HCT – Chapter 206 The First Emperor’s Cub Teaches His Brother

Zichu originally planned to keep Ying Zheng with him for a while longer — to check on his progress in learning and to personally instruct him on how to be a proper King of Qin.

But the moment the “test” began, Ying Zheng started lecturing him.

“Father, that’s not the right way to do it!”

“Father, you can’t do that!”

“Father, look — this is how it should be done!”

Zichu’s fists tightened.

If not for Lin Zhi and Cai Ze standing on either side of him, tugging at his sleeves — “Your Majesty, calm down, calm down…” — and the Queen Dowager Huayang rushing in upon hearing the commotion to protect the tearful Ying Zheng, followed shortly by the Summer Dowager to persuade him as well, the poor Crown Prince would probably have been punished on the spot.

Xunzi scolded Ying Zheng fiercely afterward.

“As the Crown Prince, you must show respect to your ruler — that is the way of king and subject. As a son, you must honor your father — that is the way of parent and child.”

Ying Zheng was raised personally by Zhu Xiang, and the world’s opinion of him reflected directly on Zhu Xiang’s reputation. Ying Zheng’s arrogance and lack of respect would make it seem as though Zhu Xiang had raised a disloyal and unfilial child.

Realizing this, Ying Zheng hurriedly admitted his fault.

Then Zichu ordered Xueji to take up a whip and give the boy a proper beating.

Xueji was quite ready to comply — whip in hand, just about to strike — when Zichu suddenly stopped her.

Because Lin Zhi muttered from the side, “All he did was talk back a bit and disagree with you, Your Majesty. If you get this angry, doesn’t that only prove your own lack of tolerance?”

For mischievous children, elders usually just laugh and let it go — watching their silly innocence like it’s a passing joke. But if an elder actually takes it seriously and argues with the child, it means they’ve already lowered themselves to the same level.

Yet a mischievous child will still be mischievous. And with Ying Zheng’s personality, he’ll definitely do it again next time.

After thinking this through, Zichu reluctantly agreed.

He then asked Xueji how Ying Zheng usually behaved toward Zhu Xiang.

Xueji hesitated, then carefully said, “Zhu Xiang is… a bit too indulgent with Zheng’er. He has been like that ever since the boy was little.”

Zichu pressed further, “So Zheng’er often argues with him too?”

Xueji replied, “Zheng’er has strong opinions. If Zhu Xiang can’t convince him, he won’t listen. But whenever they do argue, Zhu Xiang almost always manages to persuade him in the end — so Zheng’er is still a very obedient child.”

A very obedient child.

That was clearly the “aunt’s filter” talking.

Zichu understood. If Zhu Xiang could convince Ying Zheng, then surely he, the King of Qin, could do the same!

So he gathered Cai Ze and Lin Zhi and went head-to-head with Ying Zheng in debate. And if they couldn’t win, they’d even call in Xunzi for backup.

Ying Zheng, having just finished apologizing, rolled up his sleeves and grinned — “Come on, let’s go!”

Thus, the royal court became unusually lively. Rumors began to circulate that the King of Qin and the Crown Prince were on bad terms. (And those rumors were personally confirmed true by both Zichu and Ying Zheng themselves.)

Just then, a desperate letter arrived from Zhu Xiang.

“Xia Tong, what the hell are you doing?! Why haven’t you sent Zheng’er back yet?!
Your dearest friend is about to die of exhaustion!
Are you doing this on purpose to torture me?!”

Zichu burst into loud laughter upon reading it. Finally, he had an excuse to send Ying Zheng away — and immediately ordered him to pack up and leave.

If Ying Zheng stayed in Xianyang any longer, Zichu might actually start considering abolishing the Crown Prince.

But then he looked at his other son, the truly simple-minded Chengjiao — and could only sigh.

He couldn’t understand it. At Ying Zheng’s age, the boy was already running around Shu, working unpaid as a deputy governor of a distant prefecture. Meanwhile, Chengjiao still couldn’t understand the Spring and Autumn Annals.

