HCT – Chapter 85 Festival Malt Sugar

The pumpkin seeds provided by the system to Zhu Xiang were already processed—each packet equivalent to the number of seeds found in a whole pumpkin.

Zhu Xiang felt both fortunate and regretful. If he had ten thousand large pumpkins, he could have used them for famine relief. But while he could find an excuse to suddenly produce pumpkin seeds, he couldn’t do the same with whole pumpkins. Suddenly conjuring up food—Old King Qin might either worship him or just kill him outright.

Truthfully, even his excuse for having pumpkin seeds was rather flimsy. Once or twice, he could claim “a traveling merchant brought them,” but if this happened too often, it would become suspicious. Seeds of crops already known—like wheat and rice—could still pass muster. But for unfamiliar ones, it was a hard sell.

Oddly enough, the clever people around him all seemed to have collectively lost their wits. Whatever Zhu Xiang said, they just accepted it. Even Ying Zheng was pretending to be a real child at the moment, his eyes wide as he said, “Uncle has such a sharp eye for treasure-hunting. I really want to learn from you.”

His voice and expression were so sincere that Zhu Xiang couldn’t help but feel like his chubby nephew was mocking the poor excuse he gave. Since everyone else was playing dumb, Zhu Xiang played along, pretending he’d successfully muddled through.

Pumpkin cultivation was fairly hands-off. After a single lesson from Zhu Xiang, everyone picked it up quickly. He first scalded the seeds in water at about 50°C for nearly a quarter of an hour, then soaked them in 30°C water for two to three hours so they’d fully absorb moisture. In standard planting, they could be sown directly at this stage. But since it was his first time growing pumpkins, Zhu Xiang played it safe—opting to germinate seedlings before transplanting.

No fertilizer was needed for seedling cultivation, nor much water. Just an occasional light spray when the soil dried out. After about a month, the seedlings could be transplanted.

“Next time we plant in early spring,” Zhu Xiang said, “we’ll just need to prep the soil with enough base fertilizer and sow directly. Pumpkins are very easy to grow.”

Zhu Xiang, terrible at naming things, mostly borrowed names from his previous life. He claimed with his eyes closed that “nan gua” (南瓜, southern melon) came from the Wu and Yue regions, hence the name. Because of their golden color when ripe, he also called them “jin gua” (金瓜, golden melon). No one else had seen pumpkins before, so whatever he said, they accepted.

Transplanting the pumpkin seedlings was easy too. The fields didn’t need to be ridged; he just divided them into half-meter-square plots for flatbed planting. Since he planned to intercrop with legumes, he spaced the plants further apart to make room. The legumes would also enrich the soil for the pumpkins.

Only composted green manure was needed for pumpkins, with additional manure added later.

 “When the vines grow to about thirty centimeters—around one chi—you’ll need to start building trellises and tying them up,” Zhu Xiang instructed. “Got it?”

Li Mu, recording every word, replied, “The early stage is simple. You’ll still need to teach us how to build the trellises and tie the vines later.” Zhu Xiang nodded. “I’ll show you when the time comes.”

Once trained, Li Mu was reassigned as an agricultural general. With some nervousness, he took the famine-relief pumpkin seeds Zhu Xiang had given him and went to plant them in the military farmlands.

Some students from the Xianyang Academy accompanied him to assist with agricultural guidance. Before following Zhu Xiang to Shu, they each belonged to different schools of thought, mostly Confucians. Now they simply referred to themselves as students of Xianyang Academy. In private, they even called themselves disciples of Zhu Xiang. Whatever Zhu Xiang asked of them, they did—seemingly forgetting their old affiliations.

Whether it was lobbying the wealthy, enforcing law, or teaching agriculture, they all carried themselves with remarkable competence. None of these students would be remembered in future generations, but Zhu Xiang had already spotted a few promising talents among them.

