HCT – Chapter 21 Steamed Cake with Jam

Zhu Xiang had paid his fine and been dismissed from office, yet people in the court still kept a close eye on him, a commoner whose fame continued to rise.

For the sake of safety, he even stopped his agricultural advisory work in Lin Xiangru’s fiefdom and now spent his days idling at home. Either he sat in on Xunzi’s lectures with young Ying Zheng, or he gripped his writing brush—whose only redeeming feature was its neatness—and recorded his insights on agriculture.

At home, Zhu Xiang imagined what difficulties farmers in Handan might face during the coming winter, then wrote down his proposed solutions and handed them to Xu Ming.

“Old Xu, you’re from the Agricultural School, right?” Zhu Xiang asked.

Xu Ming didn’t deny it this time. “I am.”

“I know your school doesn’t gather for the sake of farming, but to fight for the rights of farmers in court. But you have the network and the knowledge—please help me with this.”

Xu Ming took the coarse yellowish paper Zhu Xiang handed over and said, “The Agricultural School is the farmers, and the farmers are those who till the land. Nothing is more important than farming. Lord Zhu, rest assured.”

After Xu Ming left, Zhu Xiang found Xiang He and took out blueprints for a seed drill, a hoe, and a sickle.

The three-legged seed drill was invented during Emperor Wu’s reign. The hoe’s long handle and wide blade shape was standardized in the Han dynasty, as was the sickle’s form, which remains in use even today.

These three tools—developed and refined during the Han—remained unchanged for thousands of years until the modern industrial era. Without a unified empire, commoners had neither the means nor the energy to improve tools and productivity. Nor did the court have the capability to promote their use.

Zhu Xiang knew these tools couldn’t be widely promoted yet. He simply hoped Xiang He could create some prototypes of new farming tools, so at least his neighbors could benefit. He hadn’t brought out the curved plow because Zhao didn’t have enough oxen to put it to use.

“Take these blueprints,” Zhu Xiang said. “No matter what country you’re in, if you get the chance, spread them. They’re just a starting point—the actual improvements will depend on you and the Mohist School craftsmen. I know your school doesn’t always get along with the Agricultural School, but on this matter, I hope you’ll cooperate.”

This time, Xiang He didn’t deny he was from the Mohist School. “Without farmers to work the land, how would we craftsmen exchange our skills for food to fill our bellies? Lord Zhu, rest assured. When it comes to right and wrong, we don’t cling to factional pride.”

Zhu Xiang bowed to express his thanks.

While Xu Ming and others helped solve the farmers’ problems, and Xiang He and his peers studied Zhu Xiang’s abstract designs to improve the tools, Xunzi felt left out.

He grumbled, What, is Confucianism useless now?!

But being an elder, he didn’t want to directly ask Zhu Xiang for a job. So he pushed Cai Ze to do it.

Cai Ze was speechless. I’m not even Confucian—why am I doing this? Xunzi has a bunch of disciples. Ask them!

Though Cai Ze complained inwardly, he didn’t dare voice a word of opposition to Xunzi and could only obliquely bring it up to Zhu Xiang.

Zhu Xiang said, “What can the Confucian School even do? Don’t let Xunzi hear you say that, or he’ll smash your skull with his broad sword.”

“…Xunzi wouldn’t be that cruel,” Cai Ze replied.

Zhu Xiang, dead serious: “No, he would. Do you know what ‘subdue others with reason’ means? It’s when you beat them so hard they can’t talk back and then—Cai Ze, what’s with that look on your face?”

Cai Ze trembled and pointed to the half-open window.

Zhu Xiang turned his head—Xunzi was standing there with his hands behind his back, peering in through the crack.

Zhu Xiang leapt from his stool, trying to bolt for the door.

Ever since stools became common in his home, and Xunzi no longer objected to him using them, Zhu Xiang had grown fond of sitting instead of kneeling. Now with one kick of his leg, he shot forward like an arrow.

But no matter how fast he was, he couldn’t outrun Cai Ze’s betrayal.

Cai Ze reached out his treacherous right hand and caught Zhu Xiang’s sleeve. Zhu Xiang was running so fast that his clothes nearly tore off.

Xunzi grinned, revealing a mouthful of well-maintained teeth. “Go on. I’m listening.”

Zhu Xiang trembled as he apologized, even giving himself a light slap.

Xunzi sneered, “You made some very good points.”

