HCT – Chapter 233 Sailing Late Into a Headwind

In 244 BCE, the seventh year of King Zichu of Qin arrived under the collective anxiety of all.

This year, there was neither drought nor flood—just ill-timed winds and poorly-timed rains.

It was as if Heaven were deliberately toying with the poor farmers:
when the fields needed water, it refused to rain;
when the grain needed sunshine, the sun refused to appear.

If it didn’t rain, fields with decent irrigation could barely hang on. But if there was no sun during harvest, the crops that had grown well now rotted right in the fields, leaving everyone helpless.

During the Warring States, the population was very small.

By the time Qin Shi Huang unified the realm, the entire world had only a little over twenty million people—similar to the population of a single coastal metropolis like Beijing, Shanghai, or Guangzhou in later generations.

Now Qin’s territory had expanded, taking in large numbers of refugees from other states, yet the total population still did not exceed ten million.

With so few people, their ability to withstand disasters was even weaker.

Thus, this year, Qin’s grain harvest dropped by at least thirty percent compared to the previous year.

And the weather, behaving like a madman, did not only torment Qin.

Although Qin had prepared ahead of time—and especially with Zhu Xiang strengthening Qin’s “lifeblood”—compared to the other states, the people of Qin were still living relatively better.

By the tenth month of King Zichu’s seventh year, when the autumn harvest should have been underway, famine swept across the land, and people ate people.

But because the commoners of the five states had already lived in miserable conditions, and because the fertile, well-irrigated lands were all held by the nobility, the kings and aristocrats of those states felt little of this catastrophe.

Their granaries were still full.

Besides, even if crops failed completely this year, couldn’t they still eat meat? Livestock could be raised; livestock didn’t care about endless autumn rains.

They were even celebrating—rejoicing that Qin had paused its advance into the Central Plains.

Most scholars in the courts of the five states also celebrated.

They claimed Heaven had opened its eyes and brought disaster upon Qin, halting Qin’s conquest of the realm.

This proved—so they said—that Heaven’s mandate did not lie with Qin!

Thus, society in the five states became both fragmented and surreal.

On one side, scholars and officials celebrated as though it were a prosperous age;
on the other side, commoners resorted to cannibalism, trapped in hell on earth.

The kings and nobles held banquets, celebrating all night that Heaven had stopped Qin’s annihilation of the states.

They piled grain, cloth, and precious offerings on tall altars, slaughtering cattle and sheep in thanks to the heavens.

Outside the city walls, farmers—who had already exhausted their food the previous year—survived on grass roots, tree bark, and famine-relief crops that had flowed out from Qin to last until this fall… only to reap almost nothing.

They were now digging up soil, kneading it together with moldy grain to make cakes just to stave off death.

Some cried as they exchanged the infants they could no longer feed, or traded the corpses of relatives who had already starved.

Qin had no mind to pay attention to these surreal horrors in other states.

Qin’s territory was now vast, spanning a wide range of latitudes north to south, east to west—meaning there were always some places unaffected or less affected by the disaster.

King Zichu had no time to worship Heaven.

From the moment he recalled the Qin army, he rode the royal carriage, personally inspecting Guanzhong, Guandong, and the three newly conquered commanderies of Han and Zhao. He even entered Shu, meeting the powerful families there in person.

Li Bing’s Dujiangyan was already working even as it was being constructed—the Chengdu Plain had become fertile farmland.

This basin, encircled by mountains, had also been impacted by extreme weather, but far less than other regions of Qin.

Because the Chengdu Plain had been cut off for years, the great families of Shu had silently amassed wealth, storing a great deal of grain.

King Zichu openly sold ranks of nobility: donate one thousand shi of grain, and your rank would be raised by one level.

The wealthy families of Shu eagerly emptied their granaries in exchange for noble titles. King Zichu conferred the ranks on the spot, stamping the seals himself, and immediately transported the collected grain to the most heavily affected regions of Guanzhong and Guandong.

After gathering grain in Shu, King Zichu boarded a large vessel and traveled down the surging Yangtze River, vomiting miserably along the way, eventually arriving at the three commanderies of Southern Chu.