He looked forward to receiving unexpected Favorability Gifts from these disciples one day. Anyone who could appear on the Favorability list had been deemed by the system as someone capable of influencing history.

While Li Mu led Qin soldiers in planting pumpkins, Zhu Xiang continued guiding farmers on post-disaster field recovery. Thanks to their efforts, the excess water in the fields had been drained, and the mud, rotting branches, and weeds cleared out. Farmers painstakingly cleaned every millet plant.

It was delicate work. Too much force and the plant would be damaged. The farmers squatted at the field edges, one hand holding a ladle, the other a rag, carefully wiping mud off the millet stalks. From dawn to dusk, they worked. In the future, this might be done with sprinklers, but for now, a single farmer couldn’t even manage one mu (about 0.16 acre) per day.

Yet this was essential. Mud could hinder the grain’s ability to mature and fill out, and it harbored bacteria that could rot the crops. Zhu Xiang and Ying Zheng observed the entire day’s work from the field edge. They didn’t get their hands dirty, but Zhu Xiang used the opportunity to teach Ying Zheng how to restore farmland after a flood. The two of them ate steamed buns with salted meat and drank plain boiled water as they watched.

That evening, Ying Zheng remarked, “Farmers have it tough. Farming is really hard. Growing food isn’t easy.” Zhu Xiang smiled and ruffled his head. With thoughts like these already taking root, perhaps when this child became the First Emperor, he wouldn’t launch massive construction projects just to glorify his own accomplishments, no matter how grand they were.

“Zheng’er, Uncle needs to focus on farming guidance and doesn’t have enough energy to do everything,” Zhu Xiang said. “Your arithmetic is good—you’ll handle the distribution of relief grain. Time to start working that abacus.”

Ying Zheng nodded. “No problem.”

Compared to endlessly poring over ancient texts, learning through real administrative work was his favorite form of study. Moving abacus beads and doing bookkeeping wasn’t tiring—more like play.

Most children his age were still absorbed in play. Ying Zheng felt he’d already outgrown toys. Light government duties were his version of playtime.

Zhu Xiang patted his chubby nephew’s head. As expected of the First Emperor in the making—ambitious even as a child.

But Zhu Xiang also believed this kind of hands-on training was more useful than being cooped up reading the same books repeatedly.

“Follow the daily schedule I give you—balance work and rest. Get plenty of sleep. You mustn’t wear yourself out,” Zhu Xiang instructed. “If I hear you’re not sticking to it, I’ll have you locked in a room listening to people recite books all day.”

Ying Zheng’s chubby face fell. “Do I really have to nap at noon? I can’t sleep!”

“Even if you can’t sleep, just lie down and rest your eyes,” Zhu Xiang said. “A short rest makes the body feel lighter. More sleep means you’ll grow taller. Don’t you want to be tall?”

As he spoke, Zhu Xiang even picked him up and jiggled him. Ying Zheng’s face fell even further.  He grumbled inwardly: In the dream room, I was so tall. When I grow up, I’ll pick up Uncle and jiggle him like this too!

When the pumpkin vines had grown enough for trellising, the millet was finally mature, and the replanted soybeans had all sprouted. The variety planted in Shu was the large soybean from the Rong and Di peoples—mature in just three months. Once the soybeans matured, they would slightly ease the grain shortage. When the pumpkins and potatoes ripened later, things would improve again. The famine period the farmers had to endure had been cut nearly in half.

Thanks to the fertile vegetation of Shu, those three months weren’t too hard for the farmers in the Chengdu Plain. But farmers in the hilly eastern parts of Shu didn’t have it so easy.

The soil there was thinner, and the land fragmented. After being washed out by floodwaters, it was very difficult to restore. Flash floods often led to secondary disasters like landslides. Though Zhu Xiang ordered officials to issue mountain area warnings, there weren’t enough of them, and farmers were unwilling to leave their villages and fields—rendering most warnings useless.

