HCT – Chapter 89 Groundbreaking Rebirth Rice

Rebirth rice, also known as perennial rice, utilizes a biological system based on underground rhizomes to achieve the ability to grow for multiple years and be harvested multiple times.

In modern times, high-yield crops without exception require the purchase of new seeds to prevent degradation, which could otherwise lead to crop failure. In regions where double-cropping is feasible, rebirth rice reduces the need for seed and labor inputs by continuing to grow after each harvest.

Compared to early and late-season rice—which require intensive manual labor—rebirth rice makes it easier to promote double-cropping.

However, seed degradation remains a major issue. Zhu Xiang could only leave behind experimental methods for seed preservation and hybridization, hoping that after his passing, future generations would still be able to provide high-yield seeds for farmers.

He wasn’t pessimistic about this.

All grain crops experience seed degradation after being planted continuously. Even before systematic agricultural science existed, farmers used their experience to conduct basic seed selection, sustaining a civilization of cultivation for thousands of years.

Never underestimate the wisdom of the working people.

The challenges of cultivating rebirth rice are similar to those of double-cropping—it requires meticulous care and ample water and fertilizer.

By the Southern Song dynasty, double-cropping had already become relatively common, showing that even without chemical fertilizers, it was possible to meet the nutrient demands of such rotations.

Fermented nitrogen-rich farm manure, green manure, humus fertilizers—Zhu Xiang knew many types of “natural fertilizers.” Processing these into usable forms could still be accomplished with the manpower available in his era. As early as the Wei and Jin periods, there were records of fertilizers being sold in the form of “fertilizer pellets” or “fertilizer balls.”

Modern society not only demands to be full but to eat well—and after that, to eat “delicately.” As a result, buzzwords like “all-natural and organic” have become rampant, much like the revival of “ancient dietary traditions.”

But eating “all-natural and organic” is just expensive—regardless of whether it’s actually more nutritious or healthy. As long as production follows standard procedures, it won’t cause health problems. And if it helps increase agricultural income, then agricultural researchers will naturally study it.

Zhu Xiang and the others at the agricultural collage would shake their heads and sigh, saying it wasn’t necessary—while happily selling “organic produce” from their own campus farms. During research, they often had to be “organic” anyway. Now with extra research funding, who wouldn’t be happy?

It’s not contradictory at all.

Back then, Zhu Xiang had no idea that one day he would go back two thousand years to produce truly “all-natural organic food.”

Natural organic fertilizer, natural organic pesticides, natural organic manual weeding… Zhu Xiang thought that if he ever made it back to the modern world, he’d probably be allergic to the word “organic” for the rest of his life.

Compared to traditional grains like millet and broomcorn millet, rice cultivation was much more complicated—a fine crop that yielded more the better it was tended.

Rice is also one of the rare grains that can be continuously cultivated in the same field. Most other grains degrade the soil over time. Yet one of the best-suited soils for rice is called “paddy soil.”

As the name implies, “paddy soil” is the result of long-term rice cultivation—one of China’s most important arable soils.

With this advantage, after the Southern Song dynasty, rice planting in the south gradually surpassed wheat, becoming the primary grain crop. The “Southern rice, Northern wheat” pattern was firmly established.

Although places like Chu and Yue had already begun rice cultivation, they still mainly relied on millet and legumes. The same was true in Shu Prefecture.

Zhu Xiang’s students, who followed him in the fields, often said there was deep knowledge in rice farming—and it was no exaggeration.

They never knew farming involved so much. Nor did they know that to increase grain yield, one had to learn so much theory.

Just manually pollinating rice flowers, and understanding plant reproduction and development, left them stunned for a long time.

For example—flowers, it turned out, were that thing of the plant. From then on, they felt a little shy when giving flowers to someone.

“It’s complicated, yes—but also simple. Do it a few more times, and it becomes habit. Once it becomes habit, it turns into experience.” Zhu Xiang crouched on the field ridge, gently stroking a rice flower. “But we who study agriculture are different from farmers who rely on experience. We need to know not just the ‘what,’ but also the ‘why.’ Only by understanding the underlying principles can we apply knowledge flexibly and safeguard our food supply.”

“Breeding quality varieties and preserving heirloom strains are both critical. No one knows when a pest or disease might suddenly strike a variety. Replacing it with a new seed in time is the only way to avoid famine.”

“To the people of the world, nothing is more important than… not starving to death.”

Zhu Xiang paused and changed “eating well” to “not starving to death.”

Eating well was still a long way off for people of this era.

