HCT – Chapter 214 Who Could Know a Thousand Lovely Verses

There wasn’t much to say about the battle between the Chu–Yan coalition and the Wei–Han–Zhao coalition — both sides fought perfunctorily.

Wang Jian had taken the Dabie Mountain Pass, and aside from Guangling City, all the major cities north of the Yangtze had already been abandoned. Chu and Southern Chu were divided along the Huai River, each controlling roughly half of the territory.

But even so, the land actually under the Chu King’s control was still equal to the combined territories of Wei and Han.

Chu, this gigantic behemoth, had been carved up many times by Qin and further weakened by its own internal strife — yet within the Warring States, its strength was still top-tier. It had merely fallen from its former absolute dominance over Zhao to competing neck-and-neck for first place.

Moreover, Southern Chu was still nominally a “vassal state” of Chu and did not call its ruler “king.” This time, when the Chu King marched out, the ruler of Southern Chu also led troops.

After all, though bones may break, the sinews still connect — Southern Chu shared deep ties with Chu. And since Southern Chu bordered only Chu and Qin, it understood that to stand firm in the Warring States, it had to remain closely aligned with Chu.

After all, Qin had already raised the banner of unifying the world and becoming the sole overlord. Even with the Han King begging countless times, Qin never agreed to accept him as one of Qin’s “vassal lords.” Clearly, Qin intended to abolish the title of ruler for all the other states.

Not even being Qin’s lapdog was an option. Naturally, the ruler of Southern Chu could only make use of his good personal connections within Chu — he bribed large numbers of Chu ministers, especially Li Yuan, the Chu King’s most trusted in-law — and reconciled with Chu.

Now Southern Chu and Chu were affectionate as ever, showing no trace of having just been at war.

The nobles within Chu, as well as the Chu King, were thoroughly pleased. In their eyes, Southern Chu was just a somewhat larger “fief” of Chu. In truth, it was as if Chu had never split into two countries — everyone was still one big harmonious family.

So naturally, when the Chu King went to war, the “vassal lord” of Southern Chu would also send troops.

Wei and Zhao were somewhat capable; Han’s army was practically nonexistent; Yan was weak but could still field some men who could fight. Chu and Southern Chu cooperated seamlessly. Thus, the two sides were evenly matched, mainly staring each other down.

Both Xiang Yan and Wei Wuji were renowned generals of their era; by all logic, if they really fought, the battle should have been spectacular.

But neither man fulfilled his duty as commander-in-chief — the army’s generals all acted independently.

Xiang Yan actually wanted to fight a grand battle, to win more land for Chu and restore the Xiang clan to the top of Chu’s noble hierarchy.

But unfortunately, this time Li Yuan wanted the biggest chunk of credit. So although Xiang Yan was commander-in-chief in name, Li Yuan was the one actually directing everything, and all the key generals were his people.

Xiang Yan, powerless, simply claimed illness and stayed in the rear, refusing to go to the front lines.

Wei Wuji, on the other hand, was truly slacking.

He had once been commander-in-chief in battles that mattered — rescuing the Zhou royal house and repelling Qin, or resisting the northern tribes in Yanmen. Those were meaningful wars.

But this one? As commander-in-chief? Completely meaningless.

Defend the nation? Seize land? Nothing of the sort. This was just nobles arguing over some petty words, pulling out armies to face each other, hacking for a while, then negotiating once one side looked weaker. The winner would get a few small towns and some compensation, then withdraw.

In fact, such battles had been the norm throughout the Spring and Autumn and much of the Warring States period.

Especially during most of the Spring and Autumn era, larger states fought exactly like this.

Scholars considered these battles an expression of “ritual,” of “noble spirit” — wars fought elegantly, never utterly disgracing the opponent.

Wei Wuji once thought such wars were better than the brutal modern ones where states had to conquer cities, win or lose decisively, and suffer massive casualties.

But now, Wei Wuji’s thinking had changed.

Without realizing it, the lofty noble prince Wei Wuji no longer saw war losses as mere numbers. The numbers now corresponded to people.

Qin waged war to seize territory and unify the realm.

Whether it was Qin’s king’s ambition or a desire to end endless inter-state warfare, Qin fought purposeful, meaningful wars.