Desperately trying to defend himself after quoting the Lunyu (Analects), Zhu Xiang wailed, I wasn’t making a point! Not even a little! Cai Ze, let go of me!

Cai Ze gripped his sleeve tighter.

Let go? You said Xunzi would crush my skull. How could I dare let go?

“I thought you’d be depressed after being dismissed from office,” Xunzi said as he walked inside with his hands still in his sleeves. “But you’re still so full of spirit.”

Zhu Xiang replied awkwardly, “Of course I feel bad, but life goes on. If I wear a gloomy face, won’t that just make the people who care about me feel worse?”

Xunzi was gratified. “It’s good you can think this way.”

He had worried that Zhu Xiang, being young, wouldn’t be able to handle this setback and would become dejected. But Zhu Xiang had more resilience than many older men. Not only had he not collapsed, he was doing what he could and even had the mood to joke around.

“You’ve already given work to the Mohist School and the Agricultural School. What now? Do you look down on us Confucians?” Seeing Zhu Xiang in good spirits, Xunzi dropped the pretense and asked directly.

Zhu Xiang shook his head like a rattle drum. “No, no! I’ve been meaning to ask for your help—I just didn’t know how to bring it up.”

“What kind of thing is so hard to ask?” Xunzi pressed.

Zhu Xiang obediently kneeled before him. “Confucians promote ritual. The nobility often employ Confucians as advisors to establish etiquette. I’d like the senior brothers of the Confucian School to spread my reputation among the nobles and gain their recognition.”

Xunzi immediately understood why Zhu Xiang had hesitated. Asking others to build your fame—it was hard for someone like Zhu Xiang to do that.

“You want to return to office?” Xunzi asked.

“Whether or not I return, I need to build a name for myself.”

Zhu Xiang had made up his mind. If he kept hiding, he wouldn’t even be able to protect the people around him. He wanted to repay the kindness of his neighbors—so he had to rise.

“You know that doing this is dangerous?” Xunzi asked.

“I’m afraid of danger.”

Xunzi was stunned.

Cai Ze asked, “Zhu Xiang, did you mean to say you aren’t afraid of danger and just said it wrong?”

Zhu Xiang shook his head. “No, I said it right. I am afraid, which is why I’m very clear about the risks.”

He took a moment to collect his thoughts. “I’ve just begun to gain a little fame among the people, and already some in the Zhao court are jealous—wishing I were dead. A high-ranking post in court is like the pits dug to plant millet. There’s only one stalk per pit. With so many scholars and so few positions, where is there room for a commoner like me?”

“What’s more, the world cares deeply about background. Even scholars with prestigious ancestors but poor current standing are still looked down upon. Let alone someone like me, who even chose his own name? When I rise, danger will follow.”

He had always known this, which is why when Lin Xiangru enthusiastically tried to get him a post, he deliberately held back. Aside from farming, he kept all his abilities hidden.

Zhu Xiang thought he’d hidden well, but Lin Xiangru had already noticed. He just thought Zhu Xiang was either too modest or too young to know his worth. He didn’t realize Zhu Xiang was deliberately hiding his talents.

In this era, even princes and nobles hadn’t read many books. Modern people aren’t necessarily smarter than ancient ones, but they shouldn’t underestimate themselves either.

Zhu Xiang, as a young professor, had read more than many esteemed scholars of the time. He might not be street-smart enough for court intrigue, but in terms of practical skills—from governance to warfare—he could be considered above average.

At the very least, he knew that a good general didn’t start by reading military texts, but by drilling soldiers.

But in this era, the more capable a commoner was, the more likely they were to be killed. Zhu Xiang valued his life, and his family with Xue. He wasn’t looking to die.

“If you know it’s dangerous, why still seek fame?” Xunzi frowned. “Gaining fame is easy. But once you have it, how will you protect yourself?”

Zhu Xiang replied, “Once I have fame, I’ll know how to protect myself. Don’t worry, teacher—I know my limits.”

Xunzi wasn’t convinced. “Then tell me what those limits are.”

Zhu Xiang took a deep breath and quickly formulated a response. “Once I gain fame, I’ll achieve a notable merit. Then, when the King of Zhao offers me a reward, I’ll resign and go into seclusion, only returning when the king truly needs me. That way, I can be useful without threatening the nobles.”

Xunzi still frowned. “Are you sure this will keep you safe?”

