HCT – Chapter 249 Wang Jian Destroys the State of Zhao

Changing generals on the eve of battle is one of the greatest taboos in warfare. Yet King Yan of Zhao, just like his father, loved doing exactly that—replacing Lian Po at the last moment, and… still replacing Lian Po.

In the original history, King Yan’s son, King Qian of Zhao, mastered this fatal “skill” as well. At the critical moment, he intended to replace Li Mu. Li Mu told him to stop fooling around—Wang Jian was right across the battlefield; changing generals meant certain doom. King Qian responded by simply killing Li Mu.

Three generations of this family—grandfather, father, and son—were clearly blood relatives. No need for a DNA test.

When Wang Jian leisurely crossed the Yellow River, the Zhao army barely resisted before collapsing at the slightest touch.

Wang Jian did not pursue the fleeing remnants. After slightly reorganizing his troops, he proceeded toward Handan.

The Qin army had brought ample provisions, and Zhao had almost no surplus grain, so the Qin troops could not forage locally. Instead, they seized Zhao’s stores outright.

They hired local civilians to transport supplies and even had to provide rations for them.

Zhao’s people had feared the Qin army deeply. But once they learned that working for Qin meant food to eat, starving Zhao civilians—trembling with fear yet desperate—began approaching the Qin camp.

Zhao had been heavily afflicted by locust plagues.

After the disaster, instead of allowing time for recovery, King Yan launched repeated campaigns against Yan.

The able-bodied men were conscripted, leaving behind the elderly, women, and children—already starved and powerless—unable to cultivate much land.

The nation lacked laborers, but corvée labor demanded by the king and nobles remained unchanged. The greater the external pressure, the more the nobles sought luxury to numb themselves. Women and children had to shoulder heavy corvée labor, reducing farming time even further.

To wage war against Yan, the Zhao state levied heavy taxes. These taxes did not accept famine-relief crops such as potatoes, only grain that could be easily stored. With so little labor, the women and remaining youths could only grow grain to pay taxes.

Without sufficient manpower to plow, irrigate, weed, remove pests, and fertilize properly, grain yields were extremely low.

Thus, even when the rains were good and the land was fertile, harvests were poor. No natural disaster—only man-made ones.

Yan was also impoverished; sending the grand Zhao army to attack Yan could at best supply the army with a bit of food.

Even if Zhao had captured surplus grain, it would never have been distributed to its starving populace.

Some Qin soldiers muttered privately: “The Zhao people are already starving to death. Even if they wanted to rob us, what would they rob?”

Gradually, crowds of Zhao civilians trailed behind the Qin army.

They kept their distance, waiting to be called upon to work in exchange for a bite of food.

Wang Jian, a man of iron heart, felt a twinge of sorrow at the sight.

He thought: perhaps he had been spoiled by the affluence of southern Qin, for he now found himself unable to bear the sight of another nation’s starving people.

When attacking Julu, the defenders resisted fairly stubbornly.

But the Zhao civilians hired by Wang Jian were remarkably brave. Before the Qin army even made their official assault, these civilians had already climbed the city walls.

Wang Jian recalled the veteran generals and seasoned soldiers in Li Mu’s army, all from Zhao.

If only the king of Zhao had been slightly competent, Zhao would have been an exceptionally hard bone to chew. The fighting strength of the Zhao people truly was formidable.

Wang Jian awarded military merit to these Zhao civilians.

Though the merit only counted as half that of Qin soldiers, and could be redeemed only for grain, the Zhao men who first scaled the walls were still overjoyed.

Wang Jian also issued compensation for the Zhao men who died in battle.

This had been agreed upon beforehand: if they died, the grain reward would be delivered to their families.

Most of the relatives of the fallen Zhao civilians were among those trailing behind the Qin army for work.

When Wang Jian fulfilled his promise and handed the fallen Zhao men’s grain rewards to the women and children, the widows bowed repeatedly, thanking the Qin soldiers. They grabbed the dry beans and ate them raw with their children, too hungry to even cry.

Only after slightly filling their stomachs did their numb expressions shift into sorrow, and tears finally welled up.

Some people who were helping to clean the battlefield even asked whether the Qin army wanted the bodies of the fallen Zhao soldiers. If not, to them, the bodies meant one full meal.

Their eyes gleamed green as they looked at the corpses.

When famine forces people to eat their own children, the dead have barely a few ounces of meat left. Compared to the starving corpses on the roadside, the war-dead Zhao soldiers had much more flesh.

Though Wang Jian knew that news of Zhao people eating Zhao corpses would deal a terrible blow to Zhao’s morale, he refused instantly.

“After I take the city, the government granaries will open for relief,” he said calmly. “You lack grain—those wealthy families inside the city do not.”

Seeing the hungry civilians’ dissatisfaction, he added, “If food is available, do not eat human flesh. You are human.”

Then he distributed part of the army’s grain to the Zhao people cleaning the battlefield, ordering them to cremate the bodies of Qin soldiers and Zhao soldiers separately, preventing them from consuming human flesh.

The ashes of Qin soldiers would be carried home by fellow villagers; those of Zhao soldiers would be buried locally.

Wang Jian did this not out of pity alone.

Once he conquered this land, it would be Qin territory, and these people would be Qin subjects.

Eating rotten human corpses easily triggered epidemics, making governance far more difficult. Wang Jian was preparing for postwar administration of Zhao territory.

As promised, once he entered the city, he raided the homes of officials, wealthy families, and nobles under the pretext that they had resisted Qin’s siege.

The gold and silver were used to reward the troops; after the army replenished a portion of its supplies, the remaining grain was handed over to the surviving Zhao civilians who had first scaled the walls, for them to distribute to the starving.

Wang Jian also selected literate yet impoverished Zhao scholars to help manage Julu.

“When Handan falls, Lord Zhu Xiang will return,” Wang Jian reassured them. “Use this grain to survive for now—next year’s autumn harvest will set everything right.”

When Wang Jian left, many Zhao civilians remained near Julu to reclaim the nearly abandoned fields.

The land near Julu was extremely fertile, but no one had been cultivating it.

The elderly, women, and children could perhaps survive if they fled into the mountains. Staying on the fertile plains and trying to farm, however, only made starvation more likely.

Now, with half a year’s grain, supplemented by water, weeds, and tree bark, planting potatoes, legumes, and wild vegetables—famine-resistant crops—gave them a real chance to survive until harvest. For the first time, they dared to farm again.

It was spring—the season of planting.

Wang Jian left some Qin soldiers to garrison Julu and to teach and assist the farmers in spring cultivation.

These were southern Qin soldiers—well-versed in agricultural techniques.

But the Zhao civilians refused to believe Wang Jian’s claim that the grain they harvested would be theirs, that Qin would not seize it, and that they would even be exempt from taxes for one year.

Even invoking Lord Zhu Xiang’s name failed to convince them.

Still, disbelief did not stop them from farming. Growing grain meant that even if most of it was confiscated, they could still keep enough to survive.

There was one thing the Qin general said that struck deep into their hearts: “If there is food, who would choose to eat people? Humans are not meant to eat humans.”

After taking Julu, Wang Jian did not immediately march south to attack Handan.

First he captured the three nearby cities—Ren, Pingxiang, and Guangping.

Ren, Pingxiang, Julu, and Guangping formed a diagonal “\” barrier stretching from Daluze (Lake Hengshui) to the Yellow River, serving as Handan’s northern shield.

Once these four cities fell, reinforcements from northern Zhao prefectures would be blocked by both the fortress line and Daluze, unable to reach Handan.

Wang Jian advanced steadily, isolating Handan from the northern half of Zhao territory, then slowly preparing to besiege the city and destroy any reinforcements.

He had plenty of grain—he could outlast Handan in a battle of attrition.

As for the possibility that Handan might appeal for aid while he advanced steadily—Wang Jian actually hoped Chu would send troops.

Li Mu and Lian Po had sworn never to lead troops against Zhao; thus Li Mu was currently waiting in Southern Qin.

Of course, the moment Chu mobilized, Li Mu would cross the Huai River to attack Chu.

……

When King Yan of Zhao sent Hu Zhe’s severed head to the frontier, Zhao’s generals were shocked.

Many generals had previously been executed without evidence, but never had their corpses been desecrated afterward. They could not believe it.

How was this any different from the tyrant King Zhou of Shang?!

There were many voices of opposition within Handan, but King Yan ignored them.

He was furious—if they had time to oppose him, why not figure out how to repel Qin? Qin was already at Handan’s gates, and they were still arguing?!

But Zhao nobles refused to let it go.

The Warring States operated under aristocratic political systems. Zhao, though more centralized than Chu with its love for fiefdoms, still had powerful nobles who could not be insulted.

King Yan could execute nobles—but how could he desecrate their corpses? They demanded justice! If he refused to rectify this, Zhao would be ruled by a foolish king and doomed!

While Wang Jian captured three more cities and completed his northern encirclement of Handan, the entire city remained consumed by political infighting.

The struggle ended with King Yan being forced to abdicate, and Crown Prince Qian ascending the throne.

Handan still had defenders resisting Qin.

While the king, nobles, and royal clan fought desperately against each other, some generals and soldiers fought desperately on the city walls against the Qin siege.

The soldiers on the walls fought with their lives; the nobles in the palace fought with their tongues—everyone was giving their all.

Under pressure from the royal clan, King Yan finally relented and agreed to abdicate.

But he refused to pass the throne to Prince Jia, whom he had already deposed, insisting instead that Crown Prince Qian take the throne.

Crown Prince Qian was his precious son, born of his favorite courtesan concubine.

The nobles despised this concubine, and Prince Qian had indulged in pleasure since childhood. They clashed with King Yan again.

When Wang Jian received messages from Zhao officials who had secretly defected to Qin, he sat cross-legged with his sword in hand, pondering for a long time—unable to understand how Handan could still be engaged in political warfare when Qin had already surrounded the city.

Shouldn’t they first figure out how to repel the Qin?

If Zhu Xiang were here, he would “mock” Wang Jian for being naïve.

The Southern Song and Southern Ming dynasties were nearly driven into the sea or into Burma, yet they still fought over political power. Compared to that, Zhao’s situation was nothing.

In the original history, Li Mu and Wang Jian were already confronting each other. Zhao was moments away from extinction, yet King Qian and Guo Kai still engaged in political fighting—ultimately killing Li Mu.

With Li Mu dead, Wang Jian crushed the Zhao army, and Zhao fell the following year.

There is nothing new under the sun. This is simply how Zhao operates.

Wang Jian could not even be bothered to assault the city anymore. He simply waited to see what other absurdities Zhao could produce.

Inside Handan’s royal palace, the royal clan mediated, and eventually the nobles compromised—agreeing to let Crown Prince Qian become king.

A new king rose. And then?

The court officials stared at each other.

They had accomplished their political goal, only to suddenly realize something—changing kings did absolutely nothing to repel the Qin army outside the walls.

So they restarted another round of arguments.

This time, however, the debate was at least somewhat reasonable. One faction argued for breaking out to seek help from Chu. Another insisted the king should escape north to continue resistance. A third said they might as well surrender.

Guo Kai, the unwavering supporter of King Yan, now spoke on behalf of the abdicated king.

He firmly pushed for fleeing to Chu.

Zhao had no men left to rally in the north—Chu was safer.

Restoring a nation with foreign troops was easy; historical records said so everywhere.

After much quarreling, they reached yet another consensus:

—The abdicated king, now “Retired King” Yan, would flee south to Chu for reinforcements;
—King Qian would flee north to continue resistance;
—Prince Jia would remain in the palace to deceive the Qin army.

The ministers were all very satisfied.

Only Prince Jia gave a bitter laugh.

Prince Jia was a man of upright conduct and normal intelligence.

He possessed a resilient temperament, bravery, and skill in battle, and he could command troops. In the original history, after Zhao was destroyed, Prince Jia led the remaining Zhao soldiers and civilians in Dai County in guerrilla warfare against Qin for six whole years before finally being captured by Wang Jian.

All the ministers and nobles of Zhao knew that if Prince Jia became King of Zhao, the state might still have had a sliver of hope.

But just like back when everyone knew Prince Qian had poor conduct and was unfit to be king—yet when King Yan of Zhao abolished Prince Jia’s status as crown prince, no one dared to dispute it—now, once again, the entire court abandoned the only normal prince of Zhao.

Prince Jia sighed inwardly and said to his sovereign father, who had never treated him as a son, “I will defend Handan to the death and delay the Qin army for you. Please… go safely.”

The Grand Supreme King Zhao Yan coldly nodded at him, then turned instead to warn Zhao Qian to pay attention to his own safety.

Prince Jia’s face was full of desolation.

Everyone saw that desolation. Everyone felt unwilling in their hearts. But still, none of them spoke a single word in Prince Jia’s defense.

Wang Jian waited for a long time before Handan’s gates finally opened.

He knew the father and son, Zhao Yan and Zhao Qian, were planning to escape through the open gates. He had already blocked the roads in advance, waiting for them to fall into his trap.

But he had not expected that within Handan there was still someone capable of rallying both the cityfolk and the remaining soldiers—a “commander” named Prince Jia.

Prince Jia personally took to the battlefield, fighting alongside Zhao’s forces and the hastily assembled youths of the city against Qin.

From the fierce battle outside the gates, to fighting while retreating, to street-by-street combat within Handan—

Just as he promised, he stalled the Qin army on behalf of Zhao Yan and Zhao Qian.

Wang Jian pondered for a moment, then sent only a small cavalry force to pursue Zhao Yan; he ignored Zhao Qian, who fled north.

Wang Jian personally donned armor and led troops to capture Prince Jia.

Zhao Yan and Zhao Qian, alive, would only continue to drag the state of Zhao down. It was Prince Jia who truly mattered.

When Prince Jia was finally seized, his body was covered in wounds, the blade in his hand was blunted, and he no longer had the strength to stand.

Sitting amid a pile of corpses, he wiped the blood from his face with his sleeve and slowly tied up his disheveled hair again. “General Wang… did my lord father escape successfully?”

Wang Jian sheathed his sword and signaled the surrounding soldiers to lower their weapons.

His voice held mocking tones, though behind the mockery was unmistakable respect. “Zhao Qian has already escaped. As for Zhao Yan, we have not yet caught him, but reaching Chu will not be easy.”

Between Zhao and Chu stood Qi and Wei—both already annexed by Qin.

Prince Jia let out a long breath. “I have done everything that was within my power.”

Wang Jian said, “Prince, please come with us.”

Prince Jia shook his head. “I will not go to Xianyang. I have no face to meet Lord Zhu Xiang or Lord Xinping.”

Prince Jia, once captured, refused food and medicine. A few days later, he succumbed to his injuries.

When the news reached Xianyang, Zhu Xiang remained silent for a long time.

The historical “King Jia of Dai” was dead.

There would be no Zhao prince commanding the remnants in the mountains south of Dai, no six years of defiance against Qin.

Zhao Yan and Zhao Qian had to die for Zhao Jia to shine—yet now Zhao Jia had died first.

Zhao’s final spark of blood and courage… had died.

Died abandoned.

If Lord Pingyuan and Lord Pingyang had spirits in the afterlife—how much would their hearts ache?

“When Lord Pingyang died and Zhao Yan took the throne, Zhao was already doomed,” Lian Po said coldly when he received the news. “What remains is only a walking corpse. It’s time to burn this corpse, lest it disgrace the kings of Zhao.”

He requested battle from King Zheng of Qin, tearing apart the promise he once made.

He would lead troops—into Zhao.

…

“You—you’re Li Mu?!” When Zhao Yan was dragged before a carriage, he recognized the middle-aged man sitting upon it, holding a scroll like a scholar.

