HCT – Chapter 58 Fried Shrimp and Three Shrimp Noodles

In order to distract Ying Zheng from angrily focusing on eating, Zhu Xiang took him farming while also explaining the agricultural policies of the Seven States, prompting Ying Zheng to think deeply.

Bai Qi, like an old farmer, carried a hoe and walked beside Ying Zheng, acting as a guard.

He had just weeded the fields together with Zhu Xiang. Though it had been a long time since he last worked the land, his skills hadn’t grown rusty.

After the Qin state moved its capital to Xianyang, the surrounding area remained one of its most important agricultural regions.

Yongzhou was suitable for planting millet and glutinous millet. Although wheat was also grown near Xianyang, millet and glutinous millet remained the main crops.

Wheat required a large amount of water, and the irrigation conditions in Xianyang were not as good as around Handan. So even though Zhu Xiang possessed excellent wheat seeds, he didn’t promote wheat around Xianyang. Instead, he focused on helping farmers solve the problems they encountered growing millet and glutinous millet.

Once he acquired corn, he could replace millet and glutinous millet in relatively dry areas with it, increasing farmers’ incomes. Corn would be crucial for Shaanxi, as more than half the guidance documents issued by the Shaanxi Agricultural Department focused on corn.

The Guandong Plain was suitable for wheat cultivation. Once Li Bing finished building the Dujiangyan irrigation system, the Chengdu Plain could support rice farming. That was Zhu Xiang’s task for the following year.

When Li Bing headed into Shu, Zhu Xiang planned to go with him. Using the rice seeds in his possession to develop the Chengdu Plain would not only revitalize the Bashu region, but might even win the hearts of Chu’s commoners—allowing the state to gain territory without fighting.

Chu and Qi were the two states among the Seven that paid the least attention to agriculture. The reason both neglected farming was simple: they were too wealthy.

Qi, situated by the sea, had accumulated great wealth through trade. At present, extravagance was rampant there, and the degree of social comparison among the people rivaled the ostentation of noble families and wealthy merchants during the Wei and Jin dynasties in later times.

Because of such extravagance, Qin could quietly bribe its way through a powerful state like Qi during the war of unification—Qi simply waited passively for its end.

Chu was located in the Yangtze River basin. Later generations had proven it was the most suitable region for economic development. Its subtropical monsoon climate met the needs of nearly all crops. With excellent conditions of heat and water, Chu could basically “cast seeds and wait for a harvest.”

“Because natural conditions were so favorable,” Zhu Xiang explained, “Chu could rely on slash-and-burn farming and basic irrigation without ever suffering famine. Without an urgent need, they abandoned proper agricultural management. As a result, while people rarely froze or starved to death in Chu, there were also few truly wealthy individuals. Most commoners lived in poverty.

“Wu Qi once proposed relocating people to undeveloped lands for reclamation and expansion, but Chu’s nobles opposed him. After Wu Qi’s death, Chu made no further agricultural efforts.”

Ying Zheng was puzzled. “Reclamation wouldn’t only give commoners more land, it’d benefit nobles too. Why would they oppose it?”

Zhu Xiang smiled. “Zheng’er, do you really think the ‘wastelands’ in the king of Chu’s eyes were truly wastelands?”

Ying Zheng frowned and thought hard. Memories of himself touring the Seven States in his dreams, especially the Central Plains, floated into his mind.

“The nobles were hiding land to avoid taxes,” Ying Zheng said with a stern expression. “Wu Qi was ostensibly ordering land reclamation, but in fact he was exposing their hidden lands.”

Zhu Xiang ruffled his hair. “So clever, Zheng’er. Even some court officials might not have caught on so quickly.”

With neither the King of Qin nor Fan Ju present, Bai Qi spoke casually. “It’s like how tree branches and the trunk compete for nutrients. If the branches grow too wildly, they steal from the trunk. Wu Qi tried to prune the excess so the trunk could thrive—no wonder he met a tragic end. But if the branches take too much, the trunk collapses, and the branches won’t survive either.”

Zhu Xiang added, “I once heard that in a small border town, the bricks of the city wall were exposed due to wind and rain. Many people secretly stole bricks, knowing full well that if the wall collapsed, the Xiongnu would slaughter them. But they thought: I’m only taking one brick—how could that bring down the wall?”

Bai Qi nodded. “It’s like on the battlefield. Each soldier thinks his own retreat won’t affect the outcome.”

Zhu Xiang said, “Truths from different things often align. Lord Bai sees how Chu’s armies serve their own noble houses, not the king. I see how Chu has fertile fields yet neglects farming, extracts taxes from the poor to enrich the rich, and ends up with an empty treasury and suffering people. These paths all lead to ruin.”

Ying Zheng muttered, “Still, Chu is hard to defeat.”

Zhu Xiang replied, “It’s not that Chu is hard to fight—it’s just that its territory is too vast and takes time. Moreover, there are many high-ranking officials in the Qin court who come from the Chu royal family. If all we want is to seize cities—even burning the ancestral tombs of the Chu kings wouldn’t move them. But if Chu falls, and they lose their royal lineage status, becoming no different from other scholars—they won’t accept that. They’ll definitely cooperate with Chu from the inside and delay Qin’s conquest.”

Ying Zheng looked up at Bai Qi, the man who had burned the ancestral tombs of the Chu kings.

Bai Qi returned a perfectly calm gaze, as if he hadn’t been the one to do it.

Ying Zheng, arms folded like lotus root joints, pouted angrily. “Exactly! They would do that!”

Damn that Lord Chu!

Lord Chu was the brother of King Fuchu of Chu. After King Kaolie of Chu died, there was a bloody succession struggle. King Fuchu seized the throne by killing his brother, King Ai.

King Kaolie had been a hostage in Qin, and Lord Changping was the son he had during that time.

Because Zichu had become the adopted son of Lady Huayang, the Chu royal family continued to hold major influence in Qin’s court. Both Prince Zichu and Ying Zheng trusted Lord Chu deeply. He was one of the core supporters who helped Ying Zheng eliminate Lao Ai and Lu Buwei.

Even though Lord Chu had virtually no ties left to Chu, he was still willing to betray Qin for Chu. Hugging his short little arms, Ying Zheng nodded furiously—Uncle was right!

“Today’s lesson is over,” Zhu Xiang said, picking up Ying Zheng. “Your homework: If you were the king of Chu, how would you make Chu strong? Hmm… Choose the time of Wu Qi’s reforms and think about how to implement them.”

Ying Zheng clenched his pudgy fist. “That’s easy! Kill all the opposition!”

Even Bai Qi, who had killed countless people, twitched at that. Zhu Xiang, who preferred kindness, just burst out laughing.

“Chu isn’t like Qin. If the king ordered the nobles killed, he might not live to see the next sunrise,” Zhu Xiang chuckled. “Zheng’er, this assignment isn’t that simple. You’d better learn more about Chu first.”

Ying Zheng pouted. “I only need to know how to destroy Chu. Why should I think about how to be the king of Chu?”

Zhu Xiang said, “Because one day Chu will also be your territory. And if you learn from the successes and failures of other kings, you and your descendants won’t repeat their mistakes. Right now, few powerful nobles can defy the King of Qin. But once the world is unified, the nobles of all seven states combined will form a huge class. Qin will then resemble today’s Chu in many ways.”

Ying Zheng hugged his head.

Uncle, please stop talking—Zheng’er’s head is already starting to hurt!

Bai Qi was surprised to see Ying Zheng actually deep in thought.

Most Qin princes hadn’t even begun formal education at this age, yet Zheng’er was already thinking about state affairs. Truly a child raised by Zhu Xiang.

To balance work and rest, after tossing Ying Zheng this difficult question, Zhu Xiang immediately took him to the riverside to play.

The King of Qin’s royal estate was vast, with farmland as well as extensive forested hills.

Generations of Qin kings had loved hunting—there were even poems about it in The Book of Songs: Qin Wind. If Zhu Xiang and Ying Zheng wanted to, they could go hunting in the mountains right now.

Of course, given Zhu Xiang’s nonexistent combat skills and Ying Zheng’s pudgy baby body, they definitely didn’t want to.

Between the mountainous hunting grounds and the cultivated farmland ran a small stream flowing down from the hills. The stream followed man-made channels, supplying irrigation water to the entire estate.

Before the stream flowed into the irrigation ditch, its waters were still clear and untainted by agricultural nutrients. The stream teemed with fish, shrimp, and aquatic plants.

In the summer, wearing enclosed boots often led to athlete’s foot, so Xue made many straw sandals. Not only did Zhu Xiang and Ying Zheng wear them, but even Bai Qi’s straw sandals were crafted by Xue.

Xue also wove straw hats to shield the three from the sun.

Ying Zheng slung his hat over his back, kicked off his sandals, and, under Zhu Xiang’s watchful eye, dove into the stream.

The spot Zhu Xiang chose for water play was very shallow. Ying Zheng waded in with his pant legs rolled up; the water barely reached his knees.

“Hahaha! Uncle, something’s biting me!” Ying Zheng shouted as he hopped around. Then his foot slipped, and he plopped down on his butt in the water.

Zhu Xiang caught him as he fell, softening the impact.

The chubby flesh on Ying Zheng’s bottom provided excellent cushioning—he didn’t feel any pain at all.

“You’re soaked already, so might as well keep playing. Uncle brought a change of clothes, go wild.” As Zhu Xiang spoke, he took off his straw hat and used it to splash water at Ying Zheng.

“Pah! Blegh!” Ying Zheng spat out the stream water he accidentally swallowed and shook his head vigorously.

He also grabbed his little straw hat and sat in the water, using it to splash back at Zhu Xiang. “Uncle, take this!”

“Block it!” Zhu Xiang used his straw hat as a shield, fending off Ying Zheng’s attack. Then, with a quick swipe of his right hand, he sent a spray of water back at the boy.

With his short arms and legs, Ying Zheng was no match for Zhu Xiang in a splash fight. Frustrated, he wailed and called for Bai Qi to help.

Bai Qi: “?”

He ignored Ying Zheng’s plea, leaned against a tree, and sat down to watch the child—and the equally childish Lord Changping—splash around.

There were farmers working in the fields nearby. Hearing the joyful laughter of Zhu Xiang and Ying Zheng, they couldn’t help glancing toward the stream.

But it wasn’t like it had been in Handan. In Handan, by now farmers would have gathered around to chat with Zhu Xiang and bring gifts for Ying Zheng. But the people of Qin dared not.

At most, they stole glances from afar, and quickly lowered their heads in fear whenever Zhu Xiang looked in their direction.

While farming, they didn’t dare speak, didn’t dare leave the fields, and certainly didn’t dare initiate conversation with nobles.

When Ying Zheng grew tired of playing, Zhu Xiang held him and sat under a tree by the stream, kicking at the water.

Ying Zheng looked down at the ripples he made and said, “Uncle, I kind of miss the old days.”

Zhu Xiang: “Mm.”

Ying Zheng continued, “Back then when we went to the fields in the village, lots of people would gather around us and laugh and talk.”

Zhu Xiang: “Mm.”

“They gave me toys, played with me, and told me jokes.”

Zhu Xiang replied, “In the future, when you have more people around you, they’ll try to please you too.”

Ying Zheng said, “But it’s not the same. Uncle knows it’s not the same, you’re teasing me on purpose.”

Zhu Xiang chuckled, “I am teasing you.”

He wiped the stream water from Ying Zheng’s face and said, “When people move forward in life, they leave many things behind. Even if we miss them, we can’t go back—not even if we turn around. With your status, I’m afraid what you experienced in Lord Lin’s fief will never happen again. But you’ll remember those times, won’t you?”

Ying Zheng nodded firmly. “I have a great memory.”

Zhu Xiang said, “Then that’s enough.”

Smiling, he added, “Even if we can’t relive the past, we can still create new memories. Zheng’er, I see lots of fish and shrimp in the river. Uncle will fish, and you can catch shrimp. Let’s see who does better?”

Ying Zheng grinned, “Okay!”

As Zhu Xiang led Ying Zheng ashore, Xue arrived.

When she heard Zhu Xiang was taking Ying Zheng to the stream, she’d guessed the two would end up playing in the water. Even though they had a change of clothes, she still worried and specially brewed some ginger soup to bring over.

Xue wasn’t in good health and couldn’t stand the sun. After making sure Ying Zheng drank the ginger soup—despite his protests—she immediately returned to the estate.

There, she had weaving and tailoring to do—plenty of tasks awaited her.

Even though the King of Qin had gifted many skilled weavers and maids, Xue still insisted on personally preparing the clothes for Zhu Xiang and Ying Zheng.

“You act like Uncle’s trying to poison you just to make you drink ginger soup, but when Auntie shows up, you suddenly behave?” After Xue left, Zhu Xiang tapped Ying Zheng on the nose.

Ying Zheng scrunched up his nose and said nothing.

Uncle only gives empty scoldings, but Auntie… Auntie will actually pull down my pants and spank me.

“Weren’t we going fishing?” Bai Qi chimed in, having watched enough of the scene. He looked interested in the fishing gear Zhu Xiang pulled out.

“Come, come, Lord Bai, let’s compete with Zheng’er!” Zhu Xiang brought out prepared fishing rods and baskets.

The rods were slightly improved versions of the current ones, but not by much. They were already made of bamboo, with silkworm silk for lines, feathers for floats, bone for hooks, and small stones as sinkers—basically very similar to modern rods.

Zhu Xiang had only added a simple reel to make line retrieval easier.

Though the outing was just the three of them, many servants—actually bodyguards sent by the King of Qin—followed behind, carrying various supplies.

Zhu Xiang set up two reclining chairs, pulled out a few stools, and even invited the guards to sit.

The guards looked a little awkward but still carried the stools over.

They sat under the shade, exchanging awkward glances. Every time they reported to His Majesty, it felt like they were recounting some ridiculous tale.

Zhu Xiang claimed he’d fish seriously, but after casting the bait, he propped the rod with his foot and lay back in the chair for a nap.

Bai Qi, gripping his rod tightly, stared at the water with eagle-like focus. He took fishing very seriously.

Ying Zheng sat by the water on a low stool, holding a bowl of bait in his arms, looking glum as he lowered his shrimp line into the stream.

In a moment of excitement, he had agreed to Uncle’s “competition.” Now, he suspected he’d been tricked again.

Could he really catch shrimp this way?

Turns out—yes, he could.

Ying Zheng quickly pulled up the line. A river shrimp landed on the ground.

Excited, he shouted, “Uncle! I caught a shrimp!”

“Wow! Zheng’er, that’s amazing! Keep it up—Uncle’s going to try harder too,” Zhu Xiang replied, eyes still closed.

Bai Qi shot Zhu Xiang a glance, snorted, and refocused on the bobber.

After catching one shrimp, Ying Zheng no longer doubted Zhu Xiang.

He sat quietly by the stream, completely absorbed in shrimp fishing.

Fifteen minutes… half an hour… Even though he only caught five shrimp, Ying Zheng stayed focused, never once complaining about being tired or bored.

Bai Qi had already caught three fish. Getting older meant his concentration waned more quickly, so he followed Zhu Xiang’s example and reclined in a chair.

Looking at Ying Zheng, a gentle, wistful expression came over his face.

Zhu Xiang often said, “The man is seen in the child.” Bai Qi didn’t know about other children, but Zheng’er certainly fit that saying.

Children’s minds are the hardest to settle. Yet Zheng’er could already focus like this—when he grows up, he’ll definitely be a formidable king.

Bai Qi began to wonder if he should teach Zheng’er a few things.

The King of Qin had arranged for him to live at Zhu Xiang’s estate, likely intending for him to mentor Zheng’er. But Bai Qi was cautious—even if the king hinted at it, he didn’t want to get involved in the succession battle too soon.

Especially since the Crown Prince hadn’t ascended yet, and Zheng’er was already the fourth-generation contender.

Still, when faced with such a brilliant jade in the rough, it was incredibly hard to resist the urge to shape it.

Bai Qi glanced over at Zhu Xiang, who hadn’t caught a single fish and might very well have fallen asleep.

Bai Qi had fought in battles both in the north and south—he had practically set foot on every piece of land under Qin’s domain. So he was well aware of the flaws in Qin that Zhu Xiang had pointed out. The current policies of Qin were indeed the most suitable for the state. If they were changed, it might lead to its decline. But after Qin unified the world, could the Qin people truly enjoy a better life?

If Zhu Xiang were to assist, and if Prince Zheng, whom Zhu Xiang raised, became King of Qin—perhaps they truly could.

Looking at all the current princes of Qin, who could compare to Zichu? Who could compare to Zheng?

Even if it was just for the sake of his descendants, and for the old Qin soldiers who had bled and fought alongside him—it might be worth taking some risks.

If not for Zhu Xiang, perhaps after the Battle of Changping, he himself would have fallen into danger. The fact that he was still alive owed, in part, to Zhu Xiang’s efforts.

“Zhu Xiang,” Bai Qi finally spoke.

Zhu Xiang, who had been resting with his eyes closed, opened them. “Lord Bai, what is it?”

“You said you wanted to make a board game called a strategy game for Zheng?” Bai Qi said. “I want a set too.”

Zhu Xiang straightened up and happily gave a bow to Bai Qi. “Gladly! Teaching Zheng how to play the game will be your responsibility then, Lord Bai.”

“I’m very strict,” Bai Qi warned.

“Don’t worry,” Zhu Xiang replied. “When Zheng studies, he’s even stricter with himself than the teachers are. You’ll probably have to stop him from overworking.”

He looked over at Ying Zheng, who was still focused on fishing for shrimp and paying no attention to them. “I’ll just be in charge of teaching him how to play.”

Bai Qi’s stern face collapsed a little. “Don’t spoil him too much.”

Zhu Xiang chuckled. “Zheng is still young. His knowledge is already far beyond most children. He should play more. Childhood is so short—once he grows up and spreads his wings, he’ll face endless troubles. While he still has so many elders protecting him, I want him to be carefree.”

Bai Qi looked at Ying Zheng, who had just caught another shrimp, his eyes sparkling with joy. Though he didn’t fully agree with Zhu Xiang’s words, he sighed and didn’t argue.

As the heir to the Qin throne, one could never be too strict with Zheng. But seeing the boy so happy—he couldn’t bring himself to say anything.

Besides, Zheng had already experienced so much. Carefree? He didn’t really qualify anymore.

Compared to the many Qin princes raised in luxury, the hardships Zheng had suffered were ones they would never taste in their lifetime.

“Ah, I’ve got a fish too.” Zhu Xiang pulled on his fishing rod, and a silver-scaled fish burst from the water, breaking the surface in a flash of light.

Ying Zheng was carried home on Zhu Xiang’s back.

Smacking his lips in sleep, he was still mumbling about shrimp fishing in his dreams.

Zhu Xiang grumbled to Bai Qi, “Zheng’s getting heavier. Maybe it’s time to cut down on meat and switch to some vegetables.”

Bai Qi gave Zhu Xiang a side glance. “Five- or six-year-olds should be heavy. Even when they grow up, the bigger their belly, the better. His isn’t big enough yet.”

Zhu Xiang: “…” Okay, different aesthetics.

In this era, a general’s belly—or a rich man’s belly—was a symbol of prosperity. Though Bai Qi didn’t have one himself, being lean and strong, he seemed to admire the look.

Gazing at Ying Zheng’s plump little tummy—unique to children—Bai Qi was quite pleased.

Not fat enough. He should be fatter. All the kids Zheng’s age were little chubby balls.

A fat child meant blessings and good fortune.

Zhu Xiang could only think: if they keep raising him like this, he might end up with high blood pressure and cholesterol in his teens.

He bounced the sleeping Zheng on his back.

Zheng, oh Zheng. Without your uncle around, they’d probably feed you into a giant meatball. Future history textbooks might portray Qin Shi Huang as a big pudgy kid.

Though, come to think of it, the Qin Shi Huang in today’s textbooks didn’t exactly resemble the real one—especially in attire. The real Qin Shi Huang hated those elaborate robes and beaded ceremonial crowns.

His true love was the Tongtian Crown. Zheng already adored it too—though he didn’t have enough hair yet to wear one properly.

“You’re back?” Xue stood at the door. “Zheng’s asleep?”

Zhu Xiang handed over the sleeping Ying Zheng. “Once I start cooking, the smell will wake him. Keep the fish alive, and make the shrimp he’s been dreaming about.”

Although Zheng had worked hard fishing for shrimp, his little bowlful wasn’t nearly enough for a full meal. Zhu Xiang had already sent someone to fetch a large basin full.

“Lord Bai, take a rest too. I’ll call you once the food’s ready,” Zhu Xiang said. “Can you eat shrimp?”

Bai Qi replied, “There’s nothing I can’t eat.”

Zhu Xiang smoothed his hair, messed up by the sleeping Zheng. “Good.”

Little rascal Zheng—does he think his uncle’s hair is a river shrimp when he’s asleep?

After changing clothes and freshening up a bit, Zhu Xiang entered the kitchen and asked for the fire to be lit to cook the shrimp.

The shrimp had a naturally delicious taste. Boiled with scallions and ginger, dipped in sauce—that alone would make them delicious.

But since it was Zheng’s first time eating shrimp, Zhu Xiang didn’t want to be that lazy.

“No one can resist fried shrimp. Let’s make some braised shrimp too, and a triple-shrimp noodle dish.” Zhu Xiang rolled up his sleeves and had the servants help peel the shrimp.

Fried shrimp required keeping the heads. Braised shrimp only needed to be butterflied. The noodle dish needed the shrimp meat completely shelled.

Soybeans of the later ages, now known as rongshu or dashu, had already been widely cultivated in the Central Plains since early Spring and Autumn. Qin commoners used them to survive famines, and their planting far surpassed that of xiaoshu (adzuki beans).

Since arriving in Qin, Zhu Xiang no longer had to be secretive, afraid of being dragged into the palace by the Qin king as a eunuch (Qin King: ??), so he began pressing soybeans for oil—and now had enough vegetable oil to use freely.

Shelled shrimp were marinated with pepper and salt, coated with potato starch, and deep-fried into crispy deliciousness;

Butterflied shrimp were stir-fried in hot oil with bean paste, meat sauce, and spices, then finished with zhuyu (spicebush) oil—making rich, braised shrimp;

Shrimp heads were simmered to produce roe, then thickened into a rich broth. The broth, shrimp roe, and meat were tossed with cooked noodles rinsed in cold water—becoming Triple Shrimp Noodles.

After finishing the main dishes, Zhu Xiang shredded some radish and tossed it with sesame oil and salt for a refreshing side.

“Maybe it’s time to start pickling vegetables,” Zhu Xiang thought. The salt in Qin was of excellent quality, perfect for fermentation.

Before salt production had industrialized, well salt was indeed much tastier than sea salt. Back in Zhao, even after his careful filtering, the salt still tasted bitter if overused—making it unfit for pickling.

After making the radish salad, he picked fresh soybean leaves and made a soup. By the time everything was brought to the table, Ying Zheng had already woken up, drawn by the aroma.

Thanks to Zhu Xiang’s wicked sense of humor, Xue had sewn a frilly little apron for Zheng.

Wearing his frilly apron and sitting in a specially made high toddler chair, Zheng looked even more adorably silly.

Zhu Xiang vowed to hone his painting skills. Zheng was too cute—he had to preserve that on canvas.

“Here, try a fried shrimp first.” Zhu Xiang pinched a shrimp by the tail and held it to Zheng’s lips.

Zheng opened his mouth, bit down with a satisfying crunch, and his mouth flooded with saliva. “So good!”

“What is this…” Bai Qi picked up a shrimp with his chopsticks. “What’s this crispy coating outside?”

“It’s powder made from potatoes,” Zhu Xiang said. “Care to try, Lord Bai?”

After feeding Zheng, he picked up a shrimp himself, dipped it in plum sauce, and offered it to Xue. “Try it.”

Xue bit into the crispy crust and couldn’t help but purse her lips. “So crispy… but it sheds crumbs so easily.”

She glanced at the table littered with crispy flakes, a little embarrassed.

“What’s there to care about?” Zhu Xiang said. “There’s not much Sanxia noodles, just a small bowl for each person. Hurry and try it.”

He first served noodles to Bai Qi, then to Xue, and then swirled the small noodle bowl in front of Ying Zheng, making him glare angrily.

Zhu Xiang laughed as he placed the bowl in front of Ying Zheng, then picked up the nearly empty pot and used it as his own bowl.

Ying Zheng twirled some noodles with his chopsticks and stuffed them into his mouth. The concentrated essence of the shrimp exploded with flavor—like a troupe of little people banging drums and gongs in his mouth, making his cheeks puff up.

He swallowed his saliva madly, but his hand movements were slow.

With just this small bite, he was afraid it would be gone too quickly.

“When I grow up, I’ll make sure someone cooks Sanxia noodles for me every day,” Ying Zheng said, cheeks bulging.

Zhu Xiang chuckled. “It’s delicious if eaten occasionally, but eating it continuously will not only make you sick of it, it might make you physically ill. There are so many delicious foods in the world—if you eat only one thing every day, you’ll miss out on the rest.”

Ying Zheng frowned in frustration. “Alright then, I’ll eat whatever Uncle makes.”

If his uncle didn’t cook it for him, noodles made by others probably wouldn’t taste as good.

When Zhu Xiang was away from home, the cook could replicate his dishes, but Ying Zheng always felt something was off.

He told his uncle this in hopes of getting some pity and earning himself a grand meal. But his uncle just pinched the soft flesh on his belly and gave him a “keep making things up” look, which was very annoying.

“I think the King will come looking for you to eat shrimp soon,” Bai Qi said after tasting a braised prawn, sighing in admiration. “Your cooking skills are nearly on par with Yi Yin.”

Zhu Xiang’s face froze. “Lord Bai, are you insulting me?”

Bai Qi stroked his beard and burst out laughing.

It was the first time he had laughed so freely since arriving at Zhu Xiang’s home.

Clearly, he was teasing Zhu Xiang.

“You are more like Yi Yin,” Bai Qi said after finishing his laugh. “Using the balance of flavors in the pot to govern the country—you resemble Yi Yin.”

Yi Yin was the wise minister who assisted Shang Tang. He was originally a slave and a cook.

Though Zhu Xiang’s origins weren’t as humble, there were indeed similarities. Many had already begun calling Zhu Xiang the “Yi Yin of King Qin.”

Calling him the traitorous Qi minister Yi Ya was clearly just a joke.

Zhu Xiang replied, “There’s only one chubby kid in my house—Xiaozheng. If I were Yi Yin, am I supposed to have him gnaw on his own arm?”

With his mouth covered in shrimp oil, Ying Zheng looked up blankly, not understanding why he was suddenly mentioned.

Bai Qi asked curiously, “Speaking of the King of Qin, why didn’t you mention His Majesty, the Crown Prince, or Prince Zichu, and instead bring up Xiaozheng?”

Zhu Xiang smacked his forehead. “Should I take Xiaozheng to see His Majesty and have him bite Xiaozheng’s finger to prove it?”

Ying Zheng: “???” What nonsense was Uncle talking now?

Bai Qi facepalmed. “Shut up. Even if His Majesty indulges you, you can’t be so disrespectful.”

Zhu Xiang rubbed his nose. “His Majesty is generous. He definitely won’t be mad at me.”

Ying Zheng lowered his head and continued battling his noodles.

Xue sighed and also bowed her head to sip her soup, not wanting to engage with her husband.

Would the King of Qin really not be angry?

The King of Qin slapped the table and burst out laughing.

“No wonder Lin Xiangru keeps chasing Zhu Xiang to beat him up,” the King laughed. “Did you hear the nonsense he just said?”

Fan Ju really wanted to run over and beat Zhu Xiang up right now.

Bai Qi said he was Yi Yin, so to prove otherwise, he wants Xiaozheng to gnaw on his own arm?

Oh, and he also wants His Majesty to bite Xiaozheng’s finger? What kind of uncle says that?

“Xun Qing is already at the border of Qin. I request Your Majesty send someone to receive him,” Fan Ju said. “I’m too busy, and Bai Qi spoils Zhu Xiang too much. Someone still needs to supervise him. Otherwise, if his outrageous behavior becomes public, it could bring him trouble.”

“I’m not concerned. Why should I care if others are?” the King of Qin continued laughing. Even the frustration from dealing with his idiotic princes had vanished.

It was indeed he and Fan Ju who discussed bringing Chunhua into Qin as a test for the court ministers and the royal clan.

Zichu and Xiaozheng were both fine, but Qin never had too many capable royals. Qin needed to unify the world, and talented people from all six states were welcome—but foreign royals had to be monitored.

Zhu Xiang was right: the nobles of the six states didn’t care how much land their own countries lost, but they cared about their noble status.

Even if they were given high positions in Qin, they still believed that their royal blood made them superior to their peers. That subtle difference could lead to betrayal.

Zichu had gained a lot of attention, and the Qin princes would surely unite against him. Zhu Xiang, as Zichu’s strongest supporter, would naturally be targeted too.

Using Chunhua to trap Zhu Xiang was the dumbest and most harmful plan to Qin.

Given the talents Zhu Xiang had already demonstrated, it was obvious how much he could do for Qin. If they damaged Zhu Xiang while trying to drive a wedge between him and Zichu, it only proved their shortsightedness and disregard for Qin’s interests.

If the Qin princes didn’t prioritize Qin, they were better off as commoners.

After Zhu Xiang brought in Chunhua as a tool, the King of Qin found it extremely useful.

Once Chunhua entered Qin, she would attract many fools and Qin’s enemies. The King only needed to have her watched and track the people who interacted with her to uncover traitors.

The first time he used Chunhua as this “idiot magnet,” the King discovered that most of his sons, grandsons, and great-grandsons were idiots—it made his face turn dark with anger.

Even Fan Ju couldn’t comfort him in that moment.

The nobles of all seven states were the same—most only cared about their own interests. Those who put the country and monarch before themselves were rare sages. And sages were rare to begin with.

Qin was fortunate to have a wise and powerful king, which was the only reason his people dared not scheme. That didn’t mean they were truly loyal.

The King of Qin still harbored unrealistic expectations for his descendants, which puzzled Fan Ju.

Perhaps, no matter how powerful the King was, he was still just a man—an old man.

As the King seemed ready to rant about the foolish princes again, Fan Ju quickly changed the topic: “It seems Bai Qi has finally agreed to teach Xiaozheng. He’s overly cautious—it almost comes across as a lack of loyalty.”

The King smiled and shook his head. “Bai Qi is old. He’s thinking about dying peacefully. I don’t blame him.”

Fan Ju had expected this reply, which was why he made that seemingly critical remark.

Fan Ju was clever. After all this time, he had realized that Bai Qi was trying very hard to please him.

Even though Fan Ju held more power, he felt a little sad.

The merit Bai Qi had earned for Qin was unmatched—even Fan Ju wouldn’t dare compare himself.

Bai Qi was old now, avoided socializing, and posed no threat to the throne. A wise king would ensure that Bai Qi enjoyed his remaining years and received honors after death.

Yet Bai Qi acted like he was walking on thin ice, as if the King might discard him at any moment now that he could no longer lead troops.

But was it really “as if”?

Fan Ju remembered his past desire to oppose Bai Qi. He had been jealous, not wanting Bai Qi to outrank him. But he had never thought to frame Bai Qi for a crime.

Still, if he had falsely accused Bai Qi—and the King accepted it—then perhaps Bai Qi wasn’t merely being distanced, but might have been executed.

Could that happen?

The thought gave Fan Ju chills.

He also remembered what Cai Ze had told him in private: “The moon, when full, begins to wane.” Was it time for him to start thinking about his own end?

“Indeed,” Fan Ju said. “Bai Qi is old. I saw him fishing and farming at Zhu Xiang’s home, raising Xiaozheng—he seemed content. Sigh, I miss Zhu Xiang’s cooking. I wonder what that Sanxia noodle that made Xiaozheng lick the plate tastes like?”

The King couldn’t stop laughing. “No matter how delicious, one shouldn’t lick the plate. Come! Let’s go have some Sanxia noodles today!”

He stood and left the palace with Fan Ju.

Those idiotic ministers had worn him down—he needed a good meal at Zhu Xiang’s to lift his spirits.