HCT – Chapter 88 Double-Season Regenerating Rice

When Zichu returned from another trip, he received a decree from the King of Qin and a reward of household servants.

After reading the decree, he slammed the table and burst out cursing, “It must be Zhu Xiang!”

Sitting with his legs crossed, Lin Zhi said, “Indeed, it was Zhu Xiang. He’s all the way in Shu Commandery, yet he went to the trouble of writing a letter to His Majesty, expressing concern that you’re not eating properly or taking your medicine. Touched?”

Zichu had mixed feelings. He was touched, yes—but he wanted to raise his sword and chase Zhu Xiang down with it.

“Is Zhu Xiang doing well in Shu Commandery?” Zichu asked.

Shu was too far away, and with his own connections, he couldn’t get much news from there. Lin Zhi, now a close attendant to the King of Qin, had better sources.

Lin Zhi replied, “He’s doing well—why wouldn’t he be? He’s on good terms with the governor of Shu. When Li Bing first arrived, the region had just been hit by a flood. Li Mu and Li Bing are guarding the dikes, and Zhu Xiang is holding down Chengdu. That temper of his—he even ordered a few unruly families to be dealt with, and several people were killed.”

Zichu’s face turned pale. “Was Zhu Xiang hurt or did he fall ill?”

Lin Zhi said, “Neither Zhu Xiang nor Li Bing mentioned any injuries or illness in their reports. Zhu Xiang was too busy asking after all of us—especially you. He’s more worried about you than about Lord Xun, Lord Lian, Lord Bai, or Lord Fan—those elderly gentlemen. Hahahaha.”

Zichu grabbed a scroll and threw it at Lin Zhi. “Stop changing the subject. I’m asking you something serious.”

Lin Zhi laughed. “But it is serious to him! All he asked of the King was to issue a decree sending someone to supervise your meals and medicine. Nothing else! I swear, I nearly died laughing!”

Lin Zhi laughed so hard he couldn’t stop. Zichu, enraged, almost picked up the inkstone to throw it at him. Only then did Lin Zhi force himself to stop laughing.

“Zhu Xiang’s new friend is no ordinary man. After seeing the people of Shu suffer from the floods, he wants to build dams and canals, even staking his own head as a guarantee.” Lin Zhi added after catching his breath, “No wonder he got along so well with Zhu Xiang.”

Zichu said, “If Zhu Xiang didn’t oppose it, then he believes it’s feasible.”

Lin Zhi sighed. “Zhu Xiang knows the hardships of the common folk. A project like that would require enormous forced labor—it would cost many lives. He surely understands that. The fact that he still agreed shows how dire the flood must have been.”

Zichu fell silent for a moment and said, “Sacrificing one generation to save ten thousand—looks like I underestimated Zhu Xiang. I didn’t think he had that kind of resolve.”

Lin Zhi smiled. “Even if Zhu Xiang were in charge, I doubt he could be so ruthless. This must be Li Bing’s initiative.”

But Zichu, whose view of his friend was more rose-tinted than the city walls of Xianyang, insisted, “If he didn’t object, that means he supports it. And to support this, one must have true resolve.”

“Fine, fine, you’re not wrong.” Lin Zhi sighed. “I thought he went to Shu for a break, but here he is, finding more trouble for himself. Why did he and Li Bing hit it off? If he’d met a governor who ignored him, with his personality, he would’ve never gone looking for things to do.”

Zichu replied, “Not necessarily. If he had met such a governor, he might have still found his own way to guard the dikes with Li Mu—only to have the governor steal credit and drag him down.”

The two of them heaved long sighs at each other. Zhu Xiang really did give them endless headaches.

“At least he wasn’t injured or ill, or else Xueji would’ve been devastated,” Lin Zhi added. “Zhu Xiang said Zheng’er is healthy and has gained a lot of weight. By next year, he might be too heavy to carry.”

Zichu was speechless. “Even at Zheng’er’s current age, letting him ride on Zhu Xiang’s shoulders is excessive. It’s spoiling him.”

