HCT – Chapter 248 Displaying the Severed Head at Zhao’s Border

In 240 BCE, the first year of King Zheng of Qin’s reign, the state of Wei perished.

By the end of spring plowing, Zhao’s elite forces were gone.

The Qin state was advancing with overwhelming momentum. Anyone could see that Qin was preparing to restart its conquest to sweep across the realm.

King Zheng of Qin was even more cunning and hypocritical than the Qin kings before him.

His excuse for attacking Wei was that Wei had broken their alliance; his excuse for intercepting Zhao’s troops was that he was “rescuing the Yan army.” Every pretext placed him on the moral high ground.

The knowledgeable people of the world all understood: King Zheng was certain he could unite the realm, and he was paving the way in advance for the reputation of being a “sage ruler.”

The moment King Zheng ascended the throne, he displayed such dominance that the only three surviving states—Chu, Yan, and Zhao—finally behaved themselves.

The King of Yan sent an envoy to pay tribute to King Zheng, thanking the Qin king for his selfless assistance in “severely punishing that hateful Zhao.”

Even though Cai Ze absolutely refused to continue serving as Chancellor, he was still a Senior Minister.

The sly Lin Zhi tugged on Cai Ze’s sleeve and cried miserably, saying that even after that scoundrel Zhu Xiang became Chancellor, he still only concerned himself with agriculture and mulberry affairs, and was of no practical use. Xunzi was already old and exhausted just managing the education system, so he felt bad troubling him.

“So Cai Ze! Only you can help me!”

Kind people are easily taken advantage of. Cai Ze had no choice but to take on part of the Chancellor’s duties and once again handled Qin’s diplomacy and intelligence affairs.

Cai Ze received the Yan envoy. After several rounds of persuasion, the envoy returned to Yan and sent Crown Prince Dan to Qin as a hostage to demonstrate friendly relations between the two states.

King Zheng greeted Prince Dan with a sinister smile, frightening the boy so much he trembled like a drenched quail.

Cai Ze was very pleased. His follow-up plan was to terrify Prince Dan, then “allow” him to escape back to Yan, and use this as a pretext to launch a campaign against Yan.

He hadn’t even discussed this with Zheng’er yet, but Zheng’er had already guessed his plan and cooperated seamlessly—not surprising for a child he had watched grow up.

Fifteen-year-old Chengjiao had transformed from a brat who used to roll on the ground into a frivolous-looking young teenager.

Putting his arm over Zhu Xiang’s shoulder with no sense of propriety, he asked, “Uncle, does my royal brother bear some grudge against Prince Dan? I heard Prince Dan was once a hostage in Handan, too.”

Zhu Xiang said, “Zheng’er likely hasn’t met Prince Dan before.”

At least not in this lifetime, Zhu Xiang added silently.

“So my royal brother is deliberately smiling like that to scare him?” Chengjiao asked.

While taking away the wooden duck little Fusu was gnawing on—refusing to let him chew on wood again—Zhu Xiang joked, “Perhaps Zheng’er isn’t deliberately scaring him. Maybe he’s just born with a frightening smile.”

Chengjiao burst into laughter, clutching his stomach.

King Zheng slammed the table hard. “Can the two of you stop making noise?!”

He was diligently reviewing documents.

After being scolded by Lin Zhi, Zhu Xiang came to lighten his workload. But even when working, Zhu Xiang insisted on bringing baby Fusu along, and Chengjiao joined the fun too.

Now the study was full of cheerful noise—except King Zheng wasn’t laughing at all.

“Uncle! Out!” King Zheng began to chase them away.

“All right, all right. Chengjiao, quiet down,” Zhu Xiang said seriously. “Come help, or your royal brother will be working until midnight again.”

Chengjiao rolled up his sleeves. “Fine, I’ll grind ink for you!”

Zhu Xiang tapped Chengjiao on the head with the saliva-soaked wooden duck. “Shoo, shoo. Grinding ink doesn’t need your help. Stop slacking.”

