HCT – Chapter 24 Plain Water and Bean Rice

When the Qin reinforcements appeared, even a king as inexperienced as the King of Zhao realized that it was too late to send troops to the rescue now.

At this point, the King of Zhao deeply regretted not heeding the advice of Yu Xin. If back then he had not sent envoys to Qin to seek peace, but instead sought to unite other states against Qin, would they have ended up in such a dire situation?

Still, although the King of Zhao regretted it, he did not blame Lou Chang, who had come up with the bad idea. Instead, he rewarded Lou Chang with gold, reassuring him not to worry. He insisted that Lou Qing’s idea had been a good one—only that the Qin were too cunning and refused to negotiate sincerely.

The King treated Lou Chang so generously because the Lou family was originally a branch of the Ying clan of the Zhao lineage.

This could be traced back to the Spring and Autumn period and the story of “The Orphan of Zhao.”

Zhao Yingqi, Zhao Tong, and Zhao Kuo (not to be confused with the general Zhao Kuo of Changping) were brothers of the same mother. Zhao Tong and Zhao Kuo were at odds with Zhao Yingqi. Coincidentally, Zhao Yingqi had an illicit relationship with his widowed niece-in-law, Lady Zhuang. Zhao Tong and Zhao Kuo used this to exile Zhao Yingqi to the State of Qi, where he later died.

Lady Zhuang deeply hated Zhao Tong and Zhao Kuo and falsely accused them of treason. At the same time, the powerful minister of Jin harbored a grudge against the Zhao family, and Duke Jing of Jin wanted to weaken them. Their interests aligned, and the Zhao clan was almost exterminated. Later, Duke Jing allowed his nephew Zhao Wu to inherit the Zhao lineage and fiefdom—Zhao Wu became known as “The Orphan of Zhao.”

With the Zhao lineage almost extinct, Zhao Yingqi’s descendants in Qi returned to Zhao. To show they had no intention of contending with Zhao Wu for the position of clan head, Zhao Yingqi’s line changed their surname to Lou.

After the Partition of Jin, the Lou clan naturally remained closer to the Zhao royal family than other noble families—almost like kin. The King of Zhao had always favored the Lou family.

But that closeness varied from person to person.

Lou Chang had always supported King Huiwen of Zhao. Even though he lacked talent, King Huiwen had given him a chance to attack a few cities of Wei. But despite the victory being nearly handed to him, he failed, and General Lian Po had to replace him to win those cities. Still, King Huiwen kept him in favor. The current king trusted Lou Chang as well.

Lou Chang’s clansman Lou Huan, however, was quite talented. He once supported King Wuling of Zhao in his reform of adopting Hu-style dress and cavalry tactics. But Lou Huan was a loyalist of King Wuling. After King Wuling was starved to death in the Sand Hill Palace, Lou Huan, who was serving as an envoy in Qin, could not return and ended up becoming a guest minister and eventually Chancellor in Qin.

One of the chief conspirators behind King Wuling’s death and the powerful Zhao minister who assisted the young King Huiwen, Li Dui, feared Lou Huan. In the 11th year of King Zhaoxiang of Qin, after Lord Mengchang led Qi, Han, and Wei in a victory against Qin and even breached Hangu Pass, Qin was forced to cede land and pay indemnities. Li Dui used this opportunity to pressure Qin into dismissing Lou Huan.

With old and new grudges combined, Lou Huan now hated the current Zhao court even more.

Although Lou Huan was no longer Chancellor of Qin, even at over seventy years old, he remained active in gathering first-hand intelligence on Zhao.

Unlike what later generations might imagine, there weren’t many barriers between the Warring States. Nobles and commoners moved freely between them.

The ruling legitimacy of the Seven Warring States all stemmed from the Zhou feudal system—many families were kin if traced back a few hundred years. As in the Three Kingdoms period of later Han, members of the same family often served different rulers. On the battlefield, they showed no mercy, but in peacetime, they exchanged letters and maintained personal ties.

Lou Huan pretended to be disillusioned with life in Qin and often wrote letters to Lou Chang, the current head of the Lou clan in Zhao, complaining about his hardships and expressing how much he missed Zhao. Occasionally, he would drop a trivial piece of intelligence about Qin to win Lou Chang’s trust—and then in return, gather real intelligence about Zhao from him.

Lou Chang believed he was the one gathering Qin intelligence from Lou Huan. Whenever Lou Huan told him something, Lou Chang immediately reported it to the King. This only increased the King’s trust in Lou Chang.

Though Lou Chang’s proposal to negotiate with Qin had failed, the King himself had both negotiated and prepared for war, showing no real sincerity. So rather than distance himself from Lou Chang, the King actually felt guilty toward him.

The King was always kind and good-tempered with those he trusted.

He first apologized to Lou Chang, admitting partial responsibility for not earnestly pursuing peace with Qin. Then he asked the “Qin expert” Lou Chang whether he should urgently mobilize more troops, seek aid from other states, or abandon Changping and General Zhao Kuo.

Lou Chang advised, “Qin reinforcements are already here, waiting for us to send reinforcements so they can ambush them. It takes time to mobilize troops, and even longer to seek foreign aid. By the time we act, General Zhao may already be defeated.”

The King sighed, “What then should we do?”

Lou Chang replied, “At this point, all we can do is minimize our losses. After the Battle of Changping, the other states will likely seize the chance to attack. Your Majesty should indeed raise troops—but they should be used to defend Handan.”

Though Lou Chang had been outwitted by Lou Huan, he wasn’t entirely foolish—he could still offer sound advice.

Qin had set up a “besiege the city to destroy the reinforcements” strategy, and Zhao was already a step behind. It would be pointless to catch up. Better to abandon Changping, shrink the battle lines, and prepare for what came next.

The King sighed again, “I know this is what I should do. But in Changping are the heir of the Ma Fu family and hundreds of thousands of Zhao soldiers—I cannot bear to abandon them.”

Lou Chang hesitated, then said, “The Qin are cruel, and Bai Qi especially is a butcher. They might really execute all those Zhao captives.”

The King grew anxious, “Then what should I do? If the Qin slaughter all our prisoners, who will farm the land and perform labor for me?”

Lou Chang was uncertain. Should he make another suggestion? What if it was wrong again?

