HCT – Chapter 220 Growing Stronger with Age

By the time Ying Zheng’s arm had fully healed, Wu Commandery was busy again with the summer harvest.

This year’s harvest was once again bountiful. A massive fleet of grain transport ships moved majestically upstream toward Guanzhong.

Zheng Guo had already completed the water-supply project near Guangling City. This time, he would travel to Xianyang with the grain convoy to construct irrigation canals in Guanzhong.

Zhu Xiang had even picked out a name for the canal in advance—the Zhengguo Canal.

When Zheng Guo was about to leave, he lingered reluctantly, staring longingly in the direction of the Han Canal.

He very much wanted to reopen the Han Canal and reconnect the Huai River with the Yangtze.

But that territory still belonged to Southern Chu, so he had no way to rebuild it.

Zheng Guo not only wanted to dredge the ancient Han Canal—he also wanted to link the Huai River to the Yellow River and create a north–south waterway.

Listening to Zheng Guo’s grand ambitions made Zhu Xiang’s eyelids twitch. Before Ying Zheng could even blurt out the eager words forming in his mind, Zhu Xiang cut him off first:

“No. Zheng’er, you don’t want to!”

Ying Zheng: “…”

I haven’t even said anything yet. My uncle is so annoying.

Zhu Xiang hurriedly recommended Zheng Guo and his old partners away, lest they spend their days circling Ying Zheng, praising the glory of a grand north–south canal.

But even with Zheng Guo gone, Ying Zheng still had the seed of the north–south canal planted in his heart.

He began studying hydraulic engineering—calculating how much manpower and material it would take to dig a canal from the Yellow River to the Yangtze, and what benefits it could bring.

Ying Zheng believed the canal must be dug.

The Yellow River was the core of the Central Plains, while the Yangtze region was the treasure he and his uncle had painstakingly developed.

Once he became King of Qin, the three southern Qin commanderies would be too far from the Qin heartland, and could easily slip out of Qin’s control.

Only by linking the Yellow River and the Yangtze waterways to strengthen north–south integration could Qin firmly hold this fertile southern region in its grasp.

At the same time, Ying Zheng developed a dual-capital plan.

In the Western Zhou, there were already two capitals—Haojing and Luoyang. Haojing was not far from Xianyang.

That was why the states of the Central Plains called Qin a barbaric land mixed with the Rong and Di tribes.

Though it was true, Qin refused to admit such a thing.

How could the land where Great Qin’s dragon rose be called barbaric?

After unifying the world, Qin couldn’t have just one capital.

According to tradition, Ying Zheng should designate Luoyang as the eastern capital.

But if Luoyang became the eastern capital, the north–south canal would need to detour toward Luoyang to supply grain—making the canal take a very large bend.

Ying Zheng studied the map for a long while, and then his gaze fell on the commandery where he stood—Wu.

Actually… why must it be west and east capitals?

Wouldn’t north and south capitals be perfectly fine?

Wu Commandery carried too much of his personal effort. It was the prosperous city he had built with his own hands—now and in the future.

Ying Zheng was domineering by nature, fiercely protective of what was his—be it power or anything else.

His resistance to having a living empress was not merely because of Zhao Ji—it was because of “imperial in-laws” and “harem interference in government.”

Or rather, not just the harem—he disliked any encroachment on his power.

A man who personally handled every matter large and small, who read so many memorials that he strained his arm and had to wear a neck sling—the legendary Emperor of the Ages—could only be someone with an overwhelming sense of possession over everything he controlled.

So the status of Wu Commandery—entirely his domain—was self-evident in his heart.

“Dig a north–south canal to link the rivers. If possible, build another canal connecting the Wei River and Han River,” Ying Zheng said as he stared at the map. “That way Xianyang will have two water routes for grain supply.”

While Ying Zheng muttered to himself, Zhu Xiang stood behind the window with his hands clasped behind his back and sighed softly.

He knew it—once Ying Zheng understood the value of canals, it would be impossible to dissuade him.

Before the Sui and Tang dynasties, the middle and lower Yellow River hadn’t yet suffered from severe sedimentation. From Chang’an, one could directly travel from the Huai River to the Yellow River and out to sea.

