HCT – Chapter 264 The Burial of King Qi of Chu

In the end, Li Mu was still forced by Zhu Xiang to read a passage. Zhu Xiang knew when to stop and didn’t force Li Mu to finish the whole thing. Even a rabbit will kick when pushed too hard — if he drove Li Mu into a corner, Li Mu would definitely abandon him and go to another city. He still needed Li Mu to help intimidate the Chu nobility, so he couldn’t let Li Mu run off.

When Zhu Xiang arrived at the mourning hall of King Qi of Chu, it had been nearly two months since the king slit his throat. When King Qi died, the lingering summer heat was still oppressive. Because he had not been buried for so long, the corpse was already emitting the stench of decay. The mourning hall was infested with flies — a miserable sight.

When Zhu Xiang, dressed in plain mourning clothes, entered the hall, an argument was still going on. Some nobles wanted to carry out King Qi’s burial according to his final wishes, but most of the Chu royal clan wanted him buried in the tomb of his father.

The nobles believed that since King Qi ascended the throne only briefly, he had not built his own mausoleum. For a king to be buried in a previous king’s tomb would be far too low in status. Moreover, King Qi had wanted to be buried together with Lord Chunshen. The King of Qin also respected King Qi and Lord Chunshen, and was willing to build a shrine for the pair. Wasn’t that far better than being buried as an accompaniment?

King Qi had sacrificed himself for righteousness — he deserved a better form of veneration.

But the Chu royal clan argued that since Xiong Qi had been the King of Chu, he should be buried in the royal mausoleum. Since he didn’t have one of his own, then as a son, being buried in his father’s tomb was an act of filial piety.

And the shrine the King of Qin wished to build for him could be built there just as well.

As for King Qi’s own wish — he said he felt unworthy to face his ancestors, hence he refused burial at the royal tombs. But the royal clan declared that they unanimously recognized him as a fine king, worthy of burial in the royal tombs.

The two sides argued fiercely, so much so that they didn’t even notice Zhu Xiang entering. They also didn’t recognize him — they failed to realize that this plainly dressed middle-aged man held high status.

Silently listening, Zhu Xiang finally understood why the Chu royal clan refused to let King Qi’s remains be taken north for burial. The root cause… was still Lord Bai.

Lord Bai had burned down the ancestral mausoleum of the Chu kings. The royal clan was deeply uneasy, fearing that after Chu’s fall, Qin might do the same again. They did not truly want King Qi buried in the relocated Chu royal tombs — what they wanted was for the shrine promised by the Qin king to be built inside the royal mausoleum, so that the Qin would have a reason not to destroy it.

Their motivation, he supposed, wasn’t entirely malicious.

They even said they could take a step back and move Lord Chunshen’s spirit tablet to the tomb of King Yuan of Chu, letting him accompany the earlier king in death — after all, Lord Chunshen had also served King Yuan. But Zhu Xiang sneered. These people were far too delusional.

In order to protect the old royal mausoleum, they wanted to bury both Lord Chunshen and King Qi in the tomb of King Yuan. Yet they never wondered why the King of Qin wanted a shrine built for the two men.

“I heard that in the past, the hereditary nobles of Chu often held the king in contempt. To shoot Wu Qi, they could even desecrate their king’s corpse. I once thought they did it out of necessity. After seeing this today, it seems it wasn’t necessity — it was simply their nature.”

Zhu Xiang’s clear, ringing voice cut straight through the noisy hall. The argument stopped abruptly. They turned, furious, toward the man who dared insult them.

They didn’t recognize Zhu Xiang — but they recognized Li Mu standing beside him like a bodyguard. Their curse-filled words stalled in their throats, unsure whether they dared speak them.

Zhu Xiang ignored their anger. He walked to King Qi’s coffin, bowed deeply to ask the deceased king’s forgiveness, and then ordered the coffin opened.

