HCT – Chapter 246 King Zheng of Qin Raises a Son

At the end of September, King Zheng of Qin dispatched his troops, and by October they had taken Daliang City.

Lian Po spent more than two leisurely months sweeping through the entire state of Wei. Neither Zhao, Yan, nor Chu sent troops to aid Wei. Chu was in the midst of internal chaos, while King Yān of Zhao had—yet again—launched another attack on Yan.

Xiang Yan welcomed back Prince Qi and supported him as the new King of Chu. Then he led his forces back to Chu and encircled the capital, Chen.

The excuse he used sounded impeccable—he claimed that Li Yuan and the Queen Dowager had murdered the former king, and that he had found evidence. He said he was rising up to avenge the late king.

Of course, Xiang Yan had found no such evidence, but by pure accident, his accusation actually hit upon the real truth.

The former Queen of Chu had already been honored as Queen Dowager. She had long harbored guilt, and she blamed her elder brother Li Yuan as well.

Her own son was the crown prince, and the Chu king’s health was poor—he would not live many more years. When he died, her son would naturally inherit the throne. Why would they need to kill the king at all?

But she could not defy her brother and was forced into committing that monstrous deed.

When the news arrived at the Chu palace that Xiang Yan had rebelled in the name of avenging the king, Queen Dowager Li broke under the pressure and guilt and hanged herself.

The matter of Li Yuan and the Queen Dowager murdering the former king was completely unknown to King Hàn of Chu.

He deeply respected his father. Especially after the former king exiled Prince Qi and reinstated him as the crown prince, his feelings toward his father grew even stronger.

Upon hearing of the Queen Dowager’s suicide, King Hàn guessed that his maternal uncle and mother might really have murdered the former king. His mind collapsed under the realization, and he fell gravely ill.

Although Li Yuan declared publicly that the Queen Dowager had killed herself out of fury over Xiang Yan’s false accusations, and that the king had fallen ill from the grief of losing his mother, the nobles of Chu had always looked down on Li Yuan’s humble origins. Li Yuan had been far too arrogant earlier, and many seized this chance to kick him when he was down.

Soon, Chu nobles opened the city gates to Prince Qi and Xiang Yan. Li Yuan’s entire clan was exterminated, King Hàn was killed, and Prince Qi ascended the throne as the new King of Chu.

Xiang Yan finally attained the title he had long desired—he was enfeoffed as Lord of Linwu.

The “Lord of Linwu” title in Chu, like Qin’s Lord of Wu’an, was not a territorial title but one with special significance. The previous Lord of Linwu had been the celebrated Chu general Jingyang. Although the Jing and Zhao clans had rebelled and founded the southern state of Chu, Chu generals still took pride in the Linwu title.

King Qi of Chu increased Xiang Yan’s fief, but Xiang Yan was not satisfied.

The Xiang clan had originated from the Spring and Autumn–era Xiang Kingdom, which had been destroyed by Qi. Later, they served the state of Lu. After Chu conquered Lu, this land became part of Chu.

With his clan devastated and his kinsmen captured, Xiang Yan hoped to take back Xiang City as his fief, so he could face his ancestors with dignity, washing away the shame of their capture.

But after Qin had driven King Xiang of Chu from Ying to Chen, Xiang City—located safely between the Huai River and the Yellow River—had become a secondary capital of Chu.

Now Xiang Yan wanted Chu’s secondary capital as his personal fief. How could King Qi possibly agree?

Xiang Yan refused to back down, and his long-suppressed temper finally erupted.

Because his entire clan had been taken prisoner, he had not defected from Chu. Instead, he went to welcome Prince Qi back to succeed the throne, overthrowing the incompetent and vicious King Hàn and Li Yuan. He was, in every sense, the savior of Chu.

Without him, Chu would already have been destroyed. King Qi would still be a fugitive hiding in Wei.

Now King Qi sat on the throne thanks to him—and yet he couldn’t even grant him a single Xiang City? He was expected to be appeased with just “Lord of Linwu”?