King Zheng’s face darkened. “If you make more noise, get out!”

Little Fusu opened his mouth and made loud “ah-ah-ah!” noises, giving his father no face at all.

Laughing, Chengjiao picked Fusu up and spun in circles. “Nephew, your father wants to throw you out. From now on, you’ll have to depend on your dear uncle.”

King Zheng set down his brush and stood up.

Chengjiao instantly fell silent. He turned around in a flash, hid behind Zhu Xiang while holding Fusu, and even covered Fusu’s mouth.

Little Fusu obediently shut up, blinking those big eyes.

“Hmph.” King Zheng sat back down. “Come help. Or do you not want your marquisate anymore?”

Chengjiao sighed, shoved Fusu back into Zhu Xiang’s arms, and complained, “Royal brother, I’m your only younger brother. And I still have to work to become a marquis?”

After ascending the throne, King Zheng gradually reformed and standardized the ranks of officials and noble titles.

Previously, the titles “jun” and “hou” had been used interchangeably—for example, Fan Ju was sometimes written as “Marquis Ying” and sometimes as “Lord Ying.”

Now King Zheng unified the titles under “hou,” preparing for the eventual reform into the twenty-rank system.

Once the realm was unified, there wouldn’t be any need for so many noble titles.

Though people still habitually called Zhu Xiang “Lord Changping,” in official documents he was already “Marquis Changping.”

After the change of reign name, King Zheng first promoted his maternal aunt Xue Ji, granting her the title “Lady of Wu.”

Then he wanted to grant Lin Zhi a marquisate. Lin Zhi insisted he would not accept one before Zhao was destroyed. But he had already picked out his own title—it would be “Marquis Anping.”

Zhu Xiang’s “Changping,” though originally a fief name, could also be interpreted as a refined noble title.

Zhu Xiang was “Marquis Changping,” and he would be “Marquis Anping”—they looked like brothers at a glance.

Conveniently, Cai Ze was “Marquis Gangcheng,” and Li Mu was “Marquis Wucheng”—a tidy set.

Lin Zhi’s words made King Zheng realize that his uncle Cai and his teacher Li Mu really did have matching titles.

If Lin Zhi had wanted a noble rank, he could have taken one during King Zhaoxiang’s reign, using his father Lin Xiangru’s fame.

King Zhaoxiang had wanted to personally grant him a title desperately.

Since Lin Zhi didn’t accept it then, he wouldn’t take one now.

If before, Lin Zhi only wanted to keep a low profile and didn’t yet hate Zhao enough to count the days until its destruction… then when the coffins of the Lin family ancestors—including Lin Xiangru—were secretly transported to Qin, Lin Zhi began to wish he could tear Zhao King Yan apart.

Zhao King Yan had wanted to dig up Lin Xiangru’s tomb. As a son, Lin Zhi wanted to strip him alive.

The matter was so nauseating that Lin Zhi kept it hidden from Zhu Xiang until now.

He planned to tell Zhu Xiang only after Zhao was destroyed—“Guess what? I moved Father’s tomb long ago. I just never told you, and didn’t let you pay respects either.”

He also didn’t tell Lian Po, fearing that the elderly general might get sick from rage.

Zhao King Yan’s repulsive deeds—Lin Zhi hid them all from Lian Po and Zhu Xiang.

He could already foresee the beating he would receive when he finally confessed, “Father’s tomb has been moved to my fief this whole time— I just never told you.”

Just thinking about it made Lin Zhi chuckle.

There are some people who find joy even in imagining future misfortunes that will happen to themselves.

Now Lin Zhi’s excuse of “I won’t accept a marquisate until Zhao is destroyed” had become the truth.

Since Lin Zhi refused, King Zheng counted the remaining people around him to see who else deserved a title.

General Wang Jian was old, but King Zheng intended to wait until he himself became the First Emperor to grant him a marquisate—this time for sure, before the old general died.

