HCT – Chapter 204 Discussing the Position of Prime Minister Without Authorization

Afterward, Zhu Xiang appeared to have returned to normal on the surface. There was regret, of course. But since he and Lord Chunshen stood on opposing sides, even if things were to happen again, the outcome would probably be the same.

Lord Chunshen had shared hardships with the King of Chu for ten years when the latter was still a prince in exile, helping him return to the throne. That was how an outsider noble like Lord Chunshen could become Chu’s Lingyin (Prime Minister) and the kingdom’s most powerful lord — the only one among the Four Lords of the Warring States who was not a royal prince.

Both emotionally and by reputation, Lord Chunshen would never abandon Chu. Even if he did leave, he would go to another state besides Qin to live out his days — never to stand against Chu.

Originally, Lord Chunshen could have chosen that latter path. But the moment he defied the will of the Chu nobility to save the people, his fate was sealed.

To think that in Chu, disaster relief and saving the people could actually violate the nobles’ will — how absurd!

Yet absurd as it was, it was true.

The fragmented state of Chu—when Lord Chunshen invoked righteousness to force the other feudal lords to agree to disaster relief—he brought glory to the King of Chu and to himself, but disturbed the hearts of the people in those fiefs. Naturally, they were unwilling.

To ask them to perform such “lowly” deeds themselves? Unthinkable. Nor did they have the power to. It required the King’s name to mobilize the resources of all Chu and coordinate the realm.

Though Chu was fragmented, ever since Wu Qi’s reforms, the King’s authority still surpassed that of the Eastern Zhou kings—almost like that of the Western Zhou kings of old.

Thus, the nobles preferred that no one take action, so everyone could appear united and maintain the illusion of order. Only then would the Chu people accept their fate.

When Lord Chunshen was ordered to die, apart from the Crown Prince of Chu and a few low-ranking scholars who submitted petitions for mercy, the great nobles and royal clan merely looked on coldly — showing just how hated he had become.

So even though Lord Chunshen’s death was dramatic and glorious, the King of Chu’s reputation remained largely unaffected. No one used the event to pressure him to abdicate or to call Prince Qi back from exile.

And thus, the matter passed quietly.

Prince Han became Crown Prince Han.

An elder of the Qu clan became the new Lingyin.

Lord Chunshen’s fief was reclaimed as state land.

His name lingered abroad and among the commoners, but in the court of Chu, it grew cold — forgotten, like that of Wu Qi and Qu Yuan.

Perhaps Chu was even worse than Zhao in that regard.

When Zhu Xiang returned to Qin soil, he didn’t go straight to Xianyang. Instead, he inspected the surrounding lands first.

General Lian Po, who had “escorted” him back, allowed him free rein once they were safely within Qin territory.

Technically, generals like Lian Po and Li Mu shouldn’t have been roaming the country at will. But since the King of Qin had personally written to say that Zhu Xiang could travel as he pleased — even asking him to inspect the farmlands of Guanzhong and east of the passes — the two generals simply acted as his guards.

Lian Po was still remarkably robust, even healthier than when he had first entered Qin.

Zhu Xiang was astonished — was Lord Lian’s body actually improving the more battles he fought? That was incredible.

Lian Po laughed proudly, boasting that he could still fight another five or six years. “Best if I die on the battlefield, on horseback — only then will my life of war not be wasted!”

Zhu Xiang agreed hastily with nonsensical flattery, saying something about how “being wrapped in horsehide” was the highest funeral honor for a general.

Li Mu rolled his eyes hard at that.

If Lord Lian truly died in battle, Zhu Xiang would probably cry himself unconscious.

After years of recuperation and efficient Qin administration — coupled with the scholars of the Xianyang Academy regularly visiting villages to guide agricultural practices — the farmlands of Qin were thriving.

Waterworks had developed rapidly.

With no large-scale wars to fight, most funds were spent on roads and irrigation.

Yet Zhu Xiang still noticed issues.

With the spread of stone mills, the yield of wheat had greatly improved, leading to a massive expansion of wheat cultivation — nearly every household was growing it.

