no moonlight to work by, she would keep working—day and night—until every task was done.

To make soldiers fight willingly, each state gave its conscripted soldiers and laborers a little food allowance. Not much, but better than nothing.

Whenever she was on the verge of giving up from exhaustion, the woman would hold her baby—who had fallen asleep crying from hunger with her finger in his mouth—and dream of a better future.

Her husband would return home with rations; their field would be ready for harvest. The family could finally sit down to a full meal.

Then, after paying taxes on their surplus, they could hide away the rest and drink porridge every day. When the autumn rice ripened again, they could celebrate the new year with full bellies and even trade some leftover grain for a little fish or meat.

To eat meat once a year—that was happiness.

Thinking of this, the woman’s worried face would brighten into a smile. The pain and weariness in her body would fade as if by magic.

Though the embers of war hadn’t fully died, the past half-year had brought mild wind and gentle rain to the Chu lands.

People of Chu watched nervously as the rice sprouted, filled with grain, and turned golden.

Careful smiles bloomed on their faces—as if the golden ears of rice were not crops, but gold itself.

Perhaps, in times of hunger, rice was more precious than gold.

Then Xiang Yan was defeated.

What did the rout of nearly a hundred thousand soldiers mean? It meant a hundred thousand bandits.

The Qin soldiers didn’t seem interested in Chu’s rice. They pursued the Chu army to the Huai River, then hastily retreated. Apart from trampling a few paddies during forced marches, they caused little damage—quite a surprise to the Chu people, who had long heard tales of Qin’s brutality.

In truth, if Zhu Xiang hadn’t urged Ying Zheng to hurry back, Qin’s military discipline wouldn’t have been so clean. But the Crown Prince was anxious to return—who dared stop midway to loot?

The defeated Chu soldiers, however, were another story.

Perhaps from fear, or from wanting to seize something after losing their pay and rewards, or simply from the intoxication of holding weapons and standing among armed men—except for the troops quickly gathered by Xiang Yan, the rest of the soldiers, porters, and remnants of Southern Chu’s army turned into bandits committing every imaginable atrocity.

They not only looted and violated, but even burned fields and destroyed homes—crimes that harmed others without any benefit to themselves.

Some generals even personally ordered their guards to do these things.

Because they knew—defeat had robbed their men of any reward. If they wanted their soldiers to continue obeying without paying them, the only way was to let them plunder.

And having just suffered a crushing defeat, the soldiers needed to stain their blades with innocent blood to regain courage and confidence.

Within the old borders of Chu, things were relatively better. Once Xiang Yan gathered his men, he immediately led his personal troops to hunt down bandits and restore order, preventing the chaos from spreading.

But the ruler of Southern Chu had no such control. The remnants of his army turned wild, and even the Chu migrants who had moved south began to rebel. Many fled back north to their burned homelands, trying to rebuild their towns from the ashes.

The newborn Southern Chu state was struck by a severe man-made disaster.

Worse yet—the rent and taxes were still due.

In despair, old men walked alone into the mountains at dawn; mothers, weeping, cut their fingers to let their starving children suck the blood; soldiers returning home found their villages reduced to cinders—destroyed by their own comrades.

Even so, the common folk remained numb, rarely resisting.

After half a year of chewing grass and eating clay, the autumn harvest finally gave them a breath of relief. They paid their debts, fed the survivors, and began to look forward to the next early rice crop.

This time, neither Southern Chu nor the main Chu kingdom levied new soldiers or corvée labor. Many toiled diligently in the fields. The surviving elders and persevering women and children could finally rest a little, praying for a good harvest.

Just like last year, the rice ripened and turned yellow again. Expectation once more appeared on the faces of the Chu people.

Then—the rains came.

All across the land, Chu officials and feudal lords built altars, offering rare treasures and praying to Heaven to stop showing its might and spare the people.

Their prayers were earnest.

They knelt in the mud, weeping bitterly, showing their “concern” for the nation and its people.

“But none,” said Lord Chunshen, Huang Xie, with a cold laugh, “none are like Zhu Xiang—leading his own retainers and Qin soldiers to help the farmers harvest their crops.

Their altars are grand and sturdy, but the farmers have no tools to reap their grain. Their altars are filled with wine and meat, yet the relief rations they distribute are little better than sand mixed with husks. They cry to Heaven every day, lighting great flames in prayer, yet not one helps the peasants build a kiln to dry their rice!”

Huang Xie hurled his bronze wine cup to the ground. “General Xiang, will you lend me your troops or not?”

Xiang Yan looked down at the fallen cup, silent.

