HCT – Chapter 217 Great Harvests in the Central Plains

Zhu Xiang was still sitting before Wei Wuji’s tomb, a wine jar in his arms.

Wei Wuji, wearing the brand-new garments Xue Ji and the weaving maidens had worked tirelessly to make, flicked his sleeves and sat down in front of his own tombstone.

The moonlight was so bright that it illuminated this patch of graveyard as if it were daytime.

Wei Wuji raised his head, glanced at the epitaph on his tombstone, and said, “Your calligraphy isn’t as good as mine.”

Zhu Xiang rolled his eyes. “My handwriting is what it is. Deal with it.”

Wei Wuji burst into laughter. “Though not as good as mine, compared to the rest of the world, it’s not bad. Hand me the wine jar—do you really plan to eat all my offerings yourself? You’ll burst.”

Zhu Xiang picked up a full wine jar from the side.

For some reason, his strength was unusually great this time—he lifted the jar with one hand and handed it to Wei Wuji.

Wei Wuji accepted it, tipped his head back, and took a gulp of the amber-colored wine Zhu Xiang had carefully brewed. He exclaimed, “Good wine!”

Then he said regretfully, “I really should have gone to find you sooner. Even if my elder brother still would’ve forced me to death, at least before dying I could’ve had a drink of your fine wine.”

Zhu Xiang said, “Regretting it now is too late!”

Before he realized it, the offerings he had eaten had already been restored.

Zhu Xiang set the dishes between them and introduced each dish he had personally cooked.

Wei Wuji praised each bite, saying Zhu Xiang’s cooking reputation was well-deserved—that even the legendary culinary immortal Yi Ya wasn’t worth one of Zhu Xiang’s fingers.

Zhu Xiang looked skyward. “You really know how to talk—comparing me to that treacherous minister Yi Ya.”

Wei Wuji laughed again.

The two toasted and traded cups, eating, drinking, and chatting.

Zhu Xiang spoke about the beautiful water towns of Jiangnan, saying the region would one day become a paradise of fish and rice, certain to enchant countless scholars to linger and never want to leave.

Wei Wuji spoke of the northern grasslands—how the wind bent the grass and revealed herds of cattle and sheep, many of which he had robbed.

Zhu Xiang laughed and scolded him: a perfectly respectable noble of Wei turning into a bandit the moment he set foot on the grasslands.

Wei Wuji teased back that Zhu Xiang, a world-renowned scholar-hero, spent every day buried in farmland, covered in dust, not much better off than a bandit.

The first time Wei Wuji and Zhu Xiang met—and also the last time—was when Zhu Xiang was forced to leave the state of Zhao.

They met outside Handan, shared their first drink—and also their last.

Afterward, separated by mountains and rivers for over a decade, they exchanged only a handful of letters—not enough to fill one hand.

One was the Qin dynasty’s Lord of Changping; the other, the Wei state’s Lord Xinling. One lived in Jiangnan; the other in the northern frontier.

Sending letters between them was far too difficult.

But both Wei Wuji and Zhu Xiang believed they were perfectly matched as friends.

If they had had more time together, they surely would have become extremely close—sharing everything, slinging arms over each other’s shoulders, doing things that would make every scholar in the world cover their faces, utterly unlike how a feudal lord should behave.

Whenever they heard good news about the other, they would imagine how wonderful it would be to congratulate each other face-to-face.

They would praise each other, tease each other, and maybe even come to blows.

Zhu Xiang definitely couldn’t beat Wei Wuji, but Wei Wuji would certainly pretend that Zhu Xiang could.

What a joyful scene that would be.

Just like now.

Though their births were different and their views on many matters diverged, their temperaments fit perfectly, and their conversation flowed effortlessly.

As they had always believed—they were meant to be close friends.

Wei Wuji spoke again of the retainers he couldn’t let go of, of Hou Ying buried in Yanmen Commandery, and of the forthright Zhao generals stationed in Yanmen.

Zhu Xiang complained about the Qin king Zichu, about Chancellor Lin Zhi, and mocked the poor Prime Minister Cai Ze who was tormented endlessly by the two of them.

Wei Wuji envied Zhu Xiang’s friends.