But he remembered the gold he’d received, the exotic spices he’d never seen before, and the promised future gifts. So he spoke: “Does Your Majesty remember Zhu Xiang?”

The King replied, “I do. Why bring him up now?”

Lou Chang said, “Zhu Xiang is extraordinarily talented. He was recommended several times by Lord Lin and even regarded by General Lian as a nephew. It’s said he once debated strategy with the Ma Fu heir and fought to a draw. However, since he’s the uncle of the Qin hostage prince, Your Majesty hasn’t been able to use him. But why not send him to negotiate with Changping?”

The King frowned, “He is so young, and a commoner—can he handle such responsibility?”

Lou Chang persuaded, “He has ties to the Qin royal family—making him a perfect envoy. If he fails, Your Majesty will have shown effort. And then, executing him will earn you public sympathy for trying to save the heir of Ma Fu and the Zhao troops. We cannot touch the Qin hostage prince—but his commoner uncle is fair game.”

The King immediately found this very reasonable.

He also knew doing nothing and abandoning the Zhao army at Changping was the best move. But doing nothing would make him look weak.

Sending Zhu Xiang to negotiate would be ideal if it succeeded—and if not, he had an excuse. Thus, the King agreed to Lou Chang’s recommendation.

Lou Chang practically skipped out of the palace and quickly sent word to Zhu Xiang with the good news—telling him to prepare the promised gifts.

What Lou Chang didn’t know was that his own cousin Lou Huan, supposedly still suffering far away in Qin, had been living at Zhu Xiang’s house for two days already.

Lou Huan, using the alias of a wealthy Qin merchant, had knocked on Zhu Xiang’s door under the pretense of delivering a letter from “Xia Tong.”

Prince Zichu, worried that the battle at Changping might endanger Zhu Xiang, had asked Chancellor Fan Ju for help.

Fan Ju, knowing that the King of Qin already viewed Zhu Xiang as a future pillar of the state and having a favorable impression of him from various accounts, assigned his most capable protector—Lou Huan.

Lou Huan had completely fooled Lou Chang. With Lou Huan orchestrating things, the Lou family would ensure that Zhao would not dare harm Zhu Xiang.

Though Lou Huan had been away from Zhao for years, even Lin Xiangru and Lian Po did not recognize him and suspected nothing of his Qin merchant identity.

However, Lin Xiangru knew that “Xia Tong” was actually Prince Zichu, so he guessed that Lou Huan might be a Qin official. But since Lou Huan was there to protect Zhu Xiang and Ying Zheng, Lin Xiangru pretended not to notice.

Zhu Xiang wanted to go to Changping to persuade Bai Qi to release the prisoners. Lian Po was out of favor and couldn’t enter the palace, while Lin Xiangru had lost the King’s trust due to supporting Lian Po. So Lin Xiangru asked Lord Pingyuan for help.

Lord Pingyuan was hesitant. Though he believed in Zhu Xiang’s talent, Zhu Xiang was still very young, recently of age, and a relative of the Qin hostage prince. He worried the burden was too great.

Lou Huan, learning of the situation, pounded his chest and said, “I do business in Zhao—everyone from nobles to clerks has taken my money. I know who’s the greediest. I can find someone to recommend Zhu Xiang to the King!”

Lou Huan was curious about Zhu Xiang and eager to help him. His goal was also to keep Zhu Xiang safe. And what better place for safety than Changping?

Prince Zichu visited Lou Huan privately, saying that if things got urgent, just saving Zhu Xiang would suffice. If possible, take Zhu Xiang’s wife Xue Ji too. Prince Zheng could remain in Zhao as a hostage.

Lou Huan was exasperated.

This prince didn’t have dozens of sons like Lord Anguo. He only had one son! How could he be so casual about it?

So Lou Huan increased the importance of Zhu Xiang in his mind even further.

Now, he was fully committed to helping Zhu Xiang get to Changping. Though Zhu Xiang’s family would be watched by Zhao, both Prince Zichu and Chancellor Fan had said the minimum requirement was to keep Zhu Xiang safe.

He could complete that first—and then plan how to rescue Xue Ji and Prince Zheng.

With Lou Huan’s help, Zhu Xiang successfully connected with the King’s favored official Lou Chang.

Lin Xiangru and Lian Po pooled 100 gold pieces, and Zhu Xiang added his system-rewarded spices, packaged beautifully, and presented them to Lou Chang as a “deposit.”

Though Lou Chang was greedy, he was a man of his word—once he accepted payment, he did the job properly.

Soon after, Zhu Xiang received good news. He promptly added 50 more gold pieces and a new box of spices, happily completing the deal with Lou Chang.

Lin Xiangru and Lian Po watched the transaction. Though the goal was achieved, both of their expressions were grim.

They had rendered great service to Zhao, while Lou Chang was merely a useless hanger-on who only held them back.

But the two of them couldn’t even get an audience with the King of Zhao, while Lou Chang managed to successfully recommend Zhu Xiang to the king with just 150 gold pieces and two boxes of spices.

Lian Po sneered, “Lord Lin, are you regretting not seeking out Lou Chang earlier? If you had gone to him sooner, Zhu Xiang might’ve already been an official for years!”

Lin Xiangru snorted coldly at Lian Po’s sarcastic tone when he mockingly addressed him as “Lord Lin” and didn’t reply. He was fuming inside and didn’t want to say a word.

Zhu Xiang tried to mediate. “The Lou clan was once part of Zhao’s royal family. While Lou Chang isn’t as distinguished as Lord Pingyuan or Lord Pingyang, in the king’s eyes, he’s still far more valued than most. Please don’t be angry, Lord Lin.”

Lin Xiangru shot a glance at Zhu Xiang. Was he angry that the king favored the Lou clan? No—he was angry the king actually favored that greedy good-for-nothing Lou Chang!

With outsiders present, Lin Xiangru couldn’t openly complain about the king. He changed the subject: “Whatever you need, make sure the king provides it. Even though you’re Zheng’s uncle, the Qin people are vicious. This journey is very dangerous!”

Zhu Xiang said, “Don’t worry, Lord Lin. I’m terrified of dying—I’ll make every possible preparation.”

Hearing Zhu Xiang say he feared death, a complicated look crossed Lin Xiangru’s face. He reached out with his branch-like hand and gently ruffled Zhu Xiang’s hair bun. “Good. Be afraid of dying. Do your best, but if the mission proves impossible, don’t force it. I’ll wait for your return.”

