HCT – Chapter 4 Steamed Salt-Baked Chicken

When Lin Zhi came home carrying a whole salt-baked chicken wrapped in large leaves, he found Lin Xiangru writing something by the bright candlelight.

Seeing Lin Zhi return, Lin Xiangru set down his brush and snapped, “Something that serious happened, and you still insisted on staying at Zhu Xiang’s house for dinner before coming back?”

Lin Zhi smiled and lifted the leaf-wrapped bundle in his hand. “Salt-baked chicken. Would Father like some?”

Lin Xiangru: “Of course!”

Lin Zhi had the salt-baked chicken steamed in a basket and said, “Seeing that Father still has an appetite for chicken at night puts this son’s heart at ease.”

Lin Xiangru let out a cold snort and said nothing.

His health had indeed been poor for a while, but after Zhu Xiang set a meal plan for him—three meals a day—he barely touched his medicine, and his body somehow regained its strength.

That old rascal Lian Po had cried fake tears when Lin Xiangru fell ill, and once he got better, Lian Po resumed mocking him with biting sarcasm. Lin Xiangru had been so angry he chased Lian Po down the street with a broom.

Now that his father had cooled down a bit, Lin Zhi plopped himself into the seat across from him and said, “All I did was adopt a Qin prince as a hostage—how is that such a big deal? Telling you today or tomorrow makes no difference. Why wait at all? And even if I hadn’t come back to report, wouldn’t Father have heard about it anyway?”

Lin Xiangru sneered, “Just adoption? That concubine Yinren got from Lu Buwei turns out to be Zhu Xiang’s older sister—how could that be just a coincidence?!”

Lin Zhi sighed. “Coincidence or not, what difference does it make? As long as the ruler refuses to employ Zhu Xiang, others eventually will. What, should we shackle Zhu Xiang and make him rot in Zhao waiting for death? Father, you’re getting old. I may not be able to protect him in the future.”

Though he truly hoped Zhu Xiang would stay in Zhao and work alongside him, he didn’t want his friend’s talent to waste away, nor see him die unjustly.

Even though, truth be told, he really disliked Qin.

Speaking so bluntly in front of his own father—practically saying he was on his deathbed—made Lin Xiangru’s mouth twitch. He threw an unused brush at Lin Zhi.

Lin Zhi caught it and calmly placed it back into the brush holder, continuing his tirade. “Father, you’ve worked all these years, constantly vouching for Zhu Xiang with your own name and even the reputation of the Lin family. And what did the ruler say?”

He tilted his head dramatically and imitated in a mocking tone: “What is Zhu Xiang’s family name? Whose son is he?”

“A commoner without a surname or lineage?!”

“Then which sage was Zhu Xiang a disciple of?”

“No teacher, no lineage? Lord Lin, are you mocking me?!”

“Ha!” Lin Zhi slapped his thigh, swung one leg out from under him into a casual sprawl, and sat boldly before his father. “Then there’s that Lord Pingyuan, who said, ‘Why are you like Lord Xinling, taking in “scholars”—shouldn’t a “scholar” at least be one? Stop dragging in every filthy thing off the street. Associating with the unworthy will damage your name!’”

“The court’s nobles—hell, even your close friend and my beloved uncle General Lian—look down on Zhu Xiang. They say if a commoner wants merit, he should earn it on the battlefield. Working the fields? That’s no hero’s path!”

Lin Xiangru threw another brush at Lin Zhi’s big, exposed leg. Lin Zhi caught it again and placed it gently into the holder, obediently returning to a more formal sitting posture.

“They’re fools,” Lin Xiangru said coolly. “A bunch of fools—especially that idiot Lian Po! Blind when he was young, blinder now that he’s old!”

Lian Po had once scorned Lin Xiangru’s humble background and rise by mere eloquence. But later, moved by Lin Xiangru’s character and bearing, he had come with thorned reeds to beg forgiveness, and they had been life-and-death friends ever since.

Being life-and-death friends meant being able to curse each other to their faces. And every time Lin Xiangru brought him up, it was with fury and profanities.