“I still have Zheng’er as a protective charm. As the maternal uncle of Qin’s royal hostage, as long as I behave properly, the King of Zhao won’t trouble me too much. If something happens to me, where would he find another suitable family to raise Zheng’er?”

Only then did Xunzi reluctantly agree. “Since you’ve thought through your fallback plan, I’ll help you build your name. But what kind of reputation do you want? Zhao’s king doesn’t value farming fame.”

Zhu Xiang said, “I can debate military affairs or politics.”

Xunzi sighed deeply. “So you’re finally going to show your talent as a king’s aide? But I don’t approve of you displaying it here in Zhao. Why not wait until you return to Qin with Zheng?”

Zhu Xiang knelt and bowed deeply. “Please help me, teacher.” Because there’s no time left.

Xunzi could tell Zhu Xiang was hiding something. But in the end, Zhu Xiang convinced him.

Xunzi considered the risks Zhu Xiang might face and judged that with his current resources, he could protect himself. And Zhu Xiang valued Xue and Ying Zheng deeply—he wouldn’t act recklessly.

Zhu Xiang was in urgent need of fame, so Xun Kuang agreed.

Xun Kuang believed that Zhu Xiang’s urgency must have stemmed from his concern that Zhao currently lacked enough labor for farming. If Zhao’s officials continued to give chaotic orders, even more people would starve to death the next year. Zhu Xiang didn’t want to miss the spring plowing season.

When Lin Xiangru heard of this, he too assumed Zhu Xiang’s urgency was because of the spring planting.

The neighbors and villagers lived in such poverty, yet they still quietly threw their meager savings into Zhu Xiang’s home at night. Zhu Xiang was kind-hearted. He was unwilling to hide at home during disaster; he wanted to fight once more for the people around him. This was very much in line with his character.

That night, when Ying Zheng entered the dream realm, he pondered deeply and also believed that his uncle must be thinking this way.

He thought of the farmers who wove straw toys for him and sighed again and again like a little old man.

Even he himself had thought about being kinder to the commoners in Lin Xiangru’s fief once Zhao was conquered—perhaps exempting them from taxes for a year or two. His uncle was so kind-hearted, surely he was even more eager to help these people.

The Confucians were renowned orators in the Spring and Autumn and Warring States period—one of the few groups capable of arguing head-to-head with the diplomatic debaters of the School of Vertical and Horizontal Alliances.

Whether or not the Confucian students fully believed in Xunzi’s theories, as the most senior and renowned Confucian scholar of the time, when Xunzi wrote letters requesting fellow disciples to recommend someone, no one refused such a small favor.

Besides, Zhu Xiang’s good reputation among the people had long preceded him—Confucian disciples had already heard of him.

Cai Ze even wrote letters to fellow disciples he didn’t get along with—not to recommend Zhu Xiang, but to brag that Zhu Xiang was far more capable than them. He lamented that it was a pity Zhu Xiang refused to leave Zhao; otherwise, the wise rulers of the other six states would surely elevate him to high office.

When Lian Po learned of this, though he didn’t know why Zhu Xiang suddenly sought fame, he remembered that he had “accidentally” taken quite a few livestock from Zhu Xiang’s household. Out of this guilt, Lian Po also wrote letters back to Handan, boasting that Zhu Xiang truly knew military affairs—after all, he taught him!

In Handan, someone acquainted with Li Mu wrote to ask about this. Li Mu recalled that Zhu Xiang had once spoken sharply about morale and replied firmly, “Yes, Zhu Xiang knows military strategy!”

All of a sudden, the network of connections Zhu Xiang had kept in the shadows was activated. His reputation, once only heard among the common folk, now entered the view of the nobility.

His name spread like fire over boiling oil—blazing, dazzling.

Naturally, this attracted many who were displeased by his fame.

They came to debate him on philosophy, logic, and military matters. Zhu Xiang welcomed them all.

From the revolutions of the sun and moon above, to the layout of rivers and mountains below; from the legends of the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors, to the political gains and losses of the Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods; from military formations and tactical simulations, to how to train each soldier to obey orders without fail—Zhu Xiang sat upright, debating endlessly with visiting scholars, omniscient and undefeated.

Even the sophists from the School of Names, masters of paradox and trickery, were defeated by Zhu Xiang’s dialectics.

In this era, sophistry was a form of philosophy. Modern political science exams long ago broke down millennia of philosophical argumentation into textbook content. And Zhu Xiang, with the persuasive power to win research grants and project funding in the modern world, was never going to be a clumsy speaker.

