HCT – Chapter 54 Cold Water and Hard Rations

Lin Zhi had brought back many belongings and scrolls, slowing down their return journey significantly. This gave Zhu Xiang the long-awaited opportunity to observe the land and people along the way.

The last time he had entered Qin, he had been under the heavy protection of the Qin army and hadn’t had the chance to take in the scenery or interact with the locals.

Thanks to his “memory buff,” Zhu Xiang had an extraordinary ability to learn languages. Back in Handan, he had already picked up elegant speech (雅言) and the languages of the Seven States. Even when he couldn’t understand local dialects, he could still communicate with farmers using gestures.

At every rest stop, Zhu Xiang would chat with the locals. Within a few days, he had gained a solid grasp of Zhao’s current situation.

Meng Wu furtively glanced at the expressions of Prince Zichu and Lin Zhi, sighing theatrically in his heart.

He finally understood—both Zichu and Lin Zhi treated Lord Changping like a child to be protected. But Lord Changping was far from a child. He was highly capable. How could anything be kept from him?

Sure enough, once Lord Changping learned the truth, the two were subjected to three full days of hard rations. Their meals took a sharp downturn, and both Zichu and Lin Zhi were visibly miserable.

In fact, Zhu Xiang hadn’t done it to punish them—he just wasn’t in the mood to cook and simply gnawed on dry rations himself.

Seeing Zhu Xiang eat like that, Zichu and Lin Zhi, for some reason, didn’t dare to light a fire or cook either. They joined him in chewing on cold, hard food, looking for all the world like they were being punished.

“Stupid-ass King of Zhao,” Zhu Xiang muttered as he gnawed on his dry rations.

Zichu and Lin Zhi chewed with great difficulty, nodding in agreement.

Over the past few days, they had come to appreciate the vast range of Zhu Xiang’s vocabulary. These two noble-born young men had never realized that there were so many creative ways to insult someone.

Today, Zhu Xiang got tired of venting and wrapped it all up with a single “stupid-ass.”

“Lord Lian has dispatched troops to Yan, probably to seize their grain and shift Zhao’s famine onto Yan,” Zhu Xiang finally calmed down enough to think about other matters. “If Lord Lin and I were in Zhao, we could’ve eased the famine without even sending troops. Sigh.”

Zichu asked curiously, “Zhao’s farmland had a complete failure in the first half of the year. The earliest harvest won’t come until late autumn or early winter. Given how much grain commoners usually store, they’re facing at least a three-month food gap. You could solve that?”

Lin Zhi teased, “Didn’t expect the proud prince of Qin to know about commoners’ grain storage. Xia Tong, congratulations—your training is complete. As your ‘senior uncle,’ I am deeply gratified.”

Zichu shot Lin Zhi a glare and ignored him. The more attention you gave Lin Zhi, the crazier he got.

He hadn’t paid attention to such things in the past. But ever since becoming friends with Zhu Xiang, he found his eyes drawn to fields and commoners, and his mind filled with Zhu Xiang’s habit of calculating grain yield and consumption.

“With me around,” Zhu Xiang said, “abandoned fields can be replanted early, shortening the time to harvest and reducing the period of food shortage. With Lord Lin around, he can persuade nobles to donate grain and arrange successful grain imports from other states. Really, on a national level, Zhao’s famine isn’t that bad. The failed farmland doesn’t even account for half the country.”

Zichu and Lin Zhi spoke in unison: “How did you figure that out?”

Zhu Xiang was speechless. “Seriously? You two are asking me that? You should’ve known instantly.”

Zichu felt a little ashamed, but Lin Zhi shamelessly said, “I’ve only just started aiming to become a wise and capable man—I never thought about it before.”

Zichu: “…” He looked at Lin Zhi’s thick skin and felt he’d learned something valuable. I’ve lost this round.

Zhu Xiang also looked at Lin Zhi and found his understanding of the man refreshed yet again.

“New crops like potatoes—King Zhao might order commoners to plant them, but he’d never order nobles to do so,” Zhu Xiang explained. “Put yourself in their shoes—if you had other staple grains you were used to eating, would you take a risk and switch to something unfamiliar?”

Zichu and Lin Zhi paused in thought. Their eyes widened slightly as realization dawned.

Lin Zhi sneered, “So King Zhao heard about the potato yields from Changping and foolishly hoped to quickly fill the granaries by having the commoners switch to potatoes. But he doesn’t have the authority to make nobles convert their lands, and the nobles would never switch their fields to a crop they don’t trust!”

Zichu rubbed his head and said, “How did I not think of this? Most of Qin has already switched to the commandery-county system, and all regions follow the king’s orders. But Zhao is different—most of the land is in the hands of the nobility.”

At this point in Huaxia, the political structure resembled that of medieval Western Europe. In noble-held fiefs, the monarch implemented a tax-contract system: the king would demand a fixed amount of tax from a noble, and as long as that quota was met, everything within the fief was under the noble’s control.

If a noble happened to be kind-hearted, he might pay some tax out of his own pocket and reduce the burden on the commoners. If he was greedy and extravagant, he’d overtax the peasants and keep all surplus for himself after fulfilling the king’s quota.

Conscription worked the same way. The monarch of a realm where the people were ruled by local lords wasn’t the direct master of those commoners. If the king wanted to raise troops, he had to request soldiers and manpower from the nobles.

Just look at the wars of the Western Zhou—whenever the Son of Heaven issued a decree, the vassal states brought their own troops to join the campaign.

To avoid being at the mercy of others, states outside Qin had also been trying to implement the commandery-county system, aiming to increase royal authority. Though administrative and military powers had largely been centralized under the monarch, economic control had not.

Aside from the king’s own land, nobles retained full autonomy over their private estates. They could plant whatever they wanted, entirely ignoring royal commands.

So this famine in Zhao was, in truth, only a disaster for the commoners. The nobles were unaffected, even pleased. Once the peasants were starving, they’d have no choice but to borrow grain from the nobles—who could then take their land at extremely low cost, or even for free.

Due to the Battle of Changping and Zhu Xiang’s departure, Lord Pingyuan and Lord Pingyang had also been sidelined by the King of Zhao. Otherwise, with Lin Zhi, Lord Pingyuan, and Lord Pingyang joining forces—and with veteran generals like Lian Po applying pressure—they could have forced Zhao’s selfish nobles to make concessions for the good of the nation.

Unfortunately, to prevent internal strife in Zhao, Lord Pingyuan and Lord Pingyang had voluntarily taken the blame for the king’s mistakes and returned to their fiefs, no longer involved in state affairs. The members of the royal clan and senior officials currently in Zhao’s court clearly cared more about lining their own pockets through the king than about Zhao’s welfare.

“I made it very clear in my notes on potato cultivation,” Zhu Xiang said. “Even if I hadn’t, anyone with a bit of common sense should know—no crop can be sown in the middle of snow and ice.”

“So when they ordered farmers to switch to potatoes, they were deliberately setting them up for crop failure.”

Lin Zhi was stunned.

He looked at Zhu Xiang, half-laughing, half-crying. “Seriously? Even my father never thought of that. He just assumed those nobles who agreed to grow potatoes were being stupid.”

Zhu Xiang mumbled, “I was born a commoner, so I’ve seen more of this kind of thing and could make the guess.”

In truth, it was thanks to the bird’s-eye view taught in modern political science textbooks that he could instantly grasp the core issue.

The textbooks had said it bluntly: in the feudal era, it was all about landlords and peasants. All power and profit revolved around land. History was a cycle of land consolidation, peasant uprisings, redistribution, and back again to consolidation.

Just like it’s in a capitalist’s nature to pursue profit, it was in a landlord’s nature to seize land. Even if the King of Zhao, secluded in his palace, didn’t understand agriculture, the fact that most nobles supported this blatantly unscientific practice of winter planting meant there was a scheme. And what else could they be after, if not the farmers’ land?

It was like during Qin Shi Huang’s time, when the ministers from Qi who had infiltrated Qin’s court watched with glee as Qin fought war after war, never lifting a finger to help—just so they could squeeze more bribes out of Qin’s emissaries. In the end, Qi fell. The current ministers of Zhao, who had risen to power recently, were the same: just trying to cash out while they could, with no regard for Zhao’s long-term fate.

Zhu Xiang took a sip from his bamboo water flask and swallowed the dry rations in his mouth. “King Huiwen of Zhao was a wise ruler. The people he elevated were mostly capable talents. Lord Pingyuan and Lord Pingyang also had good judgment in selecting men, and they had close ties with many veteran officials. Zhao’s territory isn’t that large, and talented people are few to begin with. Once the king marginalized those who were close to Pingyuan and Pingyang, even if he wanted to turn things around, he’d have no one left to use. Now the court of Zhao is filled with fools and selfish men. That’s the flaw of the recommendation system.”

“Huh?” Zhu Xiang suddenly changed the subject, nearly tying Zichu and Lin Zhi’s brains into knots.

Zhu Xiang said, “The recommendation system is inherently tied to the recommender. When the recommender leaves or falls out with the monarch, those they recommended—out of loyalty to their patron and due to the monarch’s potential mistrust—often can’t continue to serve, even if they remain loyal to the monarch.”

Zichu immediately sat up straight. “Then what kind of talent selection system could avoid this flaw?”

Zhu Xiang replied, “Examinations. A multi-stage selection process, with the final exam personally overseen by the monarch. That way, every official becomes a direct disciple of the Son of Heaven.”

Zichu’s eyes lit up. “Zhu Xiang!”

Zhu Xiang chuckled. “Don’t go submitting a memorial to His Majesty just yet. This kind of system would completely undermine the foundation of the traditional aristocracy. Whoever proposes it dies first. If you want to implement it, you have to do it gradually and subtly.”

“Why…” Zichu began to ask, then frowned and said, “Ah, I see. That’s true.”

Lin Zhi stroked the beard he hadn’t shaved due to mourning. “Other states might not manage it, but Qin can. Most of Qin’s senior ministers are from other states. If the monarch wants to recruit more foreign talent, he could imitate Qi’s Jixia Academy or Yan’s Golden Terrace. Just build a simple structure, and use it as a venue to test talents from the Six States who come seeking official posts. Wouldn’t that open the door for merit-based examinations?”

Lin Zhi, being a free spirit, immediately came up with this unorthodox way to deceive the entire aristocracy.

Zichu looked at Lin Zhi, his eyes lighting up again.

Then Lin Zhi looked back at Zichu—making a deliberately coy and bashful expression.

Zichu’s bright expression darkened instantly. He looked away, refusing to meet Lin Zhi’s eyes.

Lin Zhi burst out laughing, slapping his leg in amusement at Zichu’s reaction.

Zhu Xiang gave Lin Zhi a thumbs-up. “Brilliant. If you write this up as a formal proposal and submit it along with the cotton samples, His Majesty will definitely make you a top minister.”

Lin Zhi said proudly, “Why not just make me a lord?”

Zichu replied irritably, “You’re nowhere near qualified. Want me to make you Lord Handan instead? We’ll give you the title after we conquer Handan.”

Lin Zhi grinned. “How embarrassing. Better give that title to you or Zheng’er, to commemorate your hostage years in Handan.”

Zichu: “…”

He cursed silently in his heart, fists itching.

And just like that, over cold water and dry rations, the three of them suddenly hashed out a strategy that could reshape the entire nation.

Meng Wu broke into a cold sweat. He felt… he really shouldn’t be sitting here.

He had too strong a sense of duty. When the three had dismissed their guards, Meng Wu thought it meant he had enough rank to join their casual chat. He had intentionally edged closer to gnaw on dry rations with them—not to eavesdrop, but definitely not to enjoy gossip either.

Since they hadn’t told him to leave, Meng Wu assumed it was fine to listen. Who would have thought these three would casually spout such explosive ideas?

“General Meng, you’re not going to tattle on us, are you?” Lin Zhi, of course, didn’t let the head of the guards off the hook, raising his brows playfully.

Meng Wu shook his head violently. “I don’t understand Zhao dialect!”

Zichu: “…General Meng, Lin Li said that in Zhao dialect, too.”

Meng Wu groaned and grabbed his head in despair.

Lin Zhi laughed so hard he could barely stay upright, slapping Meng Wu’s shoulder. “General Meng, once you board this pirate ship, there’s no getting off. Zichu, get ready—have Meng Wu formally pledge loyalty to you as his lord.”

Zichu cursed, “I’d rather not get imprisoned by His Majesty! Get lost!”

Lin Zhi laughed so hard he nearly choked.

Meng Wu continued to hold his head, utterly tormented.

He had followed Lord Zhu Xiang and Prince Zichu around for months, thinking he was just along for some light entertainment. How had the fun suddenly turned on him?

Zhu Xiang joined in the laughter, teasing Meng Wu along with the others, telling him to stop struggling.

But even as he laughed, he was still thinking about Lord Lian.

Lin Zhi and Zichu noticed too, but they deliberately steered the conversation away, not letting it return to Zhao’s affairs.

At least half of Zhao’s farmland hadn’t failed, but Lord Lian, isolated and unsupported, had to bear the blame in order to save both the people and the nation.