A month after the floods, the heavens gave Shu a sliver of hope. The weather cleared for several days. But in that window of good weather, Zhu Xiang received multiple reports of landslides burying villages.

There was no way to send rescue. No excavators. No modern medical aid. A landslide essentially meant death.

Zhu Xiang had no choice but to shift focus to villages in better locations. Save whoever could be saved. Human hands are too small—they can only hold so much. And even if you manage to grasp something, some of it will inevitably slip through your fingers.

He allocated the remaining potatoes to be planted in the hills. As for the rest of the vacant plots, just like the plains, they were replanted entirely with large soybeans. He had high-quality wheat and rice seeds, but at this point, only the fast-growing, soil-tolerant soybean could give the farmers a fighting chance to survive.

When the soybean sprouts finally emerged in the hills, Zhu Xiang gently stroked them, rough hands brushing over his eyes.

“They sprouted… they sprouted… That means there’s hope.”

The calluses on his fingers grazed the tender leaves as he whispered, “As long as they grow, there’s hope.”

Even before they matured, the leaves could be harvested for soup. Better that than eating random wild grasses with unknown toxicity.

With the soybean sprouts up, the farmers could finally rest a bit. And Zhu Xiang could now begin addressing epidemic prevention.

While the farmers replanted, disease had already begun spreading throughout Shu. Water pollution brought parasites and dysentery. Mosquitoes from the heat and damp brought malaria and encephalitis B. Damaged housing led to colds and heatstroke. Animal corpses and rats brought plague…

Disaster is always followed by disease—especially in the summer floods. The steamy mix of water and fire breeds countless “plague spirits.”

While guiding farmers on disaster recovery and replanting, Zhu Xiang had already implemented some disease control measures:

Teaching them how to identify clean water sources.
Burning animal corpses.
Rat and snail extermination.
Gathering potentially useful herbs…

But it was a drop in the ocean. And progress was painfully slow.

Farmers couldn’t leave their land. Even when they knew the water sources were contaminated, they had nowhere else to go. Boiling water was too much of a luxury for them. Some farmers were so hungry that they couldn’t help but eat rotting animal carcasses, and although officials strictly forbade it, it was impossible to monitor every village. Exterminating rats and freshwater snails required huge amounts of manpower and resources—something the farmers couldn’t spare. To the starving, rats and snails were food.

Only the distribution of medicinal herbs had some effect—it helped at least to control outbreaks in densely populated cities and towns.

Take Chengdu, for example. After Zhu Xiang publicly released several medicinal recipes that were marginally effective against the disease, wealthy households took the initiative to gather herbs and brew medicinal decoctions, distributing them at city gates. Thanks to this, the number of sick among the refugees gathered outside the city decreased significantly, preventing the plague from spreading inside Chengdu.

Zhu Xiang employed relatively healthy refugees in exchange for food, having them repair walls and buildings. For once, post-flood Chengdu was orderly.

The wealthy families and powerful clans discussed among themselves and decided, with gongs and drums, to present a “Ten Thousand People’s Petition” to Zhu Xiang. But Zhu Xiang reacted with indifference.

They were puzzled and inquired with local officials.

An official explained, “Lord Zhu Xiang said that in this flood and epidemic, over fifty thousand commoners died, and many others remain unaccounted for. The petition praises him for saving the people, but he believes it’s an exaggeration.”

The elites sighed, “Natural disasters are beyond human control—why must Lord Zhu Xiang burden himself so?”

The official thought the same. Natural calamities were impossible to resist, and even without them, the commoners might not have survived. Lord Zhu Xiang, noble as he was, didn’t need to feel depressed over their deaths.

Yet despite thinking this, the official still willingly obeyed Zhu Xiang’s commands and seriously carried out tasks he normally wouldn’t.

While the city’s rich were distributing medicine, Zhu Xiang turned his attention to the countryside.

