HCT – Chapter 247 The Crown Prince’s First-Birthday Ceremony

Conquering cities and expanding territory is the best way to satisfy a monarch’s vanity.

Zhao King Yan would pick fights with the Yan State whenever he was bored. After winning, he wouldn’t even seize land—he’d just make Yan surrender and send tribute.

Seeing this, Zhu Xiang could only sigh: There is nothing new under the sun. The greatest “micro-operation sage” of later generations—Guangshen of the online-shrine Ten Sages—would definitely get along well with Zhao King Yan.

When Qin was sweeping across the Six States, Zhao King Yan refused to unite with other states against Qin and insisted on attacking Yan. Similarly, after Guangshen finally conquered Goguryeo through relentless micromanagement, Goguryeo immediately offered surrender. Guangshen accepted, withdrew his troops, and demanded nothing. Because of this, by the time Li Shimin later fought Goguryeo, they had fully “upgraded”—armed with Sui-style armor and weapons—becoming incredibly difficult to defeat.

Thinking about it this way, Guangshen was actually even more “effective,” since he set up problems that lasted until the Tang Dynasty. Zhao King Yan, at least, didn’t cause lasting trouble for Qin.

Zhao King Yan sent Pang Nuan to attack Yan again.

Pang Nuan was old and ill, but since the king ordered him, he still went.

Pang Nuan was a very clear-headed man. He could see the end approaching for Zhao and tried persuading Zhao King Yan to stop attacking Yan and focus on preparing for Qin instead.

But every time he advised him, Zhao King Yan would cold-shoulder him and strip him of command. Only when Pang Nuan obeyed unquestioningly would the king reuse him.

Guo Kai even sent people to mock him, saying, “You were promoted by the king. Loyalty is all you need. You think you’re worthy of influencing his decisions?”

Pang Nuan understood then: despite all his achievements, in Zhao King Yan’s eyes, he was still “not worthy.”

He even considered resigning. But he had waited his entire life, only to be fully utilized when he already had one foot in the grave. He couldn’t let go now.

Fine, then—he would go attack Yan.

If he died on the victorious battlefield, his reputation would still be decent. Wrapped in horsehide, he could at least repay the king for promoting him.

As for Zhao State’s future—when even the king didn’t care, why should he? He would do his best.

At this time, Pang Nuan had become rather free-spirited.

The campaign against Yan went smoothly; he won easily.

But on his return, he learned that Qin had already taken Dai Commandery, and he sighed deeply.

He knew Qin would not miss this opportunity.

He had expected Wei to hold out longer—long enough for him to return from Yan—but Wei didn’t even last six months. It collapsed as quickly as Han. Worse than Qi even.

Although the Qi King surrendered, at least Qi’s other cities resisted for a time; they didn’t fall completely in two or three months.

Now Pang Nuan had Yan behind him, Qin in front, and Zhao had no troops to reinforce him.

What could he do? Fight to the death.

The Yan King was not a wise ruler, but he wasn’t made of mud either.

Even though Yan had always been the one to provoke Zhao at weak moments, and Zhao’s attack could be considered justified, Yan had been beaten too many times. The king was furious.

Even if Yan ministers wanted to be rational and advise against attacking Zhao’s rear at this moment, they couldn’t.

True, with Qin having destroyed three states already, only Yan, Zhao, and Chu remained. Ideally, they should not fight one another.

But Zhao had just beaten Yan again—how could they “stay rational”?

Not just the king—even ordinary Yan people could no longer stay calm.

Yan had suffered too much from Zhao. Every autumn harvest, Zhao forces came to rob them. They hated Zhao to the bone.

Because Zhao King Yan repeatedly attacked, looted, and humiliated Yan, the Yan people’s hatred for him surpassed even that for Lian Po, who once committed a massacre in Yan.

And since Lian Po had been a Zhao general, many Yan people didn’t even know who led the troops—they only knew they were “Zhao soldiers.” Thus they directed the hatred at the Zhao king.

As for Zhao having changed kings—well, many Yan people didn’t even know whether their own king had changed, much less Zhao’s.

So when they saw Zhao troops trapped by Qin at the Yan border, local militias and wandering fighters spontaneously formed groups to harass Zhao’s army.

Their goal was very clear: take back the grain stolen from them.

They were starving; they couldn’t care that wooden sticks were no match for blades. Even if they didn’t manage to retrieve food, pulling one Zhao soldier down with them would be revenge enough.

At this time, Meng Ao of Qin was also in poor health. Like Wang He—who could barely walk and shouldn’t have been on the battlefield—he chose this battle as his final one.