When he faced a topic he couldn’t win, he would shift the conversation to a field unknown to his opponent and cunningly strike with his superior breadth of knowledge—what today might be called a “dimensionality reduction attack.”

In terms of debate alone, a modern, highly educated person would never lose—because the philosophical fruits of this era were already digested into their schoolbooks.

And so Zhu Xiang burned brightly, like a bonfire in the night. His radiance finally caught the attention of King Zhao and Lord Pingyuan.

Though Lord Pingyuan Zhao Sheng was not particularly insightful, when it came to taking advice—especially from well-known individuals—he surpassed both King Zhao and many other monarchs of the time.

Zhao Sheng realized he had underestimated Zhu Xiang’s ability and personally visited him to discuss philosophy over wine.

After conversing with Zhu Xiang for most of the day, Zhao Sheng bowed deeply despite his royal status and admitted he had misjudged him.

“I will recommend you to the king, just as I once recommended Lord Ma Fu!” Zhao Sheng’s comparison of Zhu Xiang to Lord Ma Fu (Zhao She) revealed the depth of his admiration.

Zhu Xiang returned the bow respectfully: “I am willing to follow in Lord Ma Fu’s footsteps and serve Zhao to my dying breath.”

Although The Memorial to Dispatch the Troops hadn’t yet been written in this era, Zhao Sheng understood the meaning of “exert oneself to the utmost until death.”

He was deeply moved and rushed to the palace to report those eight characters to the king.

But King Zhao was still hesitant. “Wasn’t Zhu Xiang previously accused of wrongdoing? How is he suddenly a great sage?”

Zhao Sheng replied, “I’ve heard the accusations stemmed from his promotion of potatoes, which have slight toxicity and deplete the soil. Agricultural officials didn’t understand his reasoning. But Zhu Xiang said in Bashu there is a plant called konjac, which is highly poisonous, yet its root becomes delicious when treated with lye. Many birds and beasts are poisonous raw, but edible when cooked. Others didn’t understand why he wanted people to grow potatoes near their homes—it’s because they didn’t know how to cook them safely.”

“Zhu Xiang also said we’ve conscripted all the young men to fight Qin, and there’s no one left to work the fields. If no one farms, the soil’s fertility remains unused. Potatoes can grow even when casually planted, without much care. When the soldiers return, we can switch back to millet and grain—it won’t be too late.”

After Zhao Sheng’s explanation, King Zhao still felt puzzled. “It sounds reasonable… but why didn’t Zhu Xiang explain himself earlier?”

Zhao Sheng replied, “My lord, Zhu Xiang was just a commoner skilled at farming. No one would have listened to his defense, let alone believed him. Only now that his abilities have become evident will people be willing to hear him out.”

King Zhao felt that Zhao Sheng’s words made sense. But having just dismissed Zhu Xiang from office, reappointing him now would look like a slap in the face. As a proud and image-conscious young monarch, King Zhao was reluctant.

At that moment, Lord Pingyang Zhao Bao—who had been sidelined for opposing the king’s decision to accept Shangdang—spoke up for the first time in a while.

He reminded the king: “Though few in court know this, surely Your Majesty is aware—Zhu Xiang is the uncle of the Qin prince held hostage here. Now that he’s suddenly revealing his talents amid a Zhao-Qin standoff, seeking office for himself, should this not be treated with caution?”

The king had been looking for a reason to reject Zhao Sheng’s recommendation. Hearing Zhao Bao’s words, he immediately brightened. “Exactly! That’s what concerns me! Zhu Xiang may be useful—but not now. Once we’ve secured Shangdang and Qin withdraws, then we’ll consider using him!”

Zhao Bao said, “Even if we can’t appoint him right away, we should still show him favor—to let him know Your Majesty values him.”

As long as he didn’t have to publicly backtrack, King Zhao was generous. Not only did he return the thousand gold he had confiscated from Zhu Xiang, but he also gave him money, carriages, livestock, and slaves—along with the privileges and salary of a lower dafu (nobleman of middle rank).

At this time, official titles beneath the monarch were broad—qing (high), dafu (middle), and shi (low), each with upper, middle, and lower grades. Later on, specific posts became more defined, and nobles would often hold dual titles to indicate rank.

For example, Lin Xiangru (civil) and Lian Po (military) had different duties but were both shang qing (top ministers).

