HCT – Chapter 37 Snow Falling, Mud Covered

The envoys from Qin were about to arrive, so the King of Zhao had no choice but to return to the palace to wait for them.

However, he had already dispatched people to rescue Zhu Xiang and summoned Lord Pingyang, Lord Pingyuan, Lin Xiangru, and Lian Po back to Handan to face the crisis together.

The King of Zhao waited anxiously for a quarter of an hour. Then, Cai Ze, dressed in plain robes and holding Qin’s royal decree, walked slowly into the palace hall.

Cai Ze’s appearance was still just as ugly as before, yet all the nobles—including the King of Zhao himself—saw in him a powerful presence. Just one look was enough for them to believe that he was a man of talent and virtue, a true sage. No one dared to look down on him for his appearance; instead, they treated him with respect.

Cai Ze bowed properly to the King of Zhao and said, “His Majesty of Qin has issued a decree: exchange Zhu Xiang for the city of Handan. In addition, our country will return the Zhao prince hostage in exchange for Prince Zheng of Qin.”

Then Cai Ze smiled arrogantly at the King of Zhao. “Exchanging hostages is a matter of diplomatic ritual. As for Lord Zhu Xiang, his worth is enough for Qin to trade Handan itself. Your Majesty, General Wu’an is already at your gates, yet Handan’s gates are still wide open. Would you now accompany me to send Lord Zhu Xiang into Qin?”

Without waiting for a reply from the King of Zhao or paying any heed to the ministers eager to speak, Cai Ze stood up, laughed aloud, and turned his back to the king, walking straight out of the palace.

Such blatant disrespect from a Qin envoy made all the close ministers of the King of Zhao turn grim with fury. They wanted to rebuke Cai Ze on the king’s behalf, but his earlier words—“General Wu’an is already at your gates, yet the city has not been closed”—made them too afraid to act rashly.

If they offended the envoy from Qin now, would General Wu’an immediately use that as a pretext to storm the city?

They were filled with unease. Was there truly no one left in Zhao who could lead the army after Lian Po? Why had they only just learned that the Qin army had already arrived at the foot of Handan? They hadn’t even had time to pack their gold and valuables to flee!

“Your Majesty, endure this for now,” whispered a close attendant who had ties with Qin. “Bai Qi once burned down Chu’s capital and ancestral grounds. For the sake of your forefathers and the foundation of the Zhao kingdom, you must endure! The late king once bore humiliation and traveled to Mianchi. Please follow his example.”

His words made the King of Zhao’s expression ease slightly.

The other ministers also felt somewhat comforted. Yes—didn’t the former king also have to visit Mianchi under duress, even playing the zither for the King of Qin? Zhao was now weak, while Qin was strong. To endure this moment, to preserve the capital and the ancestral lands of Zhao, was what truly mattered.

The King of Zhao took a deep breath. “If enduring humiliation for the nation is necessary, I am willing to follow the example of the former king.”

The attendant shouted, “Your Majesty is wise!”

With one voice, the other ministers followed suit, chanting “Your Majesty is wise” as they stood up and followed the King of Zhao step by step out of the palace, trailing behind the Qin envoy.

From the corner of his eye, Cai Ze glanced back at the crowd—and among them, he saw a noble who had once mocked his appearance and cast him out of Handan.

That noble didn’t recognize him and instead gave him a fawning, ingratiating smile.

Cai Ze looked away.

He recalled the outrageous things Zhu Xiang had said when drunk.

“Are kings and dukes born to be so? Why not us?”

These hypocrites—haughty when powerful, groveling when weak—why should they be the ones forever standing above virtuous, capable commoners?

Cai Ze inhaled deeply, then slowly let the breath out.

He strode forward, taking his steps proudly as a Qin envoy, to welcome his closest friend into Qin.

In that moment, he thought—perhaps it was fine even if he could not live a life of wealth and peace.

The gates finally opened, and Zhu Xiang once again saw daylight.

“Zhu Xiang!” Li Mu rushed in ahead of the others.

When Zhao Kuo’s Mother led her household forces to attack the King of Zhao’s secret guards, Li Mu had arrived just in time to join the battle.