Huang Xie said, “I’ll give you five of the small cities under my fief in exchange for the troops.”

Xiang Yan’s brow twitched. He sighed helplessly. “Lord Chunshen, why put yourself through this?”

Huang Xie replied, “It’s not me who suffers—it’s the people of Chu.”

Xiang Yan said, “You weren’t like this before. Has becoming Zhu Xiang’s friend changed you so much?”

Huang Xie countered, “Why do you assume I’ve changed? Perhaps I’ve always been this way—it’s just that Zhu Xiang made me see myself clearly.”

He took a deep breath, pointed at his chest, and declared, “I may love wealth and status, but I still see the hardships of the common people!”

Then, raising both hands flat before him, he bent deeply until his body was parallel with the ground. “General Xiang! I, Xie, offer five cities from my fief to borrow your soldiers—just once!”

Xiang Yan sighed again, rose, and helped Lord Chunshen to his feet. “It’s not that I refuse,” he said quietly, “but after my last defeat, the King of Chu holds many grievances against me. I dare not act rashly.”

Xiang Yan had fallen out of favor with the King of Chu. It wasn’t because of burning cities or relocating people, nor because the defeated soldiers had turned to banditry. Such things were all too common — no ruler would get angry over such trivial matters.

Although some scholars pitied the suffering of Chu’s people and others wrote essays condemning Xiang Yan, after more than five hundred years of war since the Spring and Autumn period, the suffering of commoners had become so routine that most people no longer cared. If not for the sudden rise of Duke Zhu Xiang — who himself came from common birth and cared for the people — there wouldn’t have been any voices criticizing Xiang Yan at all.

The King of Chu had distanced himself from Xiang Yan for one simple reason: Xiang Yan had lost.

In truth, although he had failed to capture Guangling City, he had conquered every other city along the northern bank of the Yangtze River — a merit far outweighing his failures.

But the King of Chu had long been wary of Xiang Yan’s growing influence, and this defeat merely gave him an excuse to suppress him.

Thus, while scholars condemned Xiang Yan’s cruelty — saying that a Chu man who slaughtered fellow Chu people was heartless — he also faced deliberate suppression from his own king. After returning to Chendu, Xiang Yan locked himself away, keeping a low profile to avoid trouble.

Even so, he clung tightly to his military power. The Xiang family’s elite soldiers remained the strongest force in Chu — even the king dared not strip him of command. To show his support for the king, Lord Chunshen turned his fief into a commandery, relinquishing military control and keeping only administrative and financial authority.

When famine struck and the king refused to mobilize troops to aid the harvest, Lord Chunshen had no choice but to seek Xiang Yan’s help. Even after promising to cede part of his fief to Xiang Yan, Xiang Yan still refused.

Lord Chunshen covered his face with his sleeve and wept as he mounted his carriage. Xiang Yan personally saw him off, looking slightly uncomfortable.

The Xiang clansmen beside him were visibly displeased. They mocked Lord Chunshen for imitating that commoner Zhu Xiang’s kind-hearted foolishness — sending scholars to help peasants harvest crops was, in their eyes, a disgrace to the nobility.

But Xiang Yan wavered.

He recalled Lord Changping, slumped and disheveled on his war chariot. The world had praised Lord Changping; even the Chu people of Guangling City were willing to die for him. Could Xiang Yan truly deny the nobility in Lord Changping’s actions, even if they lacked aristocratic dignity?

Xiang Yan sat awake the entire night.

The next morning, he sent three hundred of his slaves to assist Lord Chunshen. “Just slaves,” Xiang Yan thought. “That doesn’t lower my noble standing.”

Lord Chunshen continued his tearful “begging” tour around Chendu for several days, his eyes so swollen he could barely open them.

Out of pity, this household lent him a hundred slaves, that one two hundred servants. Even Crown Prince Qi went to the King of Chu to request a thousand slaves for him. After days of pleading, Lord Chunshen finally gathered five thousand people and could set out.

When Crown Prince Qi saw him off, he handed him a command token and said, “With this token, Lord Chunshen may receive provisions from any granary in the Chu kingdom. Take care.”

Lord Chunshen knew that the prince had knelt before the palace gates for an entire day and night to secure this token, fainting from exhaustion. He felt a rush of joy — I am not alone on this path.

“Your servant thanks the Crown Prince,” Lord Chunshen bowed deeply. “Please take care as well.”

He then led his motley band of workers away, determined to help the Chu people harvest their rice. Though several days late — and much of the grain already sprouting — doing something was still better than standing by idly.

Through Lord Chunshen’s efforts, the famine in Chu was temporarily eased, and order was briefly restored.

Southern Chu remained chaotic, but the nobles actually benefited — gaining new lands, more slaves, and strengthening their private armies. Though many commoners were displaced, most fled north to Guangling City, causing little trouble for the southern Chu rulers.

All the trouble fell squarely on the supposedly “benevolent” Duke Zhu Xiang. This irony made the Southern Chu’s rulers feel as if they’d regained a little dignity after their crushing defeat.

——

When Zhu Xiang learned of Lord Chunshen’s actions while he was still organizing land reclamation for the refugees, he immediately dispatched riders carrying blueprints of new farming tools and techniques for efficient harvesting.

“Duke Zhu Xiang,” Li Si asked worriedly, “if you send these designs — the fan-wheel and other tools — to Lord Chunshen, won’t people accuse you of colluding with Chu?”

Han Fei put it even more bluntly: “Helping Chu grow stronger benefits Qin not at all.”

Zhu Xiang shook his head. “I’ve already written to the King of Qin. He’ll agree. The better Lord Chunshen performs in aiding the Chu people, the more dangerous he becomes. By helping him succeed, I not only save innocent Chu civilians but also…”

He paused, sighed, and continued, “…also hasten his downfall. Lord Chunshen surely knows this too. When the King of Chu later turns against him, today’s mercy will become the knife that pierces his heart.”

Han Fei and Li Si, political novices compared to Zhu Xiang, were confused. “Why?” they asked in unison.

Zhu Xiang explained, “Because of Prince Qi. The prince is too talented — he and Lord Chunshen cooperate perfectly. During times of crisis, the King of Chu rejoices to have his grown son by his side. But now that the famine is easing, seeing his overly capable heir so close to Lord Chunshen will only breed unease. A once-loyal minister, now favored by the prince — that’s treachery in the king’s eyes.”

He sighed again. “Lord Chunshen understands this. That’s why, when Xiang Yan’s fame began to rise, he deliberately stepped back — surrendering his military power and keeping a low profile, hoping to preserve himself.”

Li Si’s mind cleared slightly. “So now that he’s risking himself to save the starving Chu people, the more success he gains, the greater his reputation — and the less the king can tolerate him?”

Han Fei frowned. “But doesn’t the Crown Prince understand his father’s jealousy? Why would he involve himself?”

Zhu Xiang sighed once more. “According to secret reports from Lu Buwei’s old network, the Crown Prince had deliberately kept his distance from Lord Chunshen to protect him. But the King of Chu refused to approve the rescue efforts; without royal consent, Lord Chunshen couldn’t act. After the prince returned, the queen — who already despised Lord Chunshen — made things worse. Only the prince could intercede for him within the palace.”

Both men knew the risks — and still, they chose to act. If the prince ever became king, he and Lord Chunshen might have truly achieved the harmony of a wise ruler and loyal minister — and ushered in a new golden age for Chu.

If not for Qin’s existence.

Li Si and Han Fei couldn’t help feeling respect for the Crown Prince and Lord Chunshen. Even though they were Qin’s enemies, enemies could still be admirable.

Zhu Xiang, however, was puzzled. In recorded history, Lord Chunshen was known as a man obsessed with wealth and family power — quite unlike this one. But then he remembered: Lord Chunshen’s greatest historical legacy was in public works — improving irrigation, controlling floods, encouraging cultivation, and developing Jiangdong. The city of “Shen” was named in his honor.

Among countless lords of the Warring States, few ever improved their own lands — proof that Chunshen’s vision was humbler, and more attuned to the people’s needs. Even if he could see only a little of their suffering — at least he saw. Better that than blind indifference.

He had always had such potential. Perhaps it was Zhu Xiang’s influence that had awakened it.  Zhu Xiang glanced at his “favorability list,” noticing Lord Chunshen’s red heart slowly rising behind his portrait.

Despite being enemies who had plotted against each other, the favor meter was almost two full hearts — nearly as high as Lord Xinling’s. Zhu Xiang could only smile bitterly.

He found himself wishing — hypocritically perhaps — that when Lord Chunshen finally fell from the king’s favor, he might simply retire peacefully instead of dying violently. In his past life’s history, Lord Chunshen had perished in court intrigue. If this lifetime could grant him a gentler end, that would be enough.

But Zhu Xiang knew such hopes were faint.

After a moment of reflection, he pushed the matter aside. He was far too busy.

Refugees from Southern Chu flooded into Guangling City. Not only did the Southern Chu rulers turn a blind eye — they even encouraged the starving masses: “Go to Guangling! Seek Duke Zhu Xiang!”

As if he were their minister — shameless beyond measure.

Zhu Xiang, however, welcomed the arrivals warmly. Guangling had harvested a bumper crop, as had the three southern Qin commanderies. The granaries overflowed, and new warehouses were being built.

The southern Qin lands were humid, making grain prone to spoilage. By using old grain to feed refugees — in exchange for their labor on reclamation and waterworks — Zhu Xiang found a perfect solution.

Xiang Yan’s massacre along the northern Yangtze, leaving Guangling City as the lone stronghold, had ironically become a blessing for Qin. If Qin ever sought to cross the Yangtze, building new ports and fortresses from scratch would be difficult. But with Guangling as the base, and waves of refugees cultivating westward — building roads and settlements — the reconstruction of the northern Yangtze would come naturally, one step at a time.

Moreover, although Wang Jian was said to be guarding the three passes of Yiyang, in truth, he was also stationed along the northern bank of the Yangtze River.

The world knew Wang Jian for his famed cavalry victories, yet they overlooked that he had once served as Deputy General under Li Mu, following him in commanding naval forces during river campaigns. Wang Jian himself commanded an elite fleet that could sail down the Han River and Yangtze River, rebuilding ports and docks from west to east.

Now, when the people of Chu who had fled back to their homelands saw the Qin soldiers, it was as if they were seeing their own kin — they no longer resisted. They clung to the Qin soldiers’ legs, begging them not to leave.

The customs of Chu differed greatly from those of the Central Plains and Qin. Normally, the Chu people were the hardest to tame. Even if conquered by Qin, they would still regard themselves as Chu and refuse to assimilate, harboring strong anti-Qin sentiments.

Xiang Yan possessed the talent of a general, not that of a statesman — much less a ruler. He was much like his grandson, Xiang Yu.

Thus, when he burned cities and relocated people, he was thinking purely in terms of military strategy — to cause trouble for Qin’s unification efforts, to buy time for the Chu kingdom’s survival. He could not see the long-term consequences for the people’s hearts.

Zhu Xiang was certain that even if Xiang Yan had succeeded in his plans — even if Zhu Xiang had not been in Guangling and saved that city’s people — Xiang Yan’s and the Southern Chu king’s atrocities along the northern banks of the Yangtze would still have inflicted lasting harm upon Chu itself.

For Qin would surely unify the realm in the end.

Originally, after Qin’s conquest, the Chu people here would have still cherished memories of their former king and homeland. That lingering attachment to Chu was what allowed the Xiang clan to flee to Jiangdong and, later, lead its sons to sweep across the Central Plains. Now, if anyone in Jiangdong dared reveal the name “Xiang,” people north and south of the river would beat them in the streets.

Can’t defeat Xiang Yu? Then report him to the authorities! The Qin might be cruel — but the Xiang clan must die!

It wasn’t that Xiang Yan was foolish or ignorant — it was simply that true statesmen’s talents were rare. And in an age like the Warring States, when nobles and commoners were so sharply divided that they seemed almost two different species, few ever cared what use the common folk could serve.

Now, the evil fruits of Xiang Yan’s actions had ripened early.

In contrast to the benevolence of Lord Changping, and after two years of manmade famine in Southern Chu, the people there now saw Lord Changping as their last hope. Whole families fled north toward Guangling, seeking merely to survive.

Among these refugees were many scholars — some originally from the northern banks of the Yangtze. They were uneasy.

It was they who had once driven the Qin army away — and now they were seeking aid from Qin. Would Qin even acknowledge them? And with so many of them, even if Lord Changping pitied them, would he have enough grain to feed everyone?

Yet when they arrived at Guangling, their worries vanished.

Lord Changping did not appear personally. The city’s outskirts were heavily guarded by Qin troops. But instead of driving them away, the Qin soldiers helped them build refugee camps, register their names and skills, distribute rations, and assign labor.

Those among them who were literate and could speak court language or Qin dialect were separately registered and trained to help manage the refugees. Qin’s system of household registration could even be applied to refugees — and literate scholars among them served as “village heads,” assisting Qin officials in managing the temporary settlements.

After years of handling refugee crises during the Qin–Chu trade wars, Qin’s army and administrators were already highly experienced. Most of the current officials overseeing refugees were themselves former Chu refugees.

The system was sound, and experience abundant — but there was simply too much work. Before, Zhu Xiang had the help of Ying Zheng and Xue Ji. Now, only he remained.