So then… who else?

Chengjiao stared at his brother with wide eyes, pointing vigorously at his own nose—poking it so hard it was turning into a pig’s snout.

Only then did King Zheng remember he still had a younger brother.

Across the various states, the beloved younger sons of kings were often titled “Lord of Chang’an” or “Lord of Anguo.” “Anguo Lord” was an old Qin title no longer in use, so after standardization, Chengjiao’s marquisate would definitely be “Marquis of Chang’an.”

In King Zheng’s prophetic dream, the traitorous Chengjiao had been “Lord Chang’an,” making King Zheng dislike the title for a while.

But he was too lazy to invent a new one, and Chengjiao would never betray him, so he left it as “Marquis of Chang’an.”

Uncle is “Marquis Changping,” Chengjiao is “Marquis Chang’an”—they look like one family.

But although the decree to grant the title had been written, King Zheng refused to issue it.

He even showed Chengjiao the document—but still wouldn’t grant him the title.

Want rank? Then work for me!

This time both Queen Dowager Huayang and Queen Dowager Xia supported it.

Chengjiao, you’re already fifteen. You even have a nephew. At your brother’s age he was already leading troops—how can you still hide behind us and slack off? Your brother even wrote your marquisate decree—hurry and go work!

Chengjiao understood: once there’s a younger child in the family—whether a younger sibling or a nephew—he immediately stops being the treasured baby and becomes a weed.

With me, Chengjiao, already in Xianyang Palace, why did they have to add Fusu!?

Zhu Xiang grabbed Fusu’s chubby little fist and used it to pound Chengjiao’s arm. “Fusu, hit him!”

Little Fusu: “Aow aow aow!” Punch punch!

Chengjiao deflated.

What a cute nephew! Come here—uncle wants to hug and kiss you.

Fusu: “Maa!” Uncle kiss kiss.

Chengjiao gave up competing for favor with Fusu in front of the two queen dowagers. Instead, he swore to spoil Fusu into a freeloader who would give his royal brother endless headaches—revenge for making him work.

But that was for the future. For now, if he wanted his marquisate, he had to behave.

Without a title and fief, he even had to beg his uncle for money just to buy good horses.

Chengjiao didn’t have many luxury hobbies—he just loved fine horses. But good horses were expensive! Without a fief, he couldn’t afford any!

Tempted by the promise of a noble rank, Chengjiao finally behaved.

He might be rowdy, but he was a child taught entirely by Zhu Xiang. Sorting documents, copying drafts, and doing calculations were easy for him, and he reduced much of King Zheng’s workload.

Zhu Xiang, meanwhile, reviewed the documents King Zheng had already processed, checking for errors or omissions.

If King Zheng of Qin were reviewing documents himself, he would read each one three or four times, making sure he’d missed nothing before sending the finalized drafts out.

Handing off any part of the review process could lead to favoritism or corruption. King Zheng trusted no one.

Well—except his younger brother and his maternal uncle. Those two he could trust.

Lin Zhi understood King Zheng’s temperament very well, which was why he urged Zhu Xiang to help immediately, so the king wouldn’t wear himself out like his own incapable father had.

King Zheng kept sighing inwardly. Not only did his uncle still treat him like a child, even Uncle Lin did. And he couldn’t bring himself to reject their goodwill. It was truly headache-inducing.

That night, King Zheng finally finished his state affairs just as the candles were first lit.

He felt wholly uncomfortable.

How could he possibly be free right after sunset? Was he supposed to go to the harem?

His mind was completely on work; he had no interest whatsoever in visiting the harem.

He was just thinking of what excuse he could use to add more work when Zhu Xiang said, “It’s been so long since we’ve had such leisure. Want to go back to the manor and stroll around under the night sky? The moon’s very nice today.”

Before King Zheng could reply, little Fusu began pat-pat-patting his hands excitedly. “Want to go! Fusu wants to go!”