Qin had already chosen the successor commander. Sima Jin, still reasonably healthy, would replace Meng Ao if he fell.

Other middle-aged Qin generals stood ready to rotate in as deputy commanders.

The entire army knew the two elder generals saw this war as their own grand funeral. They were not a grieving army, yet they fought like one; morale was unprecedentedly high.

When Qin decided to confront Zhao head-on, they discovered Zhao troops were already in chaos—because the Yan people were biting at their rear.

And these were just ordinary Yan civilians.

Meng Ao had predicted the Yan King would send troops for revenge, but he had not expected that even before official troops arrived, the people themselves would rise up.

The Yan people’s hatred for Zhao was so intense it made even Qin veterans shudder.

They heard that Yan civilians—men and women, young and old—attacked Zhao soldiers with stones and wooden forks. Whenever they captured a Zhao soldier, they stripped off all the flesh to make jerky and secretly hung the bones back in Zhao’s camp.

Such madness was beyond human. Even iron-hearted Qin soldiers felt fear.

Meng Ao sighed to Wang He: “Is this what Lord Changping meant by ‘the will of the people’?”

Wang He was silent for a long time. “That is why Lord Wu’an killed all who might resist, so that they would feel only fear and never dare to seek revenge.”

Sima Jin said, “Both Lord Changping and Lord Bai saw the power of the people, but chose different methods. But Lord Bai always said—given a choice, Lord Changping’s way was the correct one.”

Meng Ao laughed. “Yes… if one has a choice.”

Fortunately, they did have a choice now. Otherwise, they would be the ones dealing with these frenzied Yan people.

No— not just Yan. They would be facing the madness of all the Six States.

During Qin’s three-year famine, the other kingdoms also suffered. Zhao’s campaign against Yan crushed the last hope Yan people had after barely surviving the famine. How could they not go mad?

If Qin had also been unable to endure, choosing to plunder instead, the hatred of the Six States would one day explode—even if Qin suppressed it for the moment.

That was why the former king stopped the unification war early, even at the cost of leaving regrets.

Meng Ao found himself missing the former king.

Then he realized he also missed King Renwen and King Zhaoxiang.

Only then did it dawn on him—he had already served four reigns.

He had truly lived long.

“All right,” Meng Ao ended his reminiscing. “Though the Zhao army is weakened, we still have to fight. Since the Yan people helped us, let’s try to wipe out the entire Zhao force.”

Sima Jin grinned. “We can drive the fleeing Zhao soldiers into Yan territory and sell Yan a favor.”

Wang He snorted. “A favor? By letting the exhausted Yan army face desperate Zhao troops? Yan hardly has any elite soldiers left.”

Sima Jin said, “Exactly!”

The three old generals stroked their beards and laughed loudly.

Then the Qin army broke camp, and the three generals personally led the charge.

Wang He tied his legs to his horse, braced his back with a wooden frame, and brandished his spear as he roared forward.

Sima Jin had tried persuading him to ride in a chariot, but Wang He wanted to feel the thrill of galloping one last time.

The wind whipped past his gray hair, smoothing the wrinkles on his face.

He laughed heartily, urging the troops to follow. His spear danced powerfully, like in his youth.

Pang Nuan was guarded in the middle of the formation.

Standing on his chariot, watching Wang He’s charge, he felt sudden bitterness.

Both were old generals choosing their burial ground—but they were different.

Pang Nuan didn’t dare charge. He could only stay in the safest spot.

Not because he feared death, but because he knew Qin had backup commanders ready. If he died, Zhao’s army would scatter with no one to rally them.

He could die, but he wanted to bring his men home.

These Zhao soldiers hadn’t come to Yan by choice, nor did they want to become Yan people’s enemies.

Most were conscripts—whose families had already been torn apart before they were dragged to war.

He had to bring as many of them home as he could.

Pang Nuan rolled up his sleeves and beat the war drums himself, encouraging Zhao to break through.

Hold on, boys. If we break the Qin line, we can go home.

The Zhao army was solemn. Despite repeated harassment and facing certain doom, their morale was unyielding.

Because Qin blocked their path home.

Not for Zhao. Not for their king.

Going home—this was the single shared belief in every heart.

Not even Qin’s blades could stop that.

Zhu Xiang stayed with the child due to “superstitious belief.”

He believed that even if infants do not remember their early years, they have an instinctive sense of security. Early emotional safety is crucial.