He summoned the great clans of Southern Chu and told them that from south to north, the whole realm was suffering from famine, and that the five states had already resorted to cannibalism.

Only Qin—because of early preparation and because of the Lord of Changping—was still living comparatively well, especially the three commanderies of Southern Qin, which were doing the best of all.

After explaining the situation of the world, King Zichu also sold noble ranks in Southern Qin: likewise, a donation of one thousand shi of grain earned one rank.

He further promised that if anyone donated more, while he would not grant additional noble titles, he would give each commandery twenty extra admission slots to the national academy—allowing the scholar families of the three Southern Qin commanderies to compete.

Thanks to years of governance under Zhu Xiang and Ying Zheng, the three commanderies of Southern Qin were already deeply loyal to Qin. Therefore, King Zichu was more willing to give them opportunities to enter the central government than the isolated Shu region.

Besides, the three commanderies of Southern Qin were richer—he could extract more grain from them.

Zhu Xiang had already purchased a batch of grain in Southern Qin with gold, silver, silk, and cloth.

In a famine year, grain was priceless; that the people of Southern Qin were willing to sell to him at all showed their respect.

King Zichu then squeezed out even more grain by exchanging titles and academy admission quotas. Many scholar clans joined forces—tightening their belts if they had to—just to gather enough grain to compete for those twenty academy slots.

Everyone knew that anyone admitted to the academy would, upon graduation, at least become a county magistrate.

After gathering grain in Southern Qin, King Zichu arrived in Southern Chu.

Zichu, coughing, looked at Zhu Xiang, who was also coughing—they had no words.

Xueji snapped, “My husband has already been drenched by autumn rains several times—Your Majesty, did you also go out in the rain?”

Zichu quickly replied, “No! How could I be as foolish as him, running out to get soaked and not cherishing my health? I’ve always been weak, that’s all.”

Zhu Xiang coughed and said, “You’ve always been weak, and you’re proud of it?”

Xueji glared fiercely.

Zhu Xiang immediately shut his mouth, not daring to provoke her again.

Though both Zichu and Zhu Xiang were sick, work could not stop.

Even Crown Prince Zheng could not replace the King in making promises to Southern Chu and putting their hearts at ease.

King Zichu traveled through every city of Southern Chu, summoning elders from towns and nearby villages for discussions, telling them of the great famine now sweeping the world, and especially how Chu had been hit hardest—its refugees stealing food everywhere.

Only Qin was still living reasonably well, so he urged them to quickly restore order and organize local patrols to prevent Chu refugees from coming to steal their food.

Moreover, the Chu people north of the Huai River had no grain left. It was likely that large numbers of bandits would cross southward, or even that the King of Chu might send troops to seize food directly—they must remain vigilant.

The people of Southern Chu felt deeply bitter.

They had been abandoned by the King of Chu, given away to the rebel Southern Chu Lord.  During the years they were exploited and starved, the King of Chu never extended help.

Now that they had barely begun to live decent lives under the governance of Lord Changping and the Crown Prince of Qin, the King of Chu wanted to send people to steal their food.

Yet the King of Qin had traveled all this way in person, coming to reassure them, promising that even if Qin suffered disaster, he would not increase their burdens.

Many scholars were seeing their sovereign for the first time.

They had heard that the King of Qin was cruel and inhumane, with a terrifying face—rumored even to eat human thigh meat at every meal, and that he was picky about the meat of the elderly.

But the frail, pale, constantly coughing, gentle-looking king before them completely shattered all the evil impressions they had held about Qin.

In a society with rigid hierarchies, nothing won over the lower classes more effectively than a ruler lowering himself and treating them with respect—it never failed.

And if such humility came with real benefits, they would be even more grateful.

Ying Zheng watched his father chat warmly with the elders of Southern Chu, promising to build more academies so their children could study in the national academy.

This was no longer Southern Chu, but a new Qin commandery.

They were no longer “Southern Chu people”—they were Qin people.

What the Qin people enjoyed—including the right to study and be recommended for government office—they would enjoy as well.