During Qin–Han and Sui–Tang, both dynasties reached their height with capitals at Xianyang/Chang’an. Centuries of population growth led to massive deforestation in the surrounding mountains. By Emperor Gaozong of Tang’s reign, soil erosion around Chang’an had already become serious.

In the mid–late Tang, enormous manpower and resources were needed each year to dredge the rivers to maintain navigability.

By the Northern Song, Chang’an had become a frontier city and was virtually abandoned. The court no longer spent resources protecting the Wei River basin. Its forests became the Northern Song’s largest source of timber, and the Wei River completely lost its navigable capacity.

After three major course changes, the Yellow River also lost its ability to support navigation in the middle and lower reaches.

Later, during the Ming dynasty’s attempt to restore the glory of Han and Tang by returning the capital to Chang’an, they discovered a serious problem—Chang’an could only be Chang’an if the Wei and Yellow Rivers were navigable.

Modern efforts to rehabilitate the Wei and Yellow Rivers aim ultimately to restore navigation—so that the cradle of civilization may flourish once more.

But the burden of centuries is heavy. Even with modern China’s incredible engineering capabilities, the restoration can only proceed step by step—a hundred-year project.

Yet now, before the Qin dynasty had even been founded, the prosperity of the Wei and Yellow River basins had only just begun.

The Han River had not yet been diverted by a massive earthquake; the Huai River had not yet been seized by the Yellow River.

If they really could link the Han, Huai, Yangtze, and Yellow Rivers—creating a huge navigable rectangle with three outlets to the sea…

Zhu Xiang took a deep breath, walked to the door, and pushed it open.

Ying Zheng immediately scrambled to hide the map.

“Don’t bother—I’ve already seen it,” Zhu Xiang said. “I know I can’t talk you out of it. Then make a long-term plan and proceed gradually. Roads must be walked step by step—first dredge the Han Canal, then rehabilitate the Wei and Yellow Rivers, then connect the Yellow River and the Huai River. Linking the Huai and Wei will be extremely difficult—you can leave that to the next generation.”

Ying Zheng immediately protested: “The next generation? I don’t trust the next generation!”

Zhu Xiang sighed. “Zheng’er, whether you trust them or not, Great Qin must eventually be handed down. If you fail to cultivate your heir because of distrust, what will become of Qin’s future? Do you want Qin to fall in your child’s hands?”

Like a spring-loaded cushion beneath him, Ying Zheng bounced from his seat. “Uncle, don’t speak nonsense!”

Zhu Xiang said calmly, “Only by remaining vigilant in times of peace can you go farther and steadier. What’s wrong, Zheng’er? Is your capacity so small you can’t even contemplate the worst possibilities?”

Seeing his uncle’s irritating expression, Ying Zheng gritted his teeth.

He silently thought: Fusu might be useless, but at least he’s brave and benevolent. With the Meng brothers and Li Si assisting him, how could the dynasty collapse in two generations?

Even if the Qin in his dream had many problems, surely it wouldn’t collapse within three years.

Zhu Xiang could tell exactly what Ying Zheng was thinking.

Though they hadn’t openly discussed their “cheat abilities,” they had tacitly guessed most of it.

At the very least, Zhu Xiang knew Ying Zheng must know about Fusu.

After all, when Ying Zheng was still a child learning the Book of Songs, he had drawn a huge X over the line that inspired the name “Fusu.”

Then he cried and begged Zhu Xiang to wash the X away.

Indeed, the root of Qin’s downfall lay in abandoning land redistribution under the “let the commoners declare their own land” policy, which preserved the foundations of the six states and planted a powder keg; excessive conscription accelerated collapse; and the failure to designate an heir allowed Hu Hai’s coup to become the fuse.

But early collapse and collapse after centuries are two different things. “The dynasty might not last a hundred years” and “the First Emperor dies and Qin collapses within three years” are worlds apart.

Zhang Han nearly crushed the six-state rebellion with hundreds of thousands of Lishan prisoners; he only fell because Xiang Yu was hacking the game with cheat codes.

If there hadn’t been Hu Hai the half-wit, and if Meng Tian commanded the army with Li Si and Feng Quji supporting logistics, what could Xiang Yu possibly win with?

Records of the Grand Historian stated: “Xiang Yu cut off Zhang Han’s supply line, and Wang Li’s army starved.”