Tears welled up in little Chengjiao’s eyes. “There are so many words I don’t know! How can I understand it? When Father teaches me to read, he just makes me read! He never teaches me anything!”

The little boy simply couldn’t grasp it. When his elder brother learned to read, did he just “read” on his own too? Did no one teach him how to recognize characters? How to punctuate sentences? How to understand the meaning?

So he ran off crying to ask his big brother.

Ying Zheng was baffled. “Of course you start by learning characters and punctuation first! Before that, Uncle would explain the stories in simple language so I could understand. Sometimes he even drew picture books for me. Though… his drawings were awful, so I didn’t like looking at them, and he stopped drawing.”

Little Chengjiao burst into tears again and threw himself into his brother’s arms. “But Father said when he learned, he just read the book by himself — no one taught him!”

Ying Zheng looked completely unconvinced.

He knew their father had been sent to Zhao as a hostage since childhood, living under harsh conditions, probably unable to afford good teachers.

But no good teacher didn’t mean no teacher at all. Even in his dreams — where another version of himself, the future Qin Shi Huang, existed — he had still been personally taught by his uncle, Elder Lin, and Master Xun. There was no way their father had somehow been more gifted than him.

So, Ying Zheng concluded, “Father just doesn’t know how to teach, and now he’s taking it out on you.”

Unfortunately, Zichu happened to overhear that.

He stormed off in fury, summoning Prime Minister Cai Ze and Chancellor Lin Zhi for an urgent meeting.

Cai Ze, already half-asleep, shut his eyes to nap through it.

Lin Zhi, meanwhile, offered a terrible idea: “Since Zheng’er thinks it’s so easy to teach, why not let him teach Prince Chengjiao himself? I recall he once tried — and gave up halfway, complaining endlessly before dumping Chengjiao back on Zhu Xiang.”

Zichu hesitated. “But when I handed Chengjiao to Zheng’er, wasn’t it Zhu Xiang who ended up teaching him in the end?”

Lin Zhi winked and said slyly, putting on his best scheming minister act, “Your Majesty knows about Lord Chunshen’s fall from favor in Chu, yes?”

Zichu gave him a look that said obviously, replying, “Of course. I’ve already sent envoys to receive Lord Chunshen’s messenger.”

Lin Zhi continued, “The King of Chu will definitely order Chunshen’s death. For the sake of his reputation, Chunshen will likely accept his fate. Zhu Xiang is soft-hearted — he’ll surely go to see him off. And since there are always fools in this world who wish to push someone forward to overshadow Zhu Xiang, his visit to Chunshen’s funeral will keep them quiet for a while.”

Cai Ze opened his weary eyes, muttering, “That’s too dangerous.”

Lin Zhi argued, “With General Li Mu escorting him and Lord Lian Po receiving him, it won’t be.”

Cai Ze only gave Lin Zhi a long, silent look.

So Lin Zhi amended, “Fine — maybe a little dangerous. But sending Zhu Xiang openly with proper arrangements is still safer than letting him sneak off on his own.”

Cai Ze frowned. “Zhu Xiang wouldn’t do that.”

Lin Zhi said, “There’s at least a ten percent chance he would.”

Zichu sighed, massaging his temples. “In my opinion, it’s more than ten percent.”

Lin Zhi went on, “By the time Zheng’er departs for Wu Commandery, Zhu Xiang will already be gone. Knowing his temperament, he’ll make sure Chunshen’s family’s funeral matters are handled properly before returning to Qin. Once back, he’ll definitely check on the farmlands, travel around, and since he hasn’t seen us for a while, he’ll surely stay in Xianyang a few extra days.”

Then Lin Zhi winked again, “And with Ying Zheng’s personality, if Zhu Xiang isn’t around — he’ll have to personally teach Prince Chengjiao himself.”