Ying Zheng recalled that in his dream, he too had once traveled the realm, trying to bring stability.

During his travels, he also offered benefits, allowing officials of the six states (aside from governors and magistrates) to remain in their positions. He also refrained from touching the lands of the scholar families to win their loyalty, delaying the reward of farmland to Qin soldiers.

But the effect had been minimal.

Why?

He closely observed the differences between what his father was doing and what he himself had done in the dream, and finally reached a conclusion:

In the dream, the benefits he gave the scholars of the six states were benefits they already possessed—so they felt no gratitude.

But before his father gave benefits to the scholars of Southern Chu, he had first taken away most of their original privileges, and then bestowed new ones.

It was like training a horse:
first, you must break its spirit with the whip,
then feed it,
and only then can you build a bond.

A shepherd treats livestock no differently.

One who shepherds all under Heaven is called the Son of Heaven.

After settling the hearts of the scholars of Southern Chu, King Zichu also told them that donating one thousand shi of grain could purchase a noble rank—but he did not give them academy recommendation slots.

He told them that the Southern Qin commanderies had received such slots only because their scholars had already studied Qin law and the Qin language for many years, allowing them to keep up with academy coursework.

King Zichu promised that in two years, he would also grant Southern Chu additional “grace quotas,” so they could send more people to the Xianyang academy to compete with Qin scholars for official posts.

The scholars of Southern Chu were moved to tears, privately sighing that the King of Qin truly regarded them as his own people.

Ying Zheng remembered that in his dream, he too had sold noble ranks—yet the results had been poor.

Where lay the difference?

He pondered for a long time before reaching another conclusion.

He had only issued decrees from the Xianyang Palace. He had not, like his father, travelled to every locality to negotiate face-to-face with the powerful clans, nor had he treated the scholars of each region differently.

Qianzhong, Nanjun, and Wu Commanderies were allowed to purchase additional academy admission quotas with grain, while other places were not. This meant it was not the King of Qin begging them for grain donations, but instead an act of grace bestowed upon them by the king.

Thus his father not only obtained grain, but also won the people’s hearts. And because these transactions were conducted face-to-face, he did not allow local officials to shift the pressure of “grain donations” onto the commoners; he targeted the wealthy precisely and used their surplus to fill the shortages elsewhere.

Looking at his increasingly thin father, his emotions were tangled and heavy. If the father in his dreams had not died young, if he had been able to guide him a few more years—would his own methods of handling government affairs now be far more seasoned?

He was confident in his ability. But with someone to support him, the path would certainly have been easier than stumbling forward entirely on his own.

Ying Zheng closed his eyes. After a long time, he opened them again, having regained calm.

When King Zichu of Qin returned to Xianyang, it was already winter. A year of ceaseless travel had drained him quickly. Fortunately, it was a warm winter, so his lung ailment had not worsened. He was not bedridden and could still handle government matters.

This time, Zhu Xiang returned with him.

South of the Huai River, the climate was still much better than the regions to the north. After laying a solid agricultural foundation across the Jianghuai plain, Zhu Xiang handed everything over to Ying Zheng and returned to Qin to oversee the areas hit hardest by disaster.

Zhu Xiang’s physical health was far better than King Zichu’s. After coughing for a while, he recovered fully. Before spring plowing, he inspected the farmlands across Qin’s heartland and proposed many improvements.

He even travelled to the three northern commanderies—Jiuyuan, Yunzhong, and Yanmen—guiding them to grow drought-resistant crops such as potatoes and broad beans to raise their grain self-sufficiency.

Zhu Xiang’s inspection of farmland was far more effective than that of anyone else.

In agriculture, only by seeing the land with one’s own eyes can one devise specific measures. And Zhu Xiang’s agricultural knowledge surpassed everyone’s by two thousand years. Everywhere he went, he could offer suggestions for improving local production.

His reputation in Qin was at its peak—greater even than in the three southern Chu commanderies where he had spent many years. Those three southern commanderies had grown so accustomed to his guidance that familiarity had dulled their sense of awe.