The Qin government also issued decrees encouraging farmers to grow more wheat, and in many regions, local officials had begun interfering excessively with crop selection.

Zhu Xiang didn’t intervene directly. Government decrees were the King’s domain.

Instead, he documented his findings and suggestions in an official report to present before the King and the court upon returning to Xianyang.

Lian Po sneered at Zhu Xiang’s obsession with “proper procedure.”

“Plenty of scholars offer private advice to the ruler,” he scoffed. “If the king likes it, he adopts it. Why bother with so many steps?”

But Zhu Xiang insisted on following the formal process — he said it was “more dignified” that way, giving both the ruler and ministers face. Lian Po didn’t understand what kind of “face” he meant — he certainly couldn’t feel any.

Li Mu, however, seemed thoughtful — as though he’d learned something new.

After completing his inspection, Zhu Xiang didn’t rush back but continued his circuit through Guanzhong and eastward, overseeing the autumn harvest.

When the harvest was over and he was finally preparing to return, he received a letter from Zichu — the King of Qin — saying he had left Xianyang for Hanzhong to spend the winter, and that Zhu Xiang should come straight there.

Zhu Xiang sighed to Lian Po and Li Mu: “He used to come greet me himself, but now he doesn’t even stay in Xianyang to wait for me! Looks like this Xia Tong has become too lofty ever since becoming King of Qin!”

Lian Po didn’t even bother replying.

Li Mu merely hummed in agreement, though anxiety filled his heart.

He had guarded southern Qin for years, through the previous king’s reign and now Zichu’s, yet had never returned to Xianyang. Although he wrote frequently, not seeing the king in person made him uneasy.

The bond between ruler and minister — when sincere, it was truly sincere. But once it changed, it could sour very quickly.

He didn’t know how much Zichu had changed after ascending the throne.

Carrying both worry and curiosity, Li Mu traveled with Zhu Xiang to the King’s winter residence.

From afar, they saw Zichu, dressed plainly like an ordinary scholar, coming out to greet them himself.

“Zhu Xiang!”

“Xia Tong!”

One dismounted, the other stepped down from the carriage — their eyes meeting, brimming with tears.

Zichu said, “I heard you’ve been on battlefields again, even went with Li Mu to Chu — risking your life over and over. Did Lord Lian hit you? He definitely hit you, didn’t he?”

Zhu Xiang shot back, “And I heard you and Lin Li keep dumping all your duties on Cai Ze, driving him to resign several times! Did you beg him, crying, to give you another chance again? You totally did, didn’t you?”

Zichu smiled.

Zhu Xiang smiled.

Then both drew their swords at once — and clashed, blades ringing!

The guards behind Zichu: “??!”

The guards with Li Mu and Lian Po: “!!”

Li Mu rubbed his forehead in exasperation.

Perhaps he was just overthinking it. Why did it seem like the King of Qin had become even more outrageous than when he was a crown prince or a young noble?

Could it be that back then he still needed to maintain a good image before his elders, but now, as king, he could completely let loose?

The veins on Lian Po’s forehead bulged.

What was wrong with these two?!

That brat Xia Tong had become the King of Qin—so why was he still fooling around with Zhu Xiang like this?

Had he no sense of royal dignity at all?

If you’re going to behave like this, you might as well turn into King Zhaoxiang of Qin—at least he had some regal bearing!

Lian Po stormed over furiously, kicked Zhu Xiang to the ground first, then glared at Zichu.

Zichu asked awkwardly, “General Lian, what’s wrong?”

Lian Po snapped, “If you two want to horse around, do it in private! What kind of behavior is this in front of everyone?! You’re the King of Qin now—why are you still fooling around with Zhu Xiang like before?”

Zhu Xiang, still sprawled on the ground: “Exactly!”

Zichu immediately retorted, “He drew his sword at the king! He’s the one who should be disciplined!”

Lian Po snorted, “That’s why I kicked him!”

