HCT – Chapter 226 Not Too Many Courses

With the Warring States era underway, countless small feudal states were destroyed, and in the end, the situation settled into seven major powers: Qin, Chu, Yan, Zhao, Wei, Han, and Qi. 

Between these seven states were scattered minor states that served as buffers, most of them vassals of the major powers—like the State of Wei (卫) and the State of Lu (鲁).

But now, this established balance had been broken. The world had once again fallen into turbulence and unrest.

“What do you mean the world has ‘fallen into unrest’? Clearly, the world is returning to stability after chaos,” Ying Zheng grumbled with dissatisfaction after overhearing several scholars discussing the matter among the common folk.

Zhu Xiang quickly stopped Ying Zheng, preventing him from going over to argue.

Ying Zheng was born with a streak of single-minded stubbornness—he couldn’t stand hearing opinions that contradicted his own, and he absolutely had to argue until there was a clear winner.

Perhaps this too was a manifestation of the domineering temperament of one destined to be an emperor.

However, if someone did genuinely out-debate Ying Zheng, he would sincerely accept the other person’s viewpoint. He never clung to his pride or held grudges.

So Zhu Xiang stopped him not because he feared Ying Zheng would make enemies among the scholars, but because the entrance examination for the Wu Commandery Academy was about to begin. He worried that Ying Zheng’s arguing would disturb the examinees.

Ying Zheng didn’t really understand what Zhu Xiang was worrying about, but he hadn’t truly intended to personally debate with a group of scholars who had no reputation.

As the dignified Crown Prince of Qin, doing such a thing would only elevate the other party’s status using his own name.

Ying Zheng had appointed Fuqiu to oversee this year’s entrance examinations for the Wu Commandery Academy. Fuqiu returned to Wucheng together with Ying Zheng and Zhu Xiang.

He sighed, “The scholars of the world probably can’t understand why the King of Han surrendered despite the siege of Handu being lifted.”

Ying Zheng said arrogantly, “Han has always been like this at its roots. The King of Han doing such a thing is hardly surprising.”

Zhu Xiang asked, “And why do you say that?”

Ying Zheng shot his uncle a sideways glare.

His uncle clearly knew the answer, yet pretended to be ignorant. Obviously trying to test him again.

Seeing that white-eyed glare, Zhu Xiang knew that Ying Zheng was once again wrongly assuming malicious intent from him.

He was innocent—he simply wanted to hear Ying Zheng’s thoughts on the State of Han.

Before Zhu Xiang could explain, Ying Zheng began sharing his views on Han and its king.

After the Partition of Jin by the three families, the strengths of the three houses differed, which led them to follow different paths in establishing their states.

The Zhao clan inherited military power, commanding Jin’s armies, which made the State of Zhao formidable and martial. The Wei clan, historically ministers controlling Jin’s political affairs, excelled at governance, promoting education and legal reforms.

But the Han clan was different.

The ancestor of the Han family, Han Jue, was originally of humble background. During the reign of Duke Jing of Jin, he protected the Zhao family during their political purge and therefore forged a deep alliance with them—the famous story of The Orphan of Zhao.

When Wei and Zhao partitioned Jin, they lacked absolute dominance over each other and drew in the Han clan to stabilize their triangular balance.

The State of Han, located between Wei and Zhao, became a buffer zone between the two.

However, Han had once been strong.

After the Partition of Jin, although Han’s territory was the smallest of the three, it wasn’t much smaller than Wei or Zhao.

If one argued that Han was restricted by its neighbors Wei and Zhao, then consider this: Wei was bordered to the west by Qin— Q in at the time was weak and sparsely populated in the eyes of the Central Plains. Wei had little room to expand.

Zhao to the east faced powerful Qi and a not-insignificant Yan, leaving little room for expansion as well.

The real gap between Wei, Han, and Zhao emerged after the reforms.

The King of Wei excelled at governance, and Li Kui’s reforms were the most thorough among them.

