HCT – Chapter 66 Kelp Miso Soup

Zichu learned about the fortune dumplings at the same time he received the royal edict appointing him Lord of Anguo.

Zhu Xiang had moved Zichu’s bed to the center of the room. He and Lin Zhi stood on either side of it, looking down at the bedridden Zichu with sarcastic expressions.

Zhu Xiang said, “Prince Zichu, why are you lying down? You’re so capable—get up and keep flirting with death!”

Lin Zhi added, “You’re faking it, right? You must be faking. How could the dignified Lord of Anguo be so weak he can’t even get out of bed?”

Zichu regretted not going straight home and instead coming to Zhu Xiang’s place.

Ying Zheng had quietly followed them, intending to mock his biological father a little, but Xue covered his mouth and dragged him away.

Xue scolded, “They’re friends—it’s fine if they throw insults around. But Xia Tong is your father. Show some respect.”

Ying Zheng was disappointed.

In his dream, he had a king as a father, not a biological one—and even that king-father only lived for three years.

So seeing his cold, strict, high-and-mighty royal father become a sickly pushover, he really wanted to stare at him a bit longer.

Just as his uncle had said—this was about creating good memories.

“You two done messing around?” Zichu said weakly. “Why would His Majesty appoint me as Lord of Anguo? And what’s with the fortune dumplings?”

“Talking business the moment you get back—aren’t you tired?” Zhu Xiang, having teased enough, helped Zichu sit up and stuffed a cotton pillow behind his back. “Nothing’s more important than health. If you die young, you won’t become King of Qin.”

Zichu had been carried out of the carriage, and Zhu Xiang had nearly suffered a heart attack.

He had already been worried about Zichu’s lifespan—had one flap of his butterfly wings caused Zichu to suffer on the northern plains and die even younger than he did in history?

Fortunately, the royal physician said Zichu’s illness had mostly healed, and he was just physically exhausted. Only then did Zhu Xiang relax.

“How did your body get this weak?” Lin Zhi’s usual stern face turned lazy with disapproval. “Fine, you couldn’t eat or sleep well in Handan, but you’re back in Qin now. Why are you still so frail?”

Seeing that his two friends weren’t going to answer his questions and instead insisted on talking about his health, Zichu sighed and surrendered. “I don’t know either.”

Zhu Xiang thought for a moment and said, “You might have a digestive issue—poor nutrient absorption.”

He went on to explain the digestive system and how nutrient absorption works. In modern times, people with long-term irregular eating habits can develop chronic gastrointestinal problems.

This kind of condition isn’t a big issue in the modern world, where there’s ample nutrition and various supplements to balance out deficiencies. But Zichu could only rely on eating small, frequent, and healthy meals to gradually recover.

“Can you stay in Xianyang to rest for a year? You’re already Lord of Anguo now. No need to keep fighting with the other Qin princes,” Zhu Xiang said. “I’ll try to help nurse you back to health.”

Zichu was silent for a moment, then said, “I’ll try.”

Lin Zhi wanted to join Zhu Xiang in persuading Zichu but ultimately just sighed, shook his head, and stayed quiet.

The titles given to Qin royals weren’t hereditary, but Zichu had inherited the former Crown Prince’s title—this clearly showed that the King of Qin favored Zichu as his heir.

Once Crown Prince Zhu ascended the throne, Zichu would become the next crown prince.

In theory, Zichu no longer had to fight—he just had to wait for the crown.

But in Qin, the throne always went to the most capable. Zichu had more than twenty brothers. If Crown Prince Zhu died before becoming king, the former prince’s sons could also compete.

The King favored Zichu and Zheng because they were the most outstanding among their generation.

If Zichu started to rest while others rose and proved themselves more capable, he would be replaced.

Even though Zheng’er was very capable, if Zichu himself were mediocre, the King of Qin would not choose him either. Besides, Zheng’er was still young—there was always a possibility of an early death.

Thinking from the worst-case scenario: even if Zheng’er grew up, accidents could still happen. Relying on a son was ultimately not as reliable as relying on oneself. And Zichu was never someone who depended on others.

“There’s still Zhu Xiang,” Lin Zhi said after a long silence, offering some comfort.

Zichu merely smiled in response.

Zhu Xiang rubbed his temples. “You really overthink things.”

He wanted to say: in history, even after suffering so much, Zheng’er still became Qin Shi Huang. In this life, with him taking care of things, Zheng’er’s health was even better, so he would surely live longer.

He also wanted to say: Zichu was fated to become King of Qin anyway, so there was no need to worry so much.

But even if he said it, Zichu wouldn’t change his ways.

From the moment he became a hostage prince, everything Zichu wanted, he had fought for himself. He never counted on anyone else’s affection. That past had also built up his enormous hunger for power.

If he had a chance to participate in state affairs, he would never let it go.

Moreover, Zichu didn’t even think he was sick—just physically weak. The only reason he came back lying in a bed was because he caught an illness in the north. Just a fluke, in his view.

Even though Zhu Xiang had told him the illness came from being too weak, with poor immunity. That getting sick wasn’t an accident, but something very likely to happen due to overwork.

“Thinking more is a good thing,” Zichu said. He didn’t listen to their advice, but was still happy about their concern. “Thanks. Also… where’s my dried meat?”

These two had been sitting around him snacking on dried meat—were they trying to tempt him on purpose? Hand it over!