That was the true reason Xiang Yu’s “breaking the cauldrons” succeeded—because Qin’s army ran out of supplies.

Look at Emperor Wu of Han—he messed up the census so badly that half the population disappeared on paper; yet Emperor Xuan still managed to revive the dynasty. Qin had internal troubles, yes, but in the hands of any capable prince, it might still produce a “Qin Taizong” or “Qin Xuandi.”

Even if Qin fractured, perhaps there would be a “Qin Guangwu” to revive it.

Even if Ying Zheng saw the flaws in the Qin of his dream, he clearly didn’t believe Qin would collapse overnight.

Three years?

Three years was nothing—they fought Han for one year alone!

Zhu Xiang recalled how Ying Zheng used to cry at every minor grievance as a child, and his expression became nostalgic and wistful.

He missed the days when his soft, adorable little nephew would run to him crying for hugs and kisses. Why did his precious cutie’s shelf life end so quickly?

Seeing Zhu Xiang’s expression, Ying Zheng knew his uncle was thinking nonsense again.

He snapped, “Qin cannot possibly collapse in two generations.”

Zhu Xiang replied, “Then cultivate your heir properly. Don’t wait until you’re old and still haven’t designated one—letting others seize the opportunity.”

Ying Zheng: “…”

He walked up to Zhu Xiang. “Uncle…”

“Hm?”

Ying Zheng’s expression shifted several times before he finally asked: “Qin… isn’t really going to end in two generations, is it?”

Zhu Xiang smiled. “You guess?”

Ying Zheng snorted. “I’m not guessing! And it doesn’t matter anyway!”

Coincidentally, tonight was another night for studying in his dreams. He would ask that Ying Zheng directly—did Qin really collapse in two generations?

Zhu Xiang helped him put away the map. “In any case, for projects that consume huge amounts of manpower, pace yourself…”

“Pace myself, pace myself,” Ying Zheng interrupted impatiently. “My ears have calluses from hearing you say it. I don’t want to hear those four words again!”

Zhu Xiang shrugged. “Fine. Then Xue Ji made you new clothes—she wants you to try them on.”

Ying Zheng grabbed Zhu Xiang and dashed out. “Why didn’t you say so earlier? Hurry, hurry, don’t keep Aunt waiting!”

Zhu Xiang: “Hey—slow down! How are you still so rash at your age?”

After changing into his new clothes and pondering the canal plans again, Prince Zheng of Qin revealed his sharpness and restarted Qin’s march toward conquest.

In June, Qin King Zichu appointed Xinping Lord Lian Po as commanding general to attack Han.
In just three months, he captured thirteen Han cities.

The King of Han sought help from the other states while sending envoys to Qin, offering to cede the Nanyang cities in exchange for retreat.

Qin’s fangs were bared once more, terrifying the Six States.

But after their initial fear—none of them did anything.

When King Zhaoxiang of Qin waged conquest, the Six States hardly reacted either.

They were six different countries with conflicting interests—often enemies among themselves. For them to unite as soon as Qin showed aggression was simply too much to ask.

When Han pleaded for help, the other five states hesitated—afraid of provoking Qin.

Wei, the closest to Han—the king lay bedridden since Lord Xin Ling’s suicide; the chancellor dared not act.

The King of Chu was busy cultivating immortality. Li Yuan had accepted Qin’s lavish bribes—not only refusing to help Han, but even planning to seize Han territory for himself.

Zhao wanted to help, but had just sent its army to attack Yan—they couldn’t return in time.

As for Yan—they were being beaten by Zhao.

And Qi… forget it. The King of Qi would never act.

The King of Han and his ministers looked around, only to find themselves at a dead end—unable to see even the faintest hope of escape.

At this moment, in Xinzheng City of the Han capital, the once-bustling Zhang residence—which had grown quiet recently—had suddenly gathered a few more people.

They were huddled around Zhang Liang, the still-young second son of the Zhang family, and the atmosphere was extremely heavy.

When Zhang Sheng hurried back home and saw this scene, he let out a sigh. “Liang, what are you planning to do?”

Zhang Liang said, “I’m going to Chu to personally request that the King of Chu send troops.”

Zhang Sheng fell silent for a long time before sighing again. “You’re not asking the King of Chu to send troops—you’re asking the Chancellor of Chu to send troops.”