Zhu Xiang smiled. “Alright.”

Lian Po grumbled, “With your fighting skills, you’ll probably be robbed by mountain bandits before even reaching Changping. Although my military authority’s been stripped, I still have strong retainers. Just stay well hidden behind the guards I assign you, got it?”

Zhu Xiang immediately thanked him, “Yes. Thank you, Lord Lian.”

Lian Po slapped Zhu Xiang’s back with his palm, as wide as a fan. “Come back alive!”

Zhu Xiang promised, “Don’t worry. I will come back alive.”

Xun Kuang had been silent for a long time before finally speaking: “Though the King of Zhao has agreed to send you as a persuader, he will also test you. First, think about how you’ll pass his test—then worry about going to Changping. Zhu Xiang, you’ve never told us how you plan to persuade Qin. You should explain now.”

Zhu Xiang said, “The Qin executed the prisoners for two reasons: one, they lacked food to support so many; two, they resented Zhao’s interference. But Qin attacked Shangdang and Changping for profit. As long as they are offered sufficient profit, perhaps the Zhao prisoners can be spared.”

“I’ll bring food supplies to Changping. With the provisions I carry, plus those cut off in Zhao’s camp, the army should have enough for three to four months. During that time, I’ll lead them in planting potatoes, and show them that with enough manpower, they can harvest several times more grain. Keeping prisoners alive is more profitable than killing them.”

“I’ll also persuade the King of Zhao to cede the small towns east of Shangdang originally belonging to Zhao. Given Zhao’s current strength, it can no longer stop Qin from swallowing the entire Taihang mountain range. If we don’t cede them now, Qin will attack them once they’ve recovered. It’s better to cede them now, so Qin won’t have to waste more troops and supplies, and Zhao won’t face another military threat.”

“Once they’re tempted by profit, I’ll appeal to reason. If Zhao’s soldiers voluntarily surrender, and Qin still slaughters them, then who among the six states would ever surrender again? They’ll all fight Qin to the death. Lord Wu’an is a seasoned general. He’ll understand that if every war becomes a fight to the death, Qin’s victories will come at great cost.”

Lian Po, Lin Xiangru, and Xun Kuang all mulled over Zhu Xiang’s plan and saw some chance of success.

Lian Po stroked his beard and said, “Using the argument that troops will fight to the death to persuade Bai Qi… that might work.”

Lin Xiangru sighed, “I really hate to let Qin get potatoes. But if it’s the only way to save hundreds of thousands of Zhao soldiers, then so be it.”

Xun Kuang was pleased. “I didn’t expect you to have the skills of a strategist and persuader.”

Zhu Xiang’s mouth twitched. “Master Xun, are you praising or insulting me? Weren’t you the one who wrote all those essays scolding persuaders and lobbyists?”

The three old men all estimated that Zhu Xiang had at least a 50% chance of success. The rest depended on Bai Qi’s character.

If Bai Qi was truly as bloodthirsty as the rumors claimed, then no amount of logic would persuade him. But since Zhu Xiang offered ample benefits, even if Bai Qi rejected them, he wouldn’t turn on Zhu Xiang. Zhu Xiang would return safely. This comforted the old men.

They thought, just as Zhu Xiang himself said, he truly valued his life.

Zhu Xiang thought the King of Zhao would summon and encourage him in person. That’s what all the history books said.

But unexpectedly, after submitting his bamboo slip with his plan, the King simply approved it without even granting an audience.

Zhu Xiang was puzzled. Did the king trust him that much?

Though Lou Huan hadn’t heard Zhu Xiang’s conversation with Lin Xiangru, Lian Po, and Xun Kuang, he got word from Lou Chang.

Lou Huan quietly said to Zhu Xiang: “The King of Zhao doesn’t care whether you succeed or fail. If you succeed, great. If not, he’ll use your death to appease the outrage of the people. That’s why he didn’t bother to meet you.”

Zhu Xiang actually laughed. “Even so, he should at least pretend to care! This king is truly amusing.”

Lou Huan mocked, “Very amusing indeed.” Compared to his own liege, the King of Zhao was inferior—even Zhao He, that unfilial brat, was better.

Zhu Xiang said, “If he won’t see me, so be it. That saves me the trouble.”

He paused. “You’re not just here on behalf of Xia Tong, right? You’re also here to protect Zheng’er, sent by Prince Zichu?”

Lou Huan was slightly taken aback, then sighed. “I can’t hide anything from you, Lord Zhu.”

Zhu Xiang said, “Xia Tong’s just a down-and-out scholar—how could he have persuaded Lou Chang? He must already be a retainer of Prince Zichu… or perhaps of the Chancellor?”

Lou Huan’s expression didn’t change as he casually lied, “Xia Tong is working for Prince Zichu.”

Working for myself isn’t wrong, Lou Huan thought.

Zhu Xiang sighed. “He picked a good master. That puts my mind at ease. Once Xue and Zheng’er enter Qin, Xia Tong, as a subordinate of Zichu, can help take care of them.”

Lou Huan frowned. “Lord Zhu, what do you mean? The King of Zhao is dim-witted—do you still want to serve him? Even if you do, will he use you?”

Zhu Xiang smiled and sighed again. “Since you’re here on Zichu’s behalf, I’ll be honest. No matter whether my mission succeeds or fails, once I return, the King will have me executed. You should use that chance to retrieve the hostage and take Xue and Zheng’er to Qin. I leave them in your care.”

Zhu Xiang bowed to the ground before Lou Huan.

When he first transmigrated to this world, he was unaccustomed to kneeling or kowtowing. Now, he had gotten used to it.

Lou Huan quickly helped him up, anxious. “Lord Zhu, what are you saying?!”

After getting up, Zhu Xiang just shook his head. “Just consider it planning ahead.”

Zhu Xiang trusted Lou Huan to protect Zheng, but not completely. So he didn’t reveal his true purpose.

Lou Huan knew Zhu Xiang didn’t fully trust him and grew anxious, but couldn’t ask further.

Still, with the fool Lou Chang around, Lou Huan was confident—if the king wanted Zhu Xiang dead, he’d find a way to save him.

Though the King didn’t summon Zhu Xiang, he quickly granted all the resources Zhu Xiang requested. Within days, food and maps were ready.