Zhao Yan had seen Li Mu back when Li Mu and Lian Po were forced into Qin.

Because he loathed Zhu Xiang and his friends, Zhao Yan had paid special attention to Li Mu. Even after more than ten years, he recognized him.

Li Mu raised his head coldly, glanced at the bound Zhao Yan.

He set down the scroll, drew his sword, and stabbed Zhao Yan in the thigh.

Zhao Yan screamed.

Held down by Qin soldiers, Zhao Yan could only watch helplessly as Li Mu stabbed his other thigh.

One strike at a time, Li Mu pierced Zhao Yan’s limbs—each blow precise enough to avoid excessive bleeding.

But blow after blow, Zhao Yan soon became a blood-soaked wreck.

He fainted from the pain, only to be awakened by a bucket of cold water, curling up and shaking uncontrollably.

A Zhao minister beside him could no longer restrain himself and roared, “Li Mu! You are also a Zhao man! How can you humiliate the King of Zhao!”

Li Mu stepped on Zhao Yan’s struggling body and said coolly, “I was sent to Qin by Zhao Dan more than ten years ago. What face do you have to call me a Zhao man?”

He pressed harder, drawing another scream from Zhao Yan.

“And even if I were a Zhao man—why can’t I humiliate him?” A mocking smile finally appeared on Li Mu’s face. “When the ruler treats his ministers like dirt, then the ministers will treat the ruler like an enemy. I am merely humiliating an enemy.”

Li Mu stared at Zhao Yan beneath his foot. “Weren’t you the one who boasted that if you ever caught Zhu Xiang or Lin Li, you would have them executed by chariot?”

He chopped off Zhao Yan’s hand with one strike.

“And didn’t you say you would destroy Lord Lin’s tomb?”

He chopped off the other hand.

“Blind fool.”

He stabbed out Zhao Yan’s eyes.

“So noisy.”

He cut out Zhao Yan’s tongue.

“Treat him. Don’t let him die,” Li Mu said as he wiped his sword clean. “If he dies before reaching Xianyang, Lin Li will blame me.”

After sheathing his sword, he turned to the Zhao ministers who had earlier chastised him, now trembling on the ground. “If a ruler humiliates his ministers, the minister dies. Since you rebuked me, why did you not die when Zhao Yan was humiliated?”

A Qin soldier tossed a short sword in front of them and cut their bonds.

Some picked up the sword with both hands but did not dare press it to their necks. Some knelt and knocked their heads against the ground, begging for mercy. Others tried to attack the Qin soldiers but could not even stand.

Guo Kai was among them.

Seeing Zhao Yan’s condition, he gritted his teeth, grabbed the short sword, and shouted, “If the ruler is humiliated, the minister dies! My king, your servant Guo Kai will go first!”

He drove the sword into his own chest. His body convulsed sharply before collapsing weakly.

The half-mad Zhao Yan regained consciousness at Guo Kai’s cry, crawling toward him with a hoarse, guttural wail. Tears mixed with blood covered his face.

The Zhao ministers stared in shock—then burst into anguished sobs.

Even Li Mu was stunned.

Of course, he knew Guo Kai would eventually become a loyal Qin courtier.

Li Mu’s mouth twitched. Suddenly, the entire situation felt meaningless.

He ordered the Zhao ministers and Zhao Yan restrained again, treated, and then sent to Xianyang.

“Still not satisfied,” Li Mu muttered after returning to his carriage.

He closed his eyes and rested briefly, then requested paper and brush to send an urgent letter to Xianyang.

He would tear apart his old promise.

He requested King Zheng’s approval to…

lead troops into Zhao.

…

“I will personally go to Zhao,” King Zheng announced.

The court ministers immediately cried, “Your Majesty, reconsider!”

King Zheng said solemnly, “I am not seeking your opinions. I am informing you of my decision.”

Ministers: “…Here we go again. This line again.”

Their gazes turned to Zhu Xiang, who rarely attended court even as chancellor.

Lord Zhu Xiang—please persuade him!