But Zhu Xiang had been away from Qin’s heartland for many years, and his deeds had turned into legend. Especially in a year of famine, the farmers longed for Lord Changping to rescue them.

Now that Lord Changping had returned, they obeyed whatever he said without hesitation. They even wished his instructions could be as precise as how deep to dig, how many ladles of water to pour, and how many seeds to plant.

Zhu Xiang understood their anxiety, but repeatedly reminded them that human ability had limits. They should not place unrealistic hope in him. They could only do all that humans could do and leave the rest to fate.

Some farmers asked whether he could communicate with Heaven and persuade it to stop sending disasters.

Zhu Xiang could only give a bitter smile and reply with Xunzi’s words: “The movements of Heaven follow constant principles; they do not change according to human wishes.”

What a wise ruler could provide in a disaster year was simply to lead the farmers in minimizing loss—as the King of Qin was doing now.

Many farmers could not accept this truth. Zhu Xiang did not continue trying to persuade them.

What use was persuasion? Could it make this disaster year disappear? Of course not.

After two or three consecutive years of worsening climate and increasingly difficult living conditions, everyone was filled with fear, anxiety, and resentment.

He did not blame the farmers for their ignorance, nor for the resentment they might privately harbor toward him. He could only do the same as everyone else: do all that was within human power, and accept what lay beyond it.

When he arrived in Yanmen Commandery, the soldiers and civilians lined the roads to welcome him. Though he had never come here before, he was already one of the most renowned figures in Yanmen. From Li Mu to Lord Xinling, all had tirelessly praised his name. The people of Yanmen had long “admired him from afar.”

Yanmen bordered Zhao, and many Zhao people lived within the commandery, giving them clear knowledge of Zhao’s internal situation. They saw that famine ravaged the Zhao heartland. Their own fields were poorer, yet with Qin’s help they had not suffered large-scale famine. They all felt grateful for having submitted to Qin.

If they had still belonged to Zhao, when even the central regions were starving, the grain allocated to them would have been drastically cut. Yanmen would have had to support the even more struggling Yunzhong and Jiuyuan. At that point, not to mention the common people and soldiers—even the commanders might go hungry.

Life on the frontier was that harsh.

After arriving in Yanmen, Zhu Xiang first helped them adjust their crop structure. Then he told them that since the Central Plains were uniformly warming, the grasslands were surely receiving more rain, making the vegetation more abundant. Instead of being trapped inside their fortresses, the three commanderies should take the initiative to head north and seize the Xiongnu’s cattle and sheep, then raise their own herds.

The soils of Yanmen, Yunzhong, and Jiuyuan were poor for farming, but they were certainly better for pasturing than the even more northern grasslands. If they could not grow enough grain, they could raise livestock instead.

On the grasslands, when crops were lacking, people truly could survive on meat.

Zhu Xiang also understood basic animal husbandry—enough to let the three northern commanderies raise their own herds. But they were worried. They had only recently submitted to Qin—would Qin supply them with weapons and initial rations? And if they suddenly marched out, would the King of Qin become suspicious?

Zhu Xiang assured them, “With Li Mu and me as your guarantors, rest easy. This is also your chance to prove your capability.”

With his guarantee, King Zichu gritted his teeth and provided the three commanderies with supplies, and even personally delivered a pre-war exhortation encouraging them to step beyond the Great Wall and seize Xiongnu resources to survive the famine.

Zhu Xiang stayed in the northern commanderies, teaching them how to raise and process the captured livestock—

Leatherworking, wool handling and spinning, meat preservation…

Their respect for him grew even deeper.

They had heard the rumors about Lord Changping’s great ability. Only after seeing him with their own eyes and working under his guidance did they realize the rumors fell far short of reality.

Zhu Xiang’s encouragement of the three commanderies to plunder the Xiongnu made the Qin court sigh in distress.

No one accused him of hypocrisy. Instead, they lamented how desperate the situation must be if even Lord Changping had been forced to this point. They hoped next year would improve. Even Qin’s deep reserves could not withstand much more of this.

Unfortunately, Heaven still refused to heed human wishes.