Zhu Xiang raised his hand weakly. “The key is on the ground.”

Li Mu immediately ran back, picked up the key, and hurried back to him. “Are you alright?”

Zhu Xiang asked, “What about the prison guards outside the door?”

Li Mu fell silent.

Zhu Xiang closed his eyes briefly, then opened them wide as he stepped out from the cell.

Those brought by Li Mu and Zhao Kuo’s Mother instinctively cleared the passageway, leaving a path for him.

As Zhu Xiang stepped out from the heavy wooden door of the corridor, the thick stench of blood and flesh rushed into his nose. He was momentarily breathless before his eyes took in the scene on the ground.

Zhu Xiang stood frozen for a while, then asked in a trembling voice, “Are there any survivors?”

Zhao Kuo’s Mother stepped forward, gritting her teeth as she knelt in guilt. “Lord Zhu Xiang, please punish me. I…”

Though Zhu Xiang was usually very respectful to elders, at this moment he acted as if he didn’t even see Zhao Kuo’s Mother. He continued shouting, “Is anyone still alive?!”

He lowered his head, hunched over, and gently patted the shoulders of those dressed in prison guard and warden uniforms lying on the ground, his voice pleading, “Is anyone still alive?”

Hunched over, step by step, he walked through the courtyard and into the main hall, ignoring the commoners standing outside the door. One by one, he patted their shoulders: “Is anyone still alive?”

He searched among the overlapping corpses, carrying the dead prison guards one by one out to the courtyard and arranging them properly, murmuring to himself, “Is anyone still alive?”

Some people stayed by the door, while others followed Zhu Xiang into the courtyard to help him move and arrange the bodies of the prison guards.

They watched Zhu Xiang talking to himself the whole time and dared not speak to him.

Li Mu clenched his fists tightly. He wanted to step forward but hesitated and held back.

He didn’t know how to comfort Zhu Xiang.

Though their time together hadn’t been long, Li Mu knew how much Zhu Xiang valued human life—especially the lives of those who were good to him. That was why Zhu Xiang had risked bribing a favored courtier of the King of Zhao and traveled to Changping to persuade General Wu’an and the King of Qin—for the sake of his neighbors and fellow villagers.

Now these people had died because of him. How could he possibly offer comfort enough to pull Zhu Xiang out of this blow?

“…Sigh…” Xun Kuang had also arrived.

He looked at the blood-soaked ground and let out a long sigh.

Xue clutched her mouth with one hand, and with the other, she covered the eyes of the little Prince Ying Zheng, who was tied in front of her.

Ying Zheng struggled. “Auntie, let me down!”

“No, absolutely not.” Xue held him tightly. “Be good, Zheng’er. Don’t make a fuss. We’re going to find your uncle.”

Ying Zheng cried out, “Uncle! Uncle! Where are you? Zheng’er and Auntie are here! Uncle!”

Zhu Xiang, who was in the courtyard, heard the sharp cry of Ying Zheng. The dazed light in his eyes slowly focused again.

He finally stopped muttering to himself, stopped lying to himself.

He collapsed to the ground, sitting in a pool of blood, dazed as he stared at the corpse of a man whose head had been hacked into pieces and whose abdomen had been ripped open.

The man’s clothes identified him as a warden in charge of the prison. He had never spoken to Zhu Xiang, and whenever they passed by, his expression was always cold and distant.

Zhu Xiang had always thought that the warden, even if not hostile, had at best ignored him.

“Why… why would he do this?” Zhu Xiang murmured.

Zhao Kuo’s Mother assumed he was asking why the warden had been killed so brutally and explained, “He swallowed the key. These men must have figured it out and were searching for it.”

Zhu Xiang suddenly looked up at the lock on the heavy wooden door. The key was still hanging there—dripping blood.

He reached out and gently placed his hand over the warden’s abdomen, gritting his teeth as he inhaled deeply. “I see.”

Li Mu couldn’t stop him in time. He turned his head away, unable to watch any longer.

Even though he had been to countless battlefields, this sight made his heart ache beyond words.