Zhang Liang shook his head. “No, I’m asking the King of Chu. Although the King no longer involves himself in state affairs, if he wishes to send troops, the Chancellor cannot stop him.”

“Are you confident?” Zhang Sheng asked.

Zhang Liang gave a bitter smile. “I’m confident I can persuade the King of Chu. But I’m not confident that Han can hold on until the moment I succeed. As of now, the King of Han still has not made up his mind to resist.”

Zhang Sheng fell silent again.

For once, disregarding propriety, he lifted his robe and sat beside Zhang Liang. “Liang, after you persuade the King of Chu… if Han has already fallen, then head south and seek Lord Zhu Xiang.”

Zhang Liang rolled his eyes. “Seek Prince Zheng? Just to let him mock me?”

“Liang!” Zhang Sheng’s voice rose.

Zhang Liang took a deep breath and turned his head. “I know. Big Brother wants at least one descendant of the Zhang family to survive, to keep our family line alive.”

Their third brother had always been in poor health; Zhang Sheng, having chosen to serve in court instead of retiring after their father’s death, could not easily abandon the state of Han. Otherwise the Zhang family’s reputation would be ruined.

So the only one who could escape… was him. Only him.

It would have been better if his brother had withdrawn from public life earlier, leaving him to die along with Han. Zhang Liang thought bitterly.

When he had left Qin, he had been filled with ambition.

With the Zhang family’s authority and the King of Han’s trust in them, he had believed it wouldn’t be difficult to accomplish something great.

No matter how powerful Qin was, it couldn’t surpass the combined strength of all six states. He had wanted to become the new architect of the vertical alliance, leading the six-state coalition to force Qin back inside the Hangu Pass.

But soon, his dream shattered.

It shattered the moment his brother chose to enter office.

Those elder statesmen who had always treated him kindly suddenly changed their faces the moment they learned Zhang Sheng intended to serve in court, joining forces to trip and suppress the Zhang family.

Though the Zhang clan was deeply rooted in Han, Zhang Sheng was too young and had yet to show much talent, so the faction the Zhangs once held in the court quickly shifted with the wind and stopped supporting them.

Zhang Liang tried to remedy things, visiting many old acquaintances.

But after visiting them, he discovered a fatal problem—

Han was too small.

There were only a handful of aristocratic clans; the court factions and local powers were equally few. They were all intertwined—so deeply entangled that no one could truly distinguish whose influence belonged to whom.

Back when his grandfather served as Chancellor, he could pave the way for his adult father, and thus his father also became Chancellor.

But his brother was born much later, and lacked his father’s subtle handling of politics, so before their father died, Zhang Sheng had never entered the core of the Han court. And now it was impossible for him to enter it at all.

The Zhang family had held the Chancellorship of Han for five generations—others had long coveted it.

Even their allies were jealous.

Now that it was finally someone else’s turn to become Chancellor, the Zhang sons actually wanted to hold the position again?

The Zhang family, greedy beyond measure, had become the enemy of all Han aristocrats.

Within just a few years, rumors about the Zhang family swirled throughout Han, and their once-sterling reputation plummeted.

The decline of Han, the King’s repeated embarrassments—all of it was blamed on the Zhang family.

After all, hadn’t they held the Chancellorship for generations? If Han’s decline wasn’t their fault, could it possibly be the King’s?

It wasn’t just the court that pushed them out—scholars and commoners also stopped showing respect, instead criticizing the Zhangs heavily.

The retainers who once sought refuge with the Zhang family all left. Many even criticized them more fiercely than others after they left.

Zhang Liang, once the most arrogant “second-generation noble” in Xinzheng, became a pitiful figure people mocked openly in the streets.

Even the Zhang family’s farmlands were brazenly seized by others.

Zhang Sheng had once asked him—did he regret it?

Only then did Zhang Liang realize that his brother had foreseen all this long ago.

After nearly all retainers had left, Zhang Sheng finally told him:

“Grandfather and Father weren’t incompetent. It’s just that in Han, if you are competent, you cannot become Chancellor.”

“Han is small, surrounded by powerful states. If Han seeks strength, it must face all its neighbors at once.”

“Yes, reform brings danger. Other states faced crises during reform too. If Han could endure the crisis, it would become strong.”