Was all the merit he had earned, all the humiliation he had shouldered for Chu, not worth even exchanging Chu’s secondary capital?! Chu had more than one secondary capital!

Xiang Yan had believed that once he escorted Prince Qi home, he would be able to influence the king’s decisions.

But he hadn’t expected that once he returned with the army, things would no longer be the same.

In Chu, the three great clans were the Qu, Jing, and Zhao clans. The Qu clan had always remained close to the king, and during the civil strife they quietly expanded their influence. Their current strength was no longer something to overlook.

While Xiang Yan had fought north and south against Qin, the Qu clan’s forces had suffered no losses, continuing to guard Chen.

After the destruction of southern Chu, many nobles of the Jing and Zhao clans fled north to join Chu.

Among the royal surname of Mi, family ties ran deep. Even though some had once rebelled, now that they came bringing their retainers to submit, the king welcomed them gladly. These Jing and Zhao refugees were all placed under the Qu clan’s oversight.

Not only the Qu clan—even if the Jing and Zhao clans held great ambition, none of them wanted an outsider to sit above the Chu royal house.

The destruction of southern Chu only strengthened their belief in “Heaven’s Mandate”—that the king of Chu must always be from the royal Mi lineage. As long as they sided with the king, even if Chu were someday conquered, they could still defect to Qin and live as nobles.

King Zheng of Qin’s eldest son was also born of a woman from the Mi clan. Their retreat was secure.

King Qi of Chu himself was not a fool.

After fleeing to southern Chu, he had befriended many nobles there.

When he returned to Chen, he secretly reached out to the nobles who had fled north, promising to restore the privileges their families enjoyed before the split of southern Chu.

Not all members of the Jing and Zhao clans had gone south—they had left half their network in Chu as a fallback. Even though their status had fallen due to the former king’s hostility, they were still above ordinary nobles.

With King Qi’s promises, the Jing and Zhao clans immediately united around him, becoming his “direct power base.”

King Qi then persuaded the Qu clan. The Jing and Zhao had founded southern Chu, but it was still just internal strife among the Mi descendants, brothers quarreling within. When facing external threats, the Mi clans must unite. How could affairs of the Chu royal family involve the Xiang clan?

King Qi was not an ungrateful man. The title of Lord of Linwu could be given, the fief could be expanded, and if Xiang Yan wished to serve as Lingyin (prime minister), even that was negotiable. But Xiang City, as Chu’s secondary capital, could never be granted to another.

Xiang Yan’s insistence on Xiang City alarmed all other Chu nobles.

After the partition of Jin into three states and the Tian clan’s takeover of Qi, the divine authority of kings had been broken. Every king feared powerful ministers.

Moreover, after the split of southern Chu, they had barely salvaged the kingdom’s dignity by framing it as a “familial division” under the royal surname Mi.

If Xiang Yan were given the secondary capital, what would he demand next? None of them could imagine it.

They all visited Xiang Yan to persuade him to step back. The secondary capital held enormous political significance—Xiang Yan could not manage it. If he would retreat on this issue, they promised to persuade the king to double his fief. Was that not better than a single Xiang City?

But this time Xiang Yan was immovable.

To the old aristocracy of the Spring and Autumn and Warring States, ancestors and clan mattered more than anything. Xiang Yan had lost his entire clan—if he could not gain something that allowed him to stand tall before his forefathers, he would never have peace.

Moreover, with the entire state of Chu standing against him, Xiang Yan began to feel a looming threat.

One of Xiang Yan’s retainers advised him: “The Chu royal line is infamous for being harsh and ungrateful. Look at the fates of Wu Qi, Qu Yuan, and Huang Xie, all of whom once helped Chu. General, you know this well. Xiangcheng sits between the Huai River and the Yellow River, the farthest from Qin and strongly fortified. Only by securing it can you peacefully build your own strength, and avoid ending up like those three.”