Zhu Xiang yearned for Wei Wuji’s bold, unrestrained life on the northern frontier.

“When I have time, I’ll go visit the northern borders too,” Zhu Xiang said.

“Remember to offer sacrifice to Lord Hou on my behalf,” Wei Wuji said.

Their stomachs seemed bottomless—the wine was finished, the food was gone.

Wei Wuji invited Zhu Xiang to lie together atop his burial mound, looking up at the moon that shouldn’t have been full tonight.

Wei Wuji said, “I promised we’d share at least one more drink but failed to keep that promise. I’m sorry.”

Zhu Xiang replied, “Nothing to be sorry about—we’re drinking now, aren’t we?”

The two fell silent again.

Zhu Xiang asked, “Do you have any wishes left unfulfilled?”

Wei Wuji said, “That you persuade the King of Qin not to destroy the state of Wei?”

Zhu Xiang replied, “Even in a dream, you’re asking too much.”

Wei Wuji chuckled helplessly. “You really won’t give me even a sliver of hope, not even in a dream. Then… tell Zhu Hai to stop digging up my brother’s tomb.”

Zhu Xiang asked, “You heard what Zhu Hai said? That one you’ll have to tell him yourself—I can’t talk him out of it.”

Wei Wuji sighed. “Then what use are you?”

Zhu Xiang said, “You could ask for wealth and honor for your descendants. Don’t judge me by my handwriting—though not as good as yours, I am a great scholar of this age…”

Wei Wuji cut him off. “Stop, stop, stop. I heard that Xun Qing scolded you many times, saying you’re not a Confucian?”

Zhu Xiang replied, “Just because Xunzi scolded me, I stop being a Confucian? Besides, forget Confucianism — if I wanted to be the head of any of the Hundred Schools of the present age, they’d beg me to take the position.”

“Ah, pfft.” Wei Wuji cursed with a laugh. “Your face is even thicker than mine.”

Zhu Xiang modestly said, “It’s fine, it’s fine. Are you sure you don’t need my help?”

Wei Wuji said, “After I die, my elder brother and the state of Wei will surely treat my family well. None of my descendants are exceptionally talented — living quietly away from court is also good. When Qin destroys Wei, it might even be better for the idle clansmen without power. And if any of my descendants are outstanding, you won’t need me to ask you to find him — he’ll come find you himself.”

Wei Wuji laughed. “Don’t underestimate the shamelessness of noble sons.”

Zhu Xiang sighed with a smile. “Fine. I believe someone among your descendants will definitely inherit your thick skin.”

The two joked for a while, then fell silent again.

Until the moonlight grew even brighter — so bright that Zhu Xiang felt he and Wei Wuji were about to melt into it.

Wei Wuji raised his hand, looking at his increasingly transparent palm. “It’s time to say goodbye.”

Zhu Xiang kept his eyes on the moon. He didn’t turn to look at Wei Wuji, who was slowly fading. “Take care.”

Wei Wuji said, “Mm. Zhu Xiang, you take care too.”

The moonlight reached its brightest, then slowly began to fade.

Zhu Xiang still gazed up toward the darkening sky. “When I reach Daliang, I’ll turn your residence into a Shrine of Lord Xinling. I’ll move all the ancestral tablets from your family shrine into it.”

Wei Wuji’s laughter was faint, as though coming from very far away. “Hahaha, there’s no need. Don’t offend the King of Qin because of me. Even if the Qin King is your friend, there must be propriety between ruler and subject. Be careful.”

“Zhu Xiang, don’t be like me.”

“Whatever you do, don’t be like me.”

Zhu Xiang replied, “Don’t worry. I won’t.”

“Good.” Wei Wuji stretched lazily. “I should go.”

After that, he didn’t bid further farewell. He stepped forward in rhythm, singing as he went, dancing with arms and feet.

“On the embankment a magpie nest, in Qiong the sweet herb grows.
Who claims my virtue false? My heart is full of woes.
In mid-Hall bricks are laid, in Qiong the pheasant strays;
Who claims my beauty false? My heart in terror stays.”

With a smile, Wei Wuji sang and danced, merging into the last thread of moonlight.

