HCT – Chapter 202 Parting Between Enemies and Friends

The Qin State’s schemes of sowing discord always began with flattery.

To divide others, Qin first exaggerated the virtues of one person, raising him high as a foil to the other. This art of “praise-as-weapon” — the “夸夸” strategy — had already been mastered to perfection by Qin’s rulers and ministers.

Of the Four Lords of the Warring States — Lord Mengchang, Lord Xinling, Lord Chunshen, and Lord Pingyuan — both Lord Mengchang and Lord Xinling fell to the suspicions of their own kings.

Lord Chunshen should have died in a power struggle, backstabbed by his own peers, yet now he was walking down the same road as those two.

As for Lord Pingyuan — though he perished in despair, unable to see a way forward — at least he enjoyed deep trust and favor from both King Huiwen and King Xiaocheng of Zhao throughout his life.

If kings were to be compared by how terrible they were, the kings of Zhao were actually among the better ones.

Lord Chunshen wished to withdraw unharmed, but Qin would never allow him such an end. The King of Qin no longer wanted to see another Lord Xinling of Wei emerge.

Lord Xinling too had fallen out of favor with his king — used when needed, discarded when not. Yet as long as Lord Xinling lived, Wei still found ways to rise again, remaining a thorn lodged in Qin’s throat.

Lord Chunshen, even though he had retreated to his fief, would surely be summoned again once Chu faced trouble. Besides, there was still a crown prince in Chu who revered him deeply.

At first, Qin had looked down upon Lord Chunshen, thinking him the same type as Lord Pingyuan — famous but mediocre, unworthy of fear.

But now Lord Chunshen had grown important enough that the Qin Prime Minister himself planned a scheme against him, and the King of Qin personally joined in — to stage for him a grand deception of praise.

Qin began spreading word throughout the other states, glorifying Lord Chunshen’s virtue. They declared that without him, Chu would have already perished.

Not only did they exaggerate his deeds, they even fabricated new ones: They claimed that if only the Chu king had listened to Lord Chunshen, the civil strife of Chu could have been prevented.

They took his defeat at the hands of Li Mu and reinterpreted it — saying that Lord Chunshen could have won, but the old feudal lords of Chu, led by Jing Zhao, betrayed him, just like they once betrayed King Huai and the Qu clan’s army, leading to his tragic downfall.

Yet the foolish Chu king believed those slanders from his kinsmen and dismissed Lord Chunshen from his post as Chancellor — the first time he lost his position.

Qin then laid out every failure Chu had suffered, one by one, pinning them all on the Chu king’s incompetence to highlight Lord Chunshen’s wisdom and benevolence.

They even invoked the old friendship between King Zhaoxiang of Qin and his chancellor Fan Ju to further praise Lord Chunshen.

They said that when Lord Chunshen once switched places with the Chu crown prince — sending the prince back home and staying behind to face Qin’s wrath — even the King of Qin and Fan Ju were moved by his unwavering loyalty. Instead of killing him, they treated him with great respect and escorted him safely back to Chu.

Back then, King Zhaoxiang and Fan Ju had sighed: the Chu crown prince had lived in Qin for ten years, and everyone knew he was weak, suspicious, and unfit to rule — yet Huang Xie’s loyal heart bound him to the Chu prince’s fate. It would surely end in tragedy, they said, and how pitiful that was.

And now — after Lord Chunshen had saved the Chu people, only to be forced from office, his fief halved by the king — the sigh of Qin’s old rulers seemed to have come true.

Qin King Zichu publicly promised that if Lord Chunshen came to Qin, he would appoint him Prime Minister. The current Qin Chancellor, Cai Ze, even declared that if Lord Chunshen entered Qin, he himself would resign to yield the position.

The King and Chancellor of Qin showed such “admiration” because the late King Zhaoxiang and Fan Ju had once praised Lord Chunshen — his connection with Qin ran deep, after all.

Qin’s words were full of admiration, without a single hint of slander against the Chu king. Calling the Chu king “foolish” wasn’t sowing discord — it was “speaking truth plainly.”

After all, when Prince Zichu had been a hostage in Zhao, he had already befriended the then-commoner Zhu Xiang — proof of his keen eye for talent. So it seemed entirely reasonable that such a discerning man would now openly invite Lord Chunshen to Qin — how could anyone see murder in that?

Although many of Chu’s nobles disliked seeing Lord Chunshen praised to the heavens — which made them look like dullards by comparison — they didn’t detect Qin’s deadly intent.