Cai Ze, seeing how the discussion had somehow gone from the serious matter of sending a noble to Chu and arranging military escorts, all the way to how they could make Ying Zheng suffer a bit, simply closed his eyes again and forced himself to go back to sleep.

Every time things turned out like this, Cai Ze regretted ever getting involved with Zhu Xiang and Lin Zhi in the first place.

He had originally only planned to stay in Qin as a guest minister — earn a bit of merit here and there, be lazy most of the time, and live out his life in wealth and comfort. But now, after pouring heart and soul into cleaning up his friend’s mess, he felt like his lifespan had been shortened.

“You make sense,” said King Zichu of Qin, already persuaded by the sycophant Lin Zhi, looking every bit like a muddle-headed ruler as he slammed the table. “We’ll do just that!”

And so, with Chancellor Cai Ze choosing to protect himself, Minister Lin Zhi fawning and deceitful, and King Zichu foolish and credulous, the matter was thus decided.

Ying Zheng was “sent away” from Xianyang — and even saddled with a little tail.

Empress Dowager Huayang had originally wanted to keep Xue Ji around for a while longer, to chat and reminisce with her friend. But since King Zichu insisted that Ying Zheng take Prince Chengjiao along — saying that since Crown Prince Zheng was already traveling at that age, Chengjiao shouldn’t be spoiled in the harem either — she could only agree to let Xue Ji accompany them to take care of Chengjiao.

Empress Dowager Huayang complained to Xue Ji that the King must be blaming her for not taking proper care of Chengjiao, letting the boy grow up too skinny.

She recalled how plump and round Zheng’er had been when he returned to Xianyang — all soft and bouncy, trembling with every movement, looking every bit like a child blessed with good fortune.

Xue Ji smiled and agreed politely.

Behind them, Crown Prince Ying Zheng struggled to keep a straight face.

His silly little brother, Chengjiao, was sucking on his finger and looked up to ask, “Big Brother, what does ‘trembling and bouncy’ mean?”

Ying Zheng immediately pulled Chengjiao’s finger out of his mouth, forbidding him to suck on it again, but didn’t answer the question.

He silently ground his teeth. That ridiculous phrase — it must have come from Uncle Zhu Xiang’s mouth!

Just you wait, Uncle. When I grow up and you’re old, I’ll pay you back for this humiliation!

Wait and see!

Thus, Ying Zheng and little Chengjiao returned together to Wu Commandery.

On the journey, the brothers got along quite well. As long as one didn’t get seasick like King Zichu, traveling by boat in ancient times was actually the most comfortable way to go.

Chengjiao didn’t get seasick. He ran about on the deck every day, laughing in delight.

For a child raised in the deep palace, it was his first time seeing such grand rivers and mountains — he finally gained a real sense of what “the state of Qin” was, beyond mere words.

Ying Zheng followed behind, hands clasped behind his back, occasionally nagging: “Don’t run too close to the edge — a big fish might eat you! And don’t run too fast, you’ll trip!”

Xue Ji watched the scene with a gentle smile, a flash of nostalgia passing through her eyes — how similar this was to the past, when Zhu Xiang had walked behind the chubby, bouncing Ying Zheng, hands also clasped behind his back.

Along the way, Ying Zheng also stopped to visit Wang Jian, Zhang Ruo, and Meng Wu. He introduced his scrawny little brother to them and complained that their father, the King, had no idea how to raise children — Chengjiao was as thin as a bean sprout!

Everyone praised Zhu Xiang’s child-rearing skills instead. “Look how round and healthy Zheng’er used to be!” they said.

Ying Zheng nodded solemnly in agreement.

Xue Ji couldn’t help but laugh behind her hand. Wasn’t this the same child who used to protest in embarrassment — ‘I wasn’t fat!’ — every time someone said that?

Chengjiao was having the time of his life. He had never been this happy before — even his appetite improved, and he began eating half a bowl more at every meal. A little bit of chubbiness finally appeared on his cheeks.

But all that joy and brotherly harmony vanished as soon as they reached Wu Commandery.