Lin Zhi said, “Zheng’er is such a well-behaved child. No amount of love is too much. How can you call that spoiling?”

Zichu was even more speechless.

No matter how good a child is, too much pampering will spoil them. Besides, he had suffered through such a miserable childhood—seeing his son clinging to Zhu Xiang’s neck while looking down on him made Zichu genuinely angry.

Lin Zhi knew Zichu was a petty man—so petty that he was jealous of his own son—and so he teased Zichu on purpose.

What a shame Zhu Xiang wasn’t here. If he were, the two of them could have joined forces to make Zichu explode with anger. That would’ve been truly entertaining.

Knowing Lin Zhi was trying to make fun of him, Zichu changed the subject immediately. “Since he wants to build irrigation works, we should help him.”

Lin Zhi smiled and played along. “You don’t have to worry about that. His Majesty and the Crown Prince will take care of it. You’ve just returned from a diplomatic visit to Wei—follow the royal decree and get some proper rest.”

Zichu grew suspicious. “Is His Majesty growing wary of me?”

Lin Zhi said, “Quite the opposite. His Majesty is already confident in your position, and the Crown Prince holds you in high regard. So you can afford to rest. If you collapse before you become King of Qin, everything you’ve done will be for nothing.”

Zichu muttered, “I’m not that weak.”

Still, he sighed and decided to hand over his work and take a good rest for a while.

His friend, far away in flood-stricken, disease-ridden, famine-torn Shu, was still worrying about his health—he couldn’t afford to push himself too hard now.

Lin Zhi had now fulfilled the mission Zhu Xiang gave him—through a private letter rudely handed over via the King of Qin himself—and managed to force the ever-busy Zichu into resting. Feeling triumphant, he went home to write back to Zhu Xiang.

Lin Zhi’s wife was a noblewoman from the royal clan, bestowed upon him by the King of Qin. She got along well with Lin Zhi’s original wife and concubines and had been a great help in solidifying his place in Xianyang. Lin Zhi was quite close to her.

Lin Zhi was in good health. Once he started visiting the inner chambers again, his wife had become pregnant a few months ago.

Madam Lin, heavily pregnant, was grinding ink for her husband. With gentle warmth, she said, “I wonder when Lord Zhu Xiang will return. I really hope he can see the child once it’s born.”

Lin Zhi couldn’t help laughing and crying at the same time. “You really believe those rumors about Zhu Xiang blessing children?”

His wife replied, “Perhaps Lord Zhu Xiang can’t actually bless children, but I heard that Young Master Zheng rarely fell ill as a child. Most kids get sick every few weeks—clearly, Lord Zhu Xiang is very good at raising children.”

Lin Zhi shook his head with a smile. “Good at raising? I think he raised the boy pretty rough—it’s just that Zheng has a strong constitution. If you really want to know how Zhu Xiang raises children, then after the baby’s born and you’re through confinement, I’ll have Xue Ji come live with us for a while.”

His wife immediately said, “Alright. Thank you, dear.”

“That’s my child too—what are you thanking me for?” Lin Zhi said. “Get some rest. You don’t need to stay here with me in the study.”

She glanced at the letter in his hands, hesitated for a moment, but obeyed and turned to leave.

After she was gone, Lin Zhi’s smile vanished. He sighed deeply.

Running his fingers through the loose strands at his temples, he wearily said, “This is why I want to retreat to the mountains… such a hassle. But at least she knows her place. If only the crown prince became King of Qin instead.”

He opened the partially written letter, picked up his charcoal pen, and began to write in tiny characters hidden between the layers of paper—reporting in detail the situation in Xianyang to Zhu Xiang.

Which nobles to watch out for, developments in the Xianyang academy, the current attitudes of the King of Qin and the Crown Prince toward Zhu Xiang… Lin Zhi carefully sealed the paper edges again, then resumed writing the rest of the letter on its visible surface.

