HCT – Chapter 3 Shepherd’s Purse and Lean Pork Congee

Archaeological discoveries show that during the Shang dynasty, people already performed castration on boars and sows to make pork tastier—and they even took the time to draw pictures and write explanations about it.

But first, due to the lack of antibiotics in ancient times, the wounds from such procedures often became infected. Second, meat was scarce, so it was more important for pigs to reproduce than to improve the taste of their meat. Being able to eat pork at all was a luxury—people didn’t fuss over its flavor. Only noble households like feudal lords and high officials could afford to castrate pigs for culinary reasons.

Back then, with people barely able to fill their own stomachs, pigpens were typically located next to latrines so pigs could be raised on human waste. Naturally, pork from such pigs was rife with parasites and an overwhelmingly foul stench. Even if the technology for castration existed, wealthier families often avoided pork entirely.

Over time, pork came to be considered “cheap meat” among the common folk.

But the Chinese have always been a practical people—if it tastes good, then it’s good food, regardless of its social status.

Zhu Xiang, backed by the Lin family and living with only one other person, essentially counted as half a gentry household. He managed to raise a few pigs using modern methods just to satisfy his craving for decent meat.

After Lin Zhi had tasted pork from Zhu Xiang’s pigs, he assigned people to raise pigs under Zhu Xiang’s guidance.

What’s a little grain compared to delicious meat? Lin Xiangru, although denied a noble title due to his humble birth, held a senior minister’s post. That meant the Lin household could easily afford to feed castrated pigs raised on grain and forage.

Thanks to this, Zhu Xiang never lacked meat or animal fat in his kitchen.

Watching little Qin Shi Huang devour his steamed egg with rosy cheeks, Zhu Xiang couldn’t help but smile in satisfaction.

But when he thought about the simplicity of their food, Zhu Xiang sighed inwardly.

In his past life, he had loved reading novels about farming and gourmet food—an occupational hazard. But as an agronomy professor, he knew those novels were just wishful thinking. If you really time-traveled and wanted to get rich off gourmet cooking, you might as well just go back to sleep.

After all, “delicious” fundamentally boils down to top-quality ingredients plus oil, salt, sauces, vinegar, and spices. But how could an average household possibly get top-quality ingredients?

Oil and seasonings were non-negotiables for good food.

Spices that fetched a king’s ransom were completely out of reach for commoners. Even salt, without modern purification methods, required repeated leaching to eliminate its bitterness. The labor and resources involved in that would exhaust even a middle-class scholar’s family.

And as for cooking oil—using animal fat to fry food meant your household could afford meat daily. Using plant-based oil? Even in the Ming and Qing dynasties, only rich merchants or their tenant farmers could grow enough oil crops for regular use. If your family was already struggling, how could you possibly get enough oil?

It wasn’t that ancient people couldn’t make delicious food; it’s just that ordinary people couldn’t afford to.

Those food vendors and taverns selling gourmet dishes? There’s no way they were backed by regular families. Forget fancy ingredients—even getting all the basics like oil, salt, sauce, and vinegar together was a challenge.

Zhu Xiang himself hadn’t tasted anything truly “gourmet” until he became a retainer in Lin Xiangru’s household and took charge of their farmland and estates.

And now, after years of effort, he’d managed to bring a smile to little Qin Shi Huang’s tear-streaked face—helping him forget, if only temporarily, the pain of being abandoned by his birth mother. That alone made Zhu Xiang feel that all his work had been worth it.

My little First Emperor is so cute!

“That was just a little something to fill your stomach. There’s more good stuff coming tonight,” Zhu Xiang said, handing the empty bowl to an old servant. Then, turning to the boy, who was nervously licking his lips, he added, “Come on, let’s go get you a bath. We need to shave your head too—your hair’s crawling with fleas.”

Ying Zheng hesitated. “Even if I don’t call you Father, you’ll still raise me?”

Zhu Xiang nodded. “Of course.”

The child hesitated again, then asked in a small voice, “Is it like with Lu Buwei? A rare treasure, kept for profit?”

Xue, standing nearby, looked startled.

Zhu Xiang chuckled again. “How about I call you Zheng’er, okay?”

Ying Zheng nodded softly.

