HCT – Chapter 223 Flatbread and Soup-Soaked Rice

When Ying Zheng and Zhang Liang first met, Ying Zheng had just entered his rebellious early-teen phase, while Zhang Liang was still a seven- or eight-year-old little menace.

A rebellious teen meets a mischievous child—of course it was like thunder crashing into dry tinder. Instant sparks, explosions everywhere.

Now Ying Zheng was seventeen, almost past that long, dramatic rebellious phase. Zhang Liang had also grown into the age corresponding to entering middle school in later generations. Ying Zheng could still remember that sharp-witted little rascal.

That had been the first time in his life he had voluntarily given a gift to someone his own age, while also declaring, “If he ever becomes my enemy, I will kill him.”

Zhu Xiang could only sigh—Liu Hou truly deserved to be Liu Hou.

Even without seeing the devastation at the end of Qin’s reign, or experiencing the difficult shift from single-mindedly reviving Han to supporting the Han’s continuation of Qin’s system, the child Zhang Liang already displayed intelligence far beyond ordinary.

A genius is a genius from the start.

When Qin King Zichu raised the banner of unifying the world again, with the first target being Han, Ying Zheng instantly pictured the defiant expression of that little Zhang Liang.

Hearing Ying Zheng mock Young Zhang Liang, Zhu Xiang could not help but press a hand to his forehead and sigh inwardly.

Zheng’er, could you be any more childish?

For every laugh like that you lose so many karmic points—your uncle will have to chant virtual wooden-fish sutras in his heart for ten years to compensate for you.

It was said that over-indulged children had especially long and dramatic rebellious phases. Zhu Xiang feared that seventeen wasn’t the end of Ying Zheng’s rebellious period, but the beginning of a new stage.

While Ying Zheng was still mocking little Zhang Liang, he didn’t expect that Zhang Liang was already on his way to find him.

Upon reaching the Qin checkpoints, Zhang Liang presented his identity certificate proving he was the son of the Zhang clan, hereditary nobles of Han. He also took out the longsword gifted to him by Ying Zheng.

If he only wanted to pass the checkpoint, the identity proof alone was enough. Presenting the Qin crown prince’s sword was his way of asking the Qin troops to escort him to meet the crown prince—so that he wouldn’t end up wandering aimlessly like a headless fly.

Surely the crown prince would know where his unseen teacher, Han Fei, was.

Weapons forged by Qin’s official workshops carried inscriptions: the overseer’s name, the forging date. The treasured palace swords worn by Ying Zheng even carried the craftsmen’s names and the imperial workshop marks.

Later generations were the same. This was why imperial gifts could not be converted to wealth—many ministers received rewards year after year yet remained poor.

The Qin soldiers at the post could not read, but since this concerned the crown prince, they immediately reported to their captain.

Lower-level commanders were usually literate. The captain recognized the inscription and sent men to escort Zhang Liang upward step by step, one rank after another.

Seeing how orderly and efficient the Qin army handled his situation, Zhang Liang could not help thinking of Han’s chaotic military structure, and a wave of melancholy washed over him.

Traveling from Han into Chu, then southward through the official roads of South Chu, he saw stark differences in environment and customs between north and south.

But he wasn’t focused on those differences.

When he left Xianyang, he had meant what he said. Even as a child, with the help of Zhang household retainers, he used his small, tender feet to walk across Han’s small territory, personally witnessing the common folk he had never cared about—those who provided the state with food, clothing, taxes, and soldiers.

And only then did he truly understand what Zhu Xiang meant: “As long as you look at Han’s commoners, you will know Han stands at the edge of ruin.”

Self-farming households were nearly gone. Most commoners were either bound to noble estates or fleeing the country.

If the state could neither collect taxes nor conscript soldiers, how could Han remain strong?

Rely on those aristocrats who still indulged themselves in luxury?

If governing a country were like cooking rice, then the nobles were the cooks while the commoners were the grains.

Without grain, how do you cook rice?

In Zhang Liang’s limited view, devastation was everywhere.

Heading south, whether Chu or South Chu, they were not much different from Han.

Chu and South Chu had more heat, more rain, more vegetation. Their commoners had more edible plants to sustain themselves, so they looked slightly better off than Han’s people.

But essentially, it was all the same.

If a person can eat bran, why would they eat bark and roots?

If they can eat grain, why would they eat bran?

Along the way he saw ragged Chu people wandering through the wilderness, often clashing with Chu soldiers trying to capture them.