In the visible part, he wrote about the recent lives of Xia Tong and Xue Ji, the health of the elderly still living in Zhu Xiang’s household, the achievements of Cai Ze at Changping, and some amusing things he himself had encountered recently.

Once finished, Lin Zhi picked up a letter from Zhu Xiang that had been pressed aside, flicked the paper, and smiled.

The King of Qin surely hadn’t imagined that Zhu Xiang not only wrote letters in hidden layers, but also used ink that only revealed itself under special conditions.

Details on prevention of water-borne diseases, famine-relief pumpkins, newly improved rice seeds, and even black powder that might be used in future hydraulic engineering to blast open mountains… Zhu Xiang had truly let himself go after reaching Shu Prefecture, not even bothering to conceal it. Fortunately, he still had the sense to write to Lin Zhi, allowing him to exploit the knowledge gap and help cover things up before the King of Qin.

Lin Zhi grumbled with a smile, “Ever since Zhu Xiang came to my house, the pampered youngest child, whose messes everyone in the family scrambled to clean up, hasn’t been me anymore.”

He carefully stored the letter.

There were some things he couldn’t even tell Xia Tong. Though Xia Tong was still Xia Tong for now, who knew when he might become the Crown Prince or even the King of Qin? Lin Zhi could only trust that he himself would never change and wouldn’t rely on others.

Still, once he found a good excuse, he would drag Xia Tong into helping clean up Zhu Xiang’s messes too. That’s what friends are for—wrapping things up for Zhu Xiang.

The royal edict, the Crown Prince’s letter, the complaints of a friend, and family letters from Xue and the elders—all arrived in Chengdu when little Ying Zheng turned another year older.

“The king has sent fifty thousand convicts to be at your command and given you twenty years. That’s plenty of manpower,” said Li Mu. “But now you’re tied to your post as Governor of Shu. It’ll be hard to rise any further.”

“Only twenty years—just right for me to return to Xianyang when it’s over.” Li Bing smiled. “His Majesty’s given me ample time, so I’m not under too much pressure.”

Li Mu sighed but didn’t argue.

Still, everyone knew that by the end of those twenty years, Li Bing would be over fifty, worn out from constant travel and labor. Even if he survived that long, his health might not permit him to continue in government service.

But Li Bing had made up his mind—he would tackle the flooding in the Chengdu Plain. Now that the king’s edict had reached Chengdu, the matter was settled and there was no point saying more.

“It might not mean serving twenty full years as governor,” Zhu Xiang said. “They might appoint a new governor and assign you a dedicated post for water management. And it might not take twenty years—if the project finishes early, you’ll reunite with us in Xianyang that much sooner.”

Zhu Xiang recalled that in history, Li Bing spent over a decade building the Dujiangyan system, with eight years just to bore through the mountainside. Choosing the location and planning would surely take time too. But with his help, perhaps they could avoid a few detours.

“Let’s hope you’re right,” Li Bing said. “But you two are still going to stay in Shu Prefecture for at least another year. Talking about reunions now—isn’t it a bit early?”

Zhu Xiang and Li Mu exchanged a glance and chuckled. “True, it’s too early.” After all, they were both still set to assist Li Bing with the initial stages of the irrigation project.

Before breaking ground, Li Bing started with building various models to simulate water flow and identify the best solutions.

While Zhu Xiang was busy breeding rice strains, Li Bing had already ridden across several major rivers, surveying potential dam and canal sites.

Thanks to flood data collected by Li Bing’s men along the rivers, and a few of Zhu Xiang’s “casual” suggestions, Li Bing quickly identified the precise site where Dujiangyan was meant to be built.

But to construct a diversion dam, they would have to bore through solid mountains.

Such a massive rock wall—who knew how many years and how many resources it would take to tunnel through? The moment the project began, it was already facing the highest difficulty level. Other officials knowledgeable in hydraulics all voiced opposition.

Even Li Bing hesitated.

A compromise plan could still mitigate flooding somewhat. But to realize his ideal vision, he had to blast through the mountains.