Zhu Xiang continued, “Zheng’er, you’re very smart, so let me ask you something. When Lu Buwei used his wealth to support your father, why did he need to say something like ‘a rare treasure worth keeping’ to convince him?”

Ying Zheng blinked. “Huh?”

Zhu Xiang smiled. “Think about it. If Lu Buwei had been your father’s uncle—your maternal uncle—and he wanted to help your father return to Qin, would he have needed to use those words to earn his trust?”

Ying Zheng scrunched his brows. “No.”

“Exactly. Lu Buwei had to pitch the deal that way because they were strangers. If they were to work together, it had to be based on mutual interest. But I’m your uncle—your mother’s only full sibling. Even if I didn’t find you until after you became king of Qin, you’d still give me a title. You’d probably treat me extra well just to make up for the fact that your birth mother abandoned me.”

Zhu Xiang sighed and added with a sneer, “Chunhua—my sister—she’s the type who never feels guilt for her mistakes. She wouldn’t try to cover them up by having you kill me. She’d just toss me a few handouts from on high and expect me to be grateful. Just like with that letter she wrote—dumping you on us to raise and still expecting us to thank her.”

“So Zheng’er, whether or not you call me ‘Father,’ I’m still your uncle. Your family. And since you’re of royal blood, I wouldn’t dare let someone else raise you—what if you grew up and came back to take revenge on us?”

With that, Zhu Xiang gave Ying Zheng’s nose a playful tweak.

Better take advantage now while the First Emperor’s still just a toddler!

Ying Zheng clutched his nose. “I wouldn’t do that!”

“Good, Zheng’er wouldn’t. Now let’s go get you washed up. Just looking at all those fleas on your head is making me itch.” Zhu Xiang scooped up Ying Zheng and headed off. “Xue, don’t forget to spray every spot Zheng’er’s been in—we can’t let a single flea survive!”

“Got it,” Xue replied.

Ying Zheng shrank his neck a little. He could feel his uncle and aunt’s disdain for him.

In the bathroom, Zhu Xiang first shaved the boy’s head bald, leaving just two tufts at the temples. Then he threw the hair into a fire.

Die, fleas!

Next, he used two full buckets of water to scrub Ying Zheng clean, turning him from dusty brown to rosy pink.

Ying Zheng stared at the cloth-wrapped ball that created bubbles. Curious, he asked, “What’s this? Soapberry?”

“Soap pouch,” Zhu Xiang replied. “It’s made from saponified fats. If you’re interested, I’ll teach you how to make it.”

Zhu Xiang had tried making soap before, but he couldn’t get a strong enough alkali.

He’d used limestone to make quicklime, then mixed it with water and filtered it together with wood ash to make a lye solution. But that only turned animal fat into a semi-solid.

So he made soap pouches using cloth to wrap the semi-solid soap, which acted like a bath sponge.

He’d considered selling them for money, but without the power to protect himself, introducing such a novel product would only bring trouble. Since he was doing fine as things stood, he used them privately or gifted them to the Lin family and close friends.

Ying Zheng poked a bubble. It popped.

He poked another—this one stuck to his fingertip.

Eyes widening in surprise, he kept poking. Some popped, some clung to his hand.

He blew on his palm and sent the bubble floating into the air.

Then he puffed out his cheeks and blew hard—a stream of bubbles flew into Zhu Xiang’s face.

Zhu Xiang: “…”

Ying Zheng, suddenly realizing what he’d done: “…”

Zhu Xiang: “Pfft… Hahaha! Are bubbles fun?”

Ying Zheng’s face turned bright red. He stammered for a bit, then covered his face with both hands.

So embarrassing! Just a moment ago, he was questioning his uncle about whether he was being raised just because he was “a rare commodity worth keeping.” And now, he was playing around like a child. Where did his brain go?!

“All right, stop covering your face, you’re not done washing yet.” Zhu Xiang had filled the small, tub-sized bath—about the size of a modern-day bathtub—with hot water. After undressing, he picked up Ying Xiaozheng and got in to bathe together. He continued scrubbing him, saying, “Zheng’er, you’re really filthy.”

Ying Xiaozheng: “…” Mmm… He curled his toes.