Then, without another word, he raised a fist the size of a rice bowl and smacked it down on Zhu Xiang’s head.

Zhu Xiang clutched his head, tears welling up.

Lian Po hadn’t used much strength, but Zhu Xiang’s head wasn’t made of iron—it hurt!

Then Lian Po turned a sharp gaze on Zichu. “Go back and spar as much as you want behind closed doors.”

Zichu immediately sheathed his sword. “Y–yes, sir.”

He silently thanked the heavens that he was now the King of Qin. Otherwise, General Lian would’ve given him a few hits too.

Back in Handan, both he and Zhu Xiang—and Lin Zhi—had taken quite a few beatings from Lian Po.

Even though he knew Lian Po wouldn’t actually strike the King of Qin, just seeing that angry face still made Zichu nervous.

Zhu Xiang, still holding his head, couldn’t resist sneering, “Ha! Coward.”

Lian Po raised his fist again, and Li Mu quickly pulled Zhu Xiang up and shielded him.

“General Lian, let it go, let it go,” Li Mu said quickly. “Their friendship runs deep. They haven’t seen each other in a long time—just some harmless roughhousing. His Majesty is appearing under a scholar’s identity right now; no one will realize he’s the king. Even if someone did see, no one would believe that the King of Qin and Lord Changping would be brawling in public.”

Lian Po withdrew his fist and gave a cold snort. “Then get moving! Once you shut the door, you can fight all you want.”

Zhu Xiang and Zichu nodded vigorously. Then Zichu ducked into Zhu Xiang’s carriage and dragged Li Mu in with him.

Lian Po sighed, ordering the guards to keep their distance from the carriage so the three could talk freely.

As the carriage started rolling, Zichu laughed. “See? You’re the one who got beaten.”

Rubbing his head, Zhu Xiang grumbled, “If you weren’t the King of Qin, General Lian would’ve hit you instead.”

Zichu smirked proudly. “But I am the King of Qin now—no one can hit me.”

Zhu Xiang snorted coldly. “I can.”

Zichu looked down on him. “You? You think you can beat me?”

Zhu Xiang scoffed. “You used to be on par with me. But now? You’re all worn out from court paperwork—when’s the last time you trained? Meanwhile, I carry a hoe every day and have even been on the battlefield!”

Zichu sneered even more. “Battlefield? You mean the one where you fell off your war chariot and got all bruised up? I’m the one who actually knows how to drive a war chariot! Right, Li Mu?”

Li Mu pressed his palm to his forehead. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never seen it.”

Zichu huffed. “You should stand on your king’s side.”

Li Mu replied blandly, “All right, I believe both Your Majesty and Zhu Xiang are still evenly matched.”

Zichu: “…”

Zhu Xiang said triumphantly, “Didn’t I tell you in my letter? Li Mu’s mouth can be really infuriating sometimes.”

Zichu sighed. “That’s true.”

Li Mu was speechless. Just what had Zhu Xiang written in that letter to the King of Qin?!

Li Mu and Zichu weren’t particularly close—they’d only met when Li Mu first came to Qin and had temporarily stayed at Zhu Xiang’s home.

Years had passed since then, and whatever friendship existed had naturally faded. But with Zhu Xiang as a mutual connection, rekindling that camaraderie wasn’t hard.

Both men knew how deeply the other valued Zhu Xiang, and that alone made them appreciate each other.

Zichu had pulled Li Mu into the carriage mostly to hear every embarrassing story about Zhu Xiang firsthand.

Ying Zheng only ever praised him—Zichu found that boring.

Li Mu, on the other hand, knew far more of Zhu Xiang’s scandals and had no qualms about sharing them. Zichu laughed so hard his stomach hurt, while Zhu Xiang kept shouting at Li Mu to shut up.

Li Mu finally said in exasperation, “You wrote to the young prince in Wu County saying you were overwhelmed with affairs of state and begged him to hurry back. But the moment you received his letter saying he’d set out, you abandoned everything and ran off, dumping all of Wu County’s work on him! And you still dare to act wronged?”