Xiang Yan looked at Xiangcheng’s position on the map and knew the retainer was right.

After calming down, he also understood why King Qi of Chu refused to grant Xiangcheng to him.  Wei and Han had both fallen, and Chen, the capital, was far too close to Qin. King Qi probably wanted to relocate the auxiliary capital to Xiangcheng.

Precisely for that reason, Xiang Yan felt even more compelled to seize Xiangcheng.

Even if it became his fief only in name, once King Qi of Chu and the noble clans of the Mi surname fled to Xiangcheng, they would have to act according to his will. Only then would he break free from the constraints he now suffered.

The sorrow of losing his clansmen and the fury of being betrayed by the Chu king had already changed Xiang Yan’s once loyal heart. He was still loyal to the state of Chu, but he no longer trusted the king.

In his eyes, the troops under the Mi surname’s three branches were just a fragile mob that would crumble upon impact. He doubted these people even had the courage to fight him.

Xiang Yan held his general’s seal tightly, and he began spreading among his soldiers that King Qi sought to “burn the bridge after crossing” and that the Mi clan wanted to steal their military merits. Slowly, he turned the army he had brought back from the Qin battlefields into his personal force.

Neither King Qi of Chu nor Xiang Yan was willing to yield. The internal situation grew precarious, ready to explode at any moment.

When King Zheng of Qin learned of this, he once considered taking the opportunity to invade Chu.

But having been taught for years by Li Mu, and having also received guidance from Bai Qi and Lian Po, his grasp of military situations was far sharper than ordinary people’s. After thinking carefully, he calmed down.

This was not the right time to strike Chu. If Qin attacked, King Qi and Xiang Yan might set aside their differences under external pressure and unite against Qin.

He needed to give Chu a relaxed environment—one where King Qi and Xiang Yan didn’t have to worry about outside threats and could focus entirely on weakening each other.

In this war of unification, the fewer casualties Qin suffered, the better. He had patience.

His great-grandfather, grandfather, and father all restrained their ambitions so that the final glory of unification would rest in his hands. How could he be impatient?

After changing the era name, King Zheng immediately appointed Fusu as Crown Prince, and generously rewarded Empress Dowager Huayang and her family, creating the illusion that he was favoring Chu-aligned relatives at court.

He also granted Lady Mi the rank of Bazi—the first woman of the inner palace to receive an official title.

As for why she was not made Queen, King Zheng had plenty of excuses.

After giving birth to Fusu, Lady Mi’s health had been poor. King Zheng claimed he did not want a queen who might die early, as it was inauspicious. If her health improved, he said, he would make her queen once he unified the realm.

A painted promise.

When Zhu Xiang heard about this while farming in Wei, he had extremely mixed feelings.

Zheng’er disdained the act of killing the mother to keep the son. So by giving Lady Mi such a promise, he had basically confirmed that she did not have long to live.

Zhu Xiang wiped the dirt from his face with the sweat cloth hanging around his neck and sighed.

From the ridge of the field, several Wei nobles watched Zhu Xiang working in the soil—digging up clumps of dirt here, sniffing dry straw there—and they all looked at him with deep contempt.

Rumors said that Lord Changping, Zhu Xiang, possessed extraordinary understanding of agriculture. He would personally come to the fields to farm, observe conditions, and teach farmers the best methods.

When they only heard the rumors, they praised him endlessly.

But seeing him with their own eyes—sweat and dust mixed into mud on his skin, bending like an old farmer, his formerly upright figure stooped among commoners—they covered their noses, unable to hide their disgust even when they tried.

Zhu Xiang was long used to it.

People in later eras loved to talk about being “naturally gifted at farming,” but how many could face the smell of dirt, sweat, and manure without feeling sick?

It was biological—nothing strange at all.

Real farming was exactly this—if it wasn’t dirty, smelly, tiring, and muddy, it wasn’t farming.

Zhu Xiang still didn’t go into the fields often—he only supervised and advised—so he could still stand straight.