During Marquis Wen of Wei’s rule, the hereditary nobility system was abolished, and common scholars were allowed to become ministers. This policy drew in a great number of capable men, making Wei the strongest state of the early Warring States. Later reforms—including Shang Yang’s—were based heavily on Li Kui’s system.

Unfortunately, the King of Wei came from the hereditary aristocracy and looked down on the lower class scholars. After using these new elites to consolidate royal authority, he abandoned them and restored power to the royal clan.

Subsequent kings followed his example. Talented men fled one after another, and the State of Wei declined.

Zhao’s king excelled at military organization, and their reforms began with their military system.  During the reign of King Wuling of Zhao, Zhao reached its peak military strength, intimidating the entire realm and attracting many outstanding generals.

Zhao’s decline did not stem from King Wuling’s indecision regarding his heirs—King Huiwen was also a decent ruler.

“The root of Zhao’s downfall lay in generals becoming too powerful, causing the kings to grow suspicious,” Ying Zheng said coldly.

Fuqiu’s eyelids twitched, and he quickly lowered his head to hide his expression.

Zhu Xiang sighed. “Yes. A general out in the field faces ever-changing conditions. If he follows the king’s orders, he may lose the battle; if he disobeys, he incurs the king’s distrust. If the king does not understand warfare and cannot trust his generals, he will inevitably hinder them at critical moments.”

In the history from Zhu Xiang’s previous life, Zhao seemed to fall because the kings distrusted generals like Lian Po and Li Mu. But in truth, the rot lay in Zhao lacking any system to check military power. Once suspicion arose, both king and general were doomed to mutually destructive outcomes.

King Wuling understood warfare—he was a general himself—so he had no such issues.

King Huiwen trusted his ministers, and his ministers respected him.

Thus the ruler and his officials worked in harmony.

But once Zhao had a king who neither understood military affairs nor trusted his generals, schisms were inevitable.

Still, the generals of Zhao remained loyal to their state—they either fled or committed suicide. None truly betrayed the king. Thus the king’s suspicions seemed baseless and foolish.

“As for the King of Han,” Ying Zheng continued with a hint of contempt in his gaze, “his kingship rests on cunning political maneuvers. His reforms are dominated by techniques. So-called ‘the art of kingship’ is nothing but petty scheming.”

Zhu Xiang chuckled softly. “That line must be from Han Fei, right? Yet the world still considers Shen Buhai part of the Legalist school.”

Ying Zheng replied, “Legalism has three branches. Shen Dao emphasizes power (势), Shen Buhai emphasizes techniques (术), and Shang Yang emphasizes law (法). To rely on only one is unbalanced. Power and law are upright paths, but to rely solely on techniques—that is a petty path.”

Power refers to authority—Shen Dao believed the most important thing for a ruler was to grasp supreme authority under heaven. Only with centralized power could one accomplish other tasks. 

Law refers to statutes—Shang Yang believed all systems of the state must be written into law, binding nobles and commoners alike, turning everyone into “tools” that strengthened the country. 

Techniques referred to methods of managing ministers—the so-called art of kingship, largely concerning personnel control.

Shen Buhai taught the King of Han the doctrine of balance—how to weigh the authority of the monarch against that of the nobles, how to balance the powers of the chancellor and the generals, how to manage the tension between the central government and the localities, when to win people over and when to suppress them. Only by mastering these could a ruler firmly grasp the court and the nation.

During the fifteen years of Shen Buhai’s reforms, the power of Han’s local fief lords was all but wiped out. They still held administrative authority over their regions, but no longer controlled troops. To gain more influence, they needed the king’s support; all political struggle became concentrated at court.

As long as the King of Han was wise enough and capable of making decisions, Han would prosper.

“It’s a pity he valued only the arts of rulership. If the ruler is incompetent, the nation declines rapidly,” Ying Zheng said. “And these ‘arts’ are merely tricks. If the ruler doesn’t trust his ministers, the ministers won’t give their hearts to him. If the ruler only knows how to divide and manipulate his vassals, then the vassals will spend all their energy trying to guess the ruler’s intentions.”