If only Lian Po had stood with him to recommend Zhu Xiang—even just for agricultural matters in Zhao—Zhu Xiang’s talent could’ve won over King Zhao’s prejudices.

But who could have guessed? Lian Po’s mind, too, had been clouded by bias. Not a single noble in the court stood on Lin Xiangru’s side.

Though Lin Xiangru had illustrious ancestors, the fall of the Lin kingdom had reduced him to a commoner in all but name. He understood that true talent could arise from humble roots.

But the nobles of Zhao refused to acknowledge this.

Since the division of the Seven States, reform efforts had been sweeping, and Zhao was no exception.

King Wuling of Zhao had spearheaded military reform—introducing “Hu-style cavalry and attire”—which had once let Zhao dominate Qin militarily, even meddling in Qin’s royal succession.

Yet only Qin and Chu had pursued comprehensive reforms in administration, law, and military.

After the reformist kings of Qin and Chu died, their old nobles struck back. But Qin had merely sacrificed Shang Yang to appease them—then kept reforming. Chu, on the other hand, abolished many of its reforms entirely.

Qin’s most enduring change was this: commoners could earn titles and rise to “scholar” status through battle, farming, or invention.

Being culturally marginalized, Qin had become the final fallback for scholars—if no other state wanted them, they’d go to Qin.

And yet Qin, by gathering these discarded talents, was gradually rising to the top among the Seven States. Lin Xiangru saw clearly: this was directly tied to Qin’s expansion of its “scholar class.”

A “nation” is like a speeding chariot. The king steering it is critical. The charging horses are vital. But every unnoticed piece of wood in the carriage is just as important.

Qin’s chariot might not have the best horses, or the largest carriage—but every bolt, every rope, every spoke was solid. That’s why it ran fast without falling apart.

Lin Xiangru’s patron, King Huiwen of Zhao, had realized this. That’s why he had entrusted Lin Xiangru—a poor scholar recommended by lowly eunuchs—with heavy responsibilities.

Other wise rulers in the various states had seen it too. While they didn’t dare reshape their systems like Qin did, they at least tried to select talent without letting status get in the way.

But Zhao’s current king was clearly not such a ruler—narrow-minded and short-sighted compared to his father King Huiwen.

When Lin Xiangru acquired the secret of papermaking, he immediately realized it could draw talented commoners to Zhao—perhaps even more effectively than Qin’s harsh meritocracy. So he presented it to test the king.

But both King Zhao and the nobles strongly opposed it.

Books, noble and sacred, recorded on sturdy bamboo or jade slips—how could they be copied onto fragile, tearable, soakable straw paper? Just to cut costs and let the poor read?

People who can’t afford books shouldn’t be reading at all.

Seeing this reaction, Lin Xiangru immediately sensed danger and quickly changed the topic, saying, “Paper can replace silk and hemp, giving warmth to the cold and hungry.”

King Zhao convened his ministers to discuss the matter, but they ultimately deemed using paper to clothe the cold and hungry too costly, and the idea was dismissed.

Lin Xiangru immediately stopped bringing up papermaking and tightened security around his residence.

Sure enough, people soon began investigating the matter, and armed men were frequently spotted loitering near his estate.

Without the full backing of King Zhao, the art of papermaking was effectively a death sentence for Zhu Xiang. Before anyone could find out about Zhu Xiang, Lin Xiangru publicly recommended him under the pretense that he was exceptionally skilled at farming.

A commoner who was good at farming fit the public’s expectations more naturally. Lin Xiangru banked on people’s tendency to look down on commoners and successfully concealed Zhu Xiang under the protection of the Lin family. Gradually, those inquiring about papermaking lost interest and dispersed.

King Zhao Huiwen placed great importance on agricultural output and had previously praised old farmers skilled in cultivation. Lin Xiangru hoped that Zhu Xiang’s superior farming techniques would draw the current king’s attention.

But what Lin Xiangru never expected was that, despite Zhu Xiang having developed multiple methods over the years to significantly increase crop yields, it still wasn’t enough to earn him recognition as a “shi” (a scholar-official).

Was grain not important?

It was! Even someone as mediocre as King Zhao understood its importance!

Yet, merely because of Zhu Xiang’s lowly birth, they believed that a bit of monetary reward would be sufficient to make him wholeheartedly loyal to Zhao.

The difference in status was like the gap between heaven and earth.

Lin Xiangru couldn’t very well scold the king directly, so he took his anger out on the old general Lian Po, who refused to support him, calling him blind and foolish once again.

Lian Po felt utterly wronged.

Though he hadn’t publicly supported Lin Xiangru’s recommendation of Zhu Xiang, he had patted his chest and declared that if Zhu Xiang were sent to his army, he’d immediately dispatch a team of death warriors to chop off a pile of enemy heads and credit the merit to Zhu Xiang. With enough heads, Zhu Xiang could easily be promoted!

But it was Zhu Xiang himself who refused.

After learning that Zhu Xiang didn’t want to go to war, Lian Po ran to Zhu Xiang’s house to scold him for being as timid as a mouse—and shamelessly made off with a pig that Zhu Xiang had just finished raising.

Lin Zhi cursed out all the ministers of Zhao, while Lin Xiangru directed his insults specifically at Lian Po. The father and son were identical in manner and speech. When a platter of steamed salt-baked chicken was served, they split it and continued their cursing over chicken bones.

Lin Zhi was even able to eat half a chicken—his stomach truly was, as Zhu Xiang had said, a bottomless pit.

Unaware that Lin Zhi was at home venting his anger and cursing on his behalf, Zhu Xiang was cheerfully humming a tune as he bathed little Ying Xiaozheng, preparing to share a bed with him.

Ying Xiaozheng had just been abandoned, and being so young, it was best that an adult sleep with him.

Xue had originally intended to sleep with Ying Xiaozheng, but one, Zhu Xiang was incredibly fond of the First Emperor’s child, and two, Xue was a light sleeper due to years of hardship. Having someone unfamiliar next to her would only make it harder for her to rest. Zhu Xiang naturally wouldn’t let her suffer like that.

Unable to win the argument, Xue sighed, laid out the bedding for the uncle and nephew, and left reluctantly, glancing back every few steps.

After helping Ying Xiaozheng change into his pajamas, Zhu Xiang gently rubbed the boy’s fuzzy head and said, “Your aunt doesn’t think I can take care of you properly.”

Ying Xiaozheng felt a little dizzy from all the rubbing.

For the first time in his life, he was this physically close with someone.

He knew his way of interacting with others was abnormal, but he didn’t know what “normal” care from an adult should look like. Now, in an unfamiliar place, adopted by unfamiliar relatives, he tried his best to remain calm and not argue or resist—for fear of losing this home too.

Once bitten, twice shy. After being abandoned once, he had learned to endure.

But… being held by his uncle like this, having his face rubbed, his head patted, being praised for being smart, having his meat torn for him during meals, and having someone speak up for him when others mocked him—were these really the kinds of things he needed to endure in a new place?

Something didn’t feel quite right.

Ying Xiaozheng, holding his now warm and fuzzy head, thought groggily.

“Alright, time to sleep,” Zhu Xiang said with a smile. “The pillow here is filled with wheat husks and bran. Try it for one night. If it’s uncomfortable, I’ll make you a new one tomorrow.”

“Wheat husks? Bran?” Ying Xiaozheng poked the pillow with his finger, making a little dent. “Aren’t pillows supposed to be made of wood or stone?”

Zhu Xiang gently rubbed the back of his round little head. “Your uncle doesn’t like hard pillows. You can’t sleep like this on hard ones.”

He spread his arms and, with a “thud,” flopped back onto the pillow, his head landing with a soft “whoosh.”

Ying Xiaozheng’s eyes, which always widened when he was surprised, did so again.

Zhu Xiang chuckled. “Wanna try?”

Ying Xiaozheng crawled down from Zhu Xiang’s legs, sat before his own pillow, and then—“thud!”—flopped down too.

His round little head sank halfway into the pillow filled with wheat husks and bran, and his nose was filled with the scent of sun-dried grain.

Zhu Xiang asked, “Comfy?”

Ying Xiaozheng’s wide eyes squinted with joy. “Mm!”