They were surely refugees who could no longer survive.

Upon entering Southern Qin territory, Zhang Liang still habitually looked out the carriage windows, watching the commoners he usually never saw.

It was autumn harvest season.

The rice fields had turned into a golden sea, waves of gold rolling forward with the wind as though to crash into him.

Within those shifting waves, many people were hard at work harvesting.

Judging by their appearance, many did not look like ordinary farmers.

Zhang Liang remembered why Lord Chunshen had been executed—because he, a scholar-official, had lowered himself to personally help farmers harvest grain.

He asked the Qin soldier riding beside the carriage, “Are those people in the fields Qin scholars?”

The soldier was puzzled at first. “The fields?”

He looked toward the rice paddies, then understood the young nobleman’s question.

“They’re soldiers. During harvest season, generals send us to help with the harvest. The more land we harvest, the more we’re rewarded.”

He paused, then added, “It’s like this every year.”

Another soldier overheard and chimed in, “Helping with farm work isn’t dangerous, plus we get extra grain rations. It’s a cushy assignment.”

The Zhang family retainer driving the carriage looked back at the Qin soldier in confusion.

Farm labor was backbreaking—how could it be a cushy job?

Zhang Liang thought of the miserable conditions of Han’s soldiers in camp and nodded. “It truly is a cushy job.”

Personally leading scholars to help farmers was only a temporary measure. Southern Qin integrated military service, corvée labor, and agricultural assistance into a single sustainable system—only then could labor shortages be resolved.

It was another form of military farm cultivation.

As Zhang Liang pondered Qin’s uniforms, a farmer carrying a sickle walked past his carriage.

Upon seeing the nobleman’s carriage, the farmer stopped, bowed respectfully, and after the carriage passed, he lifted his head and went on his way.

He did not fall to his knees in terror, nor did he bury his face in the dirt.

In any other state, nobles could punish him harshly for such “lack of propriety.”

But judging by the farmer’s calm expression, Zhang Liang suspected that simply stopping and bowing was the regulation in Southern Qin—not that the farmer lacked manners.

He asked, “Is it under Lord Zhu Xiang’s order that commoners don’t need to kneel to noble carriages?”

The Qin soldier replied, “It’s the crown prince’s order. He issued several decrees—if a farmer delays harvest work by kneeling to officials during busy season, the farmer is punished with corvée and the official fined money.”

Zhang Liang’s face stiffened.

He had assumed this was Zhu Xiang’s compassion for the commoners—but it had come from Crown Prince Zheng, the future tyrant?

Well… actually, that did fit his personality perfectly.

During harvest season, officials frequently patrolled the fields. If farmers had to kneel every time they saw one, wouldn’t that waste precious time?

In the eyes of this “future tyrant,” scholars and commoners alike were beneath him—anyone who hindered farm work deserved punishment.

Zhang Liang’s face twitched, then he unexpectedly laughed.

He said, “I traveled south from Han through Han, Chu, and South Chu. Only Southern Qin’s farmers lack misery on their faces.”

But the Qin soldier didn’t understand. “This year the weather’s been good. Chu and South Chu should be about the same. With no wars this year, they should have a bountiful harvest. Why would their farmers look miserable?”

Zhang Liang froze.

After a long moment, he shook his head. “I don’t know.”

If Chu and South Chu were also having a good year, the farmers’ faces should show joy.

Why didn’t they? He truly didn’t know.

Did Lord Zhu Xiang know?

Zhang Liang looked again at the golden fields.

Some of the golden waves had already been harvested. Nearby, Qin soldiers and farmers sat resting.

A farmer handed a bamboo flask of water to a soldier. The soldier drank, then pulled out a flatbread from his clothes, broke it in half, and shared it with the farmer.

The farmer opened a small clay jar and used a tiny wooden spoon tied to it to scoop out some mysterious black paste.

The soldier split his half-bread, and the farmer stuffed the black paste inside. Then the farmer stuffed another spoonful into his own half-bread.

Just as Zhang Liang watched them put the filled bread into their mouths, the carriage passed beyond the field, and he could no longer see their expressions.

He withdrew his gaze and stared blankly at the carriage roof.

He didn’t know what he was thinking.

His emotions were too complicated to describe.

The Qin soldiers reported upward again until a higher-ranking officer from Xianyang confirmed that the sword was truly the crown prince’s. He personally escorted Zhang Liang to find Ying Zheng.

The crown prince was supervising the autumn harvest near Guangling City.