The moment the lid lifted, an overpowering stench burst forth. King Qi’s body, which had undergone almost no preservation, was crawling with maggots. Zhu Xiang’s expression remained steady, though his eyes briefly glimmered with dazed sorrow.

He thought of his old friend Wei Wuji.

As the stench filled the hall, the Chu nobles covered their noses with their sleeves, gagging nonstop. Li Mu, long accustomed to battlefield rot, said coolly, “I entrusted King Qi’s body to you, believing you would treat your own king with honor. I didn’t expect you to handle him with such disrespect.”

“The King of Qin has ordered that King Qi be brought home for burial.” Zhu Xiang produced the command token bestowed by the Qin king and said without arguing further, “Anyone who obstructs this — kill them.”

In truth, King Zheng had issued no such order yet. But if Zhu Xiang used the king’s token, then it was equivalent to the king himself speaking.

The Chu royal clan erupted in protest.

Zhu Xiang gave a cold laugh. “I said already — obstructers will be killed. If you truly wish to resist…”

He reached out his hand. A guard passed him a sword. Zhu Xiang drew it and tossed it onto the ground.

“If you’re not afraid to die, then fight for it with your lives,” he said. “Perhaps if enough of you die, I could petition the King of Qin to reconsider.”

The hall fell silent.

Zhu Xiang had already learned from Li Mu that King Qi’s corpse had decayed, so he had brought craftsmen skilled in handling remains. He ordered them to clean and prepare the body anew, apply fragrant oils and preservatives, and place it into a fresh coffin.

As he was preparing to leave, a Chu noble hesitated, then stepped forward to block his way.  They saluted and said, “Please allow us to carry our king’s coffin.”

Zhu Xiang’s cold gaze softened slightly. “There are still righteous men in Chu. If Lord Chunshen’s spirit sees this, it may ease his heart.”

“Who are you!”

The royal clan, unwilling to physically block the Qin envoys but furious at their domineering attitude, could only shout accusations.

Zhu Xiang glanced back at them — nobles who crumbled the moment they were threatened with death. “Friend of Lord Chunshen — Zhu Xiang.”

With that, he walked out of the hall without another look at the flies or the chaos.

Inside the hall, silence gave way to uproar.

Some cursed Zhu Xiang as an uncouth commoner unfit for etiquette.

Some sighed in awe — so this was Lord Zhu Xiang himself, worthy of reputation.

Still others regretted not volunteering to carry the coffin, missing their chance to make a good impression.

The current King of Qin was Zhu Xiang’s nephew — everyone knew that currying favor with Zhu Xiang was equivalent to currying favor with the king.

“I’ll be right back,” Zhu Xiang said after placing King Qi’s coffin onto the carriage.

Li Mu said, “I’ll go with you.”

Zhu Xiang was puzzled. “Is Chu not still unstable?”

“It’s just cleanup. Meng Tian and the others can handle it.” Because Chu was still unsettled and Xiang Yan hadn’t died yet, Li Mu didn’t feel at ease letting Zhu Xiang travel alone.

Zhu Xiang never involved himself in military matters and knew his limits. Since Li Mu insisted, he traveled north with him. Though Lady Chunshen despised the Chu royal lineage, with Zhu Xiang mediating — and with King Qi and Lord Chunshen having once been close — she would likely agree. Besides, having a shrine built in Lord Chunshen’s honor was a benefit the family surely wanted.

After Zhu Xiang departed, Li Mu ordered the Qin army to spread word across Chu:

King Qi died for Chu, hoping to save his people, but the Chu royal clan disrespected his remains. Two months passed without burial until his corpse rotted. Lord Zhu Xiang, friend of Lord Chunshen, rushed from Qin upon hearing this. When he entered the mourning hall, flies swarmed the place. Lord Zhu Xiang flew into a rage and forced the royal clan at swordpoint to allow the coffin to be taken north, so that King Qi could finally be laid to rest.

What humiliation!

Zhu Xiang said to Li Mu, “Even if it’s the truth, why does it sound so strange?”

Li Mu replied, “If it’s the truth, why should it sound strange?”

Zhu Xiang scratched his head. “True enough. It is just the plain truth.”

After the rumor spread, Li Mu added an even more detailed version:

The King of Qin wished to build a shrine to honor King Qi and Lord Chunshen as wise ruler and loyal minister, to admonish future kings. But the Chu royal clan claimed King Qi’s succession was irregular and that he was unworthy of being worshipped — only fit to be buried as an accompanying servant. His coffin, they said, should not exceed the rank of an ordinary courtier, and was even inferior to that of the previously deposed Chu king.

When Xiang Yan heard this, those around him wondered whether Qin was slandering the Chu nobles.

He merely sneered. “Qin is strong. To Qin, the Chu nobles are nothing more than fish on a chopping board. Why would they waste effort slandering them? From what I know, this is precisely the kind of thing they would do.”

After saying this, he drained his wine and burst into tears. “Wasn’t I the same back then? No matter how much merit I earned, when did those nobles of the Mi clan ever look at me with respect? Naturally, they also despised the king I escorted back.”

Xiang Yan ordered that no one was to trouble Zhu Xiang’s procession as they carried King Qi north. When he learned that Li Mu himself was escorting the coffin, he cried even harder. Even the enemy respected King Qi, yet the Chu nobles did not. He thought of Lord Chunshen being protected by Qin soldiers, thought of Lord Xinling hanging himself between the armies — grief overwhelmed him.

Xiang Yan grew dazed. Was it truly Qin that destroyed the Six States? Even without Qin — could such Six States have survived?

For the first time, Xiang Yan felt his resolve to resist Qin begin to waver. But even if it hadn’t, his end was already approaching.

After Li Mu spread word that King Qi’s body had been mistreated, all of Chu was enraged. Because Zhu Xiang had once escorted Lord Chunshen away safely, his name was already beloved among the Chu people. Lord Chunshen’s old fief was north of the Huai River. Zhu Xiang’s procession passed through it again.

The people — still considering themselves subjects of Lord Chunshen’s fief — donned coarse mourning clothes once more and joined Zhu Xiang’s procession. The escorting crowd swelled into a massive tide, their wails shaking the sky.

For the first time, the people of Chu mourned their final king properly.

A Chu scholar composed a song, linking the humiliation of King Qi’s corpse to Lord Chunshen’s forced suicide. They cried out to the heavens — if heaven had eyes, surely it would bring calamity down upon the current Chu court.

Zhu Xiang’s heart tightened. He quickly told the singers, “The corruption of the court is not the fault of the people. How could heaven punish you? What have the common folk done wrong?”

But his words were too far ahead of their time — the people continued singing.

Zhu Xiang could only rub his forehead helplessly.

Li Mu chuckled. “They’re only venting their resentment. They don’t truly want disaster to fall upon them.”

Zhu Xiang said, “But what if it does? Speak of misfortune too much and it comes. I still hope Chu has a good harvest next year.”

Li Mu couldn’t help laughing.

Zhu Xiang had always disliked anything related to gods and ghosts, often scolding such things as “superstition.” But sometimes, he was even more superstitious than others. How could natural disasters be summoned just because someone kept thinking about them? If Heaven were really that fragile, it would have broken long ago.

Zhu Xiang shook his head repeatedly.

This wasn’t superstition. He was truly worried.

Last year, the Yellow River had flooded. Although nothing happened this year, who could say what would happen next year?

Ever since the floods and droughts during Xia Tong’s reign, the climate of Huaxia had clearly entered a period of instability. Good weather was only an interval; extreme fluctuations might continue for many years.

Zhu Xiang vaguely remembered that when the Western Han was established, the climate had returned to a stable phase.

Hopefully, that stable phase would come soon. Hopefully, it had already arrived.

Sigh.

His heart was full of worries no one understood. Even when the King of Qin, Zheng, read Zhu Xiang’s letters full of concerns, he sneered, thinking his uncle was worrying for nothing.

Although Chu still had scattered resistance, King Qi of Chu was dead. Qin had more or less unified the world.

Qin King Zheng was preparing to offer sacrifices to Heaven and proclaim himself Qin Shihuang.

But the rituals required preparation, and the influential ministers across the land also needed time to return and attend his enthronement ceremony.

The world was settled now; no need to rush. Qin King Zheng ordered the court to prepare for a full year, planning to ascend as Qin Shihuang on the second day of the first month the following year.

That happened to be his birthday. He would treat it as giving himself a birthday gift.

Qin King Zheng wrote down a long list of names— even Li Bing far away in Shu and Meng Wu in Nanjun had to return to Xianyang.

The elders who had cared for him—how could they not witness his ascension to Qin Shihuang?

Qin King Zheng even visited the tombs of his great-grandfather, grandfather, and father, spending a night at each, specifically informing them of his upcoming enthronement.

“Father, Father… I can finally give you a posthumous title.”

Qin King Zheng patted the stone statue in front of his father’s tomb.

Standing behind him, Zhang Liang was full of disdain.

What kind of monarch worships his ancestors like this? You’re far too rude. And you claim to be a student taught by Xunzi? You’re tarnishing your teacher’s reputation.

Xunzi, however, had no objection.

Ancestor worship was indeed something required before an enthronement ceremony. But what Qin King Zheng was doing now was simply speaking to his elders as he normally would. No need for excessive formalities. The late kings would not blame him.

Xunzi’s body grew increasingly frail, and he slept more and more.

Though he suffered no illness, he was old—his mind sluggish, his bones fragile, and his whole body uncomfortable.

Yet he still forced himself to personally oversee preparations for Qin King Zheng’s enthronement, and even prepared the grand ceremonies Qin King Zheng planned to hold later when he would travel to offer sacrifices at sacred sites.

After Qin King Zheng ascended as Qin Shihuang, he would tour the realm and conduct grand rituals to honor local deities.

This was something King Zhaoxiang of Qin had wanted to do, something Xunzi had spent more than ten years preparing for.

Now that Qin had finally unified the world, Xunzi could finally accomplish what had been held back for so long.

As Zhu Xiang expected, with the king’s decree and Zhu Xiang’s persuasion, the family of Lord Chunshen agreed to move his coffin and bury him together with King Qi of Chu.

Lord Chunshen’s widow wore a face of frost. Though she knew this was better for her husband, her heart was still heavy.

After all, if he were buried with King Qi of Chu, she would no longer be able to be buried with him in the future.

Forget it, forget it. If she couldn’t be buried with her husband, she would be buried with her son instead.

After delivering Zhu Xiang to his destination, Li Mu hurried back to Chu.

Zhu Xiang stayed behind to personally oversee the construction of the ancestral hall and tombs.

Since Lord Chunshen and King Qi had few burial goods, and the ancestral hall didn’t need to be overly lavish, the winter off-season was enough to complete the work.

When the ancestral hall was finished, many local scholars came to offer respects—including Qin scholars. It was said more were on the way from distant regions.

This was a model of ruler and minister personally endorsed by the King of Qin, worthy for scholars now and in future generations to worship… and to pray to.

Zhu Xiang looked at the wish-filled ribbons tied to the pine trees and the coins thrown into the pond.

He was speechless for a long time.

Was tying prayer ribbons to trees and tossing coins into ponds also something their ancestors etched into their bloodlines?

What ancestors?! Could people stop blaming everything on bloodlines?

Zhu Xiang rubbed his forehead and instructed, “Remember to send someone to collect the coins every day. Consider it maintenance funds for the hall.”

Lord Chunshen’s widow lived in the ancestral hall, taking charge of its management.

Hearing Zhu Xiang say this, her face—stiff for days—finally broke into a smile. “As Lord Zhu Xiang commands.”

Zhu Xiang said, “Also, write a letter to your son. Now that Chu has fallen, he can serve in office. I will keep him by my side and instruct him personally.”

He also wanted to take the descendants of Prince Xinling under his wing. But they refused—insisting on guarding Wei for three generations, only serving once it reached their great-grandchildren.

So he simply sent them books from Xianyang Academy and told them even if they wouldn’t serve, they could still study in Xianyang.

Lord Chunshen’s widow bowed respectfully. “Yes, Lord Zhu Xiang.”

Now that Chu had truly perished, she felt vindicated.

Serves them right!

Thinking of how Chu, after struggling so long, had finally produced a decent last king only for his corpse to be insulted—so that Zhu Xiang himself had to retrieve his remains to give him a proper burial—she shouted “Serves them right!” even louder in her heart.

Serves them right!

When Zhu Xiang completed the ancestral hall, Chu’s resistance had weakened further.

Even Xiang Yan found it pointless.

Even if he held out, then what? With the Chu royal clan in that state, he might as well proclaim himself king.

But Xiang Yan ultimately upheld the bottom line of a Chu minister. After a long inner struggle, he gave up the idea of declaring independence.

He originally thought to follow King Qi in suicide, but then Li Mu sent someone asking whether he wanted to see his family one last time.

Xiang Yan sighed. Even if he wished to follow King Qi, he still needed to see his family again.

The Xiang Yan of this world was not as free and unburdened as the Xiang Yan in Zhu Xiang’s original history.

In actual history, although Xiang Yan served in the army, his family and clan were safely settled, so he could die for Chu without worries.

But now, his clan had long been taken by Qin, and his remaining family had been captured when Xiangcheng fell. He simply could not let go.

Li Mu offered him a way out, so he surrendered.

But Xiang Yan’s spirit was dead. He was only temporarily alive. Once he confirmed the safety of his family and clan and bid them farewell, he would still follow King Qi in death.

Even if he and King Qi had little true ruler-minister bond and clashed more often than not.

Li Mu knew Xiang Yan would never serve him. Giving him an excuse to live a little longer was already the most he could do.

If Chu had one king and one general die for the state, the Chu people might grow too attached to their old kingdom, making governance difficult.

And besides…

King Qi of Chu probably didn’t want Xiang Yan following him either.

With Xiang Yan’s surrender, Chu’s resistance ended completely. The Chu royal clan and most of the ministers were escorted to Xianyang to await Qin King Zheng’s judgment. Students of Xianyang Academy arrived in Chu to serve as officials and teach Chu people the Qin laws.

With the royal clan and nobles gone, most of the land reverted to Qin. After rewarding the Qin soldiers, Qin King Zheng still had small plots left, which were distributed to commoners according to Qin law.

The Chu commoners, having expected Qin to confiscate their already tiny fields, were stunned to receive land instead. Their nostalgia for Chu instantly dropped.

When Zhu Xiang returned to Chu, spring planting had begun.

And then his worry came true—another year of extreme weather.

This winter was extraordinarily long. Even in the fourth month, frost lingered, and heavy snow fell across Fangling (modern Hubei).

Forget the seedlings—even people froze to death.

Coincidentally, Chu people had been circulating songs like: “Chu treated Lord Chunshen and King Qi this way, so Heaven will punish us.”

With the disaster hitting, they believed the punishment had really come.

Chu culture differed from the Central Plains; among the Seven States, it revered gods and shamanic practices the most.

Seeing Heaven “punish” them, the Chu people panicked, refusing to rescue or help themselves, only kowtowing and begging Heaven for mercy. Some even buried themselves or their children in the snow as sacrifices to spirits.

Zhu Xiang was overwhelmed with disaster relief. Not only did the superstitious Chu people refuse to cooperate—they made matters worse.

Li Mu advised him to stop. Let them perish. Those who refuse to save themselves do not require saving.

Zhu Xiang sighed and ordered Li Mu to build a tall altar so he could perform rituals.

For superstitious commoners, one could only use superstition against superstition. He had performed a similar act at Yunmeng Marsh before—now he would do it again.

Zhu Xiang first conducted a ritual questioning Heaven, proclaiming he would slay the spirits harming Chu, then led troops to eradicate local cults.

Whenever natural disasters struck, strange religious groups sprouted like mushrooms—scamming money, scamming lives, and many bandits used divine names to extort, abduct, and form mountain strongholds.

Zhu Xiang personally led troops—whether in mountains or waters—to capture and behead these bandits, declaring it the “exorcism of evil spirits.”

Li Mu wanted to take over, but Zhu Xiang refused.

“I already have a reputation among the common people as someone who drives out evil spirits. If I do it, their fear is at its lowest,” Zhu Xiang said.

“I’ll suppress the bandits; you focus on relief. If we both go fight bandits, who will govern the people?”

Li Mu had no choice but to temporarily put down his general’s duties and switch roles with Zhu Xiang. While Zhu Xiang swept across the Jianghuai plains eliminating cult-bandits, he oversaw relief and replanting.

Li Mu had the ability to govern a nation; changing roles posed no difficulty. Lin Zhi wrote to mock him, saying he was acting as Chu’s temporary chief minister, essentially serving as prime minister once.

Li Mu’s reply was full of disdain.

The cold disaster affected the entire country; Qin suffered too.

But Qin, being in the north, had far more experience handling cold. Combined with the lack of harmful superstitions confusing the people, they responded swiftly. So the damage was less severe than in Chu.

Besides, Qin had a good harvest the previous year. Most families had surplus grain, and cotton cloth was now widespread. Thus fewer died of hunger or cold, easing the burden on Qin King Zheng.

The lands of the other five former states also had a good harvest the previous year, barely managing self-sufficiency.

Southern Qin only needed to supply grain and cloth to Chu.

The Qin ruler and his ministers felt the headache immediately after unifying the world.

Many Qin officials, full of ambition after unification, submitted memorials urging Qin King Zheng to continue conquering lands and build unprecedented achievements.

They also proposed extravagant ideas such as constructing palaces and great roads across the land to showcase the majesty of Qin.

Since there were no more wars, wasn’t it time to indulge?

Qin King Zheng suppressed all these memorials.

Then, when the cold disaster struck, the frost that killed crops also froze the restless hearts of the Qin court.

They finally calmed down.

Only then did Qin King Zheng circulate Zhu Xiang’s memorial urging a period of rest and recovery.

Drawing from historical experience, Zhu Xiang wrote about the various problems that Qin might face after suddenly expanding its territory.

Conquering the world was difficult; governing it was far harder. Qin’s “unification” was only the first step.

“Gentlemen, let us encourage one another.” Qin King Zheng sighed deeply.

When he destroyed Chu, his heart had been full of excitement.

But as he neared the moment of becoming Qin Shihuang, his heart grew heavy.

In his dreams, he had already been Qin Shihuang once— and it had gone badly.

Could he do better this time?

Ying Zheng wasn’t sure.

He was always confident in his actions—except in this matter.

In the dream, Qin perished in the second generation. Even with Fusu as the crown prince now, he dared not hope too much.

What he himself could not accomplish, Fusu was even less likely to accomplish. For Qin to enjoy lasting peace, the governance must be set in order by his own hands.

His great-grandfather, grandfather, and father had all restrained their ambitions, passing Qin carefully and steadily into his hands. He must tread as if on thin ice.

“Old Zheng… do you think I can do it?”

Young Ying Zheng sat before his slightly older self, revealing even more hesitation and unease than he had ever shown before Zhu Xiang.

He sat there blankly for a long time, then left the crumbling dream chamber.

The older Ying Zheng opened his eyes and sighed faintly.