He rode on horseback, following the roads to larger villages marked on the Shu Commandery map. He distributed herbal medicine wherever he could and taught villagers how to survive the plague.

Using a cane, Zhu Xiang wore out several pairs of straw sandals while inspecting key epidemic areas. He mercilessly ordered troops to lock down infected zones.

Inside the quarantine was hell; outside was the human world. Zhu Xiang’s duty now was to protect the human world.

Ying Zheng saw his uncle in a new light.

He hadn’t expected his uncle to be capable of such ruthless decisiveness.

“If I’d known this, Uncle might as well have stayed in Xianyang,” Ying Zheng sighed. “Even though Great-grandfather’s temper swings wildly, at least Uncle wouldn’t have to force himself to do things he dislikes. Uncle, I’m starting to dislike Uncle Li Bing. If he hadn’t made you act as governor, all of this would’ve been his responsibility.”

Zhu Xiang didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Zheng’er, just how fragile do you think your uncle is?”

Ying Zheng replied, “As fragile as the paper I practice my writing on.”

Zhu Xiang was tempted to spank him.

Was Zheng’er getting bolder because his aunt was not around and no one else would spank him?

“I feel guilty, but have no regrets,” Zhu Xiang said, a paradoxical statement. “Governance is often about making difficult choices. Since I’m in this position, I must bear the responsibility.”

Ying Zheng pouted, “Uncle, you once said something similar when you said you couldn’t command troops. You claimed you didn’t want to make hard choices, so you refused to take command. But now that you’re forced into it, you’re doing it anyway.”

Zhu Xiang roughly ruffled the arrogant little brat’s hair. “Even a rabbit will bite when pushed. What nonsense are you spouting?”

“Sigh, when will I grow up?” the chubby kid swayed as his uncle rubbed his head. “Once I grow up, I won’t let you do anything anymore. You’ll just enjoy wealth and glory.”

“Hah? Zheng’er, that’s such a waste. Don’t you know your uncle is an invaluable talent?” Zhu Xiang said half-jokingly.

Ying Zheng stood with hands on hips. “I’ll have talents from across the realm. I won’t need your help.”

“Really?”

“Not really,” Ying Zheng dropped his hands and shrugged. “But I’ll make sure you don’t have to do anything difficult.”

“Then grow up quickly. Your uncle is looking forward to that day.” Zhu Xiang hoisted Ying Zheng onto his shoulders. “Come on, your uncle has free time today. Let’s go for a stroll.”

“I want to buy Shu brocade for Auntie!” Ying Zheng hugged Zhu Xiang’s head.

“Buy it!” Zhu Xiang replied.

Zhu Xiang remained busy until October. The soybeans were almost ready for harvest, the potato flowers were beginning to wilt, and pumpkin vines had climbed all over their frames. Finally, Li Bing returned.

Ying Zheng complained, “Uncle Li, do you know how much Uncle has suffered during this time? Why did you only come back right before the harvest?”

Li Bing repeatedly apologized.

Although Ba Commandery and Shu Commandery were adjacent, Ba’s terrain was mountainous and rugged, and a recent storm had made travel difficult. After arriving in Ba, Li Bing had to spend quite some time persuading the local powerful families to lend grain. By the time he returned, the famine in Shu was nearly over.

Still, the grain he brought was extremely useful.

Shu’s winters weren’t as harsh as those in Qin or the Central Plains, but the common people still struggled. Soybeans and a bit of potato wouldn’t be enough for everyone to survive, especially for those whose fields and homes had been destroyed and couldn’t replant.

Li Bing used this grain to provide work-for-relief, giving refugees hope for making it through winter.

“The grain escort from Ba was led by a woman named Qing. She’s come to Shu to collect the Shu brocade I promised,” Li Bing sighed. “The Ba clan is even more shrewd than I expected. They’re pure businessmen—not easily moved by moral arguments, only by profit. I promised them priority access to Shu brocade in the future in exchange for the grain.”

By now, Chengdu already had officials managing Shu brocade. Though not yet called “Brocade Commissioner,” the products from government workshops had become one of the most valuable goods in Shu.

Li Bing eventually signed an official Shu brocade quota trade agreement with the Ba clan to secure the grain loan.

For a mere commandery governor to be forced into such business dealings showed how powerful the Ba clan had become—practically local kings.

They were confident enough to act arrogant, knowing Qin wouldn’t go to great lengths to oppose them. This was a classic case of “the strong dragon can’t suppress the local snake.”

Besides, the deal was mutually beneficial. They didn’t try to force down prices—Li Bing was just a little annoyed about it.

Ying Zheng pouted, “The Ba clan, hmph… Uncle, what are you spacing out about?”

“Ah, it’s nothing. Just surprised at how capable the Ba clan is,” Zhu Xiang answered vaguely.

In truth, he was thinking that the woman named Qing who escorted the grain might be the Widow Qing who would later go down in history.

She wasn’t a widow yet, but her husband was weak and often ill, so she managed the family business herself. Since she had been sent to Shu on this trip, it seemed her family already acknowledged her talent.

Ying Zheng added, “The Ba clan really is impressive.” In his dreams, it took a lot of effort to bring them down.

Zhu Xiang originally thought he wouldn’t interact much with Qing, but to his surprise, Qing came to visit him in person.

In this era, the term “widow” didn’t carry the same meaning as in modern times. Not every woman who lost her husband was called a widow. The term referred specifically to women over sixty without sons. So when the Widow Qing paid a visit to Emperor Qin Shi Huang, she was already over sixty, nearly twenty years older than him. Right now, Qing was about the same age as Zhu Xiang.

Qing wasn’t particularly attractive. She traveled extensively, often inspecting the family’s mines, and her skin was rough from sun and rain, with some spots. Her clothes were plain, and she wore no accessories that might hinder her movement.

Still, she had a resolute face and a bright, confident gaze—a charm that drew the frequent attention of many officials.

Ying Zheng whispered, “Qing would never look at them. She’s a virtuous woman!”

That made Zhu Xiang’s eyelids twitch. He suddenly remembered that Qin Shi Huang was the first ruler in history to publicly promote and reward women’s chastity, even issuing decrees mandating it.

Before the Qin, and even before the Song dynasty, female chastity wasn’t such a strict moral norm. During the Han, authorities practically encouraged widows to remarry and bear children.

But Qin Shi Huang, because of his own mother’s reputation, placed great emphasis on women’s chastity. He honored the Widow Qing as a “chaste woman” and had a tower built for her—Huaiqing Terrace, also called “Chaste Maiden’s Hill”—arguably the first “monument to chastity” in history.

On the carved stones at Kuaiji, Qin Shi Huang even issued harsh regulations like “those who betray chastity deserve death,” and “a son may not acknowledge a mother who remarries,” showing just how strictly he enforced female chastity.

However, these decrees did not suit the circumstances of the time. Even though Qin Shi Huang issued such commands, they were not enforced. It wasn’t until the Ming and Qing dynasties that the chastity edicts issued in Qin Shi Huang’s time became widely implemented.

Zhu Xiang gently knocked Ying Zheng on the head. “You want to manage heaven and earth and still meddle in whether other people’s daughters marry? If a wealthy woman can maintain her estate, of course she doesn’t need to remarry. But if a poor woman’s husband dies and she can’t survive on her own, should she just wait to die for the sake of that one word: ‘chastity’?”

Ying Zheng held his head and mumbled, “Does that mean you wish Aunt would remarry?”

Li Bing spat out his water and almost dropped his cup.

“If I die, how Xue chooses to live should be up to her,” Zhu Xiang said. “If she meets someone she can rely on, and they grow old together, as long as she’s happy, I will give her my blessing.”