Ying Zheng was shocked to learn that his uncle had once again gone off into danger — to see off that Lord Chunshen he barely remembered — and had dumped all the Wu Commandery affairs onto him before leaving.

Li Si, Han Fei, and Fuqiu, who managed communications between Guangling and Wu, could only smile bitterly.

Ying Zheng fumed, pointing north and cursing his uncle furiously.

But it was pointless — Zhu Xiang had already disappeared without a trace.

Left with no choice, Ying Zheng threw himself into work to handle the piled-up affairs.

Thankfully, before leaving, Zhu Xiang had already distributed most of the powers Ying Zheng used to monopolize. As long as the governor oversaw the general direction, he didn’t need to handle every detail himself — so Zheng wasn’t too overwhelmed.

Still, he found it difficult to adapt to Zhu Xiang’s reformed administrative system in Wu Commandery.

He didn’t immediately revert it, though. After a period of adjustment, he reluctantly accepted the new structure.

He also understood that one couldn’t keep every matter in their own hands.

Even if he could manage it now, his descendants might not be as capable. If even Zhu Xiang found it exhausting, how could others possibly bear it?

Yet, Ying Zheng’s obsession with control was something that ran in his very bones and soul — a trait he shared with Zichu and generations of Qin kings before him, perhaps even more intensely.

King Zichu might have frequently left Xianyang, but that didn’t mean he relinquished power. On the contrary, it was because he valued power too much — he refused to be confined to the palace.

With trusted men like Cai Ze, Xunzi, and Lin Zhi stationed in Xianyang, he could travel across the land as the King of Qin, ensuring even the most remote corners remained under his grasp.

Since the Western Zhou era, when the Son of Heaven toured the realm, it was never for sightseeing — it was a means of asserting control, ensuring that even distant vassal states remained under the central authority. That was why the Zhou dynasty was truly powerful in its prime — the Son of Heaven could command all under heaven.

Though Zichu never personally taught Ying Zheng, this trait of theirs was strikingly similar.

Ying Zheng understood that holding all power himself wasn’t a long-term plan, but his nature made it hard to resist. Until Zhu Xiang subtly pointed it out.

Grumbling and muttering, Ying Zheng reluctantly followed his uncle’s advice and delegated part of his workload.

The remaining duties were simple for him — compared to his previous all-encompassing control, life was far more leisurely now.

As for Zhu Xiang — it hardly made a difference whether he was there or not. When Ying Zheng governed Wu Commandery, Zhu Xiang rarely interfered in anything beyond agricultural matters, merely offering a suggestion or two at most.

Chengjiao adapted well to Wu’s climate and never once fell ill from the change of environment.

Seeing his younger brother healthy and rested, Ying Zheng decided it was time to assign him proper lessons.

He started with a placement test — and his face immediately darkened.

Palace education mostly focused on reading and writing, but as a seasoned governor, Ying Zheng knew arithmetic was equally vital.

If an official couldn’t even understand numbers, he wouldn’t be able to manage any administration. Grain taxes and corvée labor — they were all numbers. Even generals needed to be good at math to keep proper count of their troops.

When Ying Zheng could barely hold a brush steady, he used to sit on Zhu Xiang’s shoulders, bobbing his head as he recited the multiplication table.

Now, little Chengjiao couldn’t even understand basic addition, subtraction, multiplication, or division. If Ying Zheng hadn’t personally seen how anxious his father, King Zichu, was about Chengjiao’s slow learning, he would have thought his father was intentionally trying to raise a useless son.

Based on his own learning pace, Ying Zheng generously subtracted ninety percent of it, asked around to see what the average child’s learning progress was, and confidently drew up a study plan for Chengjiao.

He believed teaching his little brother would be a piece of cake. After all, he was no longer that young Ying Zheng who had once dumped his brother off to their uncle.

Chengjiao, for his part, studied diligently under Ying Zheng’s guidance.

“One plus two equals what?”

“!”