Zhu Xiang rubbed the child’s chubby cheeks, kindly saying, “Fusu can already say full sentences—amazing. Not sleepy yet? You want to go out at night too?”

Little Fusu kept applauding for no reason whatsoever. “Not sleepy, Fusu… want to see the moon.”

Zhu Xiang boasted, “See, Zheng’er, Fusu speaks more clearly every day.”

Though very pleased, King Zheng said aloud, “At his age, I was already able to recite the Book of Songs.”

Chengjiao let out a long sigh. “Big Brother, stop comparing other people to yourself. I’m such a smart person, but when I compared myself to you, I thought I was an idiot. By your standards, there wouldn’t be a single intelligent person in the entire world.”

King Zheng replied, “My son should naturally be like me.”

Chengjiao said, “Impossible. Don’t hope for that.”

Zhu Xiang agreed. “Zheng’er, don’t put too much pressure on Fusu. You’re the most exceptional one. If he reaches even half your ability, he’ll already surpass everyone else.”

King Zheng: “…”

Should he be upset that his uncle and brother looked down on his son, or happy that they were praising him?

Zhu Xiang hoisted Fusu onto his shoulder. The child wrapped his arms around Zhu Xiang’s head.

Zhu Xiang smiled. “Come, let’s go for a night stroll.”

Chengjiao stretched lazily. “Alright!”

King Zheng watched the familiar scene and recalled how, as a child, he used to cling to his uncle’s head while laughing with the people of Handan outside the city.

The promise from twenty years ago… probably few in Zhao still remembered it.

But he remembered.

The promise he’d made when leaving Handan—now it was time to fulfill it.

In June of the first year of King Zheng’s reign, South Qin’s summer harvest was complete.

Holding command in Qi, Wang Jian—who had been wiping out the remaining Qi forces—suddenly turned his army and marched from Lecheng of Qi, capturing one Zhao city after another along the lower reaches of the Yellow River: Wuqiang, Guanjin, and others.

In less than a month, he seized all Zhao territory south of the Yellow River and set up camp by the riverbank, facing Sanchu across the water, intending to construct floating bridges to cross the river.

Sanchu was the Zhao royal retreat. South of Sanchu was Julu, and farther south lay Xindu and Lieren. Those two were the northern and eastern gateways to Handan.

Once the Qin crossed the river and captured Sanchu, the land from Sanchu to Handan was flat plains—no natural defenses.

Handan was in danger.

After Bai Qi had previously marched to Handan’s gates, Zhao immediately repaired the Great Wall near Handan.

At this time, Great Walls were not only for defending against northern nomads. States also built defensive walls along their borders—mainly against Qin.

For example, Wei had built the Wei Great Wall along the Luo River to separate themselves from Qin to the west.

But Lian Po defeated Han first, then attacked Wei from the north, bypassing their Great Wall.

Chu had also built a Great Wall near Danyang to separate themselves from Qin to the northwest.

But Li Mu first transformed South Chu into South Qin, rendering the Chu Wall useless—luckily the Huai River remained as a natural barrier.

Zhao built a U-shaped wall enclosing Handan. Since Handan was in Zhao’s southern region, with most of Zhao territory to the north and bordering Yan, the Zhao king felt safe.

Who could have predicted that Qin would first travel all the way east to destroy Qi, then invade Zhao from the northeast? Not only was the U-shaped wall useless—if Qin moved too fast, the wall might even block the Zhao king and nobles from escaping and become a trap.

Thankfully the Yellow River prevented Wang Jian from sprinting straight to Handan like Bai Qi once had.

Wang Jian regretted he couldn’t give the Zhao king such a fright.

But Wang Jian always led cautiously, aiming for guaranteed victory. Though Zhao had lost its elite soldiers, the land was vast and its mid-level officers were all seasoned veterans. A forced assault would cost Qin dearly. So reaching Handan slowly was acceptable.

Wang Jian first applied heavy pressure, then sent agents into Handan to sow discord.