Zhu Xiang touched Ying Xiaozheng’s bony back. “Still so skinny.”

Ying Xiaozheng: “…” Mmm… He curled his fingers.

Zhu Xiang lifted his little hand. “Your nails look like they’ve been chewed by a dog. Have you never trimmed them before?”

Ying Xiaozheng bit his lip, cheeks puffing up.

“We’ll trim your fingernails and toenails, put you in clean clothes, and feed you until you’ve got some meat on your bones. Then you’ll finally look like a child from my family.” Zhu Xiang pinched the skin-only cheeks of Ying Xiaozheng. “You can’t tell anyone your true identity—just say you’re my nephew. Got it?”

Ying Xiaozheng: “Mm… I understand.”

Then he bit his lip again, downcast. “I probably can’t go back to Qin, can I?”

He finally remembered what he had been crying about in his dream.

“You’ll definitely go back,” Zhu Xiang comforted. “Your father secretly left Zhao. The King of Zhao is surely holding you as a hostage in his place, always keeping tabs on you. Once your father is made crown prince, Zhao will certainly send you back to Qin.”

Though Records of the Grand Historian noted that Lady Zhao hid with the young emperor to avoid being killed, it was also recorded that right after King Zhaoxiang of Qin died, the King of Zhao quickly returned Lady Zhao and the young emperor to Qin—clearly, the mother and child’s whereabouts were known and controlled the whole time.

Zhu Xiang finally scrubbed Ying Xiaozheng clean, now holding a fresh, pink, soft little emperor cub in the bath, sighing.

“Marriages between states often end in betrayal, but it’s still closer than having no alliance at all. Since Queen Dowager Xuan, high positions in Qin’s harem have mostly gone to women from Chu, which brought many benefits to Chu. The nobles of Zhao aren’t stupid. Previously, Qin and Zhao were always at war, with no chance to marry into each other. Now that there’s an opportunity for a Zhao woman to become the empress dowager of Qin, they’ll definitely seize it.”

“The empress dowager holds political power. Chunhua wants to make her mark in court and must seek Zhao’s support. When that happens, Zhao might be able to interfere in Qin’s court like Chu once did.”

Ying Xiaozheng secretly turned to look at his uncle in surprise—his uncle didn’t seem to realize just how astonishing the things he was saying were.

Zhu Xiang stared into the distance, unaware of Ying Xiaozheng’s shock, and continued, “When King Wuling of Zhao was in power, King Wu of Qin died suddenly, and Qin fell into chaos. Zhao was powerful then, so King Wuling tried to interfere with Qin’s royal succession. He even sent troops to escort the current King of Qin—then a hostage in Yan—back to Qin, hoping to stir up trouble.”

“Unfortunately, he didn’t expect that the hostage, who’d never been trained as a successor, would actually turn out to be a brilliant and capable ruler. His plan fell apart.”

“Now, although the current King of Zhao is inexperienced in governance, his ministers are wise. They’ll definitely reuse King Wuling’s tactics—using you to meddle in Qin’s royal succession. Lu Buwei, in his thirst for power, will certainly work to make this happen.”

The water had cooled a bit. Zhu Xiang stood up and wrapped Ying Xiaozheng in a dry cloth, helping him towel off.

“You don’t have to worry about never seeing your mother again. Once your father becomes crown prince, she’ll surely return to Qin with you, and go back to being your loving mother.”

Zhu Xiang mentally added, As if.

When Sima Qian wrote Records of the Grand Historian, the events of the pre-Qin era were already distant, and much of the material was collected from folk stories. He included many conflicting legends in the Records, leaving it to future generations to sort them out.

For example, the identity of Qin Shi Huang’s mother, “Lady Zhao,” has two versions in historical and unofficial texts—either a singer or the daughter of a wealthy family.

Because research funding was hard to come by, field professors often traveled together to save costs. Zhu Xiang used to go out with colleagues from archaeology and plant/animal research. Their disciplines had a lot of crossover and mutual support.

After Zhu Xiang fainted once, he remembered something an archaeology professor had once said.

The name “Lady Zhao” actually came from the Ming-era novel Chronicles of the Eastern Zhou Kingdoms. In official and unofficial histories, the mother of the First Emperor had no recorded name.