Zhu Xiang handed him the meat. Zichu’s sunken cheeks puffed out as he chewed. Though still far from the chubby appearance of little Ying Zheng, Zhu Xiang couldn’t help but be reminded of him.

Like father, like son—they even ate the same way when starving.

“The fortune dumplings weren’t some elaborate scheme—just an accident,” Zhu Xiang explained while Zichu was eating, revealing the truth behind the wildly exaggerated “Fortune Dumpling Incident” that had spread across Xianyang.

Zichu nearly choked on the dried meat.

He took a sip of warm milk handed to him by Lin Zhi and patted his chest. “His Majesty suddenly decided to make dumplings, Lin Li came up with the dumb idea of adding pickled plums, and it just so happened that His Majesty and Zheng’er both got dumplings with two plums each? And all the other people who got plums are somehow connected to you? That’s your explanation for the coincidence?”

Meng Ao, who was Meng Wu’s father, could just barely be considered connected to Zhu Xiang.

Zhu Xiang sighed. “It really was just that much of a coincidence. I was even the last one to pick a dumpling.”

Lin Zhi spread his hands. “I drew mine in the middle—right in between. Not too early, not too late. No way to cheat.”

Zichu said, “No wonder His Majesty made an exception to grant me the title of Lord of Anguo. He must have believed it was a heavenly omen.”

He paused, then frowned. “You’re sure there was no cheating?”

Zhu Xiang and Lin Zhi both shook their heads. They had served the dumplings right in front of the King of Qin—how could they possibly cheat?

Zichu sighed. “Maybe it really was a sign of good fortune. Were the dumplings made with the new flour tasty?”

He hadn’t yet tasted the dumplings made with the new flour.

Lin Zhi praised, “The dumpling skins were especially smooth and tender.”

Zichu asked, “Are we having dumplings today?”

Zhu Xiang replied, “Sure. Boiled dumplings have both vegetables and meat along with carbs, and dumplings in soup are easier to digest. The Crown Prince sent us some kelp from Qi. With that and a bit of soybean paste mixed with flour, we can make a pot of delicious broth.”

This kind of soup, though seemingly simple in ingredients, could be given a fancy name after passing through a certain island nation—like “miso soup.”

While the Huaxia cuisine was rich and profound, foods from other places also had their charms. Some modern dishes from that Eastern island nation were quite tasty, and Zhu Xiang planned to recreate them for his friends and family when he had the chance.

Sharing food from a thousand or two thousand years in the future with those close to him felt like inviting them to visit his era.

Zichu continued stuffing jerky into his mouth. “Wouldn’t fried crispy pork, fried chicken, and fried fish made with the new flour also taste amazing?”

Zhu Xiang rolled his eyes. “You’re recovering. No greasy food. Don’t even think about fried stuff.”

Zichu looked disappointed. At least now he had a strong motivation to get better quickly.

Lin Zhi held his forehead, both amused and exasperated. “You already have your Anguo Manor. And instead of going there first, you came here… to order food?”

Zichu responded, “Don’t you also have your Lin Manor? Yet you’re always staying here. You say you want children, but you never go back to spend time with your wives and concubines.”

Lin Zhi retorted with a smirk, “I’m healthy. Even if I don’t visit the back courtyard often, I can still have kids. You, on the other hand, probably need a few more trips just to give Zheng’er a younger sibling.”

Seeing that Zichu and Lin Zhi were starting to trade barbs, Zhu Xiang quickly excused himself from the battleground to avoid getting caught in the crossfire.

While Zhu Xiang was simmering his Warring States version of kelp miso soup, Xue came into the kitchen and informed him that the Marquis Ying had arrived.

After instructing the household chefs to continue wrapping dumplings, Zhu Xiang went to greet Fan Ju. Seeing all the large and small carts in the courtyard, Zhu Xiang was a bit surprised.

Fan Ju said, “His Majesty has approved my retirement. Starting today, I’ll be living here and not going anywhere.”

He gave his shoulder a few thumps. “What’s for lunch today?”

Zhu Xiang looked a bit dumbfounded. “Kelp and soybean paste soup with dumplings…”

Fan Ju frowned. “You made that for Prince Zichu, didn’t you?”

Snapping back to himself, Zhu Xiang stepped forward and helped Fan Ju massage his shoulders. “The kelp and soybean paste soup is really delicious—it’s not just for eating with Xia Tong. Tomorrow, we’ll have fried chicken, and he can have porridge.”

Fan Ju chuckled. “Don’t bully him too much. He is a prince of Qin, after all. Where’s Bai Qi? He hasn’t returned yet?”

Zhu Xiang replied, “Lord Bai arrived just a few days ago.”

Feeling relaxed, Fan Ju rolled his shoulder and said, “Don’t worry about them. They’ll clean up their own courtyards. You go back to cooking—I’m off to play a game of chess with Bai Qi.”

Hands behind his back, he swaggered off toward Bai Qi’s residence.

It was the first time Zhu Xiang had seen Fan Ju look so relaxed and carefree—like a retired old man.

Well… Fan Ju was technically a retired old man now.

Zhu Xiang scratched his head and went back to the kitchen to continue cooking.

As he dropped the dumplings into the pot, a sudden realization hit him.

Fan Ju’s final job before retiring… was executing the scheme to drive a wedge between Lord Lian and Li Mu.

Fan Ju had said… his work was done.