In his moment of doubt, he turned to Zhu Xiang and Li Mu for counsel.

A kindred spirit’s affirmation could give him enormous encouragement at a time like this.

Li Mu said, “I don’t know much about waterworks, but if this were war, you’re facing two options—one, use half or even more of your forces to wipe out the enemy completely; the other, suffer less loss and only push them back. Is that right?”

Li Bing nodded. “Yes.”

Li Mu continued, “Then you must consider a few things. First, will wiping them out buy us long-term peace and the chance to recover? Second, will His Majesty fully support using major losses to achieve that goal?”

Li Bing said, “If my diversion dam is built, even if floods occur, there won’t be large-scale disasters in the Chengdu Plain. As long as the dam holds, it’s a once-and-for-all solution. As for His Majesty…”

He didn’t know much about the King of Qin and wasn’t sure whether the king would support him.

Zhu Xiang said, “His Majesty is a man of grand ambition and vision. He’s given you fifty thousand convict laborers and twenty years of time—this far exceeds the manpower and duration needed for any historical hydraulic project. He wants you to achieve a feat so extraordinary that it shocks the world, no matter the cost.”

Half-joking, Zhu Xiang added, “Do you remember what I once said? Building wonders is something no ambitious ruler can resist. Right, Zheng’er?”

Little Ying Zheng, sitting on Zhu Xiang’s lap, snorted, “I don’t like it.”

Zhu Xiang poked his cheek. “Really don’t like it? Really? Then no more building from now on.”

Ying Zheng batted away his uncle’s mischievous hand and said irritably, “Fine, fine, I like it too. Since Great Grandfather has already given Uncle so many people and so much time, as long as he delivers results within the timeframe, Great Grandfather won’t interfere.”

Zhu Xiang said, “With Zheng’er, another ruler in the making, backing you, can you now go forward boldly without hesitation?”

Li Bing couldn’t help but laugh. I’m supposed to proceed boldly just because I got the approval of a toddler? Isn’t that a little ridiculous?

But what was even more strange was that once Ying Zheng acknowledged Zhu Xiang’s insight into the King of Qin’s mindset, Li Bing actually felt reassured.

“Besides, carving through the mountains might not take as long as you think,” Zhu Xiang continued. “Li Bing, were you present when I faced off against the alchemists at the Xianyang Academy?”

“I was. It was extremely impressive!” said Li Bing.

It was precisely because he had witnessed Zhu Xiang’s confrontation with the alchemists that Li Bing had been awestruck and speechless when they first met.

Zhu Xiang said, “The substance I used is called black powder. It can help with mountain excavation. While it’s not very powerful, if you first locate weak spots in the rock, drill holes with iron nails, and then insert and ignite the black powder, it can split the rock instantly. If the rock is too hard to break, heating it with fire and then dousing it with water will create cracks through thermal expansion and contraction.”

Black powder has very low power and can’t be used directly to blast through mountains. Modern engineering uses explosive charges made of modern, more potent gunpowder—at least yellow powder. But if you’ve already created cracks, then the pressure from black powder’s explosion can be used to widen them, greatly reducing the workload.

Zhu Xiang actually knew the formula for modern gunpowder, but he chose to keep it hidden.

When both the mindset and technological foundations of society are still underdeveloped, introducing too advanced a technology is like giving a child a sledgehammer—it could cause serious harm. Such harm could even lead to a collapse in civilizational continuity.

Once the power of gunpowder is discovered, it will inevitably be used in war. And the techniques for making gunpowder cannot be completely locked down. Soon, every warring faction will be upgrading its military capacity, and the result will be utter chaos.

Zhu Xiang wasn’t just being alarmist after reading some sci-fi novels or ancient mysteries—modern society had already taught these hard lessons.

The modern Earth isn’t a peaceful world; Zhu Xiang simply happened to live in a peaceful country.

Outside China, some people still live in conditions resembling feudalism, slavery, or even primitive society.

