The carriage creaked and rumbled as it departed from Xianyang, traveling from the Baoxie Road into Guanzhong, and then taking the Jin Niu (Golden Ox) Road toward Chengdu.

Since the Qin King had appointed Fan Ju as Prime Minister, the Baoxie Road had been rebuilt with plank walkways, allowing military supply carts and horses to pass with relative ease. The future saying “The Road to Shu is Hard” mainly refers to the section of the Jin Niu Road known as Wuding Gorge, where at its narrowest, only one person and one horse could pass at a time.

However, the Jin Niu Road didn’t only pass through Wuding Gorge. There was a broader and gentler route from Yangping Pass to Jinshan Temple, which marked the entrance to Sichuan. From there to Baishui (also known as Shazhou) and onward to Zhaohua, it merged with another road. This was the path taken by armies and merchant caravans.

Though this route was a bit longer, it was favored by travelers without heavy baggage who preferred the shortcut through Wuding Gorge.

Zhu Xiang, traveling with little Ying Zheng into Shu, naturally took the Yangping Pass route. With the Qin army escorting them, safety on the road wasn’t a concern.

Jianmen Pass was currently the only mountain pass wide enough for an entire army to march through in formation. Since Zhu Xiang was entering Shu as an official and not to conquer it, a ceremonial passage through Jianmen Pass was appropriate.

With no urgency, Zhu Xiang planned to stop at Jianmen Pass for a few days with Ying Zheng, hiring people to paint a few portraits — treating it like checking off a tourist attraction.

Although it was now possible to forge cast iron repeatedly into steel, and even though Zhu Xiang had figured out the basic workings of a primitive high-temperature blast furnace, the steel quality was still far from suitable for making springs. This meant that a convenient shock absorption system for the carriage wasn’t feasible.

Still, the Mohists brainstormed with Zhu Xiang and came up with a crude, disposable shock absorber made from hemp cloth and cork. Though it was fragile and only lasted a few days, Zhu Xiang could afford to replace it often. The most important thing to him was minimizing the travel fatigue for little Ying Zheng.

Zhu Xiang even had someone weave a small hammock from silk strips inside the carriage for Ying Zheng to play in.

Ying Zheng grumbled, “Uncle, are you treating me like a baby? I’m already six… alright, fine, according to your reckoning, five years old!”

Zhu Xiang asked, puzzled, “And what difference is there between a five-year-old and a baby? None. Come, Zheng’er, look — do you like this rattle drum?”

With a deadpan face, Ying Zheng gave the rattle drum a few turns, then threw it violently onto the seat.

In that moment — behold! The tyrannical brat side of the future First Emperor emerged!

Zhu Xiang burst into hearty laughter.

Hearing his laughter, Li Mu — who disliked sitting in the carriage and preferred riding on horseback — shook his head with a sigh.

Accompanying Zhu Xiang to his new post as governor in Bashu was Li Bing, who asked curiously, “General, why the sigh?”

Li Mu replied, “Zhu Xiang loves to tease Zheng’er. Now that all the elders are back in Xianyang and no one is around to restrain him, I truly worry that Zhu Xiang will bully Zheng’er too much, and there won’t be anyone to back him up.”

Li Mu was quite self-aware. He knew full well that he wasn’t capable of standing up for Ying Zheng if Zhu Xiang started messing with him. He wasn’t clever with words, and his thin skin made it hard to simply throw a punch when he lost an argument.

Li Bing’s mouth twitched. Though he was trying hard to blend in with the trio of Lord Zhu Xiang, Young Lord Zheng, and General Li Mu, he often ended up stuck in awkward silence, not knowing how to respond.

While Li Bing was figuring out how to integrate himself with Zhu Xiang’s circle, Zhu Xiang was also observing Li Bing — looking for a “historic figure sightseeing moment.”

After half a month of travel together, Zhu Xiang confirmed that while Li Bing was tactful in his conduct, he was broad-minded and pragmatic — a sincere and capable “engineering-type” man. So Zhu Xiang proactively struck up a conversation.

Using official duties as an excuse, he asked Li Bing how much he knew about Shu Commandery.

Although Li Bing had been appointed as the governor, the Qin King had personally instructed him: in all agricultural matters, he was to consult Zhu Xiang; military matters were to be handled by Li Mu; and if Zhu Xiang ever suddenly slapped his head and decided to do something, everyone was to follow Zhu Xiang’s lead.

“You may treat Zhu Xiang as a provisional Chancellor,” the Qin King had said. Though sometimes suspicious by nature, he knew when to delegate authority — and when he did, he did so decisively.

By sending Zhu Xiang off like this, he had already mentally regarded the land of Bashu as Zhu Xiang’s fiefdom. Zhu Xiang could act freely, and the King would protect him from Xianyang.

Li Bing, going to his post this time, already saw himself as the deputy. So when Zhu Xiang asked questions, he answered without reservation.

Zhu Xiang first inquired about the hydrology, soil, vegetation, and local products of Bashu.

He already knew what farming conditions in Bashu were like in later eras. Although two thousand years hadn’t changed the natural landscape drastically, even minor differences could significantly affect agriculture.

Although it was Li Bing’s first time heading to Bashu, he had come fully prepared. Before his departure, he had sought out many officials who had traveled there and even consulted merchant caravans that had made the round trip.

Zhu Xiang took out paper and brush, and as he and Li Bing exchanged their knowledge, mutual admiration grew by the minute.

For someone in ancient times — where information was sparse — to have done such thorough homework before taking up his post, Zhu Xiang was moved. No wonder history remembered Li Bing; truly, capable officials who left their mark on history were one in ten thousand.

The Sichuan Basin was developed very early on. Its climate and soil are similar to those of the middle and lower reaches of the Yangtze River. However, due to its early development, the soil rating is much higher than in places like Yangzhou, and it is rich in resources. The Shu brocade already enjoys some renown.

But the problems are equally substantial.

Sichuan is rich in water sources, which also means severe flood disasters and an urgent need for the construction of hydraulic infrastructure.

The main crop is still millet, with some rice and beans interplanted. The farming methods are rather crude and do not make full use of the favorable geographical and climatic conditions.

Due to the hot and humid climate, mosquito-borne malaria and various parasitic diseases occur frequently—these are the most prominent endemic diseases in the Sichuan Basin, especially common after floods.

The region is home to many tribal peoples with different languages and customs. They often clash with government officials and Qin immigrants.

Bashu is isolated, and few people understand the law. There is a severe shortage of grassroots officials, which leads to poor communication and execution of governmental directives…

As Li Bing spoke, the topic gradually shifted from the natural conditions of Bashu to governance and public welfare.

Zhu Xiang listened intently, not offering many opinions, only offering comforting words at appropriate moments.

He believed Li Bing was certainly more experienced in administrative affairs than he was, and there was no need to butt in or take over. Li Bing was, after all, taking up his first post as a governor in a remote and vast commandery far from the court, and naturally had many worries bottled up. At such a time, all Zhu Xiang needed to do was be a good listener.

Sure enough, after venting once to Zhu Xiang, Li Bing’s mental state quickly improved.

Ying Zheng, bored out of his mind, fiddled with a rattle-drum and pouted. The day he could learn his uncle’s incredible charisma, maybe then he wouldn’t lack for talented people.

Li Mu asked, “Zheng’er, don’t you dislike rattle-drums?”

Ying Zheng, expressionless, shook the drum. “But I’m bored. Nothing to do.”

Zhu Xiang didn’t allow him to read in the carriage, saying it would hurt his eyes. Every day, he just ate and slept—it was unbearably dull.

“Want me to catch a small animal to entertain you?” Li Mu asked.

Ying Zheng nodded. “Okay.”

While marching into Shu, the Qin army occasionally hunted for wild game to spice up their meals in addition to consuming their rations.

Li Mu was the restless type, and he personally led the hunt every time.

A few days later, he brought back a little rabbit for Ying Zheng.

Ying Zheng grabbed the rabbit by its ears and gave it a shake, then immediately had Zhu Xiang roast it for him and eat it.

Li Mu: “…”

That was not what he meant by “entertainment.” He didn’t mean for him to devour the whole rabbit alone.

Upon hearing this, Zhu Xiang laughed so hard he couldn’t stand upright. Though the poor rabbit was pitiful, he really couldn’t picture the First Emperor raising a pet rabbit.

He had originally thought about coaxing Li Mu to catch a panda if he saw one, to raise for Ying Zheng. But that was just a passing thought.

A panda is still a bear. Even if tamed, it’s quite dangerous. It doesn’t know how to control its strength—what’s a playful swipe to it could injure a person. Plus, pandas eat only bamboo and produce a large amount of waste—not suitable as pets. Especially since vaccines didn’t exist yet; a scratch or bite from an animal could easily cause illness.

Maybe when Zheng’er grows up, he could keep a few pandas in a private garden for viewing, but definitely not as pets—it was too risky.

Zhu Xiang firmly decided not to raise a panda. However, on the way into Guanzhong, he kept spotting pandas poking their heads out of the underbrush, which made his heart itch with temptation.

“Uncle, do you like those black-and-white bears?” Ying Zheng asked.

Zhu Xiang replied, “Don’t you think they’re cute?”

Ying Zheng said with disdain, “They’re kind of dumb. But if uncle likes them, when Zheng’er grows up, Bashu can send black-and-white bears as tribute every year for uncle to play with.”

Zhu Xiang burst out laughing. “No need. I don’t have the energy to raise them.”

Even though Zhu Xiang said that, Ying Zheng still silently remembered that his uncle liked silly black-and-white bears.

As the Qin army advanced to Shimen, about to enter the Jinniu Road, they were stopped by a Qin general guarding the pass.

The general cupped his fists and said, “There is a conflict between mountain villages ahead. I ask all esteemed gentlemen to stay in Shimen for a few days to avoid being caught up in the tribal dispute.”

The general guarding Shimen was named Du Mo, a fierce-looking, bearded, burly man.

When he saw Li Bing’s banner and realized he was the new governor heading to take office in Bashu, he personally came to greet them and make himself known.

Although the Shimen garrison was not under the jurisdiction of the Bashu governor, getting on good terms with local officials never hurt.

Li Mu asked, puzzled, “A conflict? Why not dispatch troops to suppress it?”

Du Mo glanced at Li Mu. Though young, Li Mu was clearly of high birth to be escorting a governor into Shu at such a young age, so Du Mo didn’t dare underestimate him.

He respectfully explained, “Young general, Bashu is different from the Qin heartland. The mountain tribes are belligerent and ignorant. When they fight amongst themselves, the Qin army usually doesn’t intervene.”

Because Bashu had close contact with Chu, the lower-ranking officers and soldiers often addressed the King of Qin as “Dawang” (great king), as was common in Chu.

Li Mu asked Zhu Xiang, “Shall we stay here for a few days? If you’d prefer to reach Chengdu sooner, I can take some troops and go talk to them—just borrow the road. I don’t think they’d dare refuse.”

Li Mu was worried that if they delayed too long, Ying Zheng would suffer.

When he had been stationed at the northern border in Zhao, he often dealt with the northern nomads and knew that a bit of intimidation usually got the job done. Since it was just a matter of borrowing a route, there shouldn’t be much trouble.

Zhu Xiang asked, “General Du, may I ask why they’re fighting?”

Only then did Du Mo realize that the elderly man he assumed to be the governor’s advisor was actually a young man.

Du Mo looked at Li Bing.

Li Bing introduced him, “This is Lord Changping, Zhu Xiang…”

Before he could finish, Du Mo dropped to his knees with a loud thump, his armor not slowing him down in the slightest, startling Zhu Xiang so much that he leapt back, nearly slipping.

Li Mu steadied Zhu Xiang, who was flustered like a frightened rabbit, and said with amusement, “He’s bowing to you—what are you scared of?”

“I’m not scared, just not used to it,” Zhu Xiang hurriedly explained. “Please rise, General. I hold no official post. No need to kneel.”

Du Mo quickly said, “I bow to Lord Zhu Xiang—it has nothing to do with rank.”

He didn’t explain why he bowed, and got up, saying, “If it’s Lord Zhu Xiang, perhaps you can easily command them to stop fighting. They’re fighting because someone from one village stole a potato that another village had transported from thousands of miles away.”

Zhu Xiang: “…”

For a moment, he didn’t know how to respond.