Zhu Xiang’s former post had been “lower shi”—barely enough to count as nobility.

Now, although the king hadn’t given him a new position, he had promised Zhu Xiang the treatment of a “lower dafu”—placing him in the middle nobility.

This was much like how the state of Qi once founded the Jixia Academy: any scholar recognized by the Qi king received the privileges of an upper dafu. Even without the title, they were treated as such in other states.

By granting Zhu Xiang “lower dafu” status, King Zhao had publicly acknowledged his talents. Zhu Xiang’s fame soared even higher and spread to the other six kingdoms.

When news of Zhu Xiang reached Xianyang, Wang He had just conquered Shangdang. His victory report and Zhu Xiang’s growing reputation reached the King of Qin at the same time.

Surprised, the king summoned Zichu and asked, “You said Zhu Xiang was good at farming—why didn’t you tell me he could govern and lead troops as well? He has the makings of a king’s aide!”

Zichu was even more surprised than the king. He paid more attention to Handan than the king did and had already heard about Zhu Xiang’s rise to fame.

By the time the king asked, he had already pondered the situation deeply.

“My lord, Zhu Xiang indeed has the talent of a king’s aide—but not the wisdom of one. To protect himself, he has always hidden much of his ability,” Zichu replied.

The king asked, puzzled, “What do you mean—he has the talent but not the wisdom?”

Zichu explained in roundabout terms, backing his claim with examples of Zhu Xiang’s speech and behavior, until at last, the king understood what he meant.

Zhu Xiang indeed possessed the talents of a king’s right-hand man—give him a wise monarch, and he could certainly assist in governing well. But assisting a ruler required more than talent; it demanded the ability to contend with court officials and protect oneself amidst political strife. Zhu Xiang lacked this ability. He was not only kind-hearted and incapable of vying for power, but also a gentleman easily “deceived by righteousness.” If he entered the court and political enemies set traps for him, each trap would be spot-on. Even knowing it was a trap, Zhu Xiang might jump in to protect someone else.

“Be it diplomatic maneuvering, commanding troops, or governing a region—there are plenty of capable people in the Seven States for such tasks. But to find someone who can increase crop yields for common farmers? Only Zhu Xiang,” said Zichu, clearly aware of his friend’s strengths and weaknesses. “Placing Zhu Xiang in court as a king’s aide is like asking an eagle to crow, a steed to plow, or using the finest blades in the world to cut millet. It may work, but it’s a waste of great talent.”

The King of Qin understood Zichu’s counsel: “Indeed. If Zhu Xiang were in Qin, I would let him focus only on agriculture, free from all other worldly distractions. From what you’ve said, he knows his own shortcomings—thus, he hides his talent and chooses to remain under Lin Xiangru’s wing. But why is he now actively seeking fame? This can only bring him harm, not benefit.”

Zichu replied, “Even I don’t understand. If Zhu Xiang wished to rise in the world, he could wait until they return to Qin. As a relative of the royal family, he would be far safer there than in Zhao. Though he may not know when they’ll return, with his character—uninterested in fame and fortune—he shouldn’t be acting so rashly.”

The King of Qin mused, “He knows he’s no good at political maneuvering, yet insists on doing what he’s not good at. It’s like you said earlier—he sees the trap ahead and still chooses to leap into it.”

Zichu’s eyes widened suddenly, his back straightened, and a cold sweat broke out down his spine.

The King asked, “What have you realized?”

Zichu opened his mouth but couldn’t speak at first. Then, clenching his fists, he slammed them onto his knees, forgetting even to maintain decorum before his grandfather.

“Zhu Xiang…” Zichu had a vague idea in mind but couldn’t believe it. “Could it be he’s realized the Marquis Ying’s scheme and wants to replace Zhao Kuo at Changping?!”

The King did not rebuke Zichu’s loss of composure. He understood how important Zhu Xiang was to Zichu—just as Fan Ju was to himself. A little emotion from his grandson was understandable.

The King lowered his gaze. “No. If he’s truly the great talent you describe, then he must know—no matter how famous he becomes, the King of Zhao would never let him command troops. He’s a commoner, unable to earn the trust of Zhao’s soldiers, and he’s related to you—bound to return to Qin eventually. The King of Zhao would never allow even half a Qin man to lead troops against Qin.”

Zichu bit his lip, pale with worry. “Then I don’t understand why Zhu Xiang would do something so suicidal!”