If an ordinary farmer reached his age, his back would already be permanently bent from years of labor.

His filth lasted only for a moment. A farmer’s filth lasted a lifetime. He brought the Wei nobles to the fields to watch him farm, and then he forced them to farm alongside him—not to inspire empathy for the peasants, but to show them how miserable common life truly was, so they would cling tighter to their current wealth.

Many scholars, swept up by passion, would shout: “I’d rather resign and become a self-sufficient farmer!”

But most of them had no idea how hard the life of a “self-sufficient farmer” was.

Even the “self-sufficient commoners” they spoke of were more like small landlords in later eras—not actual peasants.

In the Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods, those demoted from the scholar class to commoners became the earliest small-landlord class—the seed of what would later be called the “cold-gates.” Except for a rare few poets like Du Fu, who truly saw those ground into the dust, most poems referring to “commoners” meant these small-landlord families.

Their lives were far better than true farmers’, yet compared to modern standards, even they lived in bitter hardship.

Landlords and their wives still had to work the fields. Only in years of abundant harvests could they eat polished rice or wheat flour. In bad years, they starved or became refugees.

Even in good years, they could only eat meat and drink cloudy wine during festivals.

Meanwhile, the scholar-official class were still half-slavemasters. They truly lived without touching the ground.

Zhu Xiang used the soil itself to teach them: If they resisted Qin and wished to become commoners who must farm their own land—could they withstand such suffering?

Zhu Xiang especially instructed that the young sons of Wei noble families must be chosen, in rotation, to farm under his supervision—not one was to be exempt.

He said that students from Xianyang Academy all learned this way. “I’m giving you the chance to study under me—something Qin scholars beg for. You dare disobey?”

Even those Wei nobles who resented Qin immediately sent their sons.

They themselves looked down on Zhu Xiang for working in the fields, but they fully supported making their own sons do the same.

Such was the way of elders. Hard, dirty, exhausting work? These were “valuable hardships” for the young. As long as they themselves didn’t need to farm, everything was acceptable.

Zhu Xiang assigned student-scholars from Xianyang Academy to lead these pampered Wei youths—who would peel after even a little early-spring sunlight—to till the soil, repeating constantly: “This is the life of the common people. If your family loses its noble status, even if you still own land, you will suffer this every single day.”

Who doesn’t desire wealth?

Who willingly chooses labor?

Even if the older Wei scholars could swallow such hardship out of stubborn pride, would their pampered young sons—raised on luxury—endure it?

And if a family raised such delicate children, it meant their elders also loved comfort.

Once these youths returned home crying, how would those comfort-loving elders react?

A centipede doesn’t die easily—noble clans of the Six Kingdoms had deep roots and couldn’t be wiped out quickly. Only by making them devour themselves from within could they be destroyed completely.

Zhu Xiang compiled the results of the experiment on “labor reform” of the Wei nobles and had someone deliver them to King Zheng of Qin.

Qin King Zheng read as he tapped his fingers on the table. When his fingers turned numb, the first thing he muttered wasn’t “My uncle is brilliant,” but rather, “When is Uncle coming back to take care of Fusu?”

Of course, this didn’t mean he thought his uncle’s method was anything less than impressive. Although the approach was rather gentle—too gentle, giving face to those stubborn old nobles from the Six Kingdoms—there were benefits to being gentle. Qin King Zheng disliked gentleness, but he didn’t deny that sometimes gentleness worked better than brute force.

Even though he really did not like gentleness. (Emphasis.)

It was widely known throughout the realm that his uncle possessed the talent of a king’s right-hand man. Nothing surprising about that. His uncle had already set things in motion in Wei—he could leave the rest to others.

Otherwise, what was the point of running the Xianyang Academy all these years? Had all the money and grain Qin invested gone to waste?

His aunt had also returned to Southern Qin.

Southern Qin was a crucial producer of silk and cotton, and all the major government workshops there were managed by his aunt.

Even though Li Si and Han Fei were stationed in the south, Qin King Zheng trusted his uncle and aunt more.