This time, he played a very big hand—he aimed to drive a wedge between the Zhao king and all mid-level generals.

“Think about the fate of the troops stationed at Yanmen. Think of how the Zhao king sent the former Changping defenders to die. Think of how General Pang Yuan—who saved Zhao in its darkest hour—was forced into battle until he died.”

“How many Zhao generals have not served under Lian Po? How many had nothing to do with the Battle of Changping? How many have not drunk with Lord Xinling while he lived in Handan?”

“You are loyal to the king—but is the king loyal to you?”

Wang Jian also bribed the Zhao king’s favorites—especially Guo Kai—to feed him poisonous advice.

Zhao was in grave danger; certainly many generals who had past ties with Lian Po or Zhu Xiang might consider defecting. The king felt compelled to guard against betrayal.

The Zhao king, Yan, became deeply anxious. He couldn’t understand how he went from a brilliant king beating Yan repeatedly… to suddenly facing national extinction.

If he scraped the entire country, he could gather two or three hundred thousand able-bodied men. Add the elderly and women—maybe a force of half a million.

But with Pang Yuan dead… who would lead them?

Hearing Guo Kai’s warnings, Zhao King Yan’s fear grew further.

Only now did he realize how much trouble old General Lian Po’s absence had caused.

Lian Po truly was old—he’d been a chief general back in King Huiwen’s time.

Not everyone had the talent to command young. Generals under forty had too little seniority; the king wouldn’t entrust the nation’s survival to them. But almost every veteran over forty had served under Lian Po.

In truth, Lian Po’s temper was awful. While unmatched in battle, in private he had few close friends. Only Lin Xiangru tolerated him, and among the royal clan, only Lord Pingyuan earned his respect; even Zhaobao wasn’t qualified.

No Zhao general who had ever worked under Lian Po would defect just because of that connection.

But Zhao King Yan believed it.

He’d been too young back then, secluded in the palace, never trained as crown prince. He didn’t understand Lian Po’s character.

And now, facing national ruin, one could never be too cautious.

He was too cautious.

Zhao King Yan first appointed Hu Zhe.

Hu Zhe had served under both Lian Po and Pang Yuan, and had studied Confucianism—talented in both civil and military matters. Indeed, he had ability.

In Zhu Xiang’s former world’s history, Li Mu was promoted late under King Xiaocheng. After Lian Po was driven out, Li Mu replaced him and became Zhao’s pillar, even prime minister.

But when King Yan succeeded, he immediately sidelined Li Mu, who returned to Yanmen. The king instead favored Hu Zhe, who was close to Guo Kai.

Hu Zhe died to Qin general Huan Yi. In a panic, the king recalled Li Mu.

Li Mu defeated Qin and killed Huan Yi, avenging Hu Zhe.

Then Li Mu was removed by King Zheng and Wang Jian’s intrigue.

Now, in this life, with Li Mu gone and Pang Yuan dead, Zhao had only Hu Zhe left with enough seniority to carry the banner.

At this point Hu Zhe had not bribed Guo Kai with heavy gifts, and Guo Kai didn’t need to curry favor with generals to sabotage Lian Po or Li Mu. So Hu Zhe and Guo Kai were strangers.

Thus Guo Kai targeted Hu Zhe with slander.

Not only had Hu Zhe served under Lian Po, he was also a Confucian disciple. What more evidence of treachery was needed? With that background, if he wasn’t a spy, who was? Perhaps he even studied under Xunzi—making him Zhu Xiang’s fellow student!

The Zhao king was horrified and rushed to investigate.

Everything Guo Kai said was true.

As a Confucian disciple, Hu Zhe indeed visited Xunzi when he stayed in Zhu Xiang’s household, gifting books and ink, listening to lectures. If he were shameless enough, he could indeed call himself Xunzi’s disciple, Zhu Xiang’s classmate.