As an agricultural researcher, Zhu Xiang didn’t just plant seeds in China. He also traveled the world to learn advanced farming techniques and to collect seeds with diverse traits.

And because China is a responsible major nation that has endured great hardship, it chooses to exchange aid for interests with struggling countries, instead of resorting to direct plunder.

Agricultural researchers are always at the front lines of international aid.

As an outstanding young professor of agronomy, Zhu Xiang had gone to the border regions as an undergrad, to South Asia as a grad student, and to Latin America as a PhD student. Once he began mentoring graduate and doctoral students, he traveled to Africa at least once a year.

So Zhu Xiang knew very well that giving advanced weapons to nations that lag far behind economically, culturally, and ideologically would not bring technological progress—it would only bring the collapse of their fragile, emerging civilizations and even more severe exploitation of internal resources.

He was willing to use black powder only because the alchemists had already begun experimenting with explosive furnaces, making the principles easy to explain. And black powder’s power was extremely weak—far less effective than a crossbow. Against a skilled archer like Li Shimin, black powder would actually be less useful than a bow and arrow.

That’s why it’s nonsense when some people say, “China invented gunpowder and only used it for fireworks.”

China had already explored every possible military application of black powder. Its limitations were simply too great, and the Qing Dynasty’s emphasis on cavalry and archery meant they underestimated it. Moreover, the Qing government was afraid of independent technological research—because if such research was encouraged, the Han majority would inevitably produce the most talent. As a result, China gradually fell behind.

In fact, the Qing weren’t that far behind during the black powder era. It was only with the emergence of modern gunpowder that they truly fell into a disadvantage.

Zhu Xiang didn’t recommend coal to the King of Qin for similar reasons—basic science and technological capacity were still insufficient.

Coal contains many impurities, and without cleaning technology, burning it produces toxic smoke and is hard to use efficiently.

Although Zhu Xiang knew some ways to use coal, if the King of Qin started mining and using it indiscriminately now, it would lead to massive waste and severe environmental damage.

And people at this time had no technology to repair the environment. Two thousand years later, when the land is exhausted of coal and the pollution unbearable, he would be blamed.

However, he did leave behind foundational research on how to use coal, waiting for future generations to develop it.

He also left behind a world mineral map, including coal mines, and planned to present it as a mythical book similar to Classic of Mountains and Seas for posterity.

Zhu Xiang thought to himself, half-jokingly: would this count as a treasure map?

But the cost to train a musketeer is lower than that of an archer, so gunmen could supplement long-range forces. Though he didn’t say this, the King of Qin had likely already thought of it.

Now that Zhu Xiang was using black powder for mountain excavation, the King would probably accelerate his research and use of it.

“Since black powder can blast mountains, can’t it also blow open city walls?” Li Mu’s eyes lit up.

Zhu Xiang sighed inwardly. As expected of Li Mu—he immediately saw the crucial point.

Zhu Xiang said, “Earthen walls will shatter with one blast, just like with a battering ram. But as for the walls of major cities—black powder isn’t strong enough. When no one knows about black powder yet, using it and pretending it’s divine thunder might scare the enemy into surrendering. That would probably be more effective.”

Li Mu rubbed the stubble on his face, a strange smile playing on his lips as detailed visions of conquest and siege began to form in his mind.

“Ahem, we’re talking about building a diversion dam right now, don’t go off-topic,” Li Bing coughed dryly. “Let’s pick a small mountain and run a test first.”

Zhu Xiang said, “We need to establish a detailed safety protocol. Be careful not to injure anyone in the explosion.”

Li Bing nodded. “Understood.”

Zhu Xiang was very pleased. Working with a meticulous engineer friend was a real comfort.

Once they decided to start cutting into the mountain, Li Bing got busy preparing the test site. After a successful test, he’d need to find the materials for black powder and train people to use it.

The latter would be extremely difficult.

Thunder and fire had always been seen as divine powers. Convincing craftsmen that this was merely “technology,” getting them to learn and master it without fear, and strictly enforcing secrecy—that would be a huge test of Li Bing’s organizational ability.