This time, supplies were gathered even faster than when Lian Po and Zhao Kuo went to war—because the nobles donated them.

If the Zhao army perished in Changping, there’d be no one left to till the fields or serve labor. Even the nobles would suffer.

This era was much like medieval Europe—when kings went to war, nobles followed with men and supplies. If they won, they shared the spoils and prisoners.

If too many Zhao people died, the nobles wouldn’t even have enough labor to work their fields. They wouldn’t starve, but losing half their grain stores still hurt.

More importantly, if Zhao’s defenses were too weak, other nations might invade Handan.

So the nobles all showed great generosity. Lord Pingyuan alone donated 100 cartloads of provisions.

Zhu Xiang departed with his supplies and maps.

Before leaving, he spent a night squeezed into bed with Xue and young Ying Zheng.

It was mid-August, not too hot. But little Ying Zheng, now chubby with baby fat thanks to Zhu Xiang’s care, radiated heat like a little stove, making his aunt and uncle sweat.

When Ying Zheng had first arrived at their home, he would curl up tightly in his sleep, full of insecurity.

Now, his tiny arm was draped over Zhu Xiang’s chest, one leg kicked at Xue—hogging more space than the adults, acting all smug.

Xue gently repositioned his flailing limbs and whispered, “Zheng’er is getting so well-behaved.”

Zhu Xiang was speechless. “You call this well-behaved?”

Xue laughed softly. “Yes, very well-behaved.”

Zhu Xiang sighed. “Alright, if you say so.”

After a moment of silence, Xue whispered, “Darling, are you sure this trip isn’t dangerous?”

Under the blanket, Zhu Xiang’s fist tightened, but he replied lightly, “If all goes well, of course it won’t be. But the journey is long—I might fall ill, face landslides, or bandits—Ow! Stop pinching me! If you keep pinching me, I’ll wake Zheng’er by pinching him!”

Xue panicked, “What nonsense! Don’t say such things!”

Zhu Xiang rubbed the sore spot and reassured her, “I’m just listing all the possibilities. If all goes well, I’ll return. If something happens… then I’ll rely on you to raise Zheng’er. He’s my only blood relative. If something happens to him, I’d never face my parents in the afterlife.”

Xue’s heart ached. She knew he was joking, but she couldn’t bear such jokes.

She couldn’t imagine living without him.

But as a traditional woman of the era—originally a child bride adopted to continue Zhu Xiang’s family line—when Zhu Xiang earnestly asked something of her, she couldn’t refuse.

Especially when it came to preserving his only bloodline.

Tears welled in Xue’s eyes. She wanted to say “yes,” but the words wouldn’t come.

When Zhu Xiang was by her side, she could be strong. But imagining life without him made her weak—she didn’t even dare think about it.

“Go to sleep,” Zhu Xiang whispered, reaching over the snoring Ying Zheng to gently stroke Xue’s soft hair.

He had secretly made her shampoo with plant-based essential oils—her hair was so smooth and fragrant. Every time he touched it, Zhu Xiang felt a deep sense of happiness.

Xue, like a child, rubbed against Zhu Xiang’s palm and choked out, “You must come back, my dear.”

Zhu Xiang replied, “Mm.”

He would come back, he was sure of it. But after that…

He knew that if something were to happen to him, Xue —who had shared life and death with him—would want to follow him in death. That was why he had arranged for Xue to spend every day with Zheng’er, so that she would develop motherly affection toward the child. For the sake of raising Zheng’er, no matter how heartbroken she was, she would continue living. Because that was the kind of resilient woman Xue was.

Tying a woman’s fate to a child’s was cruel, and Zhu Xiang felt guilty. But he wanted Xue to live.

He believed that time could dull sorrow. One year, two years… ten years. Xue might never forget him, but eventually, his death wouldn’t hinder her life anymore.

Zhu Xiang gently stroked Xue’s hair, just like he used to when putting her to sleep as a child.

And like always, though deeply saddened, Xue soon fell into a heavy sleep.

As for little Ying Zheng, he continued sleeping soundly, completely unaware of what had happened around him.

Children always sleep well when they feel safe. One blink, and it’s already the next day.

When Ying Zheng opened his eyes, he rolled over and “thump!”—landed right on his uncle’s body.

Zhu Xiang, still groggy, cried out in pain, “Oww, Zheng’er! What did your uncle do to make you angry now?”

“I’m not angry,” Ying Zheng said as he flopped around on Zhu Xiang’s belly and chest like a little chubby fish.

Zhu Xiang opened his eyes. “Is it because you don’t want me to go away?”

Ying Zheng clung tightly around his uncle’s neck, nearly choking him.

“Stop, stop—why are you so strong?” Zhu Xiang quickly sat up and pulled his would-be assassin of a nephew off of him.

The noise woke Xue. She rubbed her eyes and stared at Zhu Xiang in a daze—then tears began to fall again.

Seeing his aunt cry, Ying Zheng—though not afraid or sad, convinced his uncle would return safely—still blinked, and tears rolled down along with hers.

Zhu Xiang took turns comforting both the grown-up and the child. It nearly made him late to depart.

By the carriage, Lin Zhi supported Lin Xiangru. Lian Po was scolding his household staff. Xun Kuang and Cai Ze were each holding a large box, having been waiting for a while.

“Apologies, Zheng’er was crying too much. We’re late,” Zhu Xiang said.

Ying Zheng, holding Xue’s hand, suddenly started wailing again.

Though he wasn’t truly afraid for his uncle’s safety, he still tore away from Xue and dashed toward Zhu Xiang, wrapping himself around his legs and refusing to let go.

“Uncle, don’t go, please don’t go! Let’s just stay home!” Ying Zheng suddenly panicked. He had thought he wouldn’t panic, that he wouldn’t stop his uncle from chasing glory and renown. But now, he couldn’t control himself at all.

“I have to go. I already promised,” Zhu Xiang said, tousling the boy’s hair and handing him back to Xue.

Xue patted Ying Zheng’s back, and the tears she had just stopped shed once more. “My dear, take care.”

Zhu Xiang wiped away her tears. “Mm. You too.”

He took a deep breath and straightened his robes.

Though he was old enough to wear the crown of manhood, commoners didn’t wear it; it was a symbol of scholars and gentlemen. Even when he had previously held a low official post, he hadn’t worn a crown.