He disliked Qin, feared it, and hated it — but he had to admit that Qin’s soldiers knew why they were fighting. Their sacrifices were not meaningless.

When he guarded Yanmen, he fought to repel the northern barbarians.

The northern tribes only knew killing, burning, and looting. If they crossed the Great Wall, every village and town they passed would be devastated.

The border soldiers knew exactly why they fought. Every battle he led had meaning.

But now?

The Chu King used one drunken remark as an excuse to send troops, dragging all the states into war.

Was this meaningful?

Had he misjudged it? Even if he had, was it not absurd to mobilize hundreds of thousands of troops and laborers, seize grain, leave fields barren, let farmers starve, and let soldiers die pointlessly in battles with no strategic objective — all over a trivial squabble?

Yet when Wei Wuji looked at the nobles around him, they all seemed to think this was perfectly natural.

The Chu King was insulted — which meant Chu was insulted. If Chu was insulted, of course Chu must go to war.

No problem. Why would that be a problem?

Wei Wuji’s rational mind told him nothing was wrong.

But even in passive standoffs, there were casualties every single day.

One day, two days… dozens, hundreds, then thousands. Soldiers fell one after another during meaningless probing attacks.

The noble officers considered it “no casualties,” because battles of this light intensity didn’t even require mid-level officers to appear on the front line — they just ordered soldiers to charge a bit, then sounded the drums to retreat.

Wei Wuji, after staying so long on the border, had eaten and lived beside common soldiers. When in the mood, he’d randomly “grab” a few sturdy soldiers to drink with him — he fit right into the camps.

He was the type to choose friends based on whether he liked them, never on their status.

His retinue included many commoners — butchers, gatekeepers, even farmers. If Zhu Xiang had been in Daliang instead of Handan back then, Wei Wuji would likely have invited him home as a distinguished guest.

So his closeness with ordinary soldiers came naturally over time.

Once Wei Wuji began seeing Yanmen’s ordinary soldiers as people, once his perspective lowered to their level, he began seeing all soldiers as people.

A compassionate man cannot command troops — and when fighting, Wei Wuji was never indecisive. He didn’t even care for his own life, often charging at the very front himself, so he was certainly not “stingy” with casualties.

“But is this loss of life meaningful?” Wei Wuji slurred in the command tent, too drunk to speak clearly. “Meaningful? Over a ruler’s momentary anger, we mobilize hundreds of thousands, seize endless grain, leave fields abandoned, farmers starving, soldiers dying worthless deaths in battles with no goal.”

“Ah… worthless, worthless!” His hand slipped, wine spilling across his clothes.

Looking down at the stain, he muttered, “In the army, alcohol should be forbidden. I drank in Yanmen, but only during truces. Why can I drink so recklessly here?”

“What is that sound? A banquet?” he blinked drunkenly. “They’re having a banquet?”

His bodyguard Zhu Hai sighed. “Master, today is New Year’s. Many nobles invited you to join the feast, but you refused.”

“New Year?” Wei Wuji swayed again. “Ah, New Year… Zhu Xiang wrote in his letter that Wucheng is lively during the New Year. Even farmers put on new clothes and get to eat meat.”

Zhu Hai said softly, “If it were under Lord Zhu Xiang’s governance, farmers should be able to eat meat once a year.”

Wei Wuji laughed. “Most certainly.”

He pushed against the table and staggered to his feet.

“Zhu Hai… I shouldn’t be here.”

He swayed violently and nearly fell.

Zhu Hai quickly held him.

“Zhu Hai… before Marquis Hou closed his eyes for the last time, he said that even though he couldn’t return to Wei, seeing me in my prime… he could die without regret.” Wei Wuji suddenly broke into tears. “If Marquis Hou could see me now… could he still die in peace?”

Nearly eighty-year-old Marquis Hou had followed Wei Wuji to the Zhao borderlands and was buried beneath a great tree in Yanmen, using its trunk as his tombstone — forever keeping the Prince of Xinling company.

“Zhu Hai… I miss Marquis Hou.” Wei Wuji wept. “I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be here. Zhu Xiang said I should defend the border. I should defend the border!”

Zhu Hai sighed deeply, held the Prince of Xinling like a child, and gently patted his back to soothe his drunken sobbing.

Ever since Chu sent troops, although Wei, Han, and Zhao nominally appointed Wei Wuji as commander-in-chief, both army and common folk spread rumors slandering him.

The soldiers looked at him with barely concealed resentment. Since the war used Wei Wuji as its excuse, they blamed their suffering on him.

In truth, it hadn’t been like this at first.

The Chu King had forced Spring Lord (Lord Chunshen) to death and was condemned across the realm. Wei Wuji’s words had been relatively restrained. Everyone knew the Chu King merely wanted an excuse to divert public criticism and win back some territory after losing so much.

Scholars all knew this. They supported Wei Wuji and despised Chu and Yan — especially Yan, which had allied with Chu after repeatedly losing to Zhao.

So at first, Wei Wuji hadn’t cared about the rumors.

He was strong-willed; such minor matters couldn’t shake him.

Only one person could truly destabilize him.

His elder brother, King Wei Yu.

When all scholars supported Wei Wuji, when he had already taken the command seal of the coalition army, King Wei Yu issued an open “self-reflection,” stating that the war was entirely caused by Wei Wuji.

He said he feared that if Qin attacked Wei during this time, destroyed Daliang, and annihilated their ancestral temples, he and Wei Wuji would have no face left to live in the world. Therefore, Wei Wuji must quickly bring victory, so Qin would have no opportunity to strike.

Wei Wuji already thought this war senseless, already grieved the soldiers dying for nothing.

Hearing his brother’s words was like a massive bronze hammer striking his chest — the nearly healed cracks in his heart split wide open again.

After the king’s statement, rumors about Wei Wuji erupted everywhere, as if everyone, everywhere, was criticizing him.

The soldiers, who had originally been numb to everything, gradually “learned” of this matter, and their dissatisfaction with Wei Wuji grew day by day. Wei Wuji then began drowning himself in alcohol daily and handed over his military authority.

“Master, let us return to Yanmen Commandery,” Zhu Hai said. “Ignore the King of Wei. We should listen to Lord Zhu Xiang’s words—stay in Yanmen to guard the border, and guard the border for the rest of our lives.”

Wei Wuji did not seem to hear Zhu Hai’s words. He was already nearing fifty, the age of knowing destiny, yet he lay there and fell asleep crying, sobbing like a child.

Zhu Hai sighed, helped Wei Wuji onto the bed, changed his clothes, washed his face, and covered him with a blanket. Then he went to another tent to discuss with the retainers of Lord Xinling, urging them to persuade their master to leave this troublesome place as soon as possible. And also persuade their master… persuade him to stop holding onto hope for the King of Wei.

As Zhu Hai left, Wei Wuji opened his eyes. They were clouded with drunkenness, yet strangely clear. Though he had drunk a great deal, it seemed he had cried too much—his tears had almost washed away the drunken haze.

After waiting until Zhu Hai’s footsteps fully faded, Wei Wuji got up with his robe draped over him. He took out a white silk undergarment and tore it into cloth strips. He drew a short sword and cut his finger. Blood welled out, yet he felt no pain.

“Zhu Xiang, my letter should be reaching you by now.”

Wei Wuji murmured calmly to himself, completely unlike the man who had lost control moments ago.

“I promised you I would not give you the chance to risk your life to send off a friend.”

“I care for Wei, and yes, I fear death. If my elder brother wanted to kill me, I would certainly try to escape.”

Wei Wuji let out a bitter laugh as he looked at the bloody characters staining the silk.

“But if my brother refuses to give me the chance to escape, then there’s nothing I can do.” 

“Forgive me—this isn’t me breaking my word.”

He closed his eyes, but no tears came out. He had cried everything dry earlier.

Qin had rested and recuperated for years; King Zichu of Qin was already preparing for war. Lord Xinping, Lian Po, had been increasingly active, having recently captured several small Wei cities. Everyone knew that the fierce tiger of Qin, fully restored, was about to hunt again.

For the five states to fight each other at this moment was unwise. Wei Wuji had originally guessed that although the King of Chu acted impulsively, he would surely retreat by spring plowing. This chaotic five‑state melee would benefit no one; they would definitely each take a step back to avoid disrupting the spring planting.