Zhu Xiang sat up. “Again!”

“Thud!”

Ying Xiaozheng followed suit.

“Thud!”

The uncle and nephew kept getting up and flopping down, playing until a dry cough came from the doorway.

Ying Xiaozheng reflexively scrambled into Zhu Xiang’s arms. Zhu Xiang shielded his little nephew and looked toward the door awkwardly. “Xue, you’re still awake?”

Xue frowned. “Go to sleep. Now.”

“Oh,” Zhu Xiang quickly slid under the blanket.

Xue blew out the candle beside the bed and, before leaving, reminded them again, “No staying up late. Go to sleep.”

Zhu Xiang clutched the edge of the quilt. “Okay okay okay! Sleeping now!”

Only then did Xue leave.

Ying Xiaozheng cautiously poked his head out from under the covers, his little face still filled with alarm.

For some reason… he found his aunt kind of scary!

Zhu Xiang tucked the quilt around Ying Xiaozheng and asked, “Sleepy? If you are, then go to sleep. If not, Uncle will chat with you. We’ll speak quietly so your Aunt won’t hear.”

Ying Xiaozheng remembered the argument at the dinner table and leaned closer to whisper, “Uncle, can I really return to Qin?”

Zhu Xiang replied, “Of course you can.”

Ying Xiaozheng gave a small “Mm” and continued, “Is it correct for me to call myself Gongzi Zheng now? I don’t want to make a fool of myself again.”

Zhu Xiang said, “During the Spring and Autumn period, before the Seven States stood side by side, the grandson of a feudal lord was called Gongsun. After the Seven States were established, regardless of being a son or grandson, all were called Gongzi. Now, all descendants of feudal lords can use the title Gongzi, so of course you’re Gongzi Zheng.”

Ying Xiaozheng responded with another small “Mm,” then asked again, “Uncle said the royal family of Qin is Qin Ying, not Zhao Ying, so why do so many people privately call me Zhao Zheng? I know it’s meant to belittle me, but I don’t understand what that insult implies.”

He paused and added, “If outsiders say it, they’re insulting the Qin royal family. But if people from Qin say it too… surely they wouldn’t insult themselves?”

Zhu Xiang didn’t realize Ying Xiaozheng’s mention of “people from Qin also calling me that” included a deeper implication. He assumed he meant the Qin attendants serving him.

He pulled Ying Xiaozheng into his arms and rubbed against him affectionately. “Aiyo, my little Zheng’er, you’re already thinking about things like this at your age—you’re too smart! You must be the cleverest child in the world!”

A bubble of confusion popped up in Ying Xiaozheng’s mind. Why am I being praised again? Just because I asked a question? Why does asking get me praised? He didn’t quite understand, but the praise made him feel happy.

Being praised—how could that not make someone happy? So he tilted his small head up a bit, making it easier for Zhu Xiang to rub his cheek.

After a while, Zhu Xiang explained, “They call you Zhao Zheng not because they’re using your clan name, but because you were born in Zhao, held hostage in Zhao, and your mother is a Zhao native. So yes, they’re mocking you. If you return to Qin and someone insults you with that name, you can ask them—‘My father was also a hostage in Zhao, does that make him Zhao Yiren… or should we now call him Zhao Zichu?’”

“Mm. Your father doesn’t have enough reputation to make the point hit hard. So it’s better to say this—your great-grandfather, the current King of Qin, was once a hostage in Yan. Ask if they dare insult your great-grandfather? In debate, you must emphasize your strengths and avoid your weaknesses. Your birthplace and your mother’s origin are indeed your weak spots, so avoid them—use the other side’s slip-ups to strike back hard. Understand?”

Ying Xiaozheng nodded rapidly. “I understand!”

Zhu Xiang smiled. “You won’t remember all this just from hearing it once. Sleep for now—I see your eyes can barely stay open. If anyone says something that upsets you later, just tell Uncle. I’ll teach you how to scold them back. If they’re your peers, you scold them yourself. If they’re elders, Uncle will scold them for you!”

Ying Xiaozheng nodded even more eagerly. “Okay!”

Uncle… Uncle will scold them for me? Uncle will keep taking care of me? Even when I return to Qin, he’ll still stay with me?

Though they had only just met, Ying Xiaozheng unexpectedly felt a sense of peace.

Like a fledgling chick nestled under a big bird’s wing, he curled up in Zhu Xiang’s arms and fell into a deep sleep.

Zhu Xiang, seeing him fall asleep so quickly, was amazed. A normal child just abandoned by his birth mother should be terrified and uneasy—how is he able to sleep so soundly? Even if I’ve been treating the little First Emperor well and he can instinctively sense kindness… is it really normal for him to trust me so quickly? Could it be that right now, Zheng’er is a dumb, sweet little ancestral dragon cub who immediately gives his full trust to anyone who treats him well?

Zhu Xiang muttered internally, Violent and rebellious? Madam Chunhua, you were definitely talking nonsense.

He closed his eyes, hugging his obedient little dragon tightly, and drifted off with a contented smile.

Year 53 of King Nan of Zhou’s reign (262 BCE)

The State of Han, situated where the Qin, Wei, Zhao, and Chu states met, was once again under attack. Qin seized Han’s territory of Yewang, and its army pressed toward Shangdang Commandery.

Shangdang, surrounded by the Taihang, Wangwu, and Taiyue mountain ranges, was a naturally fortified highland that was easy to defend but hard to attack. The campaign had dragged on for over a year, and Qin’s soldiers were worn out. General Wang He temporarily ordered the Qin army to station at Yewang for rest.

To boost morale, Crown Prince Zichu volunteered to visit Yewang and encourage the troops.

Zichu’s father, Lord Anguo, had been named heir just two years prior. As the adopted son of Lord Anguo’s favorite consort, Lady Huayang, Zichu was highly favored and likely to be named heir himself if Lord Anguo ascended the throne. His voluntary trip to the front line greatly raised the army’s spirits.

This very Zichu, now basking in glory, was the same hostage prince Yiren who had only recently escaped Zhao and returned to Qin.

Although it was already mid-autumn, the weather remained warm. The warriors of the army trained bare-chested, dripping with sweat. Zichu, however, had long since wrapped himself in a fur robe.

The robe, made from lambskin, was white and elegant. Over it, he wore a dark brocade coat, making his complexion appear even paler.

Seated beside a brazier, Zichu read from a bamboo scroll, coughing from time to time.

Years of hardship as a hostage had left his health frail. Lady Huayang had wanted him to rest longer in Qin, but he had insisted on coming to the front to showcase his abilities to his grandfather. Reluctantly, she agreed.

From the cliffs near Yewang and Shangdang—both neighboring Zhao—he could see the banners of Zhao’s borderlands in the distance.

That place held many painful memories for him.

The tent flap was lifted from outside. A rugged man in plain clothes and a sword at his waist entered quickly, knelt, and reported, “My lord, news from Handan—Lord Zhu Xiang has indeed taken the young master home.”

Zichu set the bamboo scroll aside, pointed to a seat cushion nearby, and said slowly, “To seek Zhu Xiang’s forgiveness for the sake of the child—well, that barely counts as maternal instinct. Zhu Xiang has a soft heart; I bet Chunhua gave her quite a hard time.”

The servant looked a bit awkward. “My lord, according to Lu Buwei’s spies, after Lady Huayang and Lady Xia began arranging new wives for you, the madam abandoned the young master at Zhu Xiang’s door and fled Handan with one of Lu Buwei’s confidants. She wasn’t treating the young master well even before that—he was nearly skin and bones.”

“And also…” The servant hesitated, lowering his voice, “It seems the madam and that confidant had… relations. People are saying she’s now the new wife of that rich merchant.”

Zichu’s head snapped up, eyes wide in astonishment.

After a pause, he covered his forehead and burst into laughter. “Truly, that’s just like her. Good. Very good. Sounds like she’ll become quite the comfortable ally for Lu Buwei. I can rest easy now. Only taking in the nephew and not having to deal with that detestable sister—Zhu Xiang must be relieved too.”

The master laughed at the news of the mistress abandoning the child and running off with another man. The servant’s expression grew even more awkward.