“But although this is a vital matter, very few are willing to do it—because it’s too hard and not at all prestigious.” After his lesson, Zhu Xiang smiled. “That’s okay. In the future, when you’re doing what you love, as long as you understand this work is important, and give it a bit of support when you’re officials—or encourage those who aren’t—to carry on the work, that’s enough.”

Zhu Xiang patted the mud off his hands and led the students to continue surveying the fields.

Rice suffers from many pests and diseases, and even after flowering, one cannot relax. For example, rice blast disease can strike at any stage of rice growth.

During flowering, rice nodes might get infected with node blast, causing the plant to break. The necks of panicles might suffer from neck blast, turning them dry and white. Even fully formed grains might succumb to grain blast.

In modern times, pesticides can solve most of these problems. But in this era, prevention is the only strategy. Cure is nearly impossible.

Seeds must be disinfected before sowing. Fields must be cleared of rotting weeds and old stubble during planting. When applying manure, wood ash or other natural potassium fertilizers must be supplemented. Planting density must be controlled to ensure sufficient sunlight…

That’s all farmers can do. After that, they leave it to fate.

In periods of prolonged rain and fog, the likelihood of disease increases dramatically, yet farmers are helpless—left with nothing but prayers.

Solving this problem will require scientific research—to recreate modern pesticides.

People today may flinch at the mention of pesticides, but farmers can’t go without them. No one can guarantee that crops won’t get sick throughout the entire growing season.

As Zhu Xiang introduced rice diseases and their preventative measures, he couldn’t help but lament the lack of better options. So much research was still needed, and he alone could never accomplish it all.

In this era where reading was solely for the purpose of becoming an official, who else would willingly bury their heads in the fields to do these important things for the farmers, for the people of the world?

Perhaps it would only be possible in a prosperous age.

“Let’s unify the world first, then we can talk. The road must be walked one step at a time,” Zhu Xiang said with emotion. “Zheng’er, you must work hard.”

Ying Zheng wrinkled his nose and said, “With great rewards, there will surely be brave people. The talents Uncle wants—if I offer them high ranks and generous rewards—they will definitely appear.”

“Hahaha, that’s not necessarily true. Doing this kind of work requires the ability to endure loneliness. Even with high positions and generous rewards, they might not have the time to enjoy them. But at least it’s better than offering nothing.” Zhu Xiang tapped Ying Zheng’s wrinkled little nose. “As long as you value them, it’s enough.”

“Hmph.” Ying Zheng touched his nose and said, “I could also issue a decree that the South must grow rice!”

Zhu Xiang laughed heartily: “Don’t issue that decree. Forcing farmers to grow crops they aren’t skilled in—you’d be no different from the current King of Zhao.”

Ying Zheng’s expression stiffened and then completely fell.

Zhu Xiang picked him up and spun him around twice. “But for my little Zheng’er to already understand the current agricultural policies of the King of Zhao at such a young age is pretty impressive.”

Ying Zheng, furious, stretched out his little arms and pounded Zhu Xiang’s shoulder. “Uncle, don’t insult me!”

Zhu Xiang laughed even louder: “Hahahaha!”

Originally, the students who had been nervous hearing Ying Zheng’s overbearing words relaxed considerably when Zhu Xiang laughed.

So what if Lord Zheng had the makings of a tyrant? As long as Lord Zhu Xiang was around, Lord Zheng couldn’t become a “tyrant.”

Ying Zheng overheard the students’ conversation and jumped on his uncle’s back that night to “dance.”

Now that he was six, he could no longer jump on his uncle’s belly, but he could still stomp on his uncle’s back for quite a while.

“Uncle, if I really became a tyrant, would you be angry with me?” Ying Zheng asked, pretending to be innocent.

Zhu Xiang, enjoying his nephew’s back massage, laughed and said, “Zheng’er, it’d be strange if you didn’t become a tyrant. Is there anyone in your old Qin family who wasn’t?”

“Huh? You’re counting my father too?” Ying Zheng tucked in his chin and wore an expression of extreme disdain. “My father is so weak!”

Zhu Xiang laughed, “It’s not only those who are good at fighting or who kill recklessly that are tyrants. Acting autocratically, appointing harsh officials, ruling with strict laws—those are all traits of a tyrant. The empire is just newly unified, the people’s hearts are unsettled, the old nobles of the six kingdoms are stirring. If you don’t become a tyrant, don’t use harsh methods, how are you going to stabilize the situation?”

Ying Zheng stopped stomping and sat down hard on Zhu Xiang’s back, puzzled. “Didn’t expect Uncle to support me becoming a tyrant.”

Zhu Xiang said, “I don’t support it. But my abilities are limited. At most I can help you farm, increase food production a bit. As for governing the country, leading armies, dealing with your opponents—I can’t give you perfect advice. I believe your talents in this regard far exceed mine. So go do what you must. As long as your ‘tyrannical acts’ are justified, well-reasoned, and benefit the country and the people, I won’t oppose them.”