And historically, he was shameless enough. When Zhu Xiang became famous as Lord Changping, Hu Zhe often claimed to be his fellow student and drinking companion to win favor from the powerful.

In reality, when he lived in Handan, Zhu Xiang was still a mere commoner—he looked down on him. By the time Zhu Xiang rose to fame, Hu Zhe had already left Handan, and Zhu Xiang soon left Zhao as well. They never had the chance to meet.

Still, with thick skin, Hu Zhe had won favor from Lord Pingyuan, Lord Pingyang, and Lord Xinling. His career went more smoothly in this life than in history.

Now he paid the price—Zhao King Yan firmly believed he’d defected and sent men to kill him.

Hu Zhe had already arrived at Sanchu, organizing troops, building fortifications, readying for defense.

Just as the army finally got into position—the commander was executed.

Not only that, Zhao King Yan, trying to “intimidate” his generals, had Hu Zhe’s head sent to the Zhao borders to warn the frontier officers.

Even Guo Kai hadn’t expected that. He praised the king loudly, then immediately sent his wife and child away from Handan under the excuse of visiting relatives.

Guo Kai wiped cold sweat.

The king was too zealous. Even if he earned great merit with Qin, to appease Zhao’s fury, he would almost certainly die.

Now he had no retreat. His own life likely couldn’t be saved. He could only hope Lin Xiang would keep his word and protect his family.

I, Guo Kai, am a great contributor to Qin’s unification! If Qin doesn’t treat my family well, it will chill the hearts of all meritorious ministers!

…

When Wang Jian heard that Hu Zhe’s severed head had been displayed on the border, he was stunned for a long time.

He had long grown accustomed to the absurd behavior of the Six States’ rulers and normally maintained absolute calm when dealing with enemies.

But for the first time, he felt deep disgust—so strong it churned his stomach—toward an enemy king’s incompetence.

Even though Hu Zhe died as a result of his own stratagem, Zhao King Yan’s actions crossed Wang Jian’s bottom line.

He finally understood why Li Mu, even years later, had spoken with such enduring hatred when recalling the persecution of Zhu Xiang.

Wang Jian sat quietly for a long time, recovering from the nausea. Then he summoned those skilled in poetry to compose an elegy for General Hu Zhe.

“Listen—the yellow bird weeps in sorrow;
See—the tall mugwort sways.
Pity our virtuous Hu Zhe,
Falsely accused, unjustly slain—
Heaven itself grieves.

Listen—the yellow bird cries;
See—the lush mugwort thrives.
Pity our virtuous Hu Zhe,
Dying with injustice in his heart—
Heaven itself mourns.

Vines spread over thorn bushes,
Creepers wind across the grave.
Curse Heaven—blind and unjust!
Who can still breathe the same air as you?

Vines climb over bramble trees,
Creepers cover the wild earth.
Curse Heaven—sightless and cruel!
Who can still share this world with you?”

The poem crossed the Yellow River and reached Zhao ranks. Panic spread.

As Wang Jian calmly continued building floating bridges, he also kept spreading the poem deeper into Zhao territory.

At this time, another chant—silent for more than a decade—rose again, sung together with this poem across Zhao:

“Magpies cry at home—
Hurry to Qin, hurry to Qin!
Hurry to Qin—Zhu Xiang is in Qin;

Magpies cry on the road—
Hurry to Qin, hurry to Qin!
Hurry to Qin—Lian Po is in Qin;

Magpies cry in the mountains—
Hurry to Qin, hurry to Qin!
Hurry to Qin—Li Mu is in Qin;

Take your wealth and your family—
Hurry to Qin, hurry to Qin!
All the worthy men are in Qin.”

A Zhao noble heard the tunes among the common folk. Tears streamed down his aged face as he responded with lines from the Book of Songs:“The north wind is cold,
Snow falls thick and white.
He who is kind to me—
Let us walk hand in hand.
Is it real? Is it false?
Swiftly, swiftly—let it be so.”