“But Liang, from the King to the aristocrats to the scholars—none of them are willing to take risks. Do you understand?”

Zhang Liang asked, “So that’s why Prince Fei ended up leaving?”

Zhang Sheng shook his head with a bitter smile. “Prince Fei wasn’t pushed out. It’s simply that no one in Han noticed him. Even now, the King barely remembers he exists.”

Han’s Prince Fei was already renowned in Xianyang’s Academy, and he was known throughout Southern Qin. Yet… his fame had never entered Han.

Or perhaps it had spread to Han, but never entered the King’s mind.

There was nothing surprising about it.

In original history, it had been the same. Han Fei’s reputation resounded across the Seven States—even Qin’s King Zheng admired him greatly. Yet he was still never employed in Han.

Zhang Sheng had done everything he could.

He had done it knowing the consequences, yet he still showed Zhang Liang the truth.

It wasn’t that Zhang Liang was foolish—it was that neither he nor their father had ever exposed the rotten reality of Han to the talented young Zhang Liang. They had wanted to shield him, to let him grow up under their protection.

Zhang Liang, still a child, should have grown up happily under his family’s wings.

Who could have expected that after the chaos he stirred up in Xianyang, where he accidentally crossed paths with Qin’s Crown Prince, all their plans were thrown off track?

Watching Zhang Liang mature overnight left Zhang Sheng’s heart aching.

“If I truly can’t save Han, I’ll go seek Prince Fei,” Zhang Liang told him. “I trust that Prince Fei is loyal to Han. Whatever future path he chooses must be one that benefits the King of Han and the state of Han.”

Even if his choices no longer included the current King.

Zhang Sheng finally breathed out a long sigh of relief, smiling. “As long as you’ve thought this through. Don’t worry—I’ll do my best to protect myself.”

Zhang Liang returned his smile, but inwardly felt heavy.

He knew the Zhang family would never be sent to the frontlines. As long as they did not choose to die for Han, they would not.

After Han surrendered, only the King would die.

If the aristocrats acted wisely, they might even continue as high-ranking officials in Qin. Even the Han royal clan might live comfortably.

So when he saw that Han was doomed, how could he convince the people of Han to unite and resist Qin?

Even the Zhang family had already prepared their escape route.

Could he scold them for refusing to accompany Han to its grave?

In truth, Zhang Liang felt he should be the one to die for Han—to preserve the state’s reputation.

But a letter from Han Fei had stopped him from self-destruction.

Dying was easy—it only hurt for a moment.

But the Zhangs had received so much from the King and the state of Han—could a single young Zhang Liang’s death really repay that debt?

Han Fei wanted to protect the King of Han, to preserve a place in Qin’s court for the Han royal clan, to ensure that the Han bloodline did not wither after the state’s fall.

This was far more difficult than a simple death.

And Zhang Liang would face harsher accusations along the way.

Yet he suddenly thought— Would he even be accused?

Wasn’t the saddest possibility that instead of being criticized for defecting to Qin… he would be envied by the people of Han?

At that thought, Zhang Liang couldn’t help but laugh.

What an absurd thing to laugh at from the bottom of one’s heart.

“Brother, I’m leaving for Chu. Take care.” Zhang Liang bowed to Zhang Sheng.

Although most of their retainers had left, the Zhang family still had money—enough to support armed servants. Thus, Zhang Liang did not travel alone.

“Remember,” Zhang Sheng said, “as soon as you persuade the King of Chu, head south immediately.”

He had changed the condition. Now Zhang Liang was to flee immediately, without waiting for news of Han’s fall.

Zhang Liang gave a bitter smile. “All right. I’ll leave at once.”

Only then did Zhang Sheng truly relax.

He patted Zhang Liang’s shoulder and smiled. “The future of the Zhang family depends on you.”

Zhang Liang nodded.

When he stood up, his legs had gone numb, and he swayed a little.

The future of the Zhang family… Zhang Liang repeated the words silently.

Something inside him collapsed at that moment.

All the teachings from his grandfather and father— were false.

Completely false.

…

Attacking Han had become exceedingly dull for Lian Po.

Back when King Zhao of Qin swallowed the territories of the Three Jin States, Han’s capable generals and soldiers had been nearly wiped out by Bai Qi.