Ying Zheng asked, “What counts as justified, well-reasoned, and beneficial ‘tyrannical acts’?”

Zhu Xiang replied, “That’s something you’ll have to discover through reading, listening, and thinking. Other people’s views are always colored by their own thinking. What your own eyes see, what your own ears hear—that’s your own thinking. You’re still young. You can still observe this world for a long time under the protection of your elders. No rush.”

Ying Zheng sighed. “Alright.”

He slid off his uncle’s back, crawled into bed, and gave his uncle a kick, trying to push him out of the covers.

Zhu Xiang immediately launched a blanket war with Ying Zheng. In the end, the two childish combatants declared a draw and shared the warm bed together.

Ying Zheng occupied the area warmed by Zhu Xiang and then served as the heater for Zhu Xiang.

A win-win.

When spring arrived, the dry season also came to an end.

The data Li Bing had been collecting was nearly complete, and during his experiments, he invented many useful tools.

For example, the “Machá”, made by tying three logs together for use in blocking water during the dry season.

The three logs were tied into a large triangular frame, on which bamboo cages were placed and filled with cobblestones, to obstruct the flow of the Min River during the dry season.

The logs, bamboo cages, and cobblestones were all sourced locally, making them easy to obtain and saving costs.

Even though the King of Qin gave ample support and Li Bing asked for an extravagant budget, when it came time to carry out the work, Li Bing was meticulous, saving every bit of manpower and material possible.

After selecting the location to build the diversion dam, the convicts who arrived gradually formed a settlement nearby.

That settlement would later become “Guan County”—the early form of what would be known as Dujiangyan.

Qin laws were strict, and there were many convicts. One reason why the Qin state wasn’t a completely feudal country was precisely because of these vast numbers of convicts.

With the unearthing of pre-Qin bamboo slips, it was revealed that Qin’s land taxes were extremely low—at most on par with the Han dynasty’s peaceful reign under Emperor Wen and Emperor Jing. Yet the Qin state waged constant wars and required massive amounts of grain and supplies. Clearly, such low taxes couldn’t cover military expenses.

The “secret” lay in the convicts.

According to Qin slips, in some counties, the difference between consumed grain and collected land tax could be hundreds of jin. Land tax only accounted for a tiny fraction of the grain consumed. The majority of the grain revenue came from the convicts’ free labor in farming.

These convicts farmed and labored for the Qin Empire for free. They weren’t slaves of the King of Qin—they were slaves of the entire Qin Empire.

That’s why the First Emperor of Qin could easily mobilize six hundred thousand people to build the Great Wall. Conscripting regular laborers wasn’t so easy.

These convicts brought their families with them. The 50,000 convicts sent by the King of Qin meant tens of thousands of households.

They built villages and towns near the diversion dam, farming while they worked, living and dying there, raising their children—generation after generation.

As long as there were no natural disasters or man-made calamities, and as long as the government was even slightly considerate of the people’s labor, there would never be a shortage of convicts.

Li Bing also conscripted ten thousand convicts in Shu Commandery. Along with the laborers, the construction site had seventy to eighty thousand people.

As soon as Zhu Xiang learned that Li Bing had commenced the project, he immediately brought students from the academy and Ying Zheng along to observe and study.

He even contributed his own nephew, a first-grader from his private school, to help Li Bing with calculations on the abacus, and had the academy students assist Li Bing in managing and auditing daily expenditures of food and funds.

Ying Zheng suspected that his uncle was scheming something again—something he refused to explain and insisted he figure out on his own.

Determined not to ask, Ying Zheng resolved to puzzle it out himself.

Li Bing, too, sensed Zhu Xiang was plotting something and not just there to help. He pulled Zhu Xiang aside and asked in secret.

Zhu Xiang didn’t play coy with him. He asked, “Li Bing, do you think these convicts are pitiful?”

Li Bing replied, “You want Zheng’er to pity them and lighten their punishment?”

Zhu Xiang gave a bitter smile and shook his head. “Convicts live far better than commoners.”

Li Bing was stunned. “What?”

Zhu Xiang said, “Surprised? Just think about how convicts and commoners are treated—what they eat, what they wear.”

Li Bing reflected on this, and his brows gradually furrowed.

With his hands behind his back, Zhu Xiang looked toward the flickering firelight of the workers’ settlement, now resembling a small town. “Whether farming or performing corvée labor, convicts receive regular food rations and clothing from the government. If any of them possess a skill, they might even be promoted to clerks, or directly assigned to serve the nