Zhu Xiang thoroughly inquired about the conflict between the two mountain villages.

Both villages were inhabited by the “Banshǔn Barbarians,” descendants of the Ba people who had once been conquered by Qin.

The Ba people originally lived by fishing and hunting, but by the time Qin defeated them, those living on the plains had already developed an agricultural civilization. However, due to limited arable land in the mountains, they retained a mixed livelihood of farming and fishing-hunting.

After Qin’s territorial expansion, not all areas strictly followed Qin law. Instead, policies were tailored to local conditions.

For instance, Qin continued the Ba people’s slave system and gradually assimilated them through rewards.

During King Hui of Qin’s reign, Ba chieftains were required to marry Qin women each generation to assimilate their descendants. Under the current King Zhaoxiang of Qin, each Ba household was granted one qing of tax-exempt land. No matter how many wives or concubines they took, no additional taxes were levied on them.

These two policies worked hand in hand. Not only did they encourage the Ba to descend from the mountains and farm, but they also made poor Ba women more willing to become concubines in wealthy Ba households. This, in turn, made it difficult for common Ba men to marry women of their own ethnicity. Without needing Qin women bestowed by the king, they willingly married Qin women who had migrated into the area, thus further accelerating their assimilation.

In ancient times, the lower classes didn’t have much of a concept of love or fidelity—marriage was simply for survival and reproduction. All the more so for the slave-based Ba society.

Due to frequent intermarriage with Qin people, and because Shimen (the region) was a transportation hub leading in and out of Shu, they were not completely cut off from information.

While trading goods with passing merchant caravans, they not only learned to speak the Qin language but also received updates on major events in the Central Plains and the Qin kingdom. Some ambitious young men among them even traveled with the caravans to conduct business and broaden their horizons.

Though their news tended to be delayed by a year or more, Zhu Xiang’s fame had already spread for over that long, so among them, he was now a fresh and exciting name.

Mountain fields were scarce and difficult to farm. When they heard that potatoes could yield a large harvest even in some neglected corner of the land, they pooled together mountain goods and asked a merchant caravan to buy some potatoes.

The caravan was honest and didn’t cheat them. Although potatoes were cheap, transporting them all the way to Shimen without spoilage required great care. The merchant’s efforts were worth the exchange of such valuable mountain products.

The village that bought the potatoes was called Qingpian Village, and the one across the ravine was called Hongpian Village—named after the respective cliffs of blue stone and red soil they bordered.

The people of Qingpian Village had just received their potatoes and were still figuring out how to eat and grow them when folks from Hongpian Village came over to trade and found the potatoes fascinating. On impulse, they pocketed a few.

When Qingpian villagers came asking for their potatoes back, the Hongpian villagers—having learned from the caravan about the potatoes’ wondrous properties—offered animal hides in exchange. The Qingpian villagers refused. The quarrel escalated from verbal argument to brawl, and eventually turned into an armed conflict between the two villages.

After hearing the whole story, Zhu Xiang thought: Hongpian Village is clearly at fault. But situations like this couldn’t be reasoned out anymore. It was like that war between Wu and Chu, which devastated both nations’ strength—over what? Two women on the border fighting over a mulberry leaf. The women started arguing, pulled in their fathers and brothers to fight, then the whole village joined in, and before anyone knew it, town garrisons got involved, and eventually, the kings of two nations personally stepped in.

Zhu Xiang gave a bitter smile. “Should I be thankful that this potato feud happened between Qin people? If it were Qin and Chu, Li Mu, you’d have to don your armor and charge to battle before even acclimating to the southwest climate.”

The young and brash Li Mu casually replied, “Chu has no good generals. Even if I had to don my armor in a rush, I’d still win.”

Zhu Xiang said, “I heard there’s a family in Chu, surname Xiang, that has produced generals for generations. Supposedly pretty capable.”

Li Mu frowned. “I’ve never heard of any good general surnamed Xiang in Chu. What battle achievements do they have?”

Zhu Xiang thought carefully. At this point in time—none, really.

The future-famous Xiang Yan gained renown during a battle where he collaborated with Lord Changping in a pincer attack against the Qin general Li Xin, catching him off guard. But aside from that, Xiang Yan had no other notable military feats before or after. Objectively speaking, even that major victory wasn’t really his doing—it was thanks to Lord Changping.

By the late Warring States period, the so-called famous generals of the Six States (aside from Li Mu) were only considered great if they could repel Qin’s invasion once or twice. They rarely had opportunities to capture cities or launch offensives themselves.

Thinking this through, the title of “famous general” really was a bit inflated. No wonder Li Mu didn’t think much of them.

“No real battle achievements yet,” Zhu Xiang admitted. “But since they’ve served as generals for generations, they must have some skill. Now, pick a hundred cavalrymen to follow me up the mountain. I’ll prepare some medicinal herbs for all of you. Make sure to bring enough water and dry food. Don’t drink any water they offer.”

Li Mu asked in surprise, “Do you think they’ll poison us?”

Zhu Xiang shook his head. “Not poison. The village water sources are often near their living areas and are prone to contamination by human waste. Plus, they often drink unboiled water, so parasites are a real concern. Better safe than sorry.”

Li Mu nodded. “Understood.”

Anyone experienced in leading troops would care about water quality. If precautions weren’t taken, soldiers could die from disease before even facing the enemy. Even if boiling all drinking water wasn’t feasible, commanders would at least choose upstream water sources, ideally those also frequented by animals.

The “herbal medicine” Zhu Xiang spoke of was garlic juice.

After obtaining garlic, Zhu Xiang began promoting it as a “miracle drug.” Especially crushed purple-skinned single-bulb garlic, which produces allicin—a strong antibacterial agent—even without alcohol extraction. Garlic paste or juice had powerful effects against bacteria and parasites.

Back at his agricultural research institute, Zhu Xiang’s team had a specific project studying garlic’s effect on preventing and treating schistosomiasis. Modern medicine had effective antiparasitic drugs, but they led to growing resistance over time. Garlic’s allicin didn’t build resistance easily, making it a promising candidate for cheaper, more accessible antiparasitic medication. However, allicin was difficult to preserve, and no cheaper pharmaceutical alternative had yet been developed.

So Zhu Xiang didn’t bother extracting it. He simply crushed garlic and applied the paste to exposed skin—enough to prevent insect bites and schistosomiasis.

Garlic paste mixed with soy sauce made a delicious dipping sauce for those used to its flavor. Zhu Xiang also happened to draw a lottery for a variety of scallions that could be eaten raw. He’d packed plenty in the wagon as a health supplement for Ying Zheng.

After entering Shu, the climate was more humid and oppressive than the Guandong region. Ying Zheng felt stuffy, so he peeled a scallion, dipped it in soy sauce and garlic paste, and crunch crunch—ate the white part of the scallion like fruit. After a few bites and a full-body sweat, he felt instantly refreshed.

Zhu Xiang couldn’t help but cover his face when watching Ying Zheng gnaw on scallions.

The smell wasn’t the problem—he didn’t mind that. It was the nagging feeling that he was somehow doing a disservice to the future fans of Qin Shi Huang. He had raised the future emperor to be way too… down-to-earth.

“Uncle, I want to go too!” said the bored Ying Zheng, holding up the half-eaten scallion.

“Alright,” Zhu Xiang replied. “Stick close to me. Don’t wander off or touch anything.”

Ying Zheng nodded and continued munching his scallion.

Li Mu frowned. “Wouldn’t it be dangerous for Zheng’er to go?”

Zhu Xiang replied, “With you there, it won’t be dangerous. Besides, the Ba people are Qin citizens too. Letting him witness a local feud like this is valuable experience—think of it as a field lesson.”

Li Mu sighed. “Alright then. Zheng’er, stay close to me.”

Ying Zheng munched on a raw scallion while nodding thoughtfully, his small head pondering whether he should follow his uncle or his teacher more closely.

Li Mu, watching him with growing appetite, reached for a scallion himself and took a bite.

The moment he bit into it, his brows furrowed. Every time he saw Zheng’er gnaw on scallions so happily, he couldn’t help but try it too, yet each time he failed to get used to the strong flavor of raw scallions.

Zhu Xiang laughed at him, then lit a fire, roasted the bitten scallion with a sprinkle of salt, making sure not to waste such a good stalk.

Having made up his mind, Zhu Xiang brought Li Bing along to see the commotion.

Du Mo followed with fifty men, and the dark, imposing Qin army scared the feuding mountain villagers half to death.

While Du Mo went to explain, Zhu Xiang curiously carried Ying Zheng to inspect the opposing fortresses.

The two mountain tribes had built rather respectable fortifications: trenches, flagpoles, wooden shields, and bronze spears. At a glance, it resembled the scale of those Warring States-era conflicts from a certain island nation.

No wonder their conflict had escalated to the point of drawing state troops.

Soon, Du Mo brought the two tribe chiefs to meet Zhu Xiang. As soon as Zhu Xiang cast his gaze over, the two old men thudded to their knees with such speed that Zhu Xiang was startled again.

“Elders, please rise.” Zhu Xiang spoke Qin dialect slowly, unsure if these Banshǔn barbarians could understand.

Fortunately, the two chiefs were used to interacting with Qin folk and spoke the Qin tongue fluently.

They kowtowed one after another, begging Zhu Xiang for blessings and a good harvest.

Zhu Xiang was baffled.

Du Mo explained, “Among the people, they say Lord Zhu Xiang is a celestial being.”

Zhu Xiang was both amused and exasperated. “I just debunked a group of charlatans pretending to use magic. How did I become a celestial being? Elders, please get up. I’m not a deity. I’m Lord Changping of Qin—a common man good at farming.”

He placed Ying Zheng on the ground and helped the elders up.

The strong smell of garlic on him made the two old men wrinkle their noses.

Zhu Xiang felt quite awkward. But there was no helping it—he didn’t have a more versatile or effective remedy than garlic.

Thankfully, his reputation preceded him. Even if the smell was unfamiliar, the elders merely assumed it was some kind of nobleman’s perfume. After a while, they even started inhaling deeply, hoping for a few more whiffs.

Zhu Xiang was mortified and quickly changed the subject.

He told them how he had exposed the false immortals and reiterated that he was no god. Then, he offered to teach them how to grow potatoes. He asked if Qingpian Village could sell some potatoes to Hongpian Village, since the latter had been in the wrong. He suggested that Hongpian offer more goods as compensation.

Upon hearing how Zhu Xiang unmasked the so-called immortals, the two elders didn’t treat him as an ordinary man at all—rather, they revered him even more.

If they had encountered an actual god or spirit, they might have remained skeptical and possibly even driven them away or killed them if they didn’t bring benefits.

But Zhu Xiang had real skills and results to show for it—that made him more impressive than any mystical entity. If they offended him, he could probably summon fire and frost to destroy their mountain homes.

Seeing their nervous expressions, Zhu Xiang sighed. It seemed his attempts at reassurance hadn’t worked?

Still, fear often brings obedience. Under the supervision of Prefect Li Bing, the two villages resolved their feud, exchanged potatoes and furs, and ended the conflict without bloodshed.

Luckily, no one had been hurt, or mediation would have been far more difficult.

With years of experience as an official, Li Bing was well-versed in mediating such disputes. Even so, he hadn’t expected Zhu Xiang to be better at it than he was.

Zhu Xiang gave a wry smile. In his past life, when he worked on pilot farms in rural areas, an agricultural professor’s role wasn’t limited to just farming. To the villagers, he was a high-level intellectual they came to for everything. He practically acted as a deputy village head.

He quickly pacified the villagers and was honored as a distinguished guest.

Ying Zheng didn’t reveal his identity as a Qin prince. He simply followed Zhu Xiang to the chief seat—Zhu Xiang sat in the main seat, and he sat in Zhu Xiang’s lap.

Zhu Xiang accepted their precious gifts and gave back some garlic in return, explaining its medicinal benefits.

“Potatoes are high-yield, but they’re hard on the soil. Ideally, they should only be planted every other year. Rotating potatoes with beans, grains, and garlic is best.”