To be chosen as Zhu Xiang’s jailer, the man had to be a fair and capable official. And to die such a painful death—this man must have been a rare, righteous soul.

But why must such righteous and capable men—Zhao’s own righteous and capable men—die because of the Zhao King’s schemes?

“Uncle! Uncle!”

Ying Zheng’s cries grew louder and more shrill, turning into sobs.

Zhu Xiang finally returned to his senses. “Zheng’er?”

Li Mu said, “Xunzi, Xue, and Zheng’er are all here.”

Zhu Xiang first drew back his hand, then reached forward again to cover the warden’s abdomen. “Can someone get me some needle and thread? Xue and Zheng’er—please take them away for now. I’ll be done soon…”

“I’m not leaving.” Xue stepped from behind him and crouched down beside him. “You’re not as good at needlework as I am. Let me stitch him up.”

Little Ying Zheng didn’t care about the blood on Zhu Xiang’s hands or clothes. He threw himself into Zhu Xiang’s arms, sobbing, “Wuuuuu Uncle, Zheng’er’s here. Zheng’er will protect Uncle!”

“Mm…” Zhu Xiang closed his eyes. Only then did his tears finally fall.

He rubbed his tear-streaked face against Ying Zheng’s, then gently bumped foreheads with Xue.

“Alright. We’ll do this together. Zheng’er, if you’re scared, go outside first,” Zhu Xiang said.

Ying Zheng shook his head vigorously. “I’m not scared! I’ll help Uncle! I…”

He looked down at the corpses scattered across the floor. He truly wasn’t afraid.

After all, he had had that dream. He was no longer just an ordinary child.

“Did they die for Uncle?” Ying Zheng asked.

Zhu Xiang’s lips twitched. “Yes. They didn’t even know me, but they died for me.”

Ying Zheng lowered his head, then lifted his little face again. “Zheng’er will help. I’ll wipe their faces!”

“I’ll fetch water,” said Li Mu. “Don’t just stand there—everyone, come help!”

Zhao Kuo’s Mother said, “I’ll have someone fetch clean clothes and prepare coffins for them. I’ll cover the burial expenses. I’m sorry, Lord Zhu Xiang…”

Zhu Xiang shook his head and interrupted, “Even parents shouldn’t endlessly shoulder the consequences of their children’s mistakes. I don’t blame you.”

But he simply didn’t want to see anyone connected to Zhao Kuo again. Nor did he want to make idle conversation with Zhao Kuo’s Mother, even though she had saved him.

Zhu Xiang fell silent again. He continued to cradle the prison officer’s abdomen. Once the needle and thread arrived, he bent the needle tip slightly and, with Xue, began to stitch the officer’s body.

Xiang He, who had rushed in with the others, said, “For the missing parts, I’ll make a mold for him.”

He was filled with guilt. He had already decided to die for Zhu Xiang’s sake and had even stationed Mohist disciples nearby to keep watch, yet they’d still arrived too late.

They hadn’t even opened the front gate—it had been a dying prison guard who did.

“Zhu Xiang, my condolences,” Xu Ming said. “If you let grief overwhelm you and something happens, then their deaths will be in vain.”

Zhu Xiang nodded. “I understand.”

Xun Kuang looked at Zhu Xiang, whose expression was disturbingly calm after his crying subsided, and sighed.

He said, “I’ll write the eulogy for them. Zhu Xiang, you must live. They all wanted you to live—because as long as you’re alive, you can save more people. Do you understand?”

Zhu Xiang nodded again. “I understand.”

Looking at Zhu Xiang’s calm face, Xun Kuang didn’t know what else to say.

He could only help Zhu Xiang prepare the remains of the prison officers. The corpses of the Zhao King’s secret guards, meanwhile, had been piled together, awaiting investigators.

If these weren’t important evidence, the furious crowd would’ve already burned them all to ashes.

But their hearts were heavy. Even keeping these bodies as evidence—what good would it do? The culprit was the King of Zhao!

By the time Cai Ze led the Zhao King and others to the prison, Zhu Xiang and Xue had already finished stitching the officer’s body—only the head was left.