Zhu Xiang said, “I believe in you!”

Li Mu added, “You’re the prefect. This is your job.”

Li Bing: “…” His rock-solid support, his best friend—how had things suddenly come to this? Why did he feel an urge to sever ties?

Zhu Xiang said, “I still have to continue crop breeding.”

Li Mu said, “I plan to take a trip to the Chu border.”

Zhu Xiang and Li Mu said in unison, “You work hard—we’ll support you in spirit!”

Furious, Li Bing flung his sleeves and left. Behind him, Zhu Xiang and Li Mu doubled over laughing.

Ying Zheng sighed with a maturity beyond his years. “Teacher, why have you picked up Uncle’s bad habits too? Can’t you speak properly? Why must you tease Uncle Bing?”

Zhu Xiang asked with a smile, “Then tell us, Zheng’er, how should we speak properly?”

Ying Zheng sighed again. “Uncle Bing is the prefect of Shu Commandery. These things are his responsibility. If you interfere too much, it’s not appropriate. And if you get too involved, once the dam is completed, people might say the credit belongs to you two. Uncle Bing might not mind, but neither of you want to steal his recognition.”

“If we speak properly, he’ll refute us with reason and logic. But if we dodge and push things around like this, how much time do we waste?” Zhu Xiang patted his head and added, “If we piss him off enough that he doesn’t show up again, he won’t argue with us.”

Li Mu wiped the tears from laughing out of his eyes. “Exactly.”

Ying Zheng shrugged and spread his tiny hands.

Though it was indeed true, he still felt like his uncle and teacher were bullying people on purpose. Based on what he knew about them, he was sure he was right.

Of course, neither his uncle nor his teacher would ever admit it.

Sure enough, Li Bing didn’t ask Zhu Xiang or Li Mu for further help. Zhu Xiang returned to the fields, while Li Mu didn’t head straight for the Chu border. Instead, he stayed a while longer to continue teaching Ying Zheng how to ride a horse.

Thanks to Zhu Xiang’s “brainwashing,” Ying Zheng finally, albeit reluctantly, accepted that he was six years old—not seven or eight.

Anyway, as long as he had enough power, he could come of age early at fifteen or sixteen if he wanted.

In this life, his father was in good physical and mental health, so he probably wouldn’t become King of Qin until he was around thirty. And even if his father somehow failed, his uncle would be regent.

If he helped his uncle handle things now, then when the time came for his uncle to be regent, wouldn’t he be the one doing all the work anyway?

If I’m the one supporting the regency, what’s the difference between that and ruling myself?

So, as long as Uncle is happy, it’s all good.

At six years old, Ying Zheng finally began to look like a handsome child instead of a pudgy ball. His limbs started growing longer, entering his first developmental growth spurt. He could now grip a pony’s back properly when riding.

Zhu Xiang, Li Mu, and Li Bing searched for a long time and found a pony with the bloodline of a great steed as a gift for Ying Zheng’s sixth birthday.

When Li Bing heard that Zhu Xiang planned to give Ying Zheng a birthday gift and even cook a feast for him, he was taken aback.

People didn’t celebrate birthdays in this era.

In traditional ancient Chinese culture, a child’s birthday was considered the day of the mother’s suffering—so not only was it not a time for celebration, it was often treated as a day of sorrow.

Of course, people might celebrate in private, but on a societal level, birthdays weren’t celebrated on a large scale.

It wasn’t until the spread of Buddhism, when “Buddha’s birthday” became a grand religious holiday, that the idea of birthday celebrations slowly took root among the populace.

By the time of Emperor Taizong of the Tang Dynasty, birthday celebrations had become popular among the people. Emperor Taizong lamented and was even angered by the erosion of customs, trying to correct the trend by decree.

However, by Emperor Xuanzong’s reign, he felt his achievements were great enough to justify a proper celebration. He became the first emperor to openly celebrate his own birthday, calling it the “Thousand Autumn Festival,” later renamed the “Everlasting Festival.” From then on, the emperor’s birthday became a national holiday and was continued by later rulers.