Ying Zheng, when working at full capacity, could do the work of two ordinary men. Now Zhu Xiang had to push beyond even that — sleeping only two hours a night, sustained entirely by strong tea.

A person’s limits are always forced out under pressure. Zhu Xiang was thirty-two — the prime age for working “007.” He wrote letters to Zichu, begging him to send Zheng’er back to help, while pushing himself to the very edge.

Seeing Zhu Xiang’s tireless efforts, the new local officials of Guangling — mostly local scholars — were both inspired and frightened.

Chen Qi kept advising him to take care of his health: “Some matters can wait a little.”

Zhu Xiang sipped his tea and smiled. “I’m fine, truly. If I delay even a day, dozens will starve to death. How could I sleep?”

Privately, Fuqiu said to Chen Qi, “If persuasion worked, we’d have done it already. Instead of wasting words, we should just share more of his burden.”

Chen Qi wiped his tears and nodded.

Zhu Xiang, a man of Qin, was exhausting himself to save the refugees of Chu. How could these scholars of Guangling — once men of Chu — sleep peacefully?

As Chen Qi and the others stayed up working alongside him, they spread the message among the refugee scholars:

“The Chu king and the Southern Chu lord care nothing for your lives. Only Lord Changping does. Even beasts know gratitude — if you betray Lord Changping one day, you’ll be worse than beasts!”

Thus, Zhu Xiang’s reputation resounded throughout Southern Chu.

Even illiterate farmers now knew of the “Lord Changping in the South.”

If life became unbearable, they said — go seek Lord Changping.

At last, Zhu Xiang’s name was not merely known among the upper scholars but truly accepted by the common people of Chu. And when word spread that the double-cropping rice, the famine-saving potatoes and pumpkins — all came from Lord Changping — his fame grew even further.

Many who had merely toiled in the fields, eating the rice without ever knowing its source, finally understood.

Meanwhile, as the Southern Chu lord discovered the mass exodus of his people, he began to take measures to stop them. At this time, Lord Chunshen also ended his inspection tour of Chu and returned to the capital of Chen.

Lord Chunshen’s benevolence now echoed across all of Chu. In the hearts of the people under the Chu king’s control, Lord Chunshen’s name outshone even that of Lord Changping.

For Changping’s kindness had never reached them — it was a distant tale. But Chunshen’s mercy had saved them directly — thus, they revered him.

The Chu king personally went out of the city to greet Chunshen and rewarded him richly. Yet when Chunshen saw the king’s exaggerated smile, his heart went cold.

He had served the king since the latter’s days as crown prince — no one knew him better. And from that single expression, Chunshen understood: the king was already plotting something. He knew then that his own life was in danger.

After returning to the capital, Chunshen fell gravely ill from overwork. He submitted his resignation to the king, asking to return to his fief to recover.

The king declined several times before finally agreeing. Chunshen breathed a sigh of relief.

When he departed the capital, the Chu king secretly left the palace to see him off in person. The crown prince Qi did not come.

“He wants to protect you,” the king said softly, his tone just as it had been when he was crown prince himself. “You think I want to kill you — and the prince thinks the same.”

Chunshen shook his head. “It is not that Your Majesty wishes to kill me. It is I who am guilty — for once supporting the son of the late Queen Hu, then backing the returning prince. My wavering has earned me many enemies. Both princes are Your Majesty’s sons, your own flesh and blood. If they contend, how much pain would that bring you? It is I who deserve death.”

He wiped his tears and continued, “I supported the prince because I believed he had proven his virtue and ability. I did it for Chu’s sake. So I am not ashamed before the state — only before Your Majesty. Allowing me to return to my fief is already more mercy than I deserve.”

The Chu king, moved by Chunshen’s sorrowful tears, recalled their years together in Qin and softened. “Go,” the king sighed. “Go far away. Don’t come back. Once you reach your fief, I will reduce your stipend.”

Chunshen immediately replied, “I shall petition to have it reduced myself.” The king nodded and watched him leave.

In the autumn of 248 B.C., Lord Chunshen, citing age and illness, resigned his post as Chief Minister and returned to his fief. Along the way, he survived several assassination attempts, saved only by Chu’s wandering knights who escorted him home.

Once home, Lord Chunshen immediately memorialized the throne, requesting the reduction of his own fief to replenish the royal treasury. The king granted his request and rewarded him with a thousand pieces of gold.

The people of Chu universally praised Lord Chunshen’s high virtue — even the tiger-and-wolf-like King of Qin publicly lauded him, sending envoys to invite him to Qin.