So he often held Fusu in his arms—even when busy. When he needed to work in the garden, he strapped the unsteady toddler to his back and kept talking to him.

In the past, when others cared for Fusu, King Zheng of Qin only occasionally came to look.

But when Zhu Xiang took over, King Zheng came almost every day—only to complain that his uncle was spoiling Fusu too much.

“Do you really have to strap him on your back even when tending vegetables? Aren’t you tired?” he grumbled.

Zhu Xiang laughed. “But that’s how I raised you.”

King Zheng: “……”

Remembering the embarrassing moments of his childhood, his expression darkened.

Perhaps Zhu Xiang’s methods had merit—Fusu cried far less.

Zhu Xiang constantly praised him for being a good, obedient child—rarely fussing at night, and usually amusing himself instead of bothering elders.

“No wonder—he’s your son, Zheng’er. He takes after you.”

Hearing his uncle praised the child, King Zheng of Qin still looked full of disdain, saying that Fusu looked nothing like him—but the corners of his mouth still lifted by a few pixels.

As the day of the zhua zhou (first-birthday item-grabbing ceremony) drew near, Zhu Xiang began training Fusu.

The custom of zhua zhou was actually not perfected until the Wu Kingdom during the Three Kingdoms era. Before that, zhua zhou originated from pre-Qin “divination.” When an aristocratic child was born, they would place jade disks or other items before the child and let them grab something to divine the child’s future. But it had never yet formed a standardized custom.

But Zhu Xiang didn’t know that.

Zichu had once gifted him the jade ring he grabbed as a child, so Zhu Xiang assumed that everyone in this era already practiced zhua zhou. Thus, after entering Qin, whenever the Qin king or a familiar noble had a newborn, he would ask them about holding a zhua zhou.

Since Zhu Xiang asked, the Qin king and anyone familiar with him all began holding zhua zhou banquets. Later, Xunzi simply recorded it into the “Qin Rituals.”

Zhu Xiang had been in Qin for over a decade now—zhua zhou had already become a Qin tradition.

Zhu Xiang still did not know that he was the one who actually invented the zhua zhou banquet. He still thought it was a “custom since ancient times,” just not formally written.

But… it’s called “zhua zhou” (grabbing at one year old), not “Zhou ritual”—is that really logical?

Finally, it was Zhu Xiang’s turn to host a zhua zhou banquet (if Zheng’er was hosting, it basically meant he was hosting). He was ecstatic.

King Zheng originally only wanted Fusu to grab the seal, but who knew his uncle would be so greedy—he even trained Fusu to grab many things.

Zhu Xiang poked Fusu’s chubby little cheeks and instructed his grand-nephew, “Adults make choices. Children take everything. Fusu, everything on the table is yours. Take as much as you can—all of it if possible.”

Round and plump, Fusu stretched out his short legs while sitting on the table. His big head bobbed again and again. “Unc—uncle! Okay!”

King Zheng said disdainfully, “He is my uncle, so he is your great-uncle.”

Fusu didn’t understand the difference between uncle and great-uncle. He heard King Zheng say “uncle” all the time, so he continued to repeat “uncle.”

Zhu Xiang didn’t correct him and only laughed boisterously at the side, irritating King Zheng into pinching Fusu’s plump cheek.

He gave it one tug—hmm, the feel was really good—so he tugged again.

Fusu’s mouth scrunched up, and he opened his mouth to wail.

King Zheng guiltily pulled his hand back and stole a glance at his uncle.

Zhu Xiang was still laughing heartily, completely unconcerned with coaxing the child.

King Zheng sighed in relief and stroked Fusu’s fat cheek. “Don’t cry.”

Fusu immediately bit down on King Zheng’s wrist with a loud “Aow!”

Zhu Xiang: “Hahahahaha! Good boy, impressive!”

King Zheng began to doubt whether leaving Fusu in his uncle’s care had really been the right decision.

Time passed day by day amid King Zheng’s doubts, until finally, the day of Crown Prince Fusu’s zhua zhou arrived.

High ministers and members of the royal clan gathered around the large carpet, staring with wide eyes to see what the little prince would grab.

Although they all already knew the crown prince had certainly been trained and would most likely choose the seal or the ceremonial sword, they were still very curious to watch.

One-year-old children mostly act on instinct. Crying suddenly, being distracted by something else—perfectly normal during zhua zhou.

They didn’t want to see the prince embarrassed, but… who isn’t a bit of a spectator at heart?

With Lord Changping present, even if the prince made a fool of himself, the Qin king would likely not fly into a rage.