The King comforted him, “Perhaps he’s disillusioned with Zhao and wants to gain fame to persuade me, for the sake of that reputation, to bring you and Zheng’er back sooner. Once he’s in Qin, the jealousy he provokes in Zhao will no longer endanger him.”

Zichu said, “That must be it. Yes—he must be thinking that way. Zhu Xiang cares deeply for family; this must be his way of paving a path for them by taking such a risky step.”

The King continued to reassure him: “Put your mind at ease. When Zhao is defeated, I will immediately demand the return of the hostage prince, so you and Zhu Xiang can reunite.”

Zichu bowed low in gratitude. Only after further comforting him did the King allow Zichu to leave.

As soon as Zichu left, the King turned and asked, “Sir, I’m growing more curious about this Zhu Xiang.”

Fan Ju stepped out from behind a screen. While wary of powerful ministers like Bai Qi, he didn’t concern himself with a young man like Zhu Xiang. As the King had said, by the time Zhu Xiang accumulated enough merit and influence to pose a threat to Fan Ju, Fan Ju might already be dead. Zhu Xiang was someone the King was cultivating for Zichu; not only did Fan Ju not resent him, he would help the King train this future statesman with care.

“I too am growing curious,” Fan Ju said. “Is he really trying to leverage his talent so the King will help him return to Qin? If so, he’s quite arrogant—not bad at all.”

Fan Ju had not thought much of Zhu Xiang upon first hearing about him. As someone sharp and vengeful, Fan Ju looked down on Zhu Xiang’s excessive modesty and tolerance. But now, Zhu Xiang was beginning to earn a bit of his respect.

Even though Zhu Xiang was placing himself in danger, a talented man taking risks to show his worth—what was wrong with that? Before, Zhu Xiang was merely a capable man. Now, to Fan Ju, he was a man of ambition.

Fan Ju said, “No need for concern, Your Majesty. When I send people to Han Dan to sow discord against Lian Po, I’ll also ensure Zhu Xiang and Prince Zheng are protected.”

The King rose and clasped Fan Ju’s hands in gratitude. “I still must rely on you, sir. With those words, I am at ease!”

Nearby attendants shivered slightly, hiding the goosebumps on their necks.

Here we go again. The King is getting emotional with the Prime Minister again.

…

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Thanks to his high-profile behavior, Zhu Xiang was granted the status of “Lower Minister,” but still didn’t get a real position of power. Lin Xiangru was so angry he fell ill, frightening Zhu Xiang into attending him night and day without even removing his clothes.

“Master Lin! With Qin and Zhao at war, it’s normal for the King of Zhao not to appoint me. Don’t be upset. I’m already a Lower Minister—future promotions can only go up!”

Under Zhu Xiang’s comforting, Lin Xiangru gritted his teeth and got up from bed. “Right! I can’t afford to fall ill—I still need to help you get into Zhao’s court!”

“Yes, I rely entirely on you, Master Lin.” Lin Xiangru suppressed his emotions, and with Zhu Xiang’s care, he soon recovered.

The household doctors were amazed, gathering around Zhu Xiang daily to discuss medicine, believing he had the potential of a skilled physician. Zhu Xiang had no choice but to distract them with vague talk of “the connection between physical health and emotional well-being.”

But medicine wasn’t his forte. Lin Xiangru’s illness was clearly emotional in nature, so Zhu Xiang could help. If it had been someone else truly ill, Zhu Xiang would have been helpless.

Once Lin Xiangru recovered slightly, Zhu Xiang returned home and secluded himself for a few days.

Ying Zheng crawled onto Zhu Xiang’s belly during his afternoon nap, pouting, “Uncle, are you free to study with me today?” He stomped twice on Zhu Xiang’s stomach after speaking.

Zhu Xiang pulled him into his arms, groaning, “Uncle’s been too busy lately and neglected you. I apologize. Let’s study now.”

At the door, Xue waited for Ying Zheng to wake Zhu Xiang before walking in. “Since Zheng’er’s birthday, you’ve been leaving him to me all the time. You don’t play with him anymore, and he misses you.”

Though the atmosphere at home had been tense lately, Zhu Xiang still celebrated Ying Zheng’s birthday. He didn’t hold a grand banquet, but he did everything he could to make a delicious feast for the child—especially a fruit jam steamed cake.