His uncle soothed the newly conquered lands in Xianyang for him; his aunt protected the vast rear base in Southern Qin. With both of them supporting him, he could carry out his ambitions with peace of mind.

With both uncle and aunt absent from Xianyang, Qin King Zheng first attempted to let Consort Mi take care of Fusu for a while.

Consort Mi’s health was poor, so she arranged a flock of wet nurses and servants for Fusu. Qin King Zheng went to take a look, and dissatisfied that the crown prince was being raised by servants, he handed Fusu over to Grand Empress Dowager Huayang and Empress Dowager Xia to raise together.

He thought: Empress Dowager Xia had raised his father when he was young, and Empress Dowager Huayang had raised Chengjiao when he was young—they should know how to raise a child.

But after some time, Qin King Zheng went to take another look and discovered that Huayang and Xia were also leaving Fusu to wet nurses and servants. They only checked in slightly more often than Consort Mi. Fusu was still being raised by servants.

How can the Crown Prince of Qin be raised by servants?!

When Qin King Zheng heard from his spies that a wet nurse often whispered into not-yet-talking Fusu’s ears, telling him that he must be filial to her when he grew up, Qin King Zheng was thoroughly enraged.

You’re a slave, and you dare ask the Crown Prince to be filial to you?! What kind of wet nurse are you? Do you really think you’re his “mother”?

Qin King Zheng’s killing intent surged, but was persuaded down by the two Empress Dowagers.

Only then did he learn that this was how noblewomen raised their children.

Qin King Zheng fell into deep thought and returned to the crumbling dreamscape to ask his dream-self whether this was normal.

Dream Ying Zheng said: I know nothing.

He was busy with government affairs. He only visited the harem to “cultivate heirs.” Even for his eldest son Fusu, before the child was old enough for formal education, he barely paid attention—at most seeing him occasionally and teasing him a little.

What man personally raises his own child? Isn’t that ridiculous?

Although dream Ying Zheng said nothing out loud, Qin King Zheng still gleaned this attitude from his memories.

Raised personally by his uncle and aunt despite having countless servants at home, Qin King Zheng could not accept this.

Fine—his dream-self was self-taught, and all past Qin kings had been raised by servants. As long as later education was proper, Fusu shouldn’t grow crooked.

Probably?

Qin King Zheng wasn’t sure.

He dared to appoint the dissatisfied dream-version of Fusu as Crown Prince only because he trusted his uncle and aunt’s teaching.

If Fusu were raised by servants yet wore the title of Crown Prince, he might not grow into the upright, brave, righteous young lord he was supposed to become.

He might turn into a pampered wastrel.

Like the King of Zhao. And the new King of Zhao. And the brand-new King of Zhao.

Qin King Zheng shuddered and gritted his teeth. He decided to keep Fusu by his side.

Even if servants cared for him, at least with Qin King Zheng watching, no one would dare instill ideas like “be filial to the servants” into the prince.

As for the wet nurse who whispered incessantly to Fusu—Qin King Zheng had her executed.

Even though the Empress Dowagers and other elders told him that noble children tended to be very close to their wet nurses, and some even treated them as senior family members—that this was normal and nothing serious.

These “nothing serious” words only solidified Qin King Zheng’s killing intent.

When the king handled state affairs, Fusu’s cradle sat right beside his desk.

Originally, he thought raising a child would be simple—after all, other people did the work, and he only needed to give orders.

But once he actually started, Qin King Zheng learned just how troublesome children were.

Wet, dirty, hungry, crying for no reason, sometimes not crying but squealing with laughter… Fusu, though still tiny, was bursting with energy. His routines were perfectly regular—awake during the day, asleep at night, and always noisy when Qin King Zheng was busiest.

Qin King Zheng often wanted to seal the infant’s mouth shut.

Chengjiao leaned over the cradle, shaking a rattle, speaking with the tone of an old man: “Fusu is already very well-behaved. My wet nurse says it’s extremely rare for a child to sleep through the night. And you’re still complaining.”