In 243 BC, the eighth year of King Zichu, the northern spring was even warmer, and spring drought even worse. While digging soil in Jiuyuan, Zhu Xiang was horrified to discover locust eggs underground.

Severe drought was often followed by locust plagues. Three consecutive warm winters meant locust eggs had not been frozen to death, accumulating into a full-scale plague.

Seeing the eggs in Jiuyuan’s soil, Zhu Xiang knew that a locust plague this year was unavoidable. He immediately informed King Zichu.

When the king received the letter, his cough had still not healed.

A chill struck his chest—as if something exploded inside. He covered his mouth, coughing violently for a long time. When he lowered his hand, he saw blood.

King Zichu gave a bitter smile. “Three years in a row… three years in a row.”

He wiped the blood off his robe and convened a court meeting to plan their response. He had no idea what next year would be like. He could only counter whatever Heaven threw at him, one move at a time.

What else could he do? Submit to Heaven?

Absolutely not.

When the news of the locust plague reached the court, despair clouded every face. People of this era knew little about locusts—some claimed they were demons, others said they were divine scourges sent by Heaven. Some even insisted locusts must not be harmed, or Heaven would send worse disasters.

Zhu Xiang had long known how little this era understood, so more than ten years earlier he had written detailed explanations of locusts and the possible methods for dealing with them into academy textbooks.

While the teachers at the academy and the court ministers in Xianyang studied those texts and debated solutions, Zhu Xiang was already directing people to plow the soil and destroy the locust eggs.

He raised chickens and ducks to eat the eggs—both reducing their numbers and providing food.

But the overall effect was limited. If Jiuyuan had locust eggs, then the northern grasslands surely did too; and so did the rest of the Central Plains. He could reduce the numbers in Qin’s fields, but he could not control the grasslands, nor the lands of the Central Plains.

Locust swarms would sweep across region after region, devouring every leaf they saw. Even if Qin managed to curb its own locusts, swarms from elsewhere would eventually fly in.

Still, even small improvements were better than doing nothing. They could only do what was within their capability.

Once locusts became a full plague, the only response was extermination. Eating them—whether by humans or livestock—was a mere drop in the bucket. Especially once they gathered in large numbers, they became toxic, making them unsafe even for cattle and sheep.

Locusts were simply that wretched. Even in modern times, locust plagues were terrifying. Modern states at least had aircraft to spray pesticides—but locusts evolved resistance, and excessive pesticides harmed civilians along the route.

Thus even modern nations relied heavily on physical traps and nets. This era had no planes, no machinery. People could only burn or crush the swarms after they descended, fighting the insects for their food.

Zhu Xiang left Jiuyuan and travelled throughout Qin teaching people how to reduce the eggs in the soil. Upon learning a locust plague was coming, farmers wailed, collapsing into despair. But despair changed nothing—they could only fight with all their strength for survival.

If Heaven intended to destroy them, they could not simply obey and die.

Survival was instinct; living was human nature.

If locusts came, they would fight them for grain.

Even if ghosts descended, they would raise their tools to fight for life.

“Locusts lay eggs in dry, hardened soil. Drying ponds and low basins are major breeding grounds. Flood them wherever possible to drown the eggs.”

“Where flooding is impossible, dig up the eggs and crush or burn them. Raising ducks and chickens can reduce the workload.”

“The warm, wet south will not hatch eggs, but locusts will migrate south—so southern regions must also prepare.”

“Locusts are insects—a natural disaster—unrelated to Heaven, ghosts, or gods. Anyone spreading such nonsense is to be executed.”

Zhu Xiang taught locust-prevention while asking King Zichu to grant him a military unit. Wherever they encountered charlatans spreading superstitious panic, no matter their status, they were executed on the spot.

Continuous famine followed by locusts had brought forth many fraudulent shamans—and many villagers defended them. Zhu Xiang once again led troops to smash temples, burn idols, and kill the deceivers.

Many villages took up arms to resist him, but Zhu Xiang showed no mercy. Only then did the world remember the fame he had earned destroying temples in Southern Qin, and recall that he first rose to renown as the fierce general who fought in Guangling.