“All right, Fusu, do your best.” Zhu Xiang smiled as he placed the plump Fusu—who had been playing with his fingers—onto the carpet. “After you finish, we’ll go home for milk cakes.”

Little Fusu immediately perked up, stopped playing with his fingers, and lifted his round head.

He swept his eyes across the objects, then suddenly pulled out the sweat cloth tucked behind him.

The ministers: “?”

Little Fusu unfolded the sweat cloth—only to reveal an enormous piece of thin silk. Because it was so thin, it had looked small at first.

Cai Ze’s mouth twitched. Lin Zhi’s lips curved upward. Xunzi glared fiercely at Zhu Xiang.

Under their puzzled gazes, little Fusu began tossing the items on the carpet—small to large—onto the silk.

The seal, the tiny sword, books, jade pendants—everything went in.

The ministers: “…”

They silently looked toward King Zheng.

King Zheng still maintained his expressionless, water-like calm—no emotions visible.

They then looked toward Lord Changping.

Lord Zhu Xiang appeared utterly kind and grandfatherly as he watched little Fusu crawl around.

Their gazes returned to Fusu.

Little Fusu was fearless around strangers. He ignored everyone and continued piling items onto the silk.

Soon, he discovered the silk wasn’t big enough.

The ministers stretched their necks, eyes focused.

The little prince would finally have to choose. What would he sacrifice?

Fusu sat before the high mountain of items and fell into deep thought.

Zhu Xiang couldn’t help whispering to King Zheng, “The way he furrows his brows really does look like you.”

King Zheng snorted coldly.

Little Fusu looked at Zhu Xiang. “Unc—cle!”

King Zheng gritted his teeth. “Great-uncle!”

Little Fusu looked at King Zheng. “Fa… father!”

King Zheng said mercilessly, “Say Your Majesty Father.”

Zhu Xiang gestured covertly at Fusu and signaled with his eyes.

King Zheng stepped sideways, blocking Fusu’s view, forbidding his uncle from giving hints.

But little Fusu was a smart child—he remembered the game “uncle” had played with him during training.

He began crawling again.

This time, he crawled toward the edge of the carpet.

The ministers all stepped back.

They had heard some children grab their elders during zhua zhou. Did Zhu Xiang teach him to grab the Qin king? Honestly, that was not a bad idea.

But instead, they saw Fusu grab one corner of the carpet and begin pulling it inward with all his might.

The ministers: “!!!”

“Pfft.” Lin Zhi couldn’t hold it in.

“Sigh…” Cai Ze sighed deeply.

Xunzi shut his eyes to rest.

Inside his sleeves, his hand clenched around his ruler, planning to beat Zhu Xiang after the ceremony.

Who else would train the prince to do such a thing?

Under the ministers’ various disgusted, amused, or shocked expressions, little Fusu exerted all the strength of a milk-fed baby and successfully folded all four corners of the carpet inward.

Not by much—but enough to indicate: I, Crown Prince Fusu, want everything.

Little Fusu lay flat on his back in the center of the carpet, his round belly rising and falling rapidly as he panted.

So tired.

Then he fell asleep just like that, even snoring softly.

The ritual officer asked quietly, “Your Majesty, should we declare the ceremony over? Will it wake the prince?”

King Zheng ground his teeth. “He deserves to be woken!”

He strode forward, grabbed his exhausted, sleepy son by the back of his clothes, and lifted him up.

Little Fusu opened his eyes and said, “All… for Father!”

King Zheng: “…”

Zhu Xiang revealed a triumphant smile.

He had trained that part in secret from Zheng’er. Was it not a delightful surprise?

The ritual officer immediately shouted, “The Crown Prince has grabbed all the items and presented them to the Qin King!”

The ministers were stunned.

Lord Zhu Xiang—how exactly do you teach children? How could a one-year-old accomplish something so complicated? Teach us!

Xunzi’s clenched hands relaxed.

He smiled with satisfaction and no longer planned to beat Zhu Xiang.

Lin Zhi immediately cupped his hands. “The crown prince is filial! Congratulations, Your Majesty!”

Cai Ze echoed, “Congratulations, Your Majesty!”

The ministers all followed in chorus.

King Zheng kept a stiff face and silently settled his now-sleeping son into his arms.

After Zhu Xiang’s corrections, his child-holding technique had improved enough that the plump boy slept peacefully.

Zhu Xiang cupped his hands and smiled. “Congratulations.”

King Zheng sighed lightly and lowered his voice. “Uncle, I am no longer a child. You don’t need to coax me like this.”