Zhu Xiang coughed dryly. “The capable should bear more responsibility. The capable should bear more responsibility.”

Zichu had originally planned to keep Ying Zheng (the future King Zheng) in Xianyang a while longer, to let him learn the ways of ruling.

Who could’ve guessed Zhu Xiang would send a desperate letter begging for rescue so quickly?  Zichu had no choice but to let Ying Zheng go.

Xue Ji had taken Prince Chengjiao with her as well.

Empress Dowager Huayang had said she wasn’t good at raising children, and she refused to send Chengjiao back to his birth mother for fear he’d be spoiled—so she entrusted Xue Ji to raise him instead.

Zichu also felt it was better to let Xue Ji and Zhu Xiang handle Chengjiao’s upbringing.

When Zhu Xiang was in Xianyang, Chengjiao had still been mourning, eating vegetarian meals—and yet he’d grown plump and rosy. But after Zhu Xiang left, the boy ate meat every day and somehow lost weight?

Zichu concluded that no one in the palace knew how to raise children properly. And since the south was warmer, it would be a better place for the often-sickly Chengjiao to recuperate in winter.

Zhu Xiang didn’t mind. Zheng’er (Ying Zheng) could already take care of himself, so raising one more child wouldn’t be a problem. “The capable should bear more responsibility,” after all—Zheng’er could handle it.

Li Mu was speechless. Your Majesty, do you still remember that you’re the actual father of Zheng’er and Chengjiao?

But considering Zichu had already managed to dump Ying Zheng on Zhu Xiang without even sending child support, it was clear the man had no sense of self-reflection.

After catching up on everything that had happened since their separation, Zhu Xiang finally asked, “What about Lin Li and Cai Ze? Even if Cai Ze needs to stay behind to guard Xianyang, Lin Li wouldn’t possibly miss a chance to sneak out.”

Zichu replied, “Lin Li did want to come, but Cai Ze said that if I and Lin Li left him alone in Xianyang again, he’d resign on the spot—no memorial, no report, nothing. I had no choice but to surround Lin Li’s residence with guards to keep him from running off.”

Zhu Xiang burst into laughter, so hard he almost couldn’t breathe, while Li Mu’s eyes went wide in disbelief.

The King of Qin had surrounded the Chancellor’s mansion—just to stop his minister from sneaking away without permission?!

Ever since leaving Xianyang, Li Mu could no longer make sense of what had happened between Zichu and Lin Zhi.

He’d never seen how they behaved back in Handan, so he couldn’t even imagine it. How had the once-dignified and solemn capital of Xianyang turned into this?

He looked toward Zhu Xiang—who was gleefully suggesting they nail wooden planks over Lin Zhi’s gates.

Was Zhu Xiang not the least bit surprised?!

Li Mu started feeling sympathy for Cai Ze. He finally understood why Cai Ze could serve comfortably under two generations of Qin kings, yet after his friend Zichu ascended the throne, he’d tried to resign from the post of prime minister five times.

Zhu Xiang said, “If Cai Ze really can’t take it anymore, you can give him a few years off—let him take a local post and rest. There haven’t been any wars recently anyway, so you could let Li Mu be prime minister instead. He’s talented both in civil and military affairs—he can handle anything.”

Without thinking, Zichu said, “Sure.”

Li Mu immediately replied, “I’m not going! If even Cai Ze can’t stand it, how could I?”

Zichu sighed helplessly. “Li Mu, this is the position of Qin’s prime minister. Is it really that repulsive?”

Li Mu said firmly, “I’m not good enough, I’m not going. If Cai Ze won’t take it, then let Lin Li do it. He’s the one who drove Cai Ze mad—he should take responsibility. I’ll just keep guarding Southern Qin for you. Or send me to Jin or to the northern tribes, anywhere’s fine. I’m a rough soldier; I can’t govern a country.”

Zhu Xiang scoffed, “You believe that nonsense? He just doesn’t want to clean up the mess for you and Lin Li. Why don’t we really let Lin Li be prime minister and see what kind of tricks he pulls?”