Li Bing coughed hard with his hand over his mouth.

Ying Zheng’s expression changed several times before he angrily said, “As long as I’m around, Aunt doesn’t need to rely on anyone else!”

Zhu Xiang laughed and cried at the same time. “And what if you weren’t around? I wouldn’t have left Zhao and become a noble, would I?”

Angrily, Ying Zheng gave Zhu Xiang a chubby little punch and ran off.

Li Bing, still coughing, asked, “Why did you say that to him?”

Zhu Xiang responded righteously, “He asked me first.”

Li Bing said, “Just because he asked, you had to answer?”

Zhu Xiang replied, “Of course.”

Li Bing was at a loss for words. Sometimes he felt that Zhu Xiang and Young Lord Zheng didn’t seem like father and son, but more like brothers or close friends.

“If your wife knew what you just said…” Li Bing said with a wicked smile.

Zhu Xiang replied cleanly and promptly, “She’d probably give me a slap.”

Li Bing: “…Your wife is formidable.” He hadn’t expected Zhu Xiang to be afraid of his wife.

After that, Ying Zheng never brought up the matter of chaste widows again. Even if he did, it wouldn’t matter—Qin Shi Huang had carved such decrees on stone steles, and no one had paid them any heed. Now, Ying Zheng wouldn’t project his idealized view of his mother onto Qing. His aunt was still alive—go honor her instead of building some shrine for Qing.

Zhu Xiang figured that the “Huaiqing Terrace” might disappear, but a “Huai Aunt and Uncle Terrace” might appear instead. He hoped Zheng wouldn’t go overboard with construction.

Zhu Xiang thought this matter was important, so he specifically reminded Ying Zheng before bed: after he and Xue passed away, Zheng must not conscript labor to build any memorial monuments, platforms, or palaces for them.

Ying Zheng gave Zhu Xiang an indescribable look, pulled the blanket over his head, and refused to acknowledge his strange uncle.

The matter of Qing was just a small episode. She had come to visit Zhu Xiang not only because of admiration but also to ask for the rumored high-yield potato seeds. Zhu Xiang told her that the potatoes had already been planted. If she wanted to buy some, she’d have to find the farmers herself. But he urged her to trade food for food and not to buy at high prices from merchants, as merchants might seize the farmers’ life-saving rations.

“This is Shu Commandery, not Ba Commandery. If you dare to do such a thing, I will execute you here in Shu according to the law,” Zhu Xiang said sternly.

Qing quickly replied, “I would never do such a thing! I will also make sure my household members don’t either!”

Zhu Xiang said, “As long as you understand your boundaries.” After a pause, he added, “Whether it’s Shu or Ba, both are part of Qin. I hope you always remember your limits.”

Zhu Xiang knew the Ba clan must be aware of Li Bing’s disapproval, given how they were pressuring the prefect of Shu. Qing was clever and should understand what he meant by “limits.”

If she took control of her household and continued to expand her forces so that Ba Commandery knew only of the female warlord Widow Qing and not of the king of Qin, then her clan would once again fall from grace despite Qin Shi Huang’s generous rewards.

Zhu Xiang’s goodwill toward Qing came mostly from historical curiosity. Whether or not she would take his advice—he didn’t care.

Qing continued her business dealings and invited Zhu Xiang to banquets several times, but he ignored all of them. With harvest time approaching and the plague not yet fully under control, Zhu Xiang had many responsibilities and no time to drink with wealthy merchants.

After resting for a few days, Li Bing resumed his duties as prefect of Shu. He took over plague control and left the harvest guidance to Zhu Xiang. He also appointed new officials to oversee tax collection, not letting Zhu Xiang get involved—not out of concern for power, but out of friendship and care.

When he learned about some of Zhu Xiang’s “cold and ruthless” decisions, he deeply regretted it. Before he left, he thought Zhu Xiang would at most help guide the farmers in replanting. For a typical prefect, that would already be more than enough. He hadn’t expected Zhu Xiang to think so broadly or do so much. The orders Zhu Xiang gave had saved many civilians Li Bing had already given up on. But those orders went against Zhu Xiang’s own nature. Even though Zhu Xiang had said not to worry, Li Bing still felt uneasy about it.

Yet he never voiced these thoughts to Zhu Xiang. He pretended to know nothing and naturally took over all the difficult tasks from Zhu Xiang, choosing instead to face the anger and curses of those sacrificed in order to save many more.

When the harvest of soybeans and potatoes came, the plague was finally under control—

A disease that would be easily resolved by a vaccine in later times had been a death sentence in this era. Over a few months, everyone infected in the villages had died, breaking the chain of transmission. The large-scale epidemic in Shu Commandery had ended.

Scattered cases would always exist with each generation of farmers and didn’t require special government intervention.

Although the first month was still the first lunar month in Qin, the New Year was celebrated in the tenth month. Just in time for the harvest, Li Bing organized a grand New Year’s ritual to lift the people’s spirits.

The commoners—farmers—also gathered to hold their own harvest celebrations. Though food was scarce and the taxes had not been reduced despite the floods, they still happily banged drums, sang local songs, and celebrated the harvest.

Zhu Xiang, for once, dressed in silk, tied his hair up with a jade pin, and carried his festively dressed, fluffy little nephew to watch the rituals. Ying Zheng’s fur clothing had all been hunted by the ever-restless Li Mu—animals that, in modern times, would land someone a life sentence.  Already round and adorable, Ying Zheng looked like a full-blown puffball.

Even the stoic Li Bing couldn’t resist picking up the puffball and giving him a good squeeze.  Ying Zheng wore a blank expression. He had resigned himself to the fact that until he grew up, his uncle’s friends would never treat him with the basic respect due to a Qin prince.

“Zheng’er, there’s malt sugar over there—want some?” Zhu Xiang looked even more excited than the child.

It was Zhu Xiang’s first time attending a real festival. In Handan, King Huiwen of Zhao had died, and the kingdom was embroiled in war year after year, leaving no time for celebrations. Even when there were festivals, Zhu Xiang avoided them, wary of encountering nobles and stirring up trouble.

In Xianyang, the atmosphere was somber. The Qin king disliked overly lively celebrations among the people. The Qin folk farmed diligently and dared not indulge in entertainment.

But here in Shu, far from the Qin king, and in the prosperous city of Chengdu, Zhu Xiang finally got to attend an ancient festival.

This festival was much quieter than modern tourist celebrations. There were no stilt-walkers, no dragon or lion dances, no folk troupes like in scenic areas. After paper became widespread in later eras, colorful paper decorations would add flair to performances. But now, even clothes had to be made from fabric—commoners couldn’t afford much.

Festival performances at this time mainly involved waving torches or straw-crafted beast figures of uncertain identity. Primitive religious practices in Shu still remained. Dancing around bonfires in strange wooden masks was a major feature.

Several children were frightened to tears by the masked “shamans.” Zhu Xiang teased Ying Zheng, who not only didn’t cry but asked for a fierce-looking mask to wear.

Zhu Xiang sighed, “Ah, Zheng’er is so mature and steady—it takes a lot of fun out of being an uncle.”

Ying Zheng gently knocked his uncle’s head like a drum. Seriously, what kind of fun was he after—watching him cry from fear?

Zhu Xiang chuckled, “If you don’t want malt sugar, they also have millet cakes—want one?”

Muffled by the mask, Ying Zheng said, “Didn’t you say outside food is dirty and causes diarrhea?”

Zhu Xiang said, “It might, but since this is a rare outing, we’ll just take medicine later. So, want one?”

After some hesitation, Ying Zheng decided to have Zhu Xiang buy him malt sugar later.