But the King of Wei publicly declared—during winter, no less—that the war broke out because of Wei Wuji, that Wei was endangered because of Wei Wuji, and that Wei Wuji must take responsibility.

“Hah. If I do not die at my brother’s hand, then Wei will surely perish.” Wei Wuji laughed mockingly as he repeated the words that had “triggered” this war.

“Brother… will Wei perish by your hand?”

He put away the blood‑letter, tidied his hair, and said, “Someone, bring water for me to wash.”

At the sound of his voice, attendants soon entered with hot water to help him bathe.

Hearing this, Lord Xinling’s retainers felt reassured.

After changing clothes, Wei Wuji dried his hair as he said to Zhu Hai, “I won’t return to Yanmen. We’re going to find Zhu Xiang.”

Zhu Hai answered without hesitation, “I’ll prepare immediately.”

Wei Wuji stared into Zhu Hai’s eyes. “The journey south will be dangerous. You must protect me. I still owe Zhu Xiang a drink—I have to share that drink with him.”

Zhu Hai knelt and vowed, “I swear on my life.”

Wei Wuji nodded.

Then he sighed. “After I enter Qin, I do not wish to stand against Wei. So I will not take office—it would only hinder my retainers’ futures. I plan to dismiss them, give them money, and let them find their own paths.”

Zhu Hai said, “Yes.” He did not care, as long as his master was safe.

Wei Wuji waved for Zhu Hai to leave, then peacefully went to sleep.

The next day, he summoned the retainers who had already heard the news and told them his decision. Though he was in the army, he still possessed considerable wealth. Some of it he brought to reward soldiers—his habit when commanding troops; some was gifted to him by nobles of various states, for he was so famed that everywhere he went, people brought him gifts.

The retainers had already gained much wealth while following Lord Xinling. Even if he dismissed them without giving them anything further, they would not have complained. Receiving more naturally pleased them.

Those who had followed him from Wei to Zhao refused to leave; those who joined him only after he reached Zhao mostly departed.

Lord Xinling then personally persuaded each one, visited nobles in the army, introduced his retainers to them, and helped them find positions. He even wrote to nobles in other states recommending them.

Since he had done so much, the retainers could not insist on staying. Although they truly respected him, a talented man became a noble’s retainer precisely to seek opportunities to display his abilities.

Before, they could follow him in guarding the border. Now he said he was simply going to live out the rest of his life—so there was no reason for them to continue following him. Moreover, Lord Xinling himself did not want them to stay, saying that having too many followers would make the King of Qin wary.

By the eve of the Lantern Festival, Lord Xinling had finally arranged everything. At this time, the fifteenth day of the first month was not yet celebrated as the Lantern Festival. Even so, Wei Wuji still viewed the moon together with the only man remaining at his side—Zhu Hai.

Zhu Hai had originally been nothing but a butcher. Though extremely capable, he had never thought of entering officialdom. He was a strange man—he wanted neither rank nor wealth, but was willing to follow Lord Xinling unto fire and water purely because of his humility and respect for talent.

In history, the first time Zhu Hai helped Lord Xinling was during the stealing of the tiger tally to save Zhao. In Zhu Xiang’s previous life, many people criticized Lord Xinling for betraying Wei for righteousness.

But look at the map of Wei. Under King Zhao of Qin, if Zhao were destroyed, who would be next?

Saving Zhao did not only save Zhao; it halted Qin’s unification. After that, Bai Qi was unjustly killed, the six states attacked Qin, and most of the territories Qin Zhao‑xiang had captured in Jin were retaken.

If the lips perish, the teeth grow cold. The world should have understood such an important truth. Wei Wuji understood it well.

When the King of Qi drove out Lord Mengchang out of jealousy, Mengchang eventually became prime minister and general in another state and even attacked Qi in return.

Wei Wuji, in the real history, was also feared by his king and fled to Zhao, returning only after ten years. But after being betrayed again, he still remained in Wei and died in Wei. Every state invited him to serve, yet he went nowhere.