The head was difficult to reassemble.

First, they used animal glue to piece the skull back together, then sewed the head shut with thread.

The head, covered in thread ends, looked terrifying, but none of those present showed even a hint of fear.

They even smiled with relief. Even if all they could do was stitch broken bodies together for burial, they were content enough to smile.

“Lord Zhu Xiang!” The Zhao King ran over, lifting his robes, and knelt in front of Zhu Xiang. His face pressed into the blood-soaked ground. “I’ve been framed in this matter!”

Zhu Xiang washed his hands clean and knelt before the Zhao King. “Zhao King, I am a coward. What I fear most is seeing the people around me die unjustly.”

The Zhao King wept. “I truly didn’t send any secret guards! I’ve only just taken power. How could I have any secret guards? It must be the states of Yan, Han, or Wei—they must know how important Lord Zhu Xiang is to Zhao and are trying to frame me!”

Zhu Xiang said, “I once saw a farmer collapse in the field as he plowed—he died of starvation.”

The Zhao King cried, “Lord Zhu Xiang, please believe me! I swear to the heavens I will investigate this and bring the truth to light—for you and for our people!”

Zhu Xiang continued, “I’ve also seen families who were laughing and joyful one moment, and then, torn apart the next—destroyed by war.”

The Zhao King found himself unable to respond. Was Zhu Xiang driven mad by fear? Why was he speaking nonsense?

Zhu Xiang continued, “And now I’ve seen people die in front of me, trying to protect me. Even if everyone says my life is worth more—that it’s worth dying for—I still believe every life has equal value. Zhao King, your life is no more precious than those lying dead around you.”

He stood up, his voice rising: “No need to investigate. How many more innocent lives must be lost? Give these people a proper burial. Don’t use this attack on me as an excuse to cause more deaths. Remember this…”

Zhu Xiang gritted his teeth, his face flushing red. He yanked off his coronet, letting his hair fall loose.

“The Zhao throne came from the tripartite division of Jin. If you can be king, so can others! You’re no different! Water can carry a boat—it can also overturn it! Any nation or dynasty that treats its people like ants is destined to perish!”

The Zhao King, who had stood up with Zhu Xiang, was so shocked by these wild words that he fell straight back onto the ground.

The surrounding Zhao officials all showed expressions of fear.

Had Zhu Xiang gone mad from the trauma? How could he say such things?!

“I am Cai Ze, envoy of Qin, under orders from His Majesty. I offer the city of Handan in exchange for Lord Zhu Xiang entering Qin.” Cai Ze sighed, then gave a helpless smile, cupping his hands toward Zhu Xiang. “Lord Wu’an personally leads two hundred thousand Qin troops and awaits outside Handan to escort Lord Zhu Xiang.”

Zhu Xiang’s crazed expression froze.

Who’s here?

How many Qin soldiers?

Waiting where?

Wait—wasn’t this Cai Ze? How did you become a Qin envoy?!

Zhu Xiang, filled with fury, felt as though someone had dumped ice water over his head, forcing him to calm down.

Could the Qin King be behind this incident? He looked at Cai Ze, who gave him a “we’ll talk later” look.

Zhu Xiang pressed his lips together. “Fine. I’ll go.”

No matter who was behind this, he had nowhere else to go but Qin.

After holding out for so long, daylight finally dimmed.

The cold wind howled. Owls flew, crows cried. At some point, from the long-overcast sky after the first snow, snowflakes began falling again.

Thick, heavy flakes swirled down, quickly blanketing the land in silver. The cold crept up from the ground, making people shiver to their core. Even stamping their feet couldn’t warm their numb toes.

Suddenly, a gust of wind swept through the courtyard. The dead tree swayed with creaking groans. The snow piled on its branches fell with a plop, shattering in a messy heap on the ground. Soon it was mixed with mud, no longer pure white, turning into a dirty yellow-gray slush.

After Zhu Xiang said “I’ll go,” the crowd fell utterly silent. Though snow rustled down all around, the silence was so deep it was almost terrifying.

After a long moment, someone began to sob. Then another. The sobs built until they became full wails.