Zhu Xiang was speechless. His little Zheng’er was already showing the worst habits of a client—revising multiple times just to go back to the first version.

But still, Zhu Xiang carried Ying Zheng back to the malt sugar stall and bought him a stick of the treat.

While the vendor stirred the sugar, Zhu Xiang placed Ying Zheng on the ground and crouched curiously. “Is this really made from malt? Do you even have malt this time of year? I thought wheat wasn’t common in Shu.”

The man replied, “My family grows wheat—winter wheat that can survive the cold. Lord Changping found it in Zhao.”

Zhu Xiang said, “Winter wheat has long existed in the Central Plains—it wasn’t discovered by Lord Changping.”

The man proudly said, “Don’t spout nonsense—it was definitely Lord Changping! My family has ties to Zhao. I’m a merchant and take Shu brocade to sell in Zhao.”

Zhu Xiang was surprised. “To Zhao? That’s a long journey. Impressive.”

The man replied, “I only go once a year, but it makes more than farming. Still, I have to farm—Qin law is strict. If you don’t farm, you’ll be executed. I heard in Guandong, commoners don’t dare to trade anymore—only nobles can send agents to do it. I wonder if Shu will end up the same.”

Masked Ying Zheng said, “Trade is not a proper job. Farming is better.”

The man gave a bitter smile. “But farming alone means starving. Look, if I hadn’t traded, how would I know Zhao has winter wheat?”

He spoke about his plans to promote winter wheat back home. Once the crop matured, he planned to share seeds with the villagers.

During the festival, he’d splurged and used some wheat sprouts and millet to make malt sugar to sell, hoping to earn enough to buy some Shu brocade for his wife and daughter. Sugar was precious—even malt sugar. Selling one jar would let him buy several feet of brocade.

Zhu Xiang said, “Where do you live? I know how to grow winter wheat. I can teach you.”

The man laughed. “You don’t even know Lord Changping discovered it, and you say you can grow it?”

Zhu Xiang smirked. “He didn’t… Anyway, how’s Zhao doing now?”

He hadn’t heard news from Zhao in a long time.

The man asked, “Zhao? What do you mean?”

Zhu Xiang said, “Last I heard, Handan was in chaos? I heard even Lord Pingyuan was imprisoned.”

The man replied, “That was ages ago! Lord Pingyuan invited Lord Xinling for help—the rebellion has been crushed.”

Zhu Xiang said, “I see, that’s good.” Lord Pingyuan and Lord Pingyang were probably safe now—that was a relief.

He didn’t ask further about Zhao. After getting the man’s address, Zhu Xiang took Ying Zheng, who was munching on malt sugar, and continued exploring the festival.

Ying Zheng lifted his mask and chewed on the sticky candy, “Tastes bad.”

Zhu Xiang teased, “Then why are you still eating it so happily?”

Ying Zheng licked the candy stuck to his teeth. “A little sour, not tasty. Not as good as the candy you make.”

Zhu Xiang asked, “Then should we stop eating it?”

With the stick still in his mouth, Ying Zheng marched forward. But with legs that short, no matter how big his stride, he couldn’t match half of Zhu Xiang’s.

Zhu Xiang protected his short nephew amid the crowd. The pair weaved through the dense festival goers.

“Zheng’er, it’s too crowded. Let me carry you again.”

“Wait till I finish the candy.”

“It’s fine, you can eat on my shoulders.”

“The candy will get stuck in your hair.”

“I’ll wash it off later.”

“No.”

Ying Zheng worked hard to finish the candy, licked his lips, then reached out to Zhu Xiang.

Zhu Xiang hoisted him onto his shoulders again and continued strolling through the festival.

“Uncle, someone’s doing a torch dance over there!”

“Alright, let’s go watch.”

Looking at the joy on people’s faces, Zhu Xiang couldn’t help but smile from the heart. Even with floods, plagues, and many deaths this year, those who were still alive could still smile and look forward to the next New Year.