That alone showed that she couldn’t have been nobility. While women in the pre-Qin era didn’t have full biographies written, noblewomen who became consorts or dowagers in ducal courts still had their surnames recorded. For instance, Queen Dowager Xuan and Queen Dowager Huayang were both surnamed Mi. “Lady Zhao” was enfeoffed as “Empress Dowager” but had no surname listed—clearly, she wasn’t noble.

So, in this timeline, it made perfect sense for “Lady Zhao” to be a commoner woman named Chunhua.

Thinking about all the vicious and foolish things his older sister had done, Zhu Xiang felt she really did match the image of “Lady Zhao.” His heart soured further.

No matter what choices she made—whether willingly or unwillingly—“Lady Zhao” always ended up pretty well.

Even if she had to kill her son for her lover, she still dreamed of putting an illegitimate child on the Qin throne. Anyone with a brain could tell—even if the coup succeeded, there were so many royal clans in Qin, how could an outsider ever seize the throne? Whether she won or lost, she’d meet a tragic end.

Yet somehow, Qin Shi Huang was genuinely kind to her. After throwing a tantrum, he brought her back to Ganquan Palace and continued to treat her well. She lived out her life comfortably, posthumously honored as “Empress Dowager,” and was buried alongside King Zhuangxiang of Qin.

Even now, after she had abandoned her son and fled, once Zhao returned her to Qin, the abandoned little emperor cub would still have to treat her well.

All Zhu Xiang could hope for was that, this time, considering she hadn’t even raised the little emperor cub properly, she wouldn’t mess things up so badly again.

After sighing over all this and dressing up the freshly scented, warm little emperor cub, Zhu Xiang carried him toward the main hall. Ying Xiaozheng finally snapped out of his shock and exclaimed, “Uncle, you know so much!”

“Do I?” Zhu Xiang replied, puzzled. “These are all things ordinary folks can hear about. Like King Wuling of Zhao escorting the current Qin King back home, and Lu Buwei’s deal with your father—those stories are all over the place.”

Ying Xiaozheng’s mind was foggy. “R-Really?”

Zhu Xiang nodded. “Of course.”

Ying Xiaozheng frowned. His instincts told him something wasn’t quite right, but his uncle’s explanation did make sense.

Eventually, his brain overloaded, and he yawned, slumping against his uncle.

After the bath, Ying Xiaozheng was both sleepy and starving. He didn’t want to think about anything anymore—just eat and sleep.

That small bowl of steamed egg before the bath had only whetted his appetite; it didn’t help fill his belly at all.

Zhu Xiang saw Ying Xiaozheng blinking slowly, his head bobbing, and his heart melted at the cuteness.

He hadn’t particularly liked kids before—but this one was different. This was their little emperor cub! Do you know what that means? The baby dragon emperor! That made all the difference.

Even though Ying Xiaozheng was so thin that he wasn’t exactly cute by normal standards, to Zhu Xiang, his emperor-cub nephew was pure perfection—he was looking at him through the strongest rose-tinted glasses imaginable.

Unable to resist, he lowered his head and rubbed his cheek against Ying Xiaozheng’s freshly shaved scalp. “Zheng’er, are you sleepy? Want to go straight to bed?”

Ying Xiaozheng immediately forced his sleepy eyes wide open. “N-No, not sleepy—I want to eat!”

“Alright, let’s eat first,” Zhu Xiang said sympathetically. Poor kid—so hungry that even when he could barely keep his eyes open, he perked right up at the mention of food.

When Zhu Xiang carried Ying Xiaozheng to the dining table, Lin Zhi was already eating with a spoon in one hand and chopsticks in the other. While eating, he grumbled, “Why are we still having porridge for dinner?”

Zhu Xiang placed Ying Xiaozheng on a cushion, and when he saw that the child couldn’t reach the bowl, he picked him up again and seated him in his lap. “The goat’s milk porridge was made for the child this afternoon. It’s not a proper meal. Dinner should be light to avoid indigestion—porridge is just right. Xue, cut up a salt-baked chicken for him to go with the porridge so he doesn’t keep complaining.”

Xue replied, “I already prepared it. Before you came, Lord Lin had already gone to the kitchen and picked out the chicken he wanted.”

Zhu Xiang shot Lin Zhi a glance. “Then what are you complaining about?”

Lin Zhi said, “I don’t want porridge, I want noodles.”

“Next time.” Zhu Xiang scooped a bowl of shepherd’s purse and lean pork congee for Ying Xiaozheng. “It’s a bit hot, blow on it before drinking.”

It was Ying Xiaozheng’s first time eating in someone else’s arms, and he felt extremely uneasy.  But in the end, the delicious aroma of the congee lured him into forgetting his discomfort. He held the small wooden spoon, blew on it twice, took a sip, then licked the corner of his mouth. He ate cleanly and efficiently—not at all like a child.

Lin Zhi clicked his tongue in amazement. “My kid is bigger than him, but let him eat by himself and he’ll end up with rice all over his head and clothes.”

Zhu Xiang said proudly, “My Zheng’er is just smart—no use being jealous!”

Ying Xiaozheng bit down on the wooden spoon and almost chipped a baby tooth. Xue’s hand trembled as she brought over the chicken and nearly dropped it on the table.

Lin Zhi looked at Zhu Xiang with a complex expression. “You’ve just started raising him, and you already act like he’s your own flesh and blood. But you can’t even have children.”

Zhu Xiang replied, “I’m just stating the truth.” He rubbed Ying Xiaozheng’s smooth head. “Ignore him. Eat your food.”

It was the first time Ying Xiaozheng had ever been praised. His face turned redder than the candle beside him. He scrunched his nose and gave a barely audible “Mm,” then sat up straighter.

According to etiquette, one shouldn’t speak while eating or sleeping, but most people didn’t really bother following that. In fact, mealtimes and bedtime were often the liveliest moments for conversation.

Lin Zhi tore off a chicken leg and took a bite. “He does seem a bit smarter than other kids, but not too much. Didn’t you say he claims his name is Ying Zheng? Well, that’s already wrong.”

Ying Xiaozheng looked up at Lin Zhi.

Lin Zhi smiled. “I’m your uncle’s friend. You may call me bofu (uncle). Let me tell you something, kid. Claiming your name is Ying Zheng isn’t right. Men refer to themselves by their shi (clan name), so you should call yourself Zhao Zheng.”

Ying Xiaozheng’s expression changed dramatically. He set the wooden spoon firmly on the table, just about to refute, when Zhu Xiang interjected first: “That’s where you’re wrong. Even calling himself Qin Zheng would be fine, but Zhao Zheng is definitely incorrect.”

Lin Zhi raised an eyebrow. “Oh? How am I wrong? The royal families of Qin and Zhao both originated from the same clan.”

Zhu Xiang downed a bowl of congee, wiped his hands, picked up another chicken leg, and began tearing the meat into strips. “Xing is the ancestral name, shi denotes noble status. A clan name came from the fiefdom, and would change with territories. That’s how branches of the same ancestral xing became different shi.”

“The royal families of Qin and Zhao both descended from the Ying-clan ancestor Feilian. Feilian had two sons: the elder, Elai, and the younger, Jisheng.”

“Elai was the ancestor of the Qin royal family; Jisheng of the Zhao royal family.”

“Elai was originally the clan patriarch, but he was a minister of the Shang dynasty. When Zhou overthrew Shang, Elai died in battle, and Jisheng’s line was then designated by the Zhou king as the clan’s main branch.”

“Later, Jisheng’s great-grandson Zao Fu earned merit by driving the chariot for King Mu of Zhou and was enfeoffed at Zhao City—thus the shi ‘Zhao’.”

Zhu Xiang put the shredded chicken into Ying Xiaozheng’s bowl.

Ying Xiaozheng had been quietly sipping his porridge and hadn’t touched the side dishes. Seeing him so reserved, Zhu Xiang decided to help him.

“Elai’s fifth-generation descendant, Feizi, earned recognition for raising horses, and was enfeoffed in the land of Qin. He took the title Qin Ying, standing equal to Zhao Ying. From that point on, the royal shi of Qin should have been ‘Qin’. Even if it wasn’t then, after Duke Xiang of Qin escorted King Ping of Zhou and was made a vassal lord, it definitely became ‘Qin’.”

While explaining, Zhu Xiang tore off a piece of chicken breast for Ying Xiaozheng. Ying Xiaozheng stared blankly at the shredded meat in his bowl.

Zhu Xiang smiled. “Go on, don’t be shy.”

Lin Zhi set down his chopsticks. “Why don’t you just say it plainly—Elai’s branch didn’t get along with Jisheng’s and refused to acknowledge Zhao as their shi. Later Qin became a full-fledged state, and Zhao was just a minor vassal in Jin. Of course they wouldn’t call themselves ‘Zhao’.”

Zhu Xiang rolled his eyes at him. “I didn’t say that. You did.”

Zhu Xiang wasn’t afraid of Lin Zhi accusing him of speaking out of turn. In this era, nobles and retainers behind closed doors said all sorts of things. Lin Zhi and his friends would often lounge around Zhu Xiang’s house gossiping and criticizing even the King of Zhao. Compared to their usual banter, this was just academic discussion.

Lin Zhi chuckled. “You really do dare to say anything.”

Zhu Xiang defended himself. “I didn’t say anything. I just laid out the family trees of the Qin and Zhao royal lines. You’re the one rambling.”

Lin Zhi smiled but didn’t argue. He changed the subject. “By your reasoning, isn’t calling himself Ying Zheng still wrong?”

Zhu Xiang said, “Since the eastward migration of the Zhou king, war has been constant, and the old rules of ritual and music have collapsed. The world no longer strictly follows the old xing-shi naming rules. People use xing or shi interchangeably now. Besides, after Qin started claiming kingship, they avoided using xing or shi in public, opting for titles and positions instead…”

Zhu Xiang paused and fell silent.

Lin Zhi teased, “What’s wrong? Keep going.”

Zhu Xiang shook his head.

Lin Zhi laughed. “What, you afraid to say it now? The whole world belongs to the Son of Heaven. That’s why the Son of Heaven has no shi, and uses his xing as shi. The King of Qin has the ambition of a wolf. He avoids speaking of his xing-shi now, just waiting to seize Zhou’s world and proclaim himself!”

Ying Xiaozheng’s mouth fell open, and the chicken in it dropped out. He finally understood why he sometimes instinctively called himself “Ying Zheng” in dreams, and why others would mock or scold him for it.

A true Son of Heaven has no shi, and uses the xing as shi. So the future him—who would one day unify the land and become the First Emperor—could only be called Emperor Zheng, or Ying Zheng.

But for now, of course, he couldn’t claim that name!

No one had taught him before. He’d only glimpsed fragments of his future memories. Now, Ying Xiaozheng finally realized—he really shouldn’t call himself “Ying Zheng” yet.

He said solemnly, “I understand. From now on, I’ll be called Prince Zheng!”

Lin Zhi: “…”

He’d just been bickering with Zhu Xiang. How did things suddenly get awkward?

Zhu Xiang immediately put on a kind smile. “Zheng’er is so clever!”

No wonder he’s the son of the future First Emperor—so bold from such a young age! Even if his self-reference was wrong, it was wrong in the direction of claiming the world!

Zhu Xiang sighed with admiration in his heart.

Lin Zhi nearly choked. After coughing a few times, he said, “Alright, alright, yes yes yes—your nephew is the smartest. I’ve had enough. I’ll be heading back now. I need to talk to my father about the Qin hostage staying at your house. No idea how he’s going to react.”

Zhu Xiang said, “It’s just a place to stay. The King of Zhao should be more at ease knowing the Qin prince is living in a commoner’s home.”

Lin Zhi was silent for a moment, then gave a bitter smile. “He probably will, sigh.” He stood up to leave. Zhu Xiang quickly washed his hands and walked him out.

When Lin Zhi got into the carriage, he turned to look at Zhu Xiang for a moment, but in the end didn’t voice the question in his heart. He just smiled and said goodbye.

The carriage drove into the city. Lin Zhi closed his eyes and sighed for a long time, then muttered to himself: “Zhu Xiang, if the King of Zhao refuses to make use of you, will you go back to Qin with Zheng’er?”

He just couldn’t bring himself to ask.