He had wanted to give them chili peppers too. How could people in Bashu not grow chilies? But chilies shared similar diseases with potatoes and couldn’t be rotated with them. Garlic, however, paired well with potatoes and could even help prevent schistosomiasis—more suitable for semi-hunter-gatherer mountain folk.

Zhu Xiang taught them how to detoxify potato seeds, how to sprout and cut them properly, and warned that green or sprouted potatoes were poisonous. He inspected their current farmland and instructed them on composting, ridging, and soil conservation.

Farming in the mountains was never easy. Even in modern times, escaping poverty in such areas remained difficult. There wasn’t much Zhu Xiang could do.

Rather than exhaust himself teaching them how to farm in narrow mountain plots, Zhu Xiang preferred to persuade them to move—down the cliffs to the open land and build villages there.

Now, Bashu was sparsely populated. If they didn’t move now, there might not be land available later.

The Ba people, however, were hesitant.

Qin people still called them “barbarians,” so they didn’t see themselves as true Qin citizens. Leaving the cover of the mountains, they feared Qin people might harm them.

After hearing their concerns, Zhu Xiang gently patted Ying Zheng’s head and said, “Zheng’er, remember the villagers’ troubles. These are problems you’ll need to solve.”

Ying Zheng raised his head and said to the chiefs, “I’ll write to the king and have him issue a decree that you are Qin citizens, not barbarians. If you pay taxes to Qin, you are Qin people. No official shall discriminate against you. Prefect Li, am I right?”

Li Bing replied, “The prince speaks truth. Elders, don’t worry. I am the Prefect of Shu Commandery—trust me.”

The villagers remained hesitant.

Zhu Xiang smiled, “No need to rush. Next year, or the year after, you can move down whenever you’re ready. It’s just that, now that Bashu is peaceful, many outsiders want to move here. Shimen sees heavy foot traffic. If you don’t move soon, the good land might be taken, and that would be a pity.”

The chief asked urgently, “Are there really that many people wanting to move to Shu? It’s not exactly prime land!”

Zhu Xiang pointed at Li Bing, “You might not know him, but Prefect Li is a renowned capable official. With him here, Shu will become very prosperous. People are moving here because of his reputation.”

Li Bing chuckled, “What reputation? Isn’t it the common folk rushing in because you, Lord Zhu Xiang, are in Shu?”

Li Mu, standing guard nearby, chimed in, “He’s right. Once news of what you’re doing in Shu spreads, many will flock here.”

Ying Zheng nodded vigorously. Did his uncle have no idea how famous he was? That was way too humble.

Zhu Xiang rubbed his nose. “That might be true. In any case, elders, while the land is still available, move down and start farming early. Don’t let others snatch the good spots.”

The village chief finally nodded repeatedly, saying he’d discuss it with the villagers and move at the latest after this year’s harvest.

Du Mo was stunned.

Mountain villages were hard to tax. The previous prefect had issued multiple decrees urging villagers to move down and farm, but Qingpian and Hongpian Villages had always been stubborn. If pressed too hard, they’d even retreat deeper into the mountains.

Yet Lord Zhu Xiang and the new prefect had persuaded them with just a few words?

Later, out of curiosity, Du Mo asked around—and the two chiefs gave nearly identical answers:

“Lord Zhu Xiang will definitely draw in many people to compete with us for land. We need to move early to claim good spots.”

And also: “Previous officials called us barbarians. Lord Zhu Xiang not only called us Qin people—he smiled at us!”

When they said this, their faces were full of pride.

“Lord Zhu Xiang smiled at us!”

Du Mo scratched his thick beard. Just one smile, and you all agreed?

Zhu Xiang didn’t know what happened after he left. He stayed a few more days to teach farming techniques, passed on his knowledge to the two village chiefs, and told them to find literate Qin folks to continue the training. Then, he resumed his journey.

Though Zhu Xiang and his group had carts and horses, they moved cautiously and slowly for safety.

So by the time they reached the next large mountain village, word of Lord Zhu Xiang’s arrival had already spread. Villagers were kneeling along the roadside, waiting for him.

Ying Zheng poked his head out of the cart window, chewing on a scallion.

He was curious to see how many kneeling crowds they’d run into on this journey.