After all, Qin calling another kingdom’s king “stupid” was nothing new. If anything, it was routine.

The Chu king may have felt uneasy, but if the pressure grew too much, he could simply summon Lord Chunshen back.

Everyone knew the Chu king was an indecisive man obsessed with appearances. Even if he resented Lord Chunshen, he would pretend to be magnanimous — to look the part of a wise ruler — and invite him back in “remorse.”

Wouldn’t that mean Qin was actually helping Chu restore its great minister? Why would Qin hand such a gift to another state?

Sitting in his residence, hearing the increasingly absurd praises sung of him, Lord Chunshen gave a bitter smile. Perhaps because he was now an observer rather than a participant in court affairs, his insight had grown keener.

He saw through Qin’s ploy.

Qin’s art of sowing discord did not require them to act alone. They merely threw out the bait — a morsel to lure beasts.

And the “five kingdoms” were those beasts, each drawn by Qin’s bait.

Qin didn’t want another Lord Xinling to appear, but neither did the other five states want another Lord Changping.

With all the rumors — true or false — surrounding Lord Chunshen’s greatness, and considering his noble birth compared to Zhu Xiang’s, not to mention Zhu Xiang’s own disadvantages as both a “Qin man” and an “imperial relative,” Lord Chunshen’s reputation had already surpassed that of Lord Changping in the eyes of scholars across the land.

Whether Chu reinstated Lord Chunshen or Qin truly invited him to serve — neither outcome was something the five states wanted to see.

Qin was the enemy of the Six States, yes — but the Six States were also enemies among themselves.

The art of sowing discord was not Qin’s exclusive domain. It was merely that Qin had the best intelligence network — and the other states the most foolish kings — which made Qin’s ploys so much more effective.

In truth, all six states had used such schemes countless times, and Qin had suffered from them too.

In Zhu Xiang’s past life, General Bai Qi died by the hand of King Zhaoxiang of Qin — the result of a Zhao envoy’s manipulation, exploiting Fan Ju’s jealousy and the king’s suspicion. That, too, was a scheme of discord.

The five states now guessed that Lord Chunshen probably wouldn’t go to Qin. He had saved the Chu king’s life — surely the king, under enough pressure, would reinstate him.

But to allow the declining Chu to once again gain a talent like Lord Changping?

Just look at what happened after Lord Changping entered Qin — the kingdom had been utterly transformed. How could the others not be terrified?

Thus, ministers and envoys from the five states made their moves.

They allied themselves with the Queen of Chu and her Li family clan — who were already eager to see Lord Chunshen dead.

“Your Majesty,” a close attendant reported, “since returning to his fief, Lord Chunshen has often spoken bitterly of you. He says that without him, Your Majesty would still be trapped in Qin; that he saved your life, yet you cast him aside like refuse — that Your Majesty is no better than the tyrants Jie and Zhou, and Chu will perish by your hand.”

The Queen of Chu, weeping, said, “Your Majesty, Lord Chunshen often disrespected me, saying that if not for him, I would never have entered the palace. Now that he has left the capital, I finally dare to speak of it.”

And other courtiers, their palms greased by bribes from the five states, cried out in righteous fury: “Your Majesty! Lord Chunshen blames you for every failure! His heart is treacherous — he means to force you to abdicate and make the crown prince king!”

Only the crown prince Qi kept reminding his father: “This is all a scheme of discord, Father — please, do not believe it.”

However, the King of Chu still had another son—one he had watched grow up since birth. That boy was supposed to be the Crown Prince, yet now had been wronged and stripped of that title.

The beloved child, whom the King felt deeply guilty toward, threw himself into his father’s arms and wept. He asked, “Father, many people say that once Crown Prince Qi ascends the throne, he will never tolerate me. Are they lying to me?”

The King of Chu finally flew into a rage. On charges of treason, he deposed Crown Prince Qi. Crown Prince Qi fled through the night to the southern Chu state.

When the prince learned that he would be deposed, he sent a trusted aide to deliver a letter to Lord Chunshen, urging him to escape quickly— “Go to Zhao, Wei, Qi, Han, or Yan, anywhere will do. As long as you don’t go to Qin, you won’t betray Chu or stain your integrity.”

When Lord Chunshen received the letter, he only sent his family away. He himself, together with a few retainers who refused to leave, stayed behind in an empty mansion and drank under the moon.

By his side lay three letters—one from Prince Qi, one from Lord Xinling, and one from the Qin Chancellor Lin Zhi.

Lord Xinling urged Lord Chunshen to flee Chu at once. “If you keep your life,” he wrote, “you may still help Chu in its time of peril. But if you lose it, all hope is gone.”

He even invited Chunshen to Yanmen Commandery in Zhao, saying, “I’ve built Yanmen up quite well. It may not be as splendid as the capitals of the Seven States, but there you can eat meat by the mouthful and ride freely across the plains—it’s no worse than wealth and honor.”

Lin Zhi’s letter, on the other hand, was biting and severe. He pointed out Chunshen’s mistake in this whole affair.

“Lord Chunshen,” he wrote, “you think that by retreating step by step, you can earn the King of Chu’s mercy. But you fail to see that he bullies the weak and fears the strong. You first surrendered your military power, then withdrew from the court, and finally even allowed most of your fief to be stripped away—like a beast whose fangs and claws have been pulled out, left to be slaughtered.

If you had stayed in the capital, you might have rekindled the King’s trust and rallied old colleagues to defend you. But once you left, you became prey.”

Lin Zhi even mocked him: “If you truly wished to save Chu, you should have done the unthinkable when your power was greatest—seize the palace and support Crown Prince Qi’s succession.

Think of Zhao in the past—had they killed their muddle-headed king and set Lord Pingyuan or Lord Pingyang on the throne, even mediocrity would have been better than incompetence with endless schemes.

Chu did not perish because of its feudal lords, nor because of the Jing and Zhao clans, nor even because of Qin. Chu perished because of its king.”

After reading both letters, Lord Chunshen laughed until tears streamed down his face.

Lord Xinling’s letter urged him to live; Lin Zhi’s letter erased his will to survive.

“Oh, Lin Qing, Lin Qing,” he sighed, “they all say Cai Ze is the most poisonous schemer—but perhaps the most venomous man in Qin hides beneath the brilliance of Zhao’s Lin Xiangru, cloaked in absurdity.”

Turning to his retainers, he said, “When a man gains more fame than he deserves, he becomes bound by it. It’s hard to do anything that might taint his reputation. I was meant to be an ordinary man, greedy for wealth and rank—but now fame shackles me, and I cannot stoop to mere survival. Go, all of you.”

He dismissed his retainers, but except for those escorting his family to safety, none were willing to leave.

Seeing persuasion useless, he opened his treasury, took out all his remaining wealth, and distributed it to his retainers’ families.

Then he brought out all the fine wine in his home, slaughtered his livestock, opened the granaries, and invited every scholar and commoner in his domain to feast.

Many local scholars and wealthy merchants also brought out their own money to contribute to this banquet.

Dishes were served like a flowing stream—people came and went, as endless as water.

Lord Chunshen’s fief consisted of twelve counties north of the Huai River. Originally, because the Huai region was Chu’s heartland and frequent battlefield, he had petitioned to turn his own lands into state-administered counties for smoother military command, choosing instead to govern the wild lands east of the Yangtze.

That Jiangdong region (not the later Yangzhou, but one of the ancient Nine Provinces) had been developed by Wu and Yue, but after their fall, it again became a place of floods and barbarian tribes.

There, Lord Chunshen built cities and fortresses, wiped out bandits, tamed the floods, and spread culture.

Jiangdong’s development owed much to him.

Because of this, when Xiang Liang and his nephew Xiang Yu later raised an army there, they could recruit the sons of Jiangdong. Those men fought for Chu not out of Xiang family favor, but because they remembered Lord Chunshen—and through him, remembered Chu.

Now, though Lord Chunshen could no longer return to Jiangdong—some of his fiefs had been reclaimed by the king, others loaned out for military aid—he still ruled five counties.

He governed them well. Even after wars, he rebuilt irrigation works, inspected farms, and opened his granaries to relieve the people—rare virtues among feudal lords.

He might have loved wealth, but he still possessed the dignity worthy of one of the Four Lords of the Warring States.

Thus, when he held this grand feast, everyone from his five counties who could attend came.

They feared the King of Chu, yet found courage in numbers. Their lands lay at a strategic frontier—surely the king wouldn’t dare massacre them and open the gates to enemy invasion.

The flowing banquet lasted a full day.

According to records, this was the first ever “flowing-water feast” that did not distinguish between noble and commoner. Later generations would even call such banquets “Shen Feasts”—after Lord Chunshen.

When the King of Chu’s envoys reached his territory and were about to arrive at his city, Lord Chunshen ended the feast.

The people of Chu wept bitterly, begging him to flee. They vowed to take up arms to block the king’s envoys.

But Lord Chunshen, at last, seemed at peace with death.

There was no bitterness in his smile. He addressed the people of his fief: “The sage Mencius said, ‘Life is what I desire; righteousness is also what I desire. When the two cannot both be had, I will give up life and take righteousness.’

Please, do not stand in the way of my righteousness.”

He bowed deeply to the people before him—many of them commoners, farmers in coarse garments, even nameless wanderers.

In Chu, a nation sharply divided between nobles and commoners, this was the first time one of its highest nobles had bowed deeply to those without even surnames.

“Everyone,” he said, “though the world claims I am more virtuous than Lord Changping, Zhu Xiang, that is but a rumor spread by the Six States to sow discord. I am far inferior to him.

I aided the people of Chu because I was inspired by him.

So if one day you can no longer survive here, go south and seek Lord Changping. He is my friend. Tell him my name, and he will take you in.”

He bowed again, his voice choking slightly: “This is the last thing I can do for you. I, Xie, am unworthy—as a feudal lord, I failed to protect you. Go to my friend Lord Changping, and let him shelter you.”

After finishing, he strode out of the city, ordering the guards—no longer truly under his command—to seal the gates and not let the people follow.

The county magistrate had not yet spoken, but the soldiers obeyed anyway—they followed Lord Chunshen’s command.

The magistrate wept openly, forgetting his usual dignity. Tears streamed down his face as he clutched Lord Chunshen’s sleeve. “My lord, please leave! The border is near—any general guarding it would surely let you pass for the sake of your name.”

Lord Chunshen replied, “I know. That is why I must not implicate anyone else. Let go—if you don’t, I might truly falter, and all the righteousness I’ve built would crumble. Do not destroy my name.”

The magistrate’s hands trembled as he let go.

He wiped his tears with his sleeve, clenched his teeth, and followed behind Lord Chunshen.

He could not save him—but he could guard his body. If the envoys of Chu dared defile Lord Chunshen’s corpse, he would stain his sword with their blood, even if it meant exile.

Lord Chunshen mounted his horse. With his loyal retainers and the magistrate who came to see him off, he rode toward the city gates.

The citizens of the city at first obeyed Lord Chunshen’s (Huang Xie’s) command. But when he was about to step out of the gate, some couldn’t bear it any longer — they wanted to stop him again.

The city guards blocked their way. Enraged townsfolk raised their fists and struck at the guards. In this age, no matter how upright their superiors might be, the garrison guards often bullied the common people. Yet now, though beaten and cursed, they clenched their jaws and took the blows in silence — refusing to fight back, but also refusing to let the people through the gates.

Lord Chunshen quickly turned back, persuading the citizens to calm down and not to harm their own countrymen. After soothing the grief and anger of the crowd, he ordered the guards to lower the gate and dismounted, waiting solemnly for the belated envoy of the Chu King.

The envoy came from the Li clan — relatives of Li Yuan, who had once attached himself to Lord Chunshen and offered his own sister to the Chu King as queen. Given Chunshen’s current fame, and remembering how Zhao once forced the Lord of Changping to flee, no clear-headed noble in Chu wanted to get involved in this ugly affair — except the Lis.

Petty and newly powerful, now relatives of the crown prince, they longed to gloat before Chunshen. Had Li Yuan not been shrewd enough to avoid personally serving as the hated envoy, he would have loved nothing more than to watch Chunshen’s execution with his own eyes.

The envoy had been delayed because he was attacked multiple times on the road by wandering knights. These simple-minded Chu knights believed that killing the envoy — killing the traitor — would awaken their king’s conscience.

But the king, fearing Chunshen might resist, had armed the envoy with a pacification army. Those knights were merely striking stones with eggs — doomed, but their efforts at least delayed the envoy’s arrival and left him deeply traumatized.

Thus, by the time he reached the city, this once-arrogant envoy was trembling with fear, eager only to finish his task and flee back to the capital of Chen, not daring to cause any more trouble.