Ordinary people celebrating birthdays also became a common and accepted tradition.

So, in the pre-Qin era, celebrating a child’s birthday was almost unthinkable.

But Zhu Xiang said, “I thank the heavens for bringing Zheng’er into this world. A mother who loves her child would surely feel that the day of their birth is a happy one. And if she doesn’t think so, then she doesn’t need to celebrate. A child can’t throw a party for himself.”

Li Bing ended up being persuaded by Zhu Xiang’s “twisted logic.”

Ying Zheng himself didn’t care much whether his birthday was celebrated or not. He hadn’t even thought about it until his uncle took the initiative.

Zhu Xiang, being a commoner, was neglected by his parents and didn’t even know his exact birthdate. Xue had been found abandoned, and even her age was an estimate. Neither of them celebrated birthdays.

But both of them insisted on throwing a birthday celebration for Ying Zheng, so he accepted it with mild reluctance.

He thought, when I grow up, I’ll declare an official birthday for my uncle and aunt by imperial decree. I’ll celebrate their birthdays too.

I’m the emperor—whatever day I say is their birthday, is their birthday.

Ying Zheng’s short legs made horseback riding difficult. After Zhu Xiang laughed at him a few times, he was promptly kicked out by the little one.

When Li Mu was about to return to the barracks, Ying Zheng complained that his legs dangled in the air, making it hard to grip the horse’s belly. Zhu Xiang suddenly slapped his forehead, remembering something.

“Then why don’t we make stirrups?” Zhu Xiang said. “If we hang two loops of rope on each side of the saddle, won’t he be able to step on them?”

Ying Zheng: “?”

Li Mu: “??”

Li Mu dragged Zhu Xiang away. “Let’s try it.”

Ying Zheng trotted behind with his short legs. “I want to try too!”

Li Mu fashioned two rope loops and hung them on the sides of the saddle of the small horse. Ying Zheng stepped into them and tried riding.

He cheered, “It’s really much easier! If the footing were sturdier, it’d be even better!”

Li Mu carved two wooden boards and tied them to the bottoms of the loops.

Ying Zheng said, “That really helps! You can push off with one foot—it must be why it’s called a ‘stirrup’ [蹬 (dēng), also meaning to step or push]?”

Zhu Xiang knocked on his own head.

Ah, after riding so many times, how did I forget about stirrups and horseshoes? Oh, probably because I subconsciously wanted to avoid thinking about warfare.

“I want to try too,” Li Mu said, and made himself a set of stirrups. He instinctively mounted the horse using them with ease.

He rode two laps around, then had Zhu Xiang hand him a stick and practiced thrusting motions from the saddle.

After that, he took a bow and arrows, let go of the reins, and accurately shot an arrow into a tree trunk he had chosen as a target.

“Zhu Xiang! I’m writing to the king to report a major merit on your part!” Li Mu said excitedly. “With stirrups, I can quickly train elite cavalry!”

“Don’t give me the credit—I already have too much,” Zhu Xiang replied. “Take it for yourself and use it to request more authority. Didn’t you want to visit the Chu border?”

Li Mu said unhappily, “I can’t steal your credit.”

“Then say we both thought of it. I suggested it, you made the stirrups—we both contributed. Oh, and give Zheng’er a share of the credit too. If he hadn’t mentioned wanting to push off something with his feet, I wouldn’t have remembered.”

Li Mu said, “That’s true… come to think of it, Zheng’er deserves the most credit.”

He didn’t know that Zhu Xiang actually already knew about stirrups but had simply forgotten. So he thought Ying Zheng had been the first to bring up the idea.

Li Mu hugged Ying Zheng and nuzzled him. “Zheng’er is so smart!”

Ying Zheng was bewildered. Was this really his accomplishment? He had only made an offhand comment.

But since both his uncle and teacher said so, Ying Zheng hesitantly accepted it. Maybe it really was his idea?