King Zheng said, “When I left Zhao as a child, I promised the common folk who saw me off that once I grew up, I would destroy Zhao and save them from suffering. It is time to fulfill that promise.”

Lin Zhi, Cai Ze, and Xunzi all turned sharply to look at Zhu Xiang.

Zhu Xiang remembered—indeed, young Zheng had made that promise.

Back then, Zheng had given his little hat to a child and shouted at the outskirts of Handan: “I am Zheng of Qin! When I grow up, I will return to destroy tyrant Zhao and make sure you all have enough to eat! Wait for me!”

He had been so frightened he had scooped Zheng up and ran.

Zhu Xiang’s face softened in fond recollection.

He stepped forward. “Your servant requests permission to accompany Your Majesty.”

King Zheng stroked the armrest and nodded. “Good.”

Cai Ze and Lin Zhi immediately said, “Your servants also—”

King Zheng cut them off. “Cai and Lin will remain in Xianyang to oversee the capital.”

The two sighed. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

In the sixth month of King Zheng’s first year, the king returned to Zhao, accompanied by Lord Changping, Zhu Xiang.

In the same month, Lord Xinping Lian Po and Lord Wucheng Li Mu led troops into Zhao.

…

Wang Jian held the king’s edict and regretted his entire strategy for the first time.

Why had he taken such a cautious approach?

Why had he advanced so slowly?

If it were only the king or Zhu Xiang, that was one matter. But Lian Po and Li Mu too? Weren’t they the ones who said they would never enter Zhao before its fall?

All he wanted was a clean, complete set of achievements for destroying a kingdom—why was it so difficult?!

Wang Jian clutched his head in anguish.

Would he ever be granted a marquisate in this lifetime?

Above him, the elderly yet vigorous Xinping Lord Lian Po. Below him, the young and promising Lord Wucheng Li Mu. How was he supposed to accumulate enough merit to be ennobled?

Would he have to campaign against the Xiongnu or Nanyue after the Six States just to make up the difference?

He had hoped that after the unification of China, he could return to Xianyang, buy a beautiful estate and good farmland, and enjoy twenty or thirty years as a wealthy gentleman!

“Before Lian Po and Li Mu arrive, I MUST capture Zhao Qian!” Wang Jian growled, eyes turning fierce.

To hell with caution—charge!

Abandoning his usual steady approach, he ordered war chariots to sprint, cavalry to gallop, and infantry to jog behind in a near-run, pouncing toward the commandery city of Gu in Zhongshan like a tiger.

There, Zhao Qian had shut himself inside the city.

But just as Wang Jian prepared to launch an assault, the gates of Gu opened. A group of plainly dressed martial wanderers came to meet him.

“General, Zhao Qian has been captured alive. We wish to surrender to Qin!” the leader said with fury.

Wang Jian’s heart skipped a beat. My battle credit—gone?

He barely kept his expression stern. “What did Zhao Qian do?”

The leader gritted his teeth, voice brimming with indignation. “He drowned himself in wine and lust within the city and seized the wives and daughters of others.”

Wang Jian: “…”

Born from a prostitute and a king obsessed with prostitutes—he wasn’t even surprised the son was like this. Even at death’s door, Zhao Qian indulged shamelessly.

“…Fine.” Wang Jian felt utterly powerless.

Would Gu’s surrender still count as his achievement? It… probably should?

But all his preparation—rousing speeches, generous rewards, slaughtering livestock to raise morale—had been wasted.

And though winning without losing a single soldier was a good thing, Wang Jian felt bitter and frustrated.

He strongly suspected that although Zhao had fallen, the Qin court would not acknowledge his merit.

It felt too easy. Too suspiciously easy.

But the city had already surrendered—he couldn’t very well shut the gates and start over.

He entered the city and found Zhao Qian with his face swollen like a pig’s head.

He also saw Zhao people in the “palace” of Gu hugging the mangled corpses of their wives and daughters, weeping as they knelt amid the horrific devastation.

Blood everywhere. Misery beyond words.