Qin King Zheng ground his teeth. “Then you raise him.”

Chengjiao grinned. “Sure, I’d raise him. But big brother, would you dare give him to me?”

What would a King of Qin ever not dare? He simply didn’t want to.

In the end, Qin King Zheng couldn’t bear it anymore and wrote to his uncle.

Uncle, come back quickly—Fusu needs you!

When Zhu Xiang received the letter pleading for help, he was confused.

Even if Zheng’er wasn’t satisfied with inexperienced Consort Mi, weren’t there still two Empress Dowagers in the palace? How could they not handle one Fusu?

But his great-nephew was important. And it was nearly Fusu’s one-year birthday—it was time for the grab-the-toys ceremony. Matters in Wei had already been arranged; he didn’t need to stay personally. It was time to return.

Wait… In this era it should be “great-nephew,” right? Or was the term “mi-sheng”?

Zhu Xiang sorted out his kinship with Fusu in his mind.

When Zhu Xiang returned to the palace in Xianyang, Qin King Zheng actually greeted him with Fusu in his arms.

Zhu Xiang was utterly shocked.

Heavens! Zheng’er holding a BABY?! I must write this in my diary!

“Here!” Qin King Zheng shoved Fusu into his arms with a dark expression.

Fusu was nearly a year old now, much bigger than before. His limbs no longer fit into tight swaddles. Dressed in warm, puffy clothes, his hands and feet were free.

The moment Qin King Zheng handed him over, Fusu lifted a tiny foot and kicked at his father.

Qin King Zheng dodged the unfilial brat with practiced ease.

Seeing this, Zhu Xiang’s expression twisted slightly.

Clearly Zheng’er had been tormented by this child.

Though Zhu Xiang hadn’t held a child in a long time, raising Zheng’er had ingrained the skill deep into his bones. After adjusting his grip a little, he made Fusu settle obediently in his arm, tugging softly at the folds of his robe.

Zhu Xiang chuckled. “This child truly is spirited. Quite like you when you were small.”

Qin King Zheng looked disgusted. “I wasn’t like this.”

Zhu Xiang gave his nephew some face in front of others. “If you say you weren’t, then you weren’t.”

Qin King Zheng’s expression darkened further.

If any minister saw this look, they would be trembling in fear.

But Zhu Xiang simply shook his head with a smile and muttered that Zheng’er was still so easily embarrassed and irritated.

Well, Zheng’er flared up fast and cooled down just as quickly—just pretend not to notice.

After taking Fusu, Zhu Xiang headed back to the carriage.

Qin King Zheng followed him inside, as always.

“Uncle, I don’t want Fusu to be raised by servants.”

“Ah, good. Then I’ll take him. He’s a year old now, healthy and sturdy, so I can carry him around on my back.”

Zhu Xiang patted the child gently.

Fusu yawned, curled his tiny fist against his chest, and nestled like a pup against him, falling fast asleep.

Qin King Zheng gave the sleeping Fusu a disdainful glance before lowering his voice to ask whether Zhu Xiang’s journey had been peaceful and whether anyone had treated him poorly—he’d punish them if so.

Zhu Xiang said everything had gone smoothly and then asked whether Qin King Zheng had been eating and sleeping well.

Of course, Qin King Zheng replied—absolutely not!

Zhu Xiang almost burst out laughing.

“Fusu needs another year before he can travel long distances with me. Let me nurse your body properly this year—don’t end up like your father.”

“Who would be like him?”

“Hahaha, good. Never be like him.”

…

After Zhu Xiang returned to Xianyang and took Crown Prince Fusu to be raised at his usual estate, Meng Ao, serving as commander with Sima Jin and Wang He as deputy generals, once again led a large army from Yanmen Commandery to attack Dai Commandery.

The King of Zhao was currently leading a great army to attack Yan. Meng Ao aimed to seize Dai and cut off the Zhao army’s route home.