Zichu said, “And then I’d have to clean up the mess for him? Forget it. If Li Mu refuses to be prime minister, then you do it.”

Zhu Xiang crossed his arms over his chest. “I refuse!”

The carriage arrived at its destination. Lian Po approached to notify them to get out. Just as he reached the carriage, he overheard the group casually discussing the position of Qin’s prime minister.

Lian Po took a deep breath.

The “prime minister,” formally called xiangbang but commonly known as xiangguo, was practically the king’s deputy—the most crucial position in the entire state.

How could these people treat the position of prime minister like some toy to be tossed around?! If others heard of this, Zhu Xiang, Lin Zhi, Cai Ze, and Li Mu would surely be condemned as treacherous ministers monopolizing state power!

Lian Po was a man who only knew how to speak with his fists. But though he could beat up Zhu Xiang and Li Mu, he couldn’t exactly hit the King of Qin.

Normally, at a time like this, he’d go find Lin Xiangru to persuade the monarch through words. But Lin Xiangru had passed away many years ago, and Lian Po had no real acquaintances among Qin’s courtiers. After thinking hard, he couldn’t figure out who could admonish the king.

Until he saw, at the entrance of the temporary palace, a hunched old man walking with a cane.

Xun Kuang!

How could he have forgotten that stubborn old man!

Lian Po hurried forward. “Master Xun!”

Xunzi, who had come with the King of Qin to spend the winter, looked puzzled. “Lord Lian?”

He eyed Lian Po suspiciously. They’d never gotten along—why was Lian Po being so warm? Something was off!

Grabbing Xunzi’s hand, Lian Po said anxiously, “Zhu Xiang’s conduct is improper! He first fought with the King of Qin right in the middle of the official road, and now he and Li Mu are discussing the post of prime minister as if it were child’s play!”

Xunzi’s brows furrowed deeply. “Discussing recklessly?”

Lian Po lowered his voice and quickly repeated what he’d overheard.

Xunzi: “……”

The position of prime minister of Qin—how could that be something for you people to casually toss around? They spoke as if no one in the entire state but them were fit to govern. Wasn’t that practically saying they controlled the court!

Fuming, Xunzi stormed toward the carriage. “Zhu Xiang! Get out here!”

Inside, Zhu Xiang and Zichu had been joking around so animatedly that Li Mu had covered his ears.

When Xunzi’s furious voice rang out, Zhu Xiang jolted.

His face went pale. “Xia Tong, you didn’t tell me Xunzi was here!”

Zichu said innocently, “Huh? You didn’t ask.”

Xunzi’s voice came again, low and stern: “Your Majesty, you get out too.”

Zichu: “…… The prime minister is actually telling me to ‘get out’? Just how angry is he? I didn’t even do anything wrong! Even if I did, he shouldn’t scold the king.”

Zhu Xiang dragged him toward the door. “You think calling yourself ‘the lonely one’ makes you immune to Xunzi’s wrath? Dream on! We share this misery together!”

Li Mu debated whether to hide inside the carriage—

—but clearly, he wasn’t going to escape being dragged into this “shared misery.”

Xunzi was a man of strict propriety—no one understood ritual better than a Confucian scholar.  That said, while a Confucian would never fight the king, pointing at the king’s nose and scolding him was entirely within the bounds of propriety.

Lian Po folded his arms, watching coldly from the side, occasionally chiming in with approval.

Serves them right!

After Xunzi’s verbal assault had utterly crushed Zichu and Li Mu, they thought Zhu Xiang would fare even worse—maybe even get smacked.

Unexpectedly, after scolding the other two, Xunzi turned to Zhu Xiang and said, “You’ve done very well. In the matter of benevolence and righteousness, I have nothing more to teach you.”

Zichu and Li Mu: “……”

Zhu Xiang beamed, like a child who had just been praised. “Thank you, Master Xun. Learning never ends—I’ll keep studying.” His proud grin was almost identical to that of young Ying Zheng.