Zhu Xiang replied, “Why must you be a child for me to coax you into happiness?”

King Zheng fell silent.

Fine. He was happy.

He patted his son’s backside. He suddenly didn’t feel so displeased with Fusu anymore.

The story of Crown Prince Fusu’s zhua zhou quickly spread—Xunzi had people turn it into various popular little tales.

Lin Zhi ensured the story spread rapidly across the land, letting the world know that after Qin’s four generations of enlightened rulers, the next crown prince would also be wise.

The crown prince was as domineering as ever—using the carpet as his wrapping cloth, rolling up all the items on the zhua zhou mat.

Yet he was also extremely filial—he presented everything to the Qin king.

Whether this was the prince’s own idea (unlikely) or taught by another, the fact that a one-year-old could execute this in one go proved just how intelligent he was.

“I heard the prince was raised by Lord Zhu Xiang. No wonder.”

“I heard that when the Qin king was still a child, he assisted Lord Zhu Xiang in handling state affairs. I wonder if that’s a rumor.”

“I’m from Chengdu—I saw it with my own eyes. Not a rumor. Back then the Qin king wasn’t even as tall as my waist.”

“What! You compared height with the Qin king!”

The bystanders grew solemn with respect.

Li Erlang smiled, bought a bunch of small street toys, and went to visit Zhu Xiang.

These toys were specifically requested by Zhu Xiang, to be given to the little prince as gifts.

The news that Qin now had another exceptionally intelligent crown prince—one taught by Zhu Xiang—made the scholars of the Three Kingdoms (yet to be destroyed) very uncomfortable.

What kind of country produces generation after generation of enlightened rulers? If one counted Qin Wu Wang and other ancestors, that was eight generations of wise kings.

A country with eight consecutive wise rulers—with no political chaos even amid succession struggles—one of whom even had been forcibly installed from an enemy state’s army… such luck could only be described as Heaven’s Mandate favors Qin.

When news came that Zhao’s army attacking Yan had been intercepted by Qin, and that under Qin and Yan’s joint pressure they were nearly annihilated—and that the commander Pang Nuan had died in battle—the world sighed: Zhao was not far from destruction.

Zhao had only two types of elite troops: one directly under the Zhao king (managed by the grand general), and the northern border defense troops stationed in the three frontier counties against the nomads.

Jiuyuan, Yunzhong, Yanmen, and Dai had all fallen; the border troops mostly surrendered to Qin and were absorbed into Qin’s army.

Zhao’s only remaining elite force was Pang Nuan’s army attacking Yan.

But now Pang Nuan was dead, and that army annihilated. Even if Zhao had miraculous luck and dug up another long-lost general like Pang Nuan—who lived to seventy or eighty without ever fighting a single battle, then suddenly became famous in one fight—they still had no soldiers left.

In this battle, Qin also lost two generals.

The commander Meng Ao and his deputy Wang He died in battle. Deputy Sima Jin temporarily took command, completed the pursuit of the remnants, and escorted the coffins of Meng Ao and Wang He back to Xianyang.

King Zheng ordered the coffins opened and, ignoring the slight decay of the corpses, covered the two old generals with his own robe.

Zhu Xiang stood beside him, quietly watching the two old men one last time.

Wang He had many wounds, yet wore a wide smile—making it look somewhat eerie.

Meng Ao appeared peaceful; it was said he closed his eyes serenely after the battle. Strictly speaking, he died of illness.

Judging from their expressions, neither left with regrets.

Sima Jin complained, “They left before me and dumped the army on me. I want a hero’s death too!”

Hearing his complaint, both King Zheng and Zhu Xiang could no longer remain fully solemn.

Zhu Xiang teased him, “Old General Sima, you deserve to be left behind. Remember how you tormented Old General Wang during the Battle of Changping?”

Sima Jin immediately replied, “Absolutely not!”

Zhu Xiang began revealing his dark history—dancing shirtless before King Zhao Xiang and being kicked into a field, dragging Wang He onto a stage to perform…

King Zheng listened with great enjoyment.

Sima Jin did not get embarrassed. He cheerfully slapped his own head. “Lord Zhu Xiang, you still remember? Those were so many years ago—I nearly forgot.”

Zhu Xiang smiled. “I remember. I remember everything.”

Sima Jin laughed too. “Good. When I finally die wrapped in my horsehide, Lord Zhu Xiang must come send me off and spread tales of my glorious past.”

King Zheng looked disgusted. Shameless and proud of it?

Zhu Xiang replied with a smile, “All right.”