Zhang Liang brought only one strong retainer with him, sending the others and the gift-laden carriage ahead to Guangling to find lodging. He rode with the young Qin officer to find the crown prince.

“So you’re Zhang Liang?” the young officer introduced himself. “An honor to meet you.”

Zhang Liang hadn’t expected anyone to know his name. He hurriedly replied modestly and asked the young officer’s name.

Someone who could recognize the crown prince’s sword, know the crown prince’s location, and also know Zhang Liang’s name could only be Meng Tian.

Just a few days ago, Meng Tian had heard the Crown Prince Zheng mention Zhang Liang.

“Han is about to be destroyed. I wonder if Zhang Liang is rolling on the ground bawling his eyes out right now.”

Meng Tian had barely managed to stop the corner of his mouth from twitching.

Your Highness, must you gloat this much?

Wasn’t that Zhang Liang still very young when you two met? And from what he’d heard, Zhang Liang had suffered losses at the Crown Prince’s hands back then. Why did it sound like the Crown Prince was the one holding a grudge?

Meng Tian didn’t understand, and he didn’t dare ask.

And now, unexpectedly encountering the person in question, Meng Tian’s curiosity flared. He deliberately put aside what he was doing and personally escorted the young Zhang Liang to look for the Crown Prince.

He wanted to see with his own eyes—what expression the Crown Prince would have upon seeing the very person he’d been mocking a few days earlier.

Zhang Liang had heard of Meng Tian’s reputation.

In the Battle of Guangling, Meng Tian captured the banners of Xiang Yan and the Southern Chu commander, making a name for himself in a single stroke. His fame had spread from Chu to Han.

Zhang Liang also knew that Meng Tian’s father was a close friend of Lord Zhu Xiang—Meng Wu, Governor of Nanjun, a high-ranking noble.

But what left Zhang Liang with the deepest impression was Meng Tian’s grandfather, Meng Ao, who was currently leading troops to attack Zhao, preventing Zhao from sending assistance to Han.

Meng Tian had thought Zhang Liang would speak with him, but instead, the moment Zhang Liang heard his name, the boy froze. Meng Tian couldn’t help feeling puzzled.

If Zhang Liang didn’t want to talk, he wasn’t going to bother starting a conversation either.

He was only here to watch a good show, not to befriend this child with hair still in tufts.

Besides being a young general, Meng Tian also served as one of Crown Prince Zheng’s close attendants. Naturally, he found the Crown Prince very quickly.

When they were nearly there, Meng Tian dismounted to walk.

Little Zhang Liang followed suit and told his attendants to stay behind with Meng Tian’s men.

He knew he must present himself alone before the Qin Crown Prince.

As he walked, the boy imagined all the possible scenarios of meeting the Crown Prince again.

Their first encounter had been utterly humiliating—he’d been so terrified he burst into tears. Even thinking about it now made him cringe.

In his memory, back when the Crown Prince was thirteen or fourteen, he already carried the bearing of a future tyrant—every step radiating draconic authority, every strand of hair perfectly disciplined, his expression forbiddingly stern.

Years had passed. Surely the Crown Prince’s aura would be even more terrifying now.

Little Zhang Liang braced himself internally, willing himself not to be cowed by the Crown Prince’s presence.

In the future, he would be accompanying Master Han Fei and would see the Crown Prince many times. If he embarrassed himself now, the Crown Prince would surely look down on him.

Meng Tian suddenly stopped walking.

Snapped out of his own pep talk, Zhang Liang blinked. “We’re here? Where is the Crown Prince?”

He looked around but didn’t see any carriage or banners.

Meng Tian replied, “Right ahead.”

He lifted his chin to point—quite casually, even a bit disrespectfully.

Zhang Liang followed Meng Tian’s line of sight but didn’t see the awe-inspiring Crown Prince he had imagined.

“Where?” Zhang Liang was bewildered.

Meng Tian said, “The Crown Prince is eating. We’ll wait a moment.”

He sounded a bit annoyed. Of all times, why did they have to arrive during the Crown Prince’s meal…

Only then did Zhang Liang notice the possible Crown Prince.

On the ridge between fields, a youth in short coarse clothes and another child in a simple jacket were squatting down, holding large bowls and devouring food.

Both their faces were practically buried in their bowls.

Zhang Liang’s expression cracked.

He jerked his head toward Meng Tian.

Meng Tian studiously avoided looking at him.