Because ten years later, when Mao Gong and Xue Gong urged him to return, they said: “Now Qin is attacking Wei, and Wei is in crisis. If Liang falls and the ancestral temples of your forefathers are destroyed while you, my lord, turn your back—how could you face the world?”

How could he face the world? Thus, he could go nowhere.

“Zhu Hai, rest well today. Tomorrow we flee south to see Zhu Xiang.” Wei Wuji had only drunk a little; he smiled, clear‑headed.

Zhu Hai cupped his fists. “Yes, Master.” He rose and left.

Wei Wuji looked at the moon for a while with the wine cup in hand, then poured out the last cup onto the ground. He returned to the tent.

…

“Uncle, what did Lord Xinling write?” Ying Zheng was rubbing his freshly washed hair vigorously with a cloth, not worried at all about rubbing it bald.

Zhu Xiang pushed his wet head aside. “What else could he have written? Cursing the King of Chu, and complaining about the King of Wei. Oh, he also said the cattle and sheep raised by the northern tribes taste very good, but unfortunately can’t be sent here.”

“Is it really that good? When we conquer Yanmen, let Teacher catch northern cattle and sheep for us to eat!”

Zhu Xiang laughed and scolded, “Do you think the mighty Lord Wucheng, Li Mu, is here to catch livestock for you?”

Ying Zheng said proudly, “Ask Teacher whether he’ll catch them for us—he definitely will!”

“I want to go catch them too!”

Little Chengjiao wriggled out of Zhu Xiang’s arms, almost knocking his chin crooked.

Zhu Xiang held his jaw. “Chengjiao is getting more and more like you when you were little. Zheng’er, what are you teaching him?”

“How is it my fault? Uncle, are you writing back? Lord Xinling must be having a hard time lately.”
Ying Zheng sneered. “The King of Wei wants to force Wei Wuji to death with rumors.”

“I know. Xia Tong, Cai Ze, and Lin Li all wrote letters to explain this matter has nothing to do with Qin—they were baffled.”

Zhu Xiang hadn’t expected his friends to send a special urgent explanation letter, as if afraid he’d misunderstand.

He saw Wei Wuji as a friend, but also knew they stood on opposing sides. Just like Lord Chunshen’s death bore signs of Qin’s schemes—he would feel regret, but not hesitate, and never blame his friends.

How could he possibly blame them?!

Those three—what did they take me for?! Sending me an explanation letter—insulting!

While Zhu Xiang was ranting, Ying Zheng was laughing so hard he doubled over. “Yes, Uncle, go beat them up when you return—you can definitely take all three! Ow!”

Zhu Xiang thumped him on the head and began writing the reply.

He told Wei Wuji not to believe rumors—that the King of Wei was simply jealous and, having caught what he thought was a weakness, was gleefully smearing him.

“According to my information, Chu will definitely withdraw by the end of January. Lord Chunshen’s death shook Chu deeply; if they lose manpower for spring plowing and famine follows, unrest will break out.”

“Likewise, Xiang Yan and you are both fighting perfunctorily, so neither gains anything. Seeing there is no profit, Han, Zhao, and Yan will also retreat.”

“Endure a few more days; soon you can return to Yanmen and go catch cattle and sheep on the steppe.”

“If you feel too aggrieved, come to Southern Qin to relax. Stay a few months, then think about your future.”

Zhu Xiang considered, then drew the tropical fruits Li Mu brought from the south, briefly describing their flavors.

Especially lychees—once picked from the branch, they spoiled quickly. Li Mu had even uprooted an entire fruit‑bearing lychee tree to bring back so that Zhu Xiang and Ying Zheng could eat fresh lychees.

Unfortunately, it didn’t survive. Sigh.

“To bring Lord Xinling to Southern Qin? Then he’ll never return to Wei.”

Ying Zheng snorted. “If he refuses to submit to Qin, I’ll have Teacher drag him to Minyue—he can forget about returning to the Central Plains.”

Zhu Xiang burst out laughing.

…

“Master, it is time to get up and prepare—Master?!!”

Zhu Hai staggered, then collapsed to his knees, his eyes tearing open with grief and fury. His wailing tore the sky.

Wei Wuji was neatly dressed, hanging from the central pillar of the tent. He had been dead for many hours.