Ying Zheng let out a mocking laugh. “If they meet a muddle-headed King of Han, the ministers can simply pretend to be enemies—attack each other in public and collude in private—while the king is toyed with in the palm of their hands.”

“Before anything else, the ‘arts of rulership’ require a true ruler. If one focuses only on the tricks and loses the bearing of a ruler—what are laws and governance then, if not petty methods?”

“When a king and his nobles distrust each other, in times of crisis the king would rather believe that Qin can save his life than trust the nobles around him. So of course he rushes to surrender. Unseemly as it is, for him, perhaps it was the right choice.”

“If it were a young King of Han, someone who hasn’t been steeped in Han’s court politics for years, he might actually believe the nonsense those Han nobles spout—and die for them.”

Zhu Xiang thought of the tragic fate of the original last king of Han, King An, and wasn’t sure whether he should agree with Ying Zheng.

King An had been held under house arrest in Chen County, and after old nobles in Xinzheng revolted, he was executed. The hereditary aristocrats of Han may have cared about the state of Han, but certainly not about any individual king.

Fu Qiu looked up, eyes bright.

Though the Crown Prince Zheng was speaking of fa (law), the upright, dignified spirit of his words also aligned with Confucian thought.

Zhu Xiang nodded. “Zheng’er, you are ready to be taken as a disciple.”

Ying Zheng asked, “Whose disciple?”

Zhu Xiang pondered for a long moment, uncertain. “Han Fei?”

Ying Zheng sounded disdainful. “Han Fei isn’t my teacher.”

Zhu Xiang pointed at himself. “Then… me?”

Ying Zheng replied, “Uncle, your greatest skill is farming.”

Zhu Xiang couldn’t help laughing. “I’m good at farming, Li Mu is good at warfare. You can’t go farm, and you can’t go fight. It seems you’ll never become anyone’s disciple. But Xunzi—you might have a chance there.”

Ying Zheng crossed his arms, snorted. “No. I have no patience for all that complicated Confucian ‘ritual’.”

Fu Qiu’s eyes dimmed again.

Alas… even if Crown Prince Zheng studied under Xunzi, he would never be a true Confucian.

Zhu Xiang said, “Xunzi should be used to it by now. Among his greatest disciples, few truly embraced Confucianism.”

He patted Fu Qiu on the shoulder. “You must work hard. If you accomplish nothing in the future, people will mock Xunzi, saying his finest students were Han Fei, Li Si, me, and Zheng’er—none of whom behave like Confucian scholars. At least let there be one great Confucian among his students.”

Fu Qiu: “…” Lord Zhu Xiang, would you dare say that in front of Xunzi?

But he didn’t dare voice it. He simply cupped his hands and forced a bitter smile. “I will do my best.”

Ying Zheng asked in confusion, “Fu Qiu is a great Confucian? Isn’t he good at commerce and taxation?”

Fu Qiu: “……!!”

Zhu Xiang said sternly, “A Confucian merchant is still a Confucian. Who says a great Confucian cannot be a merchant?”

Ying Zheng shrugged. “Fine, if Uncle says so. Then why don’t you be the great Confucian? Who says a great Confucian can’t farm?”

Zhu Xiang stroked his chin. “You make a point. I do look like a respectable great scholar myself. In that case, why can’t Li Si and Han Fei be great Confucians too? Confucianism encompasses all; it isn’t some rigid thing.”

Ying Zheng nodded. “Indeed.”

Zhu Xiang said, “Then Zheng’er, why don’t you become a great Confucian?”

Ying Zheng replied, “I’ll think about it.”

Fu Qiu turned his face away.

He decided to forget everything he heard today, or his Confucian heart would shatter.

The fall of Han and the forced escort of the King of Han to Xianyang was a devastating blow to Han Fei and Zhang Liang.

But to Zhu Xiang and Ying Zheng, it was simply a long, thorough lesson.

Ying Zheng even tried to teach Chengjiao the rise and fall of Han.