This sight was actually common. The Crown Prince had been raised both “pampered and rough” by Lord Zhu Xiang. Pampered meant dearly cherished. Rough meant…

Well, the Crown Prince had grown up following Lord Zhu Xiang through the countryside, so he didn’t pay much attention to formal etiquette.

Normally, Meng Tian would have already walked up to ask if the Crown Prince had any food left—seeing how happily the Crown Prince and Lord Chang’an were eating made even him hungry.

But now, with young Zhang Liang—whom the Crown Prince had just mocked recently—standing beside him, Meng Tian sensed that this was… a problem.

Ying Zheng had brought young Chengjiao with him to inspect the autumn harvest by the fields. They’d reheated the soup-soaked rice prepared by their uncle when they got hungry, squatted down to fill their stomachs, then planned to continue working afterward.

As Chengjiao was drinking his soup, a guard noticed Meng Tian, crouched down slightly, and whispered in Ying Zheng’s ear, “General Meng is here.”

Ying Zheng wiped his mouth with a handkerchief, lifted his head in puzzlement, and shouted, “Meng Tian! Why are you standing so far away? Do you need something? If you’re here, come over!”

Meng Tian took a deep breath, cupped his hands, and saluted. “Your Highness, Han’s Zhang Liang has come bearing your token to seek audience.”

Ying Zheng nearly choked.

Little Chengjiao lifted his face from his bowl. “Big Brother, are you all right?”

Ying Zheng said, “I’m fine.”

“Oh.” Chengjiao lowered his head and continued shoveling rice into his mouth.

They’d walked far today—he was starving.

Ying Zheng stood up. He glanced at the soup left in his bowl, and between his dignity and finishing the broth, he chose… to drink the broth first. Then he handed the bowl to an attendant.

A guard brought warm water prepared earlier. Ying Zheng washed his face and hands with a cloth, rinsed his mouth with a bamboo tube, and then summoned Meng Tian and Zhang Liang.

Chengjiao finished as well and patted his belly—hiccuping.

Hearing the hiccups, Ying Zheng frowned, paused mid-step, and stepped back.

“Come here.” He wrung out a cloth and wiped the little cat-like Chengjiao’s face and hands. “Go rinse your mouth.”

But Chengjiao simply swished some chrysanthemum-infused water in his mouth and gulped it down.

Ying Zheng: “…”

Fine. I do that too anyway.

Forget it. It’s only Zhang Liang. Would he dare laugh at a son of Qin?

Ying Zheng gave Zhang Liang a glance, and—on impulse—asked, “Have you eaten?”

Meng Tian thought the Crown Prince was talking to him. “Not yet.”

Zhang Liang, halfway through his bow of greeting, froze. “Y-you mean me?”

Ying Zheng said, “If Meng Tian hasn’t eaten, you definitely haven’t either. There’s soup and rice left. Eat first.”

He said this because he still wasn’t full.

Between appearances and a full stomach, Ying Zheng chose the full stomach.

Why should he inconvenience himself for an outsider?

Chengjiao hiccupped again. “I’m full.”

Ying Zheng muttered, “You kept gnawing dried meat all the way. Of course you’re full. Be careful not to crack another tooth.”

Chengjiao replied disdainfully, “Cracking teeth makes way for new ones.”

Ying Zheng waved a big hand. “Keep cooking!”

This time he didn’t squat but ate a chicken leg while standing.

Meng Tian sighed. “Your Highness, didn’t you bring the wooden stool?”

Ying Zheng said, “I did. But Chengjiao used it to chase a rabbit, smashed the stool, and didn’t catch the rabbit.”

Meng Tian: “…”

Chengjiao tilted his head at Meng Tian. What are you looking at?

Meng Tian felt utterly helpless.

He remembered that when Lord Chengjiao first came to Southern Qin, he wasn’t like this…

Seeing Zhang Liang still frozen, Ying Zheng snapped, “Aren’t you eating? What, are you embarrassed there’s no table and chair?”

The mocking tone instantly rekindled Zhang Liang’s familiar sense of the Crown Prince.

He said, “I’ll eat.”

He took a bowl of perfectly warm soup-rice from the attendants and ate while standing.

Ying Zheng finished his chicken leg, grabbed a handful of edamame, and said while eating, “You’re better than before.”

Zhang Liang looked up. “Better how?”

Ying Zheng said, “You look gloomy now. That’s better than before.”

Zhang Liang: “…”

What kind of insult is that?!

Ying Zheng finished the edamame and took out a peach. “Why did you come to Wu County?”

Zhang Liang didn’t want to talk while eating, but since the Crown Prince asked, he answered, “I went to Chu to request reinforcements, then came south to find my teacher.”

Ying Zheng instantly understood. “I heard Zhang Sheng wants to return to court but has been suppressed by Han’s new Lingyin. You, a child of eleven or twelve, accomplished so much—returning home would make you a thorn in their flesh. Your family is in danger.”

Zhang Liang said, “Li Yuan is also pursuing me.”

Ying Zheng wiped his hands and laughed. “He wants to use Han’s destruction as an excuse to seize land and expand his fief. You blocked that path—of course he hates you.”

He wiped his mouth again. “You must have snuck into the palace to pressure the King of Chu directly, bypassing Han’s Lingyin. How could he not be furious?”

Zhang Liang replied, “That’s correct.”

Chengjiao finally stopped hiccupping. “Big Brother, how did you get all that from a few sentences?”

Ying Zheng flicked him on the forehead. “I told you to read more. You can’t even analyze something this simple.”

Chengjiao complained, “Even if I read, I still wouldn’t get it! Even if Uncle were here, he wouldn’t get it! You’re just too smart!”

Ying Zheng couldn’t tell whether he was annoyed or amused.

“You may not be as smart as me, but you must study properly.”

“I do study properly,” Chengjiao retorted.

Ying Zheng was left speechless.

Hearing their banter, Zhang Liang felt slightly shocked. “Is this Lord Chengjiao?”

Chengjiao proudly declared, “Yes! I’m Lord Chengjiao, my brother’s only younger brother!”

Ying Zheng: “…”

Why emphasize that??

Zhang Liang was also puzzled. “Why emphasize that?”

Chengjiao answered seriously, “Uncle said I must say that to everyone I meet, so I can morally bind my big brother to support me for life.”

Zhang Liang: “…”

Ying Zheng’s fist clenched.

Meng Tian pressed his forehead. Lord Zhu Xiang, please stop teaching nonsense…

“Don’t listen to him!” Ying Zheng growled through his teeth.

Chengjiao sighed like a little old man. “See? Brother always wants me to fend for myself.”

With his hands behind his back, he shook his head dramatically, as if thinking, Oh, woe is me—my big brother is so cruel and heartless. It made Ying Zheng’s fist rise again.

But Chengjiao instantly darted behind Meng Tian.

Meng Tian: “!”

Cold sweat trickled down.

Lord Chengjiao!! If you want to play with your brother, don’t drag me into it!

“Hmph, I’ll deal with you later,” Ying Zheng said. Seeing Chengjiao hide behind Meng Tian actually made him drop his raised fist—he truly didn’t hit him.

He shot a glare at the little head sticking out from behind Meng Tian, then told Zhang Liang, “Han Fei is in Wu City. Will you wait for my uncle here in Guangling, or go there to meet Han Fei?”

Zhang Liang hesitated. “I came to pay respects to my teacher, so of course—”

Ying Zheng interrupted, “Of course you’ll see my uncle first. He taught you. Han Fei didn’t.”

Zhang Liang bowed his head. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“Finish eating first,” Ying Zheng said. “We’ll talk afterward. Chengjiao, come here!”

Just moments ago arrogant, Chengjiao now walked out meekly as if he’d never misbehaved.

Ying Zheng didn’t hit him—just lectured him.

Watching the Crown Prince and Chengjiao interact, Zhang Liang felt something stir in his heart.

The King of Qin had only two sons. Even with a firm heir, shouldn’t the Crown Prince still guard against the only possible rival for the throne?

Was Crown Prince Zheng simply too self-assured? Or was Chengjiao too young?

The way they behaved… they seemed like ordinary brothers, not political rivals.

Or… perhaps it was Lord Zhu Xiang’s teaching?

Wait.

A realization struck Zhang Liang.

He put down his bowl. “Why is Lord Chengjiao in Wu County?! Is the King of Qin here?!”

Ying Zheng blinked. “What does Chengjiao being here have to do with where the King of Qin is?”

Zhang Liang: “Lord Chengjiao is still young…”

Before Ying Zheng could speak, Chengjiao answered loudly, “I’m young, so Uncle raises me!”

Zhang Liang: “…”

What kind of logic is that?

Meng Tian nearly burst out laughing, but for the sake of his head, he held it in.

The current King of Qin was famous for siring but not raising. How could anyone not know?