The Chu King’s most elite troops were those of Xiang Yan. To counterbalance the public outrage over executing Chunshen, the king reinstated Xiang Yan’s command — conveniently allowing Qin’s praise of Chunshen to drag Xiang Yan into the matter as a foil. Though Xiang Yan wished to stay uninvolved, his clan burned with anger and took an active part.

Being an enfeoffed noble of foreign surname with unstable foundations — made worse by his crushing defeat at Guangling — Xiang Yan needed the king’s favor to survive, and thus obeyed.  He did not come in person, however. He sent one of his retainers to lead the troops, ordering him strictly not to harm the Chu people of Chunshen’s fief and to prevent the envoy from insulting Chunshen before his death.

The retainer had every intention of following those orders, but after enduring repeated attacks by self-sacrificing knights along the way, he could no longer tell who was innocent or guilty. Once the sword was raised, it was hard to stop. Still, he managed to restrain the soldiers from looting or slaughtering the townsfolk — barely fulfilling his master’s command.

His heart was heavy.

When the envoy claimed that these attacks were proof of Chunshen’s rebellion, he could clearly see the truth — these men were knights, unorganized, unled, willingly dying for a cause. He himself had once been such a wandering knight before joining Xiang Yan’s household; he knew this kind of man all too well.

When he finally met Lord Chunshen, his heart grew heavier still.

On the city wall, countless citizens wept together, as if ready to throw themselves off in despair. Behind Chunshen stood his well-dressed retainers, solemn and indignant, facing the pacifying army without the slightest fear. Beside him was the magistrate of the city, glaring at the envoy and Chu soldiers.

And Lord Chunshen himself — wearing his tall Chu crown, standing straight with hands at his sides, his wide sleeves fluttering lightly in the wind — showed no anger, no sorrow. Only a deep, unfathomable calm.

Seeing him thus, the envoy was terrified. He dared not even step down from his carriage. Standing atop it, he hastily read out the royal decree — not even daring to demand Chunshen kneel.

Lord Chunshen sighed deeply. He did not refute the charges in the decree, merely said: “Master and servant, ruler and minister — that we have come to this point…”

After another sigh, he added regretfully, “Xinyang Lord and Chancellor Lin both sent me letters. Only Zhu Xiang did not. Perhaps he is too busy comforting the starving refugees flooding in from South Chu, unaware of my fate. If he learns of it, he will surely recall his own suffering in Handan — and be grieved.”

A voice suddenly replied: “Is it possible that I did not write a letter — because I came in person?”

Outside the gate, among the Chu people of Chunshen’s fief who watched from afar, a man wearing a bamboo hat stepped forward. He took it off, revealing a head full of white hair.

“Lord Chunshen, I’ve come to see you off,” said Zhu Xiang, as every Chu soldier and onlooker stared in shock.

“I had planned to rescue you. But since you’ve chosen to stay till now, I know even if I came, you wouldn’t leave. So I can only send you on your final journey.”

Huang Xie’s eyes went wide with disbelief. For a long moment, he couldn’t speak.

Zhu Xiang smiled: “Qin and Chu are mortal enemies — and so are we. Enemies and friends both — we’ve plotted against each other more than once, each wishing the other dead, yet still we admire one another. You won’t mind if your enemy comes to see you off, will you? To escort your body home?”

Huang Xie’s hand moved faster than his thoughts — he pulled Zhu Xiang behind him and scolded, “You came alone into Chu? Do you know how dangerous this is? You— you—!”

Zhu Xiang reassured him, “I’m not alone. Allow me to introduce — this is Lord Wu Cheng, Li Mu.”

The man standing protectively behind Zhu Xiang clasped his hands and bowed to Huang Xie.

Zhu Xiang continued, “Lord Lian’s troops have already bypassed the Chu border defenses — right behind these Chu soldiers. But don’t worry — Qin has no intention of starting a war with Chu.”

He glanced at the Chu envoy and generals. “As long as I remain unharmed.”

Huang Xie took several deep breaths, then suddenly punched Zhu Xiang hard in the shoulder — not in anger, but laughing heartily: “You— you truly are yourself! I said I would die for righteousness, but you’re the one who risks everything for virtue. Your friends must suffer terribly!”

Li Mu folded his arms and nodded vigorously.

Indeed, terribly.

Although Zhu Xiang had only sighed in regret earlier — wanting to attend Chunshen’s death but knowing it was impossible — it was Qin King Zichu who made it happen.

Without even hearing Zhu Xiang’s thoughts, Zi Chu, Cai Ze, and Lin Zhi guessed his regret, and arranged for Li Mu and Lian Po to assist him.