Bai Qi loved annihilation battles—every victory weakened the enemy further.

Han was tiny. Even after more than ten years of recuperation, it did not have enough men to replenish its army.

Zhang Liang had discovered the reason while conducting a secret census of Han’s land and taxes.

Han’s territory had shrunk, but its aristocracy had not.

After Qin annexed their original fiefs, countless Han nobles flocked to Xinzheng. They brought wealth and people, but not the most important thing—land.

A large mass of landless nobles—wealthy, armed, and influential—arrived in Xinzheng. What came next was predictable.

Han’s tiny territory was entirely divided among nobles. Commoners became serfs working noble-owned land, paying taxes and labor to their lords.

Commoners on noble land did not belong to the King of Han—they did not pay state taxes or serve the state.

After more than a decade of “peace,” Han’s population had increased, grain yields had risen, yet its registry and treasury diminished year by year—worse than right after Qin ceased hostilities.

Seeing this, Zhang Liang finally understood why the King of Han would never employ Han Fei.

To strengthen Han, one must seize land and people from the nobles—this offended every aristocrat in Han.

Other states could expand through war, gaining land to support new self-farming households. But Han?

To grow strong, Han needed more self-farming peasants. Yet having more peasants required diminishing aristocratic power. And to guarantee the nobles’ interests while expanding the peasant base, Han would first need to become strong…

Zhang Liang stared at the circle he had drawn and burst out laughing.

A perfect loop.

When he boarded the carriage for Chu, he brought that diagram with him.

He wanted to show it to Han Fei—to share it with the teacher he would one day meet.

His future teacher would surely enjoy discussing it with him, scolding the same people together.

For example, those he did not dare scold now—his grandfather and father.

…

After taking Nanyang, Lian Po halted operations to rest.

Autumn harvest had begun, and he needed to help the newly conquered Han territories reap their crops.

When the harvest ended, the officials from Xianyang arrived. They would inspect the land and households, dividing the nobility’s lands among Han civilians and Qin soldiers who had earned titles.

All the land belonged to the Han aristocrats. When Qin invaded, they all fled to Xinzheng. Lian Po had left them a path of retreat, encouraging them to flee without hesitation.

“If we took Han all in one go, the King of Qin would have to worry about how to distribute the land. The Han scholars would definitely stir up trouble.” Lian Po said while eating roasted sweet potatoes. “So the King decreed that once we reach Xinzheng, we’re to encircle it for a while, wait until all lands are divided, and then take the capital.”

He shook his head with deep disdain. “That brat of a Qin King, and Lin Zhi too—they’ve both been sly since childhood.”

Meng Ao, roasting sweet potatoes beside him, almost burned his hand.

Now he finally understood why Lian Po’s son had fled earlier. Lian Po truly dared say anything.

Truly enviable.

“Speaking of which, why aren’t you serving as Grand Marshal? What are you doing here in Han?” Lian Po asked. “Does the Qin King not trust me? That shouldn’t be the case—he’s not that kind of man.”

Meng Ao replied, “His Majesty trusts you completely. I just can’t sit still.”

He sighed. “I’m old. I don’t know how many more battles I can still fight. Rather than growing old and dying in Xianyang, I’d rather die on the battlefield.”

Originally, he thought he could retire peacefully, seeing that his grandson was capable enough.

But when he saw Lian Po—an old general of similar age—fighting with such vigor, he simply couldn’t remain idle.

Lian Po wasn’t old yet—could Meng Ao really admit he was?

“All right. Since you said that, don’t blame me for ordering you around,” Lian Po laughed. “We two old men can die on the battlefield together.”

Meng Ao said, “Don’t say such unlucky things. I think we’ll both live a long time.”

Lian Po roared with laughter.

But before he could assign Meng Ao any tasks, Meng Ao received command from King Zichu of Qin, ordering him to take another reinforcement force and attack Zhao.

Zhao’s army had just returned triumphant from Yan, having besieged Yan’s capital and extracted compensation before withdrawing.

And General Pang Nuan—another old general still vigorous despite age—had just left the Yan battlefield when the King of Zhao summoned him to rescue Han.

But King Zichu had already predicted Zhao’s move—and sent Meng Ao ahead of time to strike at Zhao, preventing them from aiding Han.