Zhu Xiang slowly awoke.

He opened his eyes to a waning moon.

The full moon had vanished.

He sat up and set the wine jar aside.

He glanced at the quilt wrapped around him and sighed.

“Who’s ever seen a magpie build a nest on a dike?
Who’s ever seen water grass grow on a mound?
Who’s ever seen courtyard tiles laid out like a road?
Who’s ever seen mountain slopes grow ribbongrass?
Who is sowing discord between me and the one in my heart,
making me fear and fret?
But my friend Lord Wuji — if the heart has no gap, how can slander take root?
Slander requires a gap first.”

Zhu Xiang lifted the wine jar with both hands and drank the last of the wine in one go.

In the end, Wei Wuji still held onto one final shred of hope for his elder brother.

Hard to put into words.

…

After their farewell, Wei Wuji’s favorability was just a sliver short of four hearts, but he gave Zhu Xiang a handful of soybeans.

Despite his noble status, Lord Wuji’s parting gift was just a handful of beans.

His message said: Yanmenguan’s army rations were mostly bean rice. After being stationed there, he ate more beans than in all the decades before. If only he had something more delicious than those beans.

Zhu Xiang couldn’t help but laugh.

He couldn’t stand bean rations, yet didn’t want to eat anything different from the soldiers — instead he hoped for better-tasting beans?

Wei Wuji, oh Wei Wuji. Truly typical of you.

“‘Millet, rice, beans, wheat, and paddy’ — shu refers to soybeans.”

There were beans in the Central Plains. Commoners harvested them; beans were used for meals, bean leaves for soup. From ancient times, soybeans were one of the most important staple crops of the Chinese people — since the age of the Yellow Emperor.

Soybeans need no special soil, waste little water and fertilizer, grow fast, store well, and can be both grain and vegetable.

Even though Qin now widely cultivated rice and wheat and had spread stone mills to the villages, beans still remained the main reserve grain. Army rations were mostly beans.

The soybean Wei Wuji gave had high yield, lodging resistance, disease resistance, and could withstand low temperatures and drought — perfect for cultivation in the northern borders of Wei and Zhao.

Good soybean varieties are still extremely important even today. Soybeans are an excellent oil crop and the most widely used feed crop.

Modern China imports more soybeans than any other grain. The lessons of soybean-related food security are scars in every agricultural expert’s heart.

The humble soybean Wei Wuji gifted was the grain most intimately tied to the common people from ancient times to now.

“Wuji… thank you.”

Zhu Xiang planted the soybeans in front of Wei Wuji’s tomb.

When spring passed and autumn came, he would harvest the pods, make a plate of salted boiled beans, and drink with his friend once more.

“Zhu Hai, yesterday Wei Wuji came to me in a dream.”

“What did the lord say?”

“He insisted the King of Wei merely listened to slander — that deep down he’s still a good person.”

Zhu Hai glared fiercely at Wei Wuji’s tombstone.

Zhu Xiang spread his hands. “He also asked me to persuade you not to dig up his brother’s corpse. I told him I can’t control you — he should tell you himself in your dreams.”

Zhu Hai growled, “If the lord says that to me in a dream, I’ll turn my back to him.”

Zhu Xiang laughed. “Exactly! That’s how it should be!”

Zhu Hai fumed for a while, then asked, “Lord Zhu Xiang, is it really true? Did the lord truly visit your dream?”

Zhu Xiang answered, “Of course. Look — I planted delicious beans in front of his grave. Didn’t he say the army’s bean rations tasted awful?”

Zhu Hai’s lips curved upward into a smile that hadn’t appeared in a long time. “Yes, the lord did say that!”

He looked at the tombstone again, joy lighting up his face.

So the lord had indeed traveled south with them — he hadn’t remained on that desolate battlefield, nor gone back to that detestable King of Wei.

The lord was right here!

“My lord, we’ve arrived.” Zhu Hai knelt. “Knowing you’re here puts my heart at ease.”

“But your request— I won’t listen.” Zhu Hai said stubbornly.

At that moment, Zhu Xiang, who had been tossing paper gold and silver and jewelry into the brazier, jolted, nearly burning his fingers.