They weren’t doing it for Huang Xie’s sake. They were furious that Qin’s flattery of Chunshen had stolen Zhu Xiang’s rightful fame — and wanted to turn that flattery on its head.

If Zhu Xiang appeared before the condemned Chunshen, the false claim that Chunshen’s virtue surpassed that of the Lord of Changping would instantly collapse.

If Huang Xie, upon seeing Zhu Xiang, changed his mind and fled — so be it. As long as the Chu King had decreed his death, whether Huang Xie died or escaped, Qin would have achieved its purpose.

“Come, come!” Huang Xie laughed. “Is there a zither? Is there wine? It’s been so long since we drank together — this time, let’s drink our fill! Lord Wu Cheng, join us!”

Li Mu nodded again. He was willing to share a drink with the man Chunshen had become.

The Chu envoy, recognizing both the Lord of Changping and Lord Wu Cheng, was overjoyed and shouted, “Seize them! Quickly!”

Before the Xiang retainer could respond, a Chu general beside him snapped, “If Lord Wu Cheng dares to show himself, his cavalry must already be lying in ambush. If you’re not afraid to die, go kill him yourself!”

Then the general flung his own sword onto the envoy’s carriage.

The Xiang retainer cast a cold glance at the envoy’s ashen face, dismounted, and ordered men to bring wine — which he personally offered. Though on campaign, Chu nobles always carried wine and meat for comfort.

Huang Xie, Zhu Xiang, and Li Mu showed no fear that the wine might be poisoned.

Huang Xie drank first, then passed it to Li Mu.

Li Mu drank and handed it to Zhu Xiang.

Zhu Xiang took a long draught, then returned the jar to Huang Xie.

Huang Xie passed it to the retainers behind him.

There were few left — just enough for each to have a sip.

From the wall above, someone lowered a zither on a rope. Huang Xie drew his sword to cut the rope, took the instrument, and sat down cross-legged with Zhu Xiang and Li Mu.

Huang Xie began to sing from The Book of Songs — Zheng Wind — “Wind and Rain”:

“Wind and rain bleak and drear,
The roosters crow and cheer.
When I behold my lord,
How could my heart not ease?

Wind and rain pour down,
The roosters cry again.
When I behold my lord,
How could my heart not heal?

Wind and rain obscure the day,
The roosters still call out.
When I behold my lord,
How could I not rejoice?”

Amid storm and thunder, even the roosters cry in fright — but at the sight of you, my sorrow and grief dissolve.

Li Mu only accompanied with music, and Zhu Xiang answered with a song from The Book of Songs — Great Odes — “Dang”:

“Vast, vast is Heaven above,
Beneath it dwell mankind.
Mighty Heaven’s wrath is swift —
Its decree none can defy.

Heaven made the multitudes of men,
Yet faithless is their fate.
All things have a beginning —
Few can see their end.”

This poem, written to admonish King Zhou of Shang through the words of King Wen, now served Zhu Xiang to satirize the Chu King — and all foolish rulers like him.

When Huang Xie finished listening, he burst into laughter again. Facing death, he no longer feared his king.

He had come to peace: he would die for Chu, for the land of his ancestors, for the people who had sustained him.

A worthy death.

He set down the zither, stood, and bowed deeply to Zhu Xiang and Li Mu, smiling: “My thanks to Lords of Changping and Wu Cheng for seeing me off. Now, I go.”

Li Mu grabbed Zhu Xiang’s arm, shaking his head. Zhu Xiang clenched his fists, closed his eyes, and slowly returned the bow. Only then did Li Mu release him and salute Huang Xie.

Huang Xie straightened his robes, combed his temples with his hand, adjusted his tall crown, tightened the cords — and walked toward the Chu envoy. He accepted the short sword granted by the king.

He glanced at it briefly, then laughed aloud, flinging it to the ground.

Drawing his own sword, he said, “This blade was given to me by the king back when he was still crown prince. It has been my companion for twenty years.”

Then, with a single motion, Huang Xie slit his own throat and fell backward.

Within and without the city gates, cries of grief thundered to the heavens.

Zhu Xiang stepped forward to stop the Chu soldiers from touching the body — but suddenly heard behind him the sound of blades scraping from their sheaths.

He turned sharply —

Huang Xie’s retainers had all drawn their swords.

One by one, they slew themselves beside their lord.