Xunzi replied mildly, “Stop studying. Any further, and you’ll surpass this old man.”

Zhu Xiang’s smile froze.

The grin shifted to Zichu’s face instead.

Li Mu forced his face straight, knowing this was not the moment to laugh.

Xunzi’s calm gaze landed on Zichu.

Zichu instantly dropped his smile and said solemnly, “Zhu Xiang, listen to Master Xun. No more risky behavior. If you ever do something dangerous again, I’ll severely punish Li Mu!”

Li Mu: “……”

Fine, Zhu Xiang takes the risk, and I take the blame. Sure. My fault.

Zhu Xiang admitted his mistake sincerely. “I understand. There won’t be a next time.”

He’d said the exact same thing last time—his earnest face so similar to Ying Zheng’s when he confessed after mischief.

Still, since Zhu Xiang had apologized, they couldn’t keep scolding him.

Besides, after such a long journey, he really needed rest.

Hanzhong was full of hot springs.

Zhu Xiang had once mentioned them to Zichu, and after hearing that someone in Hanzhong had dug one up, Zichu had casually tried digging in the palace grounds—miraculously, a natural hot spring was found! He expanded it into a large bath.

In recent years, after several milder winters, Xianyang’s weather had turned cold again. Every winter, Zichu would start coughing and fall mildly ill.

After spending winters in the Hanzhong hot spring palace, he’d been much better.

Zichu proudly showed off the hot spring, and Zhu Xiang was green with envy.

Jiangnan and Zhejiang should also have hot springs, but unfortunately, he didn’t know their exact locations. Unlike Zichu’s ridiculous luck—just digging randomly and finding one!

That’s what it means to be the King of Qin—pure tactical luck.

Li Mu also thought Zichu’s luck was absurdly good.

When he was stationed in Shu, people nearby had dug up warm springs, yet despite all his construction projects, he’d never struck one himself.

No wonder this man could go from being a hostage prince to the King of Qin, and still end up with a friend and brother-in-law like Zhu Xiang.

“I originally planned to submit this formally, but if I send it to Xianyang now, Cai Ze will complain that I’m giving him extra work, so I’ll just tell you directly—you can summon the nobles to discuss it.” Zhu Xiang said, “For agriculture, as long as the main grains occupy most of the fields, let farmers keep some land for mixed crops. These minor grains yield more and prevent total loss if one major crop fails.”

Zichu straightened up. “Explain in detail.”

Zhu Xiang described what he’d observed in Qin—how some officials enforced rules too rigidly, and then explained the benefits of mixed cropping.

Orderly fields were great for millet and wheat; rice consumed too much water and required heat, unsuitable for Guanzhong and Guandong. Beans, pumpkins, potatoes, and the new sweet potatoes he’d brought back were ideal for corners and for crop rotation.

Now, however, local officials, eager to boost production figures, had scrapped the rotation systems Zhu Xiang had previously established.

Then again, Zhu Xiang had never set them in stone—rotation must adjust according to farmers’ experience.

He said angrily, “I even heard that some officials want the Qin law to specify how deep fields must be plowed and how much water to use! That’s absurd! Anyone who suggests that should be sent to farm for a year as punishment!”

Zichu said, “I understand. Take your time—don’t rush.”

Zhu Xiang took a deep breath. “How can I not rush? Look at Chu! After an entire year of hard work, one rainfall before harvest nearly caused a famine. Don’t be fooled by how lush Guanzhong’s crops look—a single diseased wheat field can infect the entire region. The pathogens spread through wind, water, and animals—faster than anyone can imagine. And right now, we can only prevent them; there’s no cure.”

Without pesticides, a diseased crop was as good as dead.

That’s why all this talk about organic, chemical-free farming was nonsense for rich people who just wanted better flavor. Without fertilizers and pesticides, yields could never rise.

When Zhu Xiang first saw the crop structure in Guanzhong and Guandong, he’d been so terrified that even his nightmares changed—from dreaming of friends’ deaths to dreaming of famine in Qin.