“Then what about two plus one?”

“Uh… one?”

“Huh?”

“N-no, it’s…”

Chengjiao counted on his fingers, lifted his small face proudly, and declared, “Four!”

Ying Zheng’s expression cracked completely. How could you raise one finger and still shout “four” with such confidence?! Are your eyes bad too?!

To be fair, Chengjiao wasn’t exactly hopeless. At least in reading and memorization, his progress was better than most children his age. But when it came to math… he was on par with a four-year-old.

Being scolded so harshly made Chengjiao feel wronged. “I never learned arithmetic in the palace.”

Ying Zheng pressed one hand against his head, the other against his chest—he couldn’t tell whether it was a headache, heartache, or both.

“How can you be this old and not have learned arithmetic yet?” he demanded.

Chengjiao looked at his fingers. “I-I don’t know either.”

Ying Zheng turned to ask the servants around Chengjiao.

The newly appointed nurse explained, “His Majesty said the young master should first learn to read and understand books. Once he understands books, he’ll naturally know how to count.”

Ying Zheng: “…”

Naturally know how to count? What kind of reasoning was that? Did Father learn everything by himself too?

Actually… Zichu really had.

When he came to Zhao, he was already literate. He continued to study on his own while learning from those around him. His skill in accounting had come from personal practice and necessity. Thus, he thought it was too early for Chengjiao, who barely recognized characters, to learn math.

But Ying Zheng disagreed. Why should you master one subject before starting another? Why not learn together? His uncle had once said that introducing children to mathematics early helped train their minds and improve logical thinking.

Though Ying Zheng didn’t fully understand what his uncle meant, the man had produced many brilliant students—surely he knew better than a father who’d never taught anyone before!

Besides, Chengjiao was already so old. Counting on his fingers for simple arithmetic was an embarrassment to his face!

Ying Zheng had never been so close to breaking down. Even when hearing his uncle was in danger, he hadn’t felt this hopeless. At least then, he knew his uncle always acted with foresight and wouldn’t truly fall into peril.

But Chengjiao really couldn’t even count his fingers right!

Desperate, Ying Zheng tried asking his aunt for help.

But Xue Ji said firmly, “My knowledge is not greater than yours. And you gave your word to His Majesty that you would personally teach Chengjiao. How could you now shift the responsibility? That would be breaking your promise.”

Ying Zheng slumped in defeat. He remembered—his aunt was even stricter than his uncle. Tricks and whining never worked on her.

Uncle, stop worrying about Lord Chunshen! Please come back!

“Brother! Brother! I got it now!” Chengjiao came bouncing over, proudly raising a finger. “Two plus one is also—!”

Ying Zheng, utterly drained, replied, “Yes, yes. Let’s just… recite the multiplication table next.”

If teaching by logic failed, rote memorization would have to do!

Uncle! Please come back soon!

——

“Achoo!”

Zhu Xiang, who was being forced to study under Xunzi’s supervision, sneezed hard—ruining an entire page of large script. He muttered under his breath, Could it be Zheng’er or Xue Ji thinking about me?

Ever since Zhu Xiang’s return, King Zichu had started a wave of reforms that were bound to offend many people.

From the content of Zhu Xiang’s memorials, Xunzi could see all the hidden tensions beneath the surface.

For a long time, Qin had followed Legalist doctrine.

What Confucians detested most about the Legalists was their belief that every human behavior should be codified into law. By making everything explicit, there would always be a rule to follow and punishment to fear, ensuring order.

But the Confucians considered this cruel and unrealistic.

If every act were regulated, humanity and compassion would vanish, leaving a cold and mechanical world. Moreover, the more detailed the law, the more people would inevitably err—since no one is perfect—and thus live under constant punishment and resentment.

Worse still, the illiterate commoners couldn’t possibly memorize such complex laws. Even literate scholars could barely remember them all.

And though officials might try to educate the people, they were too busy to reach everyone—and even if they could, who could remember everything after hearing it once?