In the process of nursing Lin Xiangru back to health, Zhu Xiang inadvertently revealed his skill in gourmet cooking. The meal was so delicious that Ying Zheng rolled on the floor in delight and nearly got spanked by Xue for begging for more cake.

Zhu Xiang’s cooking reputation soon reached the King of Zhao. After tasting a meal prepared by Zhu Xiang, the king asked if he would enter the palace as a royal chef.

This time, the king didn’t suggest making him a eunuch, but Zhu Xiang still declined. He said that wasn’t his ambition, though he was happy to train palace chefs and would personally prepare food if the king wanted something novel.

Thanks to his culinary skills, the King of Zhao grew more fond of him. But Zhu Xiang’s palace cooking also brought new trouble. Court officials warned the king that such duties should be entrusted only to the most trusted individuals. Zhu Xiang, with ties to Qin royalty, should not be trusted to handle the king’s food.

Reluctantly, the king decided not to have Zhu Xiang cook often, and only accepted recipes from him to be prepared by palace chefs.

People in Han Dan sighed: Zhu Xiang had once again lost a chance to become a royal confidant.

After Ying Zheng’s birthday, Zhu Xiang used busyness as an excuse to let Xue watch over the child daily. Even at night, Zhu Xiang often stayed in the study writing agricultural insights while Xue and Ying Zheng slept first.

As time passed, Xue and Ying Zheng grew closer. Ying Zheng now dared to act spoiled in her arms and wasn’t even afraid of the occasional spanking.

He had realized that though his aunt raised her hand high, she brought it down softly—she couldn’t bear to truly hurt him. Even if it stung briefly, by morning the red marks were gone.

Smart children always quickly understand what “indulgence” means. Ying Zheng had begun testing Xue’s limits, constantly dancing at the edge of punishment.

The more time she spent with him, the more affectionate and doting Xue became. Now she even directed Ying Zheng to step on Zhu Xiang’s belly during his naps.

Zhu Xiang saw the love and warmth in Xue’s gaze toward Ying Zheng, and a faint bitter smile flickered across his lips—gone in an instant.

He spent a whole day studying with Ying Zheng, then left him with Xue again. Shutting himself in his study, Zhu Xiang continued writing and organizing his insights on agriculture and policy for national restoration after unification.

All this, he would leave to Zheng.

As the stack of handwritten books grew ever higher beside his desk, April arrived.

The Battle of Changping began. Lian Po adopted a strategy of fighting while retreating, firmly keeping the Qin army on the east bank of the Dan River.

Despite their fierce assaults, the Qin troops couldn’t break through. Lian Po refused to engage and even roasted potatoes on the ramparts to mock them.

“You’ve been fighting this war for nearly three years—your provisions must be running low. Are your families starving back in Qin? What’s so great about Changping anyway? The potatoes here are tiny. Even if you take the land, it’s no use. You should retreat.”

General Wang He sneered angrily. If there’s nothing worth taking, then why are you Zhao people fighting so hard?! Just wait until the king replaces you—I’d like to see how long your arrogance lasts!

While Lian Po remained passive, Fan Ju’s agents in Han Dan began their work. They spent money like water, stirring up support for Zhao Kuo.

First, they reminded everyone of the late Zhao She’s great achievements. Back during King Huiwen’s reign, Zhao’s army was already weaker than Qin’s and rarely won. But in the Battle of Eyu, while everyone—including Lian Po and Le Cheng—opposed going to war, Zhao She achieved a miraculous victory against Qin.

The defeated Qin king at the time was none other than the current long-reigning old King of Qin.

Now it was said that Zhao Kuo had inherited his father’s military genius. Trained personally by Zhao She since childhood, he was even more brilliant. He had never lost a military debate.

Back then, Lian Po didn’t dare aid Eyu, and now he refused to fight. He was simply afraid of Qin, wasting Zhao’s resources. Qin’s greatest fear was the son of General Zhao She—Zhao Kuo—repeating that miracle victory at Eyu.

“At Eyu, the Lord of Mafujun turned certain defeat into victory. Today, with the Qin army exhausted and far from home, and the people of Shangdang supporting the King of Zhao, Zhao Kuo has every advantage—he is sure to win!”

…

Zhu Xiang stared silently at the arrogant young man before him.

“I heard you’ve never lost a military debate,” said Zhao Kuo, cupping his hands perfunctorily, chin raised, assessing the newly famed commoner out of the corner of his eye.