“If we make the stirrups out of iron rings, they’ll last longer and can be mass-produced,” Zhu Xiang said. “Also, speaking of footing—I heard that in some places, to prevent ox hooves from wearing down, they nail iron plates to them. Once a horse’s hoof is worn out, it can’t be used in battle, right? Maybe horses can wear iron shoes too?”

Li Mu didn’t doubt him. Zhu Xiang was an expert in agriculture, often visiting fields in Zhao and Qin. It wasn’t surprising he’d seen strange things.

He lifted the horse’s front leg and felt its hoof. “It might work… if we use scrap iron.”

Zhu Xiang said, “Scrap iron is better than a scrapped horse.”

Li Mu laughed. “Of course. Nothing is more valuable than a horse.”

As a Zhao native, he specialized in cavalry. Though Qin also had cavalry, their tactics and training lagged behind others.

He had long dreamed of building an elite cavalry unit, but being new to Qin, he found it hard to acquire enough horses. At that moment, he deeply missed his time in Yanmen Commandery.

If Zhu Xiang’s suggestion worked, he could achieve results with fewer horses. Then it would be easier to ask the King of Qin for more.

“I’m heading back to the barracks,” Li Mu said. “I’ll have the blacksmiths make a batch of equipment and try them out on the Chu. If they work, I’ll submit a report of merit.”

He clenched his fists. Since he’d come to Qin, he didn’t want to live a mediocre life.

He was still young—right in his prime. Zhu Xiang had said he was the future Lord Wu’an, and he wouldn’t let his friend down!

“Go, go. And remember to make a set for Zheng’er too,” Zhu Xiang said. “And don’t give me all the credit.”

Li Mu replied helplessly, “Fine, got it. But Zhu Xiang, the more merits you have, the better you can protect Zheng’er.”

Ying Zheng looked up at Li Mu and grumbled, “I’ve already grown up. I don’t need Uncle to protect me.”

Li Mu patted his head. “The more you grow, the more you’ll need Zhu Xiang’s protection.”

Zhu Xiang said, “Too little or too much merit is bad. And I’m not avoiding credit because I’m detached from fame. I just worry the king will see me as valuable in military affairs and toss me into military farming. Even if military farming involves planting, there’s still always the chance of war.”

He rubbed his nose awkwardly. “I may have seen plenty of death, but I’m still scared of war.”

Ying Zheng sighed deeply. “Uncle, if Lord Lian hears that, he’ll chase you down and beat you for being cowardly and weak.”

Zhu Xiang said righteously, “If I accept my own weakness, then I’m invincible!”

Ying Zheng and Li Mu: “…”

They really didn’t understand what Zhu Xiang was proud of.

But his concern wasn’t unfounded, so Li Mu agreed to his request.

Li Mu returned to the barracks to test out the stirrups and horseshoes, and Zhu Xiang’s life returned to normal.

At this time, the weather was very warm. The heavy snow that had fallen when Zhu Xiang left was now considered an anomaly. The Sichuan Basin, which was already mild in winter, was even warmer this year.

This winter’s temperature was “normal” compared to the past two years—in other words, quite high. That was why Zhu Xiang could continue breeding rice in winter.

Otherwise, late rice was usually planted in July or August and harvested in October or November.

After Zhu Xiang promoted double-cropping rice, even with warm weather, he advised farmers to follow standard farming schedules:

Early rice was to be planted in March or April and harvested in June or July. While harvesting early rice, late rice would be planted, ideally by August, to be harvested again in early winter.

In truth, early and late rice weren’t strictly tied to specific months—as long as the temperature was suitable, they could be grown year-round. The only difference was in harvest timing.

Late rice grew best from hot to cold, but could be grown in other seasons as well.

Originally, Zhu Xiang had planned to first breed late rice seeds, then early rice, so by next autumn, he could promote double-cropping. But when he sowed the “late rice” seeds provided by the system, he realized it might actually be regenerating rice—capable of being harvested twice in one season. That would make promotion much easier.