Now, he was dressed in the Hu-style attire favored by Zhao nobles, his hair combed neatly under a scholar’s crown. His posture was upright and proud, his farewell bow to the group so graceful he seemed like a model stepping out of a book.

“No need to see me off, everyone. I’m leaving.”

After bidding farewell, Zhu Xiang boarded the carriage.

The driver raised his whip—

“Wait!” came voices. Lord Pingyuan Zhao Sheng and Lord Pingyang Zhao Bao hurried over.

Zhu Xiang hadn’t expected this. He knew King Zhao wouldn’t see him off, and that other high officials wouldn’t dare defy the king either. Yet these two had come.

Zhao Sheng presented a lavish sword. Zhao Bao held a white jade pendant, smooth as mutton fat.

A fine sword for the brave. A jade pendant for the hero.

“No matter the outcome of this mission, I’ll do everything I can to protect your life,” Zhao Sheng promised.

Clearly, he too knew the king was trying to make Zhu Xiang a scapegoat for his own failures.

While Zhao Sheng had once acted foolishly in the Shangdang matter, he was truly a man who followed the noble code. Otherwise, why would he be one of the Four Lords among so many noble patrons? So when he promised, Zhu Xiang believed it.

“Take care,” Zhao Bao said.

Cautious by nature, Zhao Bao didn’t offer a bold promise, but gifting his own jade pendant was a silent testament to his resolve.

Zhu Xiang’s lips moved slightly.

He thought, These two must know I volunteered for this mission. They likely also know I’m well aware of the king’s intentions—and yet I still chose to go to Changping. That’s why they’re so moved.

But they didn’t know his own intentions.

Zhu Xiang cared only for the hundreds of thousands of Zhao people in Changping. He didn’t care about King Zhao or the Zhao state. If his plan succeeded, Zhao might not even benefit.

Still, seeing these two noblemen lower themselves to see him off, he accepted the sword and the jade.

“I will not fail you,” Zhu Xiang vowed and departed once more.

As he and the long line of grain wagons set off again, Lian Po drew his long sword and struck it rhythmically, singing:

“I leave with my chariot, to graze on the plains, From the Son of Heaven, they say I’ve been sent!”

It was from the Book of Songs, “Minor Odes – Setting Out with the Chariot.”

The poem described General Nan Zhong’s expedition under King Xuan of Zhou—first going to war, then returning in triumph.

Lian Po used his sword as an instrument to sing the poem in farewell. To him, Zhu Xiang’s diplomatic mission was no different from a battle. He hoped Zhu Xiang too would return in triumph.

Cai Ze set down the qin from his back. Xun Kuang sat on the ground, placed the instrument on his lap, and played. Cai Ze and Lin Zhi joined Lian Po’s singing. Zhao Sheng and Zhao Bao added quiet harmonies.

Only Lin Xiangru stood coughing, stretching to watch Zhu Xiang leave until his eyes brimmed with tears and he didn’t blink once.

Xue bent down and hugged the crying Ying Zheng. Through sobs, she said, “Don’t cry, Zheng’er. Your uncle will come home soon. Don’t cry…”

Nearby, an old farmer whispered, “Where’s Lord Zhu Xiang going?”

“To Changping,” someone answered. “The Qin are about to slaughter the prisoners. Lord Zhu Xiang is going to save them.”

“Are you serious?”

“Of course. It’s all over town—Hey, what are you doing?”

The old farmer dropped to his knees, kowtowing repeatedly toward the departing carriage. Blood soon streamed from his forehead.

Zhu Xiang could faintly hear the singing of his elders and friends behind him. He had been holding back, but now he couldn’t. He leaned out of the carriage.

The convoy had already gone far. He couldn’t see his friends anymore, only the lines of grain wagons stretching behind him—and beside the road, crowds had gathered.

Bent backs, ragged clothes, skeletal limbs, dirt-caked faces—poor commoners. Old and young. No able-bodied men. Few able-bodied women.

In the Warring States, population was sparse and wars frequent. Later dynasties rarely conscripted women due to concerns over chastity. But in this era, Zhao had already conscripted some women for the Battle of Changping.

Zhu Xiang was escorting over a month’s worth of rations. With too few soldiers available, most of the escort—aside from a few hundred private guards from Lian Po and Lin Xiangru—were either women or underage boys.

So those left kneeling along the road were only the elderly and the children.

These people didn’t know the Book of Songs. They couldn’t see Zhu Xiang off with music.

What they gave him was only kneeling, only kowtowing, only blood-smeared foreheads mixed with dirt and gravel.

Zhu Xiang abruptly pulled his upper body back into the carriage and sat upright, eyes tightly shut.

Changping.

The Zhao army had halted breakout attempts and set up camp for half a month.

They had only brought ten days’ worth of rations. Even with fish and wild game from the valley, tens of thousands of mouths quickly depleted the supply.

Today, the first disturbance occurred.

Some soldiers tried to drown their horse, pretending it had died accidentally—so they could eat the meat. They were reported.

By regulation, the soldier should have been executed. But morale was too low. Zhao Kuo chose only to flog him.

Even so, the soldier died. Already sick from hunger, the flogging left his back a mass of torn flesh. With no medicine, he developed a fever and didn’t survive the night.

Perhaps it was this that broke their faith.

A group of veteran soldiers now stepped forward to plead with Zhao Kuo: with no food left, it was time to start killing the horses.

Zhao Kuo lashed out in anger: “The Qin army comes to harass our positions every few days. Without horses, how can cavalry and chariots move out? Are we supposed to run through a storm of Qin arrows on foot?!”

An old soldier stammered, “But what’s the use of horses if people are dead? They even compete with us for food—we’ll have even less to eat.”

Zhao Kuo sneered, “Our army is camped in a river valley, where water and grass are plentiful. Horses only drink water and eat grass. How could they possibly be competing with people for food?”

The old soldier was dumbfounded by Zhao Kuo’s response and stood there speechless—not because he couldn’t argue back, but because he hadn’t expected the general to say such a thing.

“Horses only drink water and eat grass? If we run out of food, we’ll also have to live on water and grass! Whether it’s hay for horses or wild grass growing near the river valley, it’s still food we could eat!”

The old soldier wanted to argue but was dragged away before he could say anything, punished according to military law.

Several other veteran soldiers were also whipped. They developed fevers by nightfall and didn’t live to see the next day.