Thus, it all devolved into the very cruelty Confucius condemned: “To punish without teaching is tyranny.”

Some Confucian factions took the opposite extreme—placing human relationships and moral duty above law, leading to “covering up for one’s kin.”

Xunzi had scolded this mercilessly.

He once said:

“If punishment comes before education, laws multiply but evil prevails.
If there is education without punishment, the wicked remain uncorrected.
If there is punishment without reward, the loyal lose motivation.
If there are both punishment and reward but no consistency, the people grow doubtful, customs grow dangerous, and the nation loses unity.”

Xunzi criticized not only Legalists but also fellow Confucians who disagreed with him. The so-called “Confucian school” had countless branches, all claiming descent from Confucius, but their internal conflicts were fiercer than any external rivalries.

In Xunzi’s eyes, what Zhu Xiang was currently doing fell under “punishment too complex, yet evil unrestrained.”

Still, Zhu Xiang’s reforms arose partly from Qin’s Legalist tradition and partly from the entrenched interests of local scholars and nobles.

The more detailed the laws, the greater the power of officials. Since commoners inevitably broke some obscure rule, officials could punish whoever they wished—or seize property at will.

In the provinces, this meant officials held near-absolute authority.

Now, although Zhu Xiang appeared to be amending the laws, in essence, he was curbing the power of local officials.

King Zichu clearly recognized this, which was why he had ordered Zhu Xiang to remove many details from the public version of the reform document—to protect him.

Xunzi, too, forced Zhu Xiang to stay buried in books instead of handling matters personally, to draw him out of the political spotlight and reduce attention on him.

But while keeping Zhu Xiang in study, Xunzi gave him new tasks.

By now, Xunzi’s reputation in Qin had reached great heights. Those in Xianyang Academy who opposed him could barely make waves. It was time, he decided, to reform the Academy itself.

Though a Confucian, Xunzi believed that other schools also contained valuable wisdom worth preserving. If only Confucianism remained, it would eventually stagnate.

He even agreed with part of Mencius’s saying, “Born in adversity, die in comfort.”

The Xianyang Academy, he declared, must include all the Hundred Schools. When Qin later selected officials, they too must not be confined to any single doctrine. Only then would Confucian scholars strive for progress, adapting their teachings to the times.

Without competition, they would end up like the pedantic Confucians of Lu—burying themselves in ancient texts, chanting “the sages say, the classics say,” and even attributing their own writings to ancient masters. Under such scholars, any nation would rot from within, just as Lu had.

Though Xunzi revered Confucius, he also believed firmly in surpassing the past: “The disciple should outshine the master; the present need not be inferior to the ancients.”

Even the elder Mencius, once his senior in the Confucian lineage, became the frequent target of his criticism.

Now Xunzi said, “The curriculum list you drafted for Xianyang Academy divided subjects but not schools of thought. I’ve refined it. Take a look.”

Zhu Xiang picked up the reformed curriculum, which Xunzi had worked on for years.

The Academy would no longer separate students by philosophical schools, but by subjects—History, Mathematics, Military Arts, Rites, Law, and others. Each subject would include teachings from multiple schools.

Zhu Xiang frowned. “If the instructors follow different doctrines, wouldn’t their lessons contradict each other?”

Xunzi raised an eyebrow. “There will be teachers of differing views teaching the same subject.”

Zhu Xiang was speechless. “So the students will listen to their teachers arguing every day?”

Xunzi smirked. “And why not?”

Zhu Xiang asked, “If doctrines aren’t unified, how will officials be selected?”

At that, Xunzi sighed. “To select officials, a unified ideology will indeed be necessary. So once Qin unifies the world, this Academy will be reformed again.”

Zhu Xiang asked softly, “Then why change it now?”

Xunzi replied calmly, “Because even temporary reform is still reform. Didn’t you once say—let future generations have a path to follow?”

Zhu Xiang froze for a moment, then bowed deeply. “Yes, Teacher.”