Chengjiao’s mother was a Han woman; in the future he would surely become the main figure relied on by Han factions within Qin’s court. Only by understanding the tangled web of Han’s royal and noble relations could he one day turn Han-aligned forces within Qin into an asset for his elder brother.

But after just the first lesson, Chengjiao immediately ran to the already despondent Han Fei and Zhang Liang, arrogantly declaring, “From now on, you both depend on me! Starting now, you have to obey me—and hide some pastries for me!” He was promptly caught and beaten by Ying Zheng.

Only then did Han Fei and Zhang Liang remember that Prince Chengjiao was born of a Han mother.

For a moment, they wondered whether they should support him.

The thought rose—and was immediately discarded with distaste.

Not just Han Fei—even Zhang Liang, who had arrived less than a month ago, could see clearly that the one most determined to support Chengjiao was Crown Prince Zheng.

But while Zheng hoped his younger brother would grow into his right-hand man, Chengjiao only wanted to be the useless mascot who leeches off his brother.

That brain-melting line, “Big brother, I’m your only brother,” was enough to make even Zhang Liang want to beat him.

Rather than pinning hopes on Chengjiao someday understanding the sweetness of power, consolidating Han influence within Qin’s court, and raising the status of all Han refugees—it was better to entrust those hopes directly to Crown Prince Zheng.

Besides, with Zheng towering over him, what could Chengjiao accomplish even if he did crave power? Ever since he was young, he had been the little brother constantly spanked by Zheng—how could he ever climb over that mountain?

Compared to Han Fei, who was born into Han’s royal clan, Zhang Liang recovered from his grief earlier.

He could understand the King of Han.

When the king ascended the throne, Qin’s King Zhao was already unmatched.

Within Qin, King Zhao had Prime Minister Fan Ju; outside, he had the invincible General Bai Qi. The three Jin states—Wei, Han, and Zhao—had become “upper Wei, lower Han, right Zhao,” with nearly half their territory swallowed by Qin.

The King of Han had struggled.

But before he ascended, his father King Li of Han had joined with Wei to mobilize their entire armies, and together with Eastern Zhou and the eastward expansion of Qin, they fought a decisive battle.

The Battle of Yique.

The battle that made Bai Qi famous.

After that, Han’s elite forces were gone. Han could only waver between Qin and the other five states.

Han had no army; it could only tiptoe with diplomacy.

Unable to defend Shangdang, Han shifted the disaster onto Zhao. During the Changping stand-off between Qin and Zhao, Qin’s other armies kept attacking Han. Zhao lost the war, but the state that lost the most land was Han.

The King of Han ceded a city to Eastern Zhou, hoping Eastern Zhou would lead a six-state coalition against Qin. Instead, Eastern Zhou was destroyed, and Han was beaten again.

The King of Han and his ministers discussed it: “Let’s just surrender.”

So he donned mourning clothes, cried before King Zhao of Qin, and begged to become a vassal state—Qin refused.

This time as well, the king defended the city with all his strength, waiting for Chu’s reinforcements.

When the Chu army finally arrived and repelled Qin’s forces, the King of Han came out to survey the land and found—good heavens—only Xinzheng remained.

A lifetime of being beaten by Qin, at nearly fifty years old, the King of Han was more exhausted than a man in his seventies or eighties.

He could bear it no longer. He broke.

Zhang Liang could understand that.

But—couldn’t the King of Han surrender with a bit more dignity?

In all of history, no living person has given themselves a posthumous title. Yet he did—and he even chose a praise title like “Expander of Territory, Lover of the People,” completely the opposite of his life.

And even if he felt a lone city couldn’t restore the state and he wanted to surrender, he should have waited—sent off the Chu army first, then dispatched envoys to Xianyang. The two states could exchange documents, and Qin’s king would accept his surrender as a fellow monarch.

But instead, he drove out personally to seek Lord Xinping, Lian Po.

That was throwing the face of the entire state of Han to the ground and stomping on it.

Zhang Liang truly couldn’t understand this. He shut himself inside a dim room. Though he had passed the stage of grief, he now felt like an empty shell devoid of thought.