When they went to speak to Zhao Kuo, they never imagined they would be beaten to death.

They truly were seasoned Zhao soldiers, veterans of many battles under various commanders. So they knew that it was indeed difficult for low-ranking soldiers to speak to a general. But if they had good reason and the general agreed, they could offer their advice.

Some generals would declare in advance that no one was allowed to speak out of turn—anyone who disobeyed would face punishment, as Zhao She did when he deceived the Qin army. In such cases, lower-ranking officers and soldiers had to be prepared to die or be punished if they dared speak up.

This was an unspoken rule in the military.

But Zhao Kuo had not given such an order in advance, and the old soldiers believed they had ample reason to speak.

However, Zhao Kuo refused to abide by such military traditions.

In society, if a commoner blocked a noble’s carriage, they would be beaten regardless of the reason—if a commoner failed to bow or kneel when the carriage passed, or if they happened to make eye contact with a noble looking out, the noble had the right to punish them.

For a low-ranking soldier to offer advice to a general—especially advice deemed ridiculous—punishment was inevitable.

Now that Zhao’s army was surrounded and running out of food, with morale faltering, Zhao Kuo believed that strict enforcement of military law was necessary to prevent mutiny. He deliberately allowed the old soldier to speak, only to punish him afterward, using it as an example to enforce discipline among the troops.

Zhao Kuo had read many military texts, and he wasn’t wrong to use this tactic. In desperate times, harsh orders and absolute authority were effective at maintaining order.

The Zhao army camped firmly. Though the Qin army surrounded them, they didn’t launch a full assault, only occasional harassments. This eased Zhao Kuo’s pressure and allowed him to think more clearly.

He believed the King of Zhao had already received news of their encirclement and must be recruiting reinforcements. All he needed to do was hold the line and wait for help. Once the reinforcements arrived, they could launch a pincer attack and break the siege in one decisive blow.

The Art of War says that to encircle an enemy, one needs ten times their strength. Since the Qin forces were about equal in number to Zhao’s, Zhao Kuo was confident that once reinforcements came, they could break out.

What he needed now was to stabilize morale by any means and preserve the fighting strength of his army.

After this act of killing to warn others, there were no more complaints within the Zhao army.

Zhao Kuo reorganized the camp and redistributed the remaining food and supplies.

He and his officers ate well. Fish and game were reserved for him and the high command. His personal guards were fed to half-full. The best warhorses were gathered in the most fertile parts of the camp alongside the guards to preserve their strength. Only then were rations given to the regular troops. If a soldier distinguished himself in battle, he might earn extra food—or even the bones and offal leftover from the officers’ meals.

Zhao Kuo also slaughtered wounded and aging horses, salting the meat for himself, his officers, and as rewards for brave soldiers.

Once the order was issued, the army quickly fell into disciplined order. No more clamor was heard, and the soldiers fought more fiercely—many died heroically each day.

When a soldier died in battle, his comrades risked their lives to retrieve his body.

The first time Zhao Kuo saw this, he was deeply moved.

His deputy general couldn’t hold back and said, “They’re retrieving the corpses not out of brotherly love—but for the meat.”

Zhao Kuo was stunned—and then said no more.

In desperate times, using human flesh as rations was not uncommon. As long as he didn’t eat it himself, Zhao Kuo didn’t see a problem.

Still, he reorganized the camp again, separating himself even further from the outer barracks. Though he knew human flesh as rations was a battlefield norm, he couldn’t bear to witness it—he was kindhearted.

Under Zhao Kuo’s strict command, the Zhao army regained order, and no more complaints arose.

Zhao Kuo regained his confidence—he believed he could hold out until Zhao reinforcements arrived.

At that moment, Bai Qi allowed a few Zhao civilians to enter the Zhao camp.

“General,” the Zhao people cried, “the Qin reinforcements have arrived—but the King of Zhao has done nothing! He has abandoned us!”

Zhao Kuo was furious. He believed they were Qin agents sent to spread chaos and shake morale.

He executed the first one and questioned the second.

The second gave the same answer.

Zhao Kuo executed all of them and sent scouts to confirm the news.

The Qin army openly cleared a path for the scouts and courteously let them return once they’d gathered their information.

The scouts brought back the same report—not only had the King of Zhao sent no reinforcements, but Qin reinforcements had indeed arrived.

Zhao Kuo began to waver.

Why hadn’t the King of Zhao sent help? Had he run out of troops? That couldn’t be—there were still troops in Dai Prefecture, Yanmen, and Yunzhong. If he sent those stationed at the foot of Yinshan, the siege of Changping could be broken in no time!

Was it possible the king was angry at his earlier defeat and had truly abandoned him?

No—it couldn’t be! He was the son of Lord Ma Fu! His father had rendered immense service to Zhao—how could the king forsake him?

As Zhao Kuo panicked, a disturbance broke out in the camp.

He thought the news about the lack of reinforcements had leaked and the soldiers were mutinying. He rushed to suppress it.

When he arrived, he found the soldiers dancing and cheering joyfully.

Zhao Kuo called over a tall, well-built man who looked intelligent and asked, “What’s going on?”

The man had once been a roving swordsman, literate and well-spoken. “General, this area used to be General Lian’s old camp. When you ordered us to abandon this side of the camp, no one took the potatoes. Today someone fell ill from eating a poisonous plant. I had once planted potatoes with Lord Zhu Xiang, and I immediately recognized the plant. We dug below and found actual potatoes had grown!”

There was plenty of water in the valley, and the soil was rich with decomposing bodies. The potatoes Lian Po had buried for months had grown on their own.

This man, a brave warrior of better family background, had joined as a squad leader and now commanded a hundred-man unit on the camp’s outer edge.

The potato patch was located in the common soldiers’ camp. They weren’t from Handan and had only heard of Zhu Xiang and his potatoes but had never seen them—so they thought the potato was a poisonous weed.

It wasn’t until today that this warrior realized the so-called “poisonous weed” was a potato.

There weren’t many potatoes—far from enough to feed the Zhao army of over a hundred thousand after losing tens of thousands. But the regular soldiers had been without food for days, surviving on grass, tree bark, and even the flesh of their comrades, weighed down by immense psychological pressure.

People meant to eat grain were forced to eat roots, bark, and human flesh. Now that actual food appeared, it symbolized a return to humanity and became a spiritual anchor for them.

So that day, laughter finally returned to the Zhao camp.

The warrior held up a potato and said, “General, potatoes can be eaten cooked or roasted. Here’s a roasted one—please try it…”

Before he could finish, Zhao Kuo struck it from his hand with a whip.

The man quickly knelt down and gathered the fallen potato into his arms. “General, why do you do this?!”

“This kind of poisonous plant must not be eaten! Burn them all!” Zhao Kuo shouted angrily. “No one is to eat this! Zhu Xiang spread lies and poisoned the people! When I return, I’ll take his head!”

Zhao Kuo had no personal grudge against Zhu Xiang.

But before departing Handan, Zhu Xiang had said something to him that pierced his heart—just like the dismissive words from his parents—haunting his dreams.

Even his father had praised his military knowledge, but Zhu Xiang had ridiculed it as sophistry!

Zhao Kuo had wanted to prove himself on the battlefield and silence all his detractors—but he had failed.

Ever since being surrounded, Zhao Kuo would sometimes dream of his parents, Lord Lin Xiangru, and Zhu Xiang, all repeating those words of scorn.

He was furious. His parents and Lord Lin were one thing—but that low-born Zhu Xiang? How dare he look down on him?!

When Bai Qi first sent those Zhao civilians into camp and told him no reinforcements were coming, Zhao Kuo couldn’t sleep.

Though he could sleep now, he dreamt nightly of those words, of Zhu Xiang’s mocking face. His hatred for Zhu Xiang grew deeper and deeper.

That day, after hearing confirmation that the king hadn’t sent reinforcements, Zhao Kuo was already shaken. Now, of all times, the name “Zhu Xiang” came up again—why wouldn’t that ghost go away?!

Was it a curse? Was his misfortune caused by Zhu Xiang’s curse?

The more Zhao Kuo thought, the more frightened—and the more enraged—he became.

All the dark emotions that had built up over days burst out through a crack in his psyche. He hurled every curse and insult he could think of at Zhu Xiang, blaming him for everything—as if Zhu Xiang were the true cause of his downfall. By insulting and condemning Zhu Xiang, by saying he would kill him, Zhao Kuo found release from his fear and rage.

He even blamed the lack of reinforcements on Zhu Xiang.

Yes—it was all Zhu Xiang’s fault!

And with that thought, Zhao Kuo suddenly felt better.

When someone is crushed by pressure, unable to blame themselves or their superiors, they must find someone else to bear their hatred—and Zhu Xiang had appeared at just the right moment.

Why was it that the moment he confirmed the king had sent no reinforcements, the name “Zhu Xiang” appeared again?

“This is all Zhu Xiang’s fault!”

“Oh right, Zhu Xiang is the maternal uncle of the Qin hostage, so he must be a spy from Qin! The defeat at Changping was definitely his fault too! He’s a traitor to Zhao—I want him torn into a thousand pieces!”

Clang!

As Zhao Kuo was venting his anger on Zhu Xiang, a flash of light streaked before his eyes. By instinct, he drew his bronze sword and blocked the iron blade of a wandering warrior.

His hand sank—the exquisite bronze sword in his grip was actually chipped by the warrior’s plain iron blade!

“Are you rebelling?!” Zhao Kuo roared in fury.

His guards immediately stepped forward to protect him, drawing their swords and pointing them at the warrior.

“Don’t insult Lord Zhu Xiang,” said the warrior, holding the iron blade that Zhu Xiang had given him when he volunteered for the front lines.

As the warrior drew his blade, the soldiers behind him also drew their weapons and gathered around him.

“Don’t insult Lord Zhu Xiang! If it weren’t for him, our whole family would’ve starved!”

“Lord Zhu Xiang is not a Qin spy—you are! Zhu Xiang helped us survive; all you do is send us to our deaths!”

“Prince Zheng was abandoned at Zhu Xiang’s doorstep—we all saw it in our village. Zhu Xiang has nothing to do with Qin, and Prince Zheng was discarded by Qin people. Stop spouting nonsense!”

“Yeah, you’re the Qin spy! When General Lian led us into battle, everything was fine. Then you came, and we were defeated!”

“You made us throw away potatoes and eat tree bark! And… and… we had horse meat, but you made us eat human flesh! I ate my own father’s flesh—he offered himself to the Qin so I wouldn’t starve. He went to die willingly! If we hadn’t thrown away the potatoes, he wouldn’t have died, and I wouldn’t have eaten his flesh. I’m an animal… worse than an animal…”

“Yeah, it’s all your fault—we threw away the potatoes Lord Zhu Xiang gave us! General Lian ate potato stew every day, but you said potatoes were poisonous and made us throw away good food. You’re the Qin spy!”

“You fed wild herbs to horses and made us eat tree bark!”

“Squad Leader Wu advised that the horses shouldn’t eat the grass meant for soldiers—you beat him to death!”

“Kill him! It’s all his fault!”

“If not for Zhao Kuo, we wouldn’t be trapped here! Kill Zhao Kuo! Kill him!”

“He’s going back to kill Lord Zhu Xiang—if Zhu Xiang dies, our families will starve!”

“Kill him!”

“Kill him!!”

The once disciplined Zhao army, after a long silence, suddenly mutinied.

Zhao Kuo never expected that insulting a low-born man like Zhu Xiang would spark a mutiny among Zhao’s soldiers!

Why?! Why did Zhu Xiang have such great prestige among Zhao’s soldiers? Why would men who would rather eat their own kin than fight over bones Zhu Xiang had gnawed—why would they raise weapons against their own general for Zhu Xiang’s sake?

“You dare?! I am a general of King Zhao! I am the son of Lord Ma Fu!” Zhao Kuo screamed hysterically.

“Lord Ma Fu would never blame the innocent for a defeat. He wouldn’t eat horse meat while making us eat human flesh!” the warrior charged forward with his blade raised.

“What?!” The bamboo slip in Bai Qi’s hand slammed into his leg. He looked up in shock. “The Zhao army mutinied and killed Zhao Kuo?!”

Wang He cupped his fists and said, “Yes. The man leading them is called Bofu. He brought Zhao Kuo’s head and led the Zhao army to open the gates and surrender.”

Bai Qi was stunned for a while before rubbing his leg where the bamboo had struck. He frowned and said, “This is bad.”

“Isn’t surrendering a good thing? Why is it bad?” asked the old man beside him.

The old man wore a simple black linen robe with no patterns. He held a bowl of half-eaten bean porridge, just like a regular village elder.

Bai Qi sighed, “My lord, we can’t afford to feed 200,000 Zhao soldiers. I was planning to wait until they were too weak from hunger, then deceive them into opening the gates and slaughter them all. Now they still have strength—it’s harder to kill them. And since they killed their own general to surrender, they’ve earned merit…”

Before he finished, the old man set his bowl down, stroked his gray beard, and said, “If we kill surrendered Zhao soldiers who slew their own commander, then in future battles, every enemy will fight to the death rather than surrender.”

Bai Qi let out a long sigh.

Bai Qi deeply valued human life. That’s precisely why he fought wars of annihilation.

They couldn’t afford to keep prisoners alive. Sending them back only meant they’d fight the Qin again next time. Eliminating enemy soldiers weakened a nation far more than occupying its land.

Though Bai Qi was infamous for massive killings, he was not a mindless butcher. If the harm outweighed the benefit, he wouldn’t act.

He had long hesitated over whether to slaughter the Zhao prisoners. He and the old man (his king) had debated this for a long time without coming to a decision.

Without deception, even starving Zhao soldiers would resist to the end, and storming the camp would cost lives. Bai Qi valued human life—for the sake of saving Qin lives by destroying the enemy. What mattered more: Qin’s reputation or the lives of Qin soldiers? Bai Qi had already made his decision—he just hadn’t convinced the Qin king yet.

Slaughtering the enemy in battle and tricking surrendered prisoners were two different matters. The Qin king’s reputation was already poor; if Bai Qi tricked and slaughtered Zhao prisoners, it would worsen further. The king feared future talents would be reluctant to come to Qin.

Still, the king was a pragmatic man.

Unable to feed them and unwilling to let them go—after some hesitation, he’d probably agree to the killing. Reputation could be repaired after unifying the six states.

Probably.

Now, both monarch and general looked at each other, completely stuck.

Massacring enemies and betraying surrendered prisoners were two different things—but killing surrendered soldiers who had earned merit? That was a whole different level.

The Qin king anxiously tugged at his beard: “Lord Wu’an, what should we do?”

Bai Qi answered decisively, “This lowly general does not know.”

The king yanked out more beard hairs: “If you don’t know, then who should I ask?”

Bai Qi replied, “Send a letter to the Chancellor?” Why not ask the all-knowing Chancellor Fan?

The king glared at Bai Qi: “A letter? How many days will that take round trip? Should we feed the Zhao army while we wait?”

Bai Qi held his head—his headache worsened.

The king, also frustrated, changed the subject: “Why did the Zhao army mutiny? Even if they rebelled due to hunger, they dared behead their general—there must be a reason.”

Wang He said, “My lord, it’s said to be because of Zhu Xiang. Zhao Kuo insulted him, said he’d kill him when he returned, and the soldiers revolted.”

The king looked at the beard hairs in his hand: “What?!”

The bamboo slip Bai Qi had just picked up hit his leg again: “What?!”

The two looked at each other in disbelief again.

What did this have to do with Zhu Xiang? Wasn’t he just good at farming? How did he win such loyalty that Zhao soldiers killed their general for him?

The Qin king slapped Bai Qi on the back: “Go find out what really happened!”

Bai Qi sighed silently and left.

The king picked up his bowl and resumed eating bean porridge.

Food was scarce in the army—bean porridge was already a luxury. It tasted better than barley gruel, at least.

Bai Qi summoned the “culprit” of the Zhao army mutiny: Bofu.

Bofu was a typical commoner’s name—it meant “eldest son.”

Bai Qi didn’t look down on Bofu for lacking a surname. He praised him with a “Nice skills,” and then asked in detail about the surrender.

Bofu was the very wandering warrior.

He was eloquent and described events vividly and thoroughly.

But Bai Qi didn’t understand.

Even after several rounds of questioning, he still didn’t understand.

Not until the Qin king, now full of bean porridge, came over pretending to be Bai Qi’s aide did he begin to piece things together.

Why was Zhao Kuo so irrationally opposed to potatoes? Why slander and try to kill Zhu Xiang? Bai Qi was completely baffled.

However, Bai Qi could understand why the soldiers would rise up for Zhu Xiang.

Zhao Kuo had previously executed respected old soldiers, instilling fear but also deep resentment.

Later, he ensured his elite guards and horses had food, while ordinary soldiers were left to eat corpses. Hatred had festered for a long time.

Now, Zhao Kuo irrationally burned good food and tried to kill Zhu Xiang—a man held in the highest regard among commoners. With someone to lead the charge, the soldiers, full of pent-up rage, followed.

But if no one had taken the lead, the soldiers probably would’ve continued enduring it all.

Bai Qi looked at the unflinching Bofu: “From the way you speak, you know Zhu Xiang well?”

Bofu replied, “My home is on Lord Lin’s land. Zhu Xiang has taken care of us for many years.”

Bai Qi rubbed his temples: “Then this Zhu Xiang…”

Before he finished, Sima Jin ran over: “General! Zhao has sent an envoy to negotiate. They request release of the besieged troops and have brought lots of grain!”

At the word “grain,” Bai Qi felt relief and clarity.

The Qin king’s eyes lit up too.

“Who’s the envoy? Could it be Lin Xiangru?” The king still remembered the man who had once dared to force him to beat the drum.

Sima Jin said, “No, it’s Zhu Xiang! I kept hearing the Zhao soldiers talk about Zhu Xiang, and now he’s the envoy?! Isn’t he just a great farmer?!”

Overjoyed, Sima Jin had rushed to deliver the news personally.

General! Your Majesty! The farmer everyone’s been talking about—he came as envoy!

Bofu was shocked—the severed head he held dropped, and Zhao Kuo’s wide-eyed corpse rolled twice on the ground: “Why would Lord Zhu Xiang come here? The Zhao king never gave him an official title—why send him as envoy?!”

“Oh, the Zhao men who sent word said the king had abandoned you. Zhu Xiang bribed the high minister Lou Chang with gold to get this mission. The Zhao king didn’t even meet with him before sending him off,” Sima Jin said clearly.

Bofu and the Zhao soldiers behind him froze—then burst into tears.