HCT – Chapter 8 Clinging to Emperor Qin’s Golden Thigh

After showing off his nephew for a bit, Zhu Xiang began his daily routine—inspecting the fields and guiding the farming.

The state of Zhao was located in ancient Jizhou, one of the Nine Provinces. According to the Yu Gong (Tribute of Yu), Jizhou’s soil was white and loose, a saline-alkali land of moderate quality.

The farmland grades recorded in the Yu Gong were determined by the productivity levels of that time and differ from modern standards. For instance, regions like Sichuan and the middle and lower Yangtze River, which later became grain-producing powerhouses, were considered lower-tier lands.

The Chengdu Plain became known as the “Land of Abundance” only after irrigation improvements by Li Bing. The middle and lower Yangtze regions transformed into the empire’s granary only after the development of sophisticated irrigation systems and tools that could till heavy, sticky soils. Today’s fertile black permafrost, deemed uncultivable in ancient times, only became arable after industrialization.

Many modern people who fantasize about time-traveling to the past are often stunned by the “ignorance” of the ancients. They wonder: how could people consider such fertile lands—like the Land of Abundance, the lower Yangtze plains, and the black soil regions—as barbaric wilderness?

What they fail to grasp is how these fertile lands were painstakingly transformed through generations of effort. It took hundreds or even thousands of years of backbreaking labor by our ancestors to turn them into productive farmlands.

No land becomes a granary just because you scatter seeds on it. Even in primitive times, slash-and-burn farming was needed. Land is like a wild beast—it must be tamed before it can be domesticated and productive.

When descendants today smugly ask, “Why didn’t they just eat meat porridge?” (a metaphor for clueless privilege), their ancestors would no doubt feel immense pride. After all, if future generations can ask such questions, it means that the barren lands they once mourned over have been successfully turned into fertile fields. And that is certainly a source of comfort to their ancestors.

Zhu Xiang, a professor of agronomy, didn’t have the godlike ability some time travelers possess—magically producing ten thousand kilos of grain per mu. Instead, he began with the existing productivity level and made grounded improvements to Jizhou’s farmlands.

Jizhou was part of the middle and lower Yellow River basin. Every agronomist had ingrained knowledge of how to manage saline-alkali soil.

Since chemical fertilizers couldn’t be produced, Zhu Xiang focused on enhancing the soil’s fertility. He directed the construction of canals and improved the ju gao (a water-lifting tool based on the lever principle), modifying it so that its bucket could pour directly into irrigation ditches.

Before planting, water was drawn with the ju gao to flood the fields, dissolving the salts. Then drainage channels were dug at lower elevations to carry away the salty water, reducing soil salinity.

Zhu Xiang also taught farmers not to apply manure directly. Instead, they dug pits to compost it along with fallen leaves. Fires nearby helped speed up decomposition.

During field flushing, drainage outlets often grew aquatic plants like duckweed and pondweed. In famine years, these were “vegetables” for the poor; normally they were ignored. Zhu Xiang taught the people to collect these plants and compost them into green manure, supplementing dung and bone ash fertilizers.

The Lin family didn’t lack fertilizer. They raised horses, pigs, chickens, and ducks—daily manure collection was enough for their fields.

Commoners didn’t have access to so much fertilizer. Aside from building toilets to collect their own waste, they could only scavenge cow or horse dung from the roads. After Zhu Xiang introduced green manure, commoners finally had enough fertilizer to treat their own land.

Though the Warring States period had a chaotic calendar system, most farmers followed the old Xia calendar. It was now the eighth month in that calendar. Millet and yellow rice had been harvested, and it was time to sow wheat.

The climate then was warmer than today. While not as hot as some sensational claims comparing it to tropical regions like Xishuangbanna, research by climatologist Zhu Kezhen shows that spring during the Qin era arrived about three weeks earlier than in the early Qing’s “Little Ice Age.” The Yellow River basin had a subtropical climate.

By the Spring and Autumn period, peasants had already developed winter wheat. In the Central Plains, double cropping had become possible. After harvesting yellow and foxtail millet, winter wheat was planted. After harvesting wheat, millet could be grown again.

However, this kind of intensive farming quickly depleted soil fertility, causing salinization and compaction. Sufficient fertilizer was necessary. This is why, aside from regional differences in yield, there were huge gaps between noble and commoner farmland. Nobles had access to water and fertilizer, yielding six shi per mu in good years. Commoners, lacking both, had to use crop rotation and fallow cycles and harvested less than two shi even in good years.

Note: One ancient mu = one-third of a modern mu. One shi = two dou, or about 10 liters (10 kg).

Thus, noble fields could yield up to 180 kg/mu, while commoner fields produced less than 80 kg/mu.

With Zhu Xiang’s guidance and the Lin family’s generous funding to improve irrigation for commoners, the peasants’ land in Lin territory could now be double-cropped. Even the worst yields had doubled.

Little Ying Zheng sat atop his uncle’s shoulders, playing with a grasshopper while eavesdropping on his uncle’s farming lessons. He also listened to the farmers praising Zhu Xiang, eager to know what good deeds earned him such respect.

Though wearing a scarf tied by his uncle to shield his mouth and nose, he could still smell the stench of compost.

Zhu Xiang walked through the mud, weaving between the stink of manure, chatting and laughing with ragged farmers.

Ying Zheng, with his bony chin resting on his uncle’s thick hair, was full of curiosity. All of this was new to him—things he had never “seen” in his dreams.

On a shaded knoll nearby, two old men watched from a distance, supported by their attendants. They pointed and gestured at Zhu Xiang, who was squatting on a field ridge with a child on his neck, laughing with the farmers.

Xun Kuang said, “So that’s Zhu Xiang? Why does he have a kid on his neck?”

Lin Xiangru replied, “That’s his nephew—the child abandoned by Qin royal grandson Yiren. Didn’t I tell you about Zhu Xiang’s family?”

Xun Kuang retorted confidently, “I forgot!”

Lin Xiangru: “…” His fingers tightened on his cane. He had a sudden urge to whack this guy on the forehead.

Xun Kuang continued, “What I remember is you said he could triple commoners’ yields. Why would I care about his family?”

Lin Xiangru: “…” Fine. You were the Jijiu (Head Scholar) of Jixia Academy in Qi. Your tongue is sharp—I can’t win an argument with you.

And Lin Xiangru, the famed diplomat whose oratory secured him the rank of High Minister, actually admitted he couldn’t win a verbal spar. This man—Xun Kuang—would later be known as Xunzi, the very one who called rival Confucian schools “vulgar Confucians,” launching a long tradition of mutual academic insults.

Xun Kuang was from Zhao, served under King Xiang of Qi, and held the position of Jijiu at Jixia Academy. After King Xiang’s death in 265 BCE, he was pushed out, wandered far, and had just returned from western travels to visit home.

Lin Xiangru visited him, hoping he would accept an official position in Zhao. But Xun Kuang declined, saying his recent travels had inspired him to write and reflect. For now, he preferred to shut himself away and focus on scholarship. So Lin Xiangru maintained only a personal friendship.

“If he can triple commoner crop yields,” Xun Kuang asked, “why hasn’t the King of Zhao appointed him to oversee all of Zhao’s farmland?”

Lin Xiangru replied, “Because while he can improve yields for commoners, he hasn’t made much difference for noble lands.”

Xun Kuang scoffed, “It’s natural nobles wouldn’t want peasants to produce as much as they do. But why is the Zhao king so shortsighted?”

Lin Xiangru answered, “He inherited the throne as a youth and still hides behind the excuse of inexperience, leaving governance to the Grand Empress Dowager. How far-sighted do you expect him to be?”

Historical records of Zhao state say that the current King of Zhao “delegated governance to the Queen Dowager due to his youth.” But if you look closely at his age, the king was around twenty when he ascended the throne—an age that, in any state, should be considered old enough to rule.

From the records of the Queen Dowager Zhao Wei, it’s clear she wasn’t someone who sought to seize power. Other than being reluctant to let go of her young son, she had done virtually nothing for personal gain.

So the reason the late King entrusted governance to her was simply because he didn’t trust this twenty-year-old “young ruler” to govern well on his own.

The King himself understood this. If his elder brother, the Crown Prince, hadn’t died in a plague, the throne wouldn’t have come to him at all. That’s why, after assuming power, he was so desperate to prove himself as a capable and ambitious ruler.

Lin Xiangru secretly thought: My late liege really saw things clearly!

Xun Kuang laughed, “Is that what a Grand Minister should be saying to convince me to enter Zhao’s service?”

Lin Xiangru replied, “Zhao is in a crisis and needs ministers who can turn the tide. But you’re old—who knows how many years you’ve got left. I’m only trying to recruit you for your reputation, to attract other talents.”

Xun Kuang gripped his cane tighter. He was itching to show Lin Xiangru just how powerful Confucian “reasoned persuasion” could be.

So the two old men went back and forth with barbed words, both gripping their walking sticks, while the accompanying Lin Zhi looked increasingly awkward.

Originally, Lin Xiangru had come to recommend Zhu Xiang to Xun Kuang, hoping that Xun Kuang would take him as a disciple. With a prestigious teacher, Zhu Xiang would have better chances of securing an official position again.

But the two old men quickly veered off-topic and got caught up in a duel of words. It wasn’t until Zhu Xiang had finished speaking with the farmers and walked away carrying his little nephew—nearly out of sight—that they suddenly remembered why they had come.

Xun Kuang: “Where is he?”

Lin Xiangru: “Lin Zhi! How could you lose track of him? Go find him, now!”

Lin Zhi: “…” Fine, you’re my father. If you want to scold me when you’re flustered, I’ll take it.

Lin Zhi knew Zhu Xiang’s usual route well, so they were able to catch up quietly.

But Lin Xiangru wasn’t hoping Xun Kuang would just accept Zhu Xiang as an ordinary disciple—he wanted him to become a formal, full apprentice who knelt and acknowledged Xun Kuang as his teacher.

Xun Kuang was extremely proud and had never accepted such a disciple, not even from his own family.

Zhu Xiang’s extraordinary background and abilities sparked Xun Kuang’s curiosity. So the two old men decided to secretly follow him and observe whether this potential disciple lived up to his reputation.

Xun Kuang commented along the way:

“He’s been carrying his nephew this whole time and isn’t tired—good physical strength, suitable for a Confucian.”

“He speaks eloquently—suitable for a Confucian.”

“He understands calendars and agriculture—suitable for a Confucian.”

“He treats the people kindly—suitable for a Confucian.”

“How could someone like him even consider debating with youxia (wandering warriors)? He’s way above those useless types!”

Lin Xiangru’s eyelid twitched. “This is the first time I’ve heard that to join the Confucian school one must be physically strong!”

Xun Kuang gave him a sidelong glance. “How else can one go on scholarly journeys?”

Lin Xiangru asked, “So are you going to accept him as a disciple or not?”

Xun Kuang chuckled and shook his head. “Grand Minister Lin, you’re being too fixated. Look at Zhu Xiang—does he seem like someone who needs to learn another person’s philosophy?”

Lin Xiangru was confused. “What do you mean?”

Xun Kuang replied slowly, “I observe that in his behavior, there is not a trace of hesitation—his actions are full of purpose. This shows that his farming is not for fame or office, but a realization of his own ideals. I’ve seen many people like him. He has his own inner landscape. He may study others’ thoughts, but he won’t follow any particular school.”

Lin Xiangru said, “Are you saying he’s from the School of Agrarianism? I asked him—he doesn’t identify with their ideology.”

Xun Kuang replied, “Though people today speak of ‘a hundred schools of thought,’ those who travel and study never have to declare allegiance to just one. Take you, for example, Grand Minister Lin—what school do you belong to? What name are you trying to make for any particular faction?”

Lin Xiangru was thoughtful.

Xun Kuang continued, “Many people have ideals within themselves and thus create their own path. When they gather enough disciples, they too become one of the hundred schools. When I first heard of Zhu Xiang, I already knew—even if he studies under me, he won’t inherit my teachings.”

Lin Xiangru sighed.

Xun Kuang glanced at him again. “Why are you sighing? Just because he won’t carry on my legacy doesn’t mean I won’t teach him. Go ahead and tell King Zhao that he is my disciple. I’ll recognize him. But before that, Grand Minister Lin, you’d better reveal your identity quickly—those youxia in the trees are about to throw rocks at us.”

Lin Xiangru looked in the direction Xun Kuang pointed—sure enough, they’d been ambushed by youxia.

Lin Zhi quickly lifted his straw hat to reveal their identity.

A group of youxia jumped down from the trees. Their leader complained, “Lord Lin, why are you trying to harm Lord Zhu Xiang again? What if we accidentally hurt you? You know how many people have their eyes on Lord Zhu.”

Xun Kuang jumped down from the ox-cart, curious. “Many people are watching Zhu Xiang?”

The leader of the youxia didn’t recognize Xun Kuang, but seeing that Lin Zhi was driving the cart, and that the elder seated on it must be a senior from the Lin family, he respectfully explained:

“Lord Zhu Xiang increased the output of commoners’ farmland and organized mutual aid networks. Now, even in slack farming seasons, they can go to the city to sell goods. The local wealthy merchants and gentry hate this.”

Xun Kuang turned to Lin Xiangru, who was still sitting in the cart, and said, “It seems the ones who want to harm Zhu Xiang may not only be merchants.”

Lin Xiangru let out a deep sigh.

Xun Kuang asked, “Does Zhu Xiang know about this?”

The youxia leader replied, “We’ve never told Lord Zhu. Even though he helps the commoners, he is hated for it. We don’t know how to tell him that. But with Lord Zhu’s wisdom, he may already suspect.”

Lin Zhi added, “He is extremely cautious. If he were planning to leave our lands, he would definitely seek me out.”

Xun Kuang said, “That proves not only that he’s cautious, but also that you’re quite idle.”

Lin Zhi: “…” Master Xun, do you roast people on reflex?

While Xun Kuang was teasing Lin Zhi, Zhu Xiang had already noticed the commotion behind them.

With such a large group gathered, it would be more surprising if he hadn’t seen them.

Zhu Xiang quickly came over to join the commotion—sure enough, it was Lin Zhi.

He grinned and said, “Only you could cause such a big fuss out here. Come on, Zheng’er, call him Zhongfu (uncle)!”

At the sound of “Zhongfu,” little Ying Zheng visibly flinched, nearly flinging the grasshopper toy he was holding.

Lin Zhi rolled his eyes at Zhu Xiang. “A father’s elder brother is called Zhongfu, and all other brothers are Shufu. But I’m clearly older than you—Zheng’er should call me Bofu! You’re teaching him wrong!”

Zhu Xiang argued shamelessly, “You may be older in age, but you’re younger in maturity. Calling you Zhongfu is perfectly fine. Or should we just go with Shufu, then?”

Lin Zhi pretended to raise his hand to hit him.

Little Ying Zheng quickly threw the grasshopper toy, hitting Lin Zhi squarely on the forehead.

Lin Zhi was stunned.

Zhu Xiang was momentarily frozen too, then burst into hearty laughter. “Nice shot, Zheng’er! Such loyalty to your uncle at such a young age—good lad!”

Lin Zhi rubbed his forehead, which didn’t hurt at all, and scolded jokingly, “Your kid’s a troublemaker. Instead of scolding him, you praise him? Still say you’re not corrupting the youth?”

Ying Zheng paused to reflect. He’d thrown the toy on instinct, but now realized it was rather rude.

So he sincerely apologized, “Uncle Lin, I’m sorry.”

Xun Kuang pushed Lin Zhi aside and said, “He was just about to strike your uncle—vengeance for elders is a matter of righteousness. What he did follows the rites—no need to apologize.”

Ying Zheng looked confused. Is that really how it works…?

Lin Xiangru couldn’t hold back anymore. He coughed loudly, a warning to Xun Kuang not to mislead his child.

Hearing the cough from inside the ox-cart, Zhu Xiang glanced at Lin Zhi with a questioning look.

Lin Zhi nodded to him.

Zhu Xiang immediately set Ying Zheng down and asked, “May I ask this elder’s name? Thank you for defending Zheng’er. Zheng’er, thank him properly.”

Ying Zheng looked up at Zhu Xiang, then gave Xun Kuang a formal bow of gratitude.

Xun Kuang’s smile bloomed with so many wrinkles it looked like his face was blossoming. “Good child.”

He pulled out a scroll of bamboo slips from his robe. “A gift.”

Ying Zheng looked up at Zhu Xiang again, and only after Zhu Xiang nodded did he respectfully receive the bamboo scroll with both hands.

The scroll was heavy, and Ying Zheng’s arms drooped from the weight.

Zhu Xiang quickly took it from him. “Such a generous gift, sir—you’re too kind.”

He grew suspicious. A gift of books upon meeting—could this elder be a wandering scholar from one of the Hundred Schools?

Lin Zhi leaned in and whispered, “This is Master Xun of the Confucian school.”

Zhu Xiang didn’t react at first—“Master Xun” didn’t ring a bell.

Lin Zhi added, “Former Jijiu (Chancellor) of the Jixia Academy.”

Jixia Academy… Confucian school…

The pieces finally clicked in Zhu Xiang’s head. His eyes widened in shock, the same expression Ying Zheng had earlier. “Xunzi?!”

Oh my heavens—my future Emperor is truly extraordinary! On the second day of living with me, we meet Xunzi! Is this what it’s like to live a grand, fateful life?

Zhu Xiang’s eyes sparkled like stars.

Xun Kuang was stunned for a moment, then chuckled. “I’m not quite worthy of the name Xunzi.”

Zhu Xiang immediately bowed. “Worthy, more than worthy! If even you’re not worthy, then no one in this world is! Could it be that Sir Xun has seen the rare talent and exceptional potential in my Zheng’er, and has taken a liking to him?”

This match—no, this master-disciple relationship—I accept!

Zheng’er! Go hug that thigh! With Xunzi, who needs Li Si, Han Fei, or Zhang Cang? You’ll become all three!

Xun Kuang was once again amused by Zhu Xiang’s nimble mind and his eagerness to jump at any opportunity before the offer was even on the table.

Lin Xiangru couldn’t bear it any longer and barked, “Get up here.”

Zhu Xiang immediately sobered, lowered his head, picked up Ying Zheng, and climbed onto the ox-cart.

Ying Zheng was still in a bowing posture as he was carried, his small head full of confusion.

What’s Uncle doing now…?

Xun Kuang chuckled and climbed into the cart as well.

Lin Zhi sighed and resignedly took up the reins to drive.

The surrounding commoners and wandering knights all smiled and dispersed.

They’d all figured it out by now—the coughing elder in the cart must be the lord of this estate, Lin Zhi’s father, Lord Lin Xiangru himself.

They wondered what Lord Lin wanted with Zhu Xiang. Was the king of Zhao rewarding him again?

“Lord Lin, I was wrong!” Zhu Xiang began apologizing the moment he got on the cart—regardless of what he did wrong, it was safer to apologize first.

Lin Xiangru, caught off guard by how quickly Zhu Xiang surrendered, turned pale with frustration and knocked him on the head.

Ying Zheng looked up at Lin Xiangru’s fierce old face and quietly retracted his little fist.

Xun Kuang teased him, “Zheng’er, why didn’t you defend your uncle this time?”

Lin Xiangru also turned to look at Ying Zheng, curious about how he would answer.

Though Zhu Xiang knew this was a test, he still intervened. “Sir Xun, Zheng’er is not yet even two years old.”

Xun Kuang blinked in surprise and raised his voice. “You’re not yet two?!”

Ying Zheng didn’t know why they were using “years old” instead of his actual age, but he did understand the difference. “Yes, I’ll turn two on the second day of next New Year.”

Xun Kuang gasped. “Not even two, and he speaks so clearly?!”

Zhu Xiang beamed with pride. “Some children talk early, some walk early. My Zheng’er is especially quick with speech—very bright!”

Xun Kuang asked, “You’ve only been raising him for two days. Why are you so fond of him already?”

Ying Zheng’s body stiffened, and he instinctively gripped Zhu Xiang’s robe tightly.

Zhu Xiang smiled. “When I said before that my nephew resembles me, I wasn’t joking. He really does look a lot like me. I liked him the moment I saw him. Besides, my Zheng’er is clever and well-behaved—who wouldn’t like him? Just now, that group of knights had only just met him, and they already wove toys from straw for him—that shows how likable he is.”

Ying Zheng’s face went pale. “My toy is gone!”

“Here it is,” Zhu Xiang said like a magician, pulling a pile of woven grass toys from his sleeve—including the grasshopper Ying Zheng had thrown at Lin Zhi. Zhu Xiang didn’t even know when he had picked it up.

Ying Zheng cradled the pile of straw toys, his eyes curving into crescent moons with joy.

Xun Kuang looked at Ying Zheng’s smiling eyes, then at Zhu Xiang’s fond expression, and his face grew contemplative.

“I returned from my travels only to find old friends gone and no place to settle. To avoid worldly distractions, Lord Lin would like me to stay at your place for a while. Would you mind?” Xun Kuang said, spinning a complete lie without blinking.

Lin Xiangru’s eyelid twitched violently but he didn’t expose Xun Kuang’s fabrication. He even nodded. “His health isn’t great—help him recover.”

Zhu Xiang immediately clasped his hands in salute. “Certainly. Though my home is modest, the food is first-class. Sir Xun, please consider my home your own!”

Zheng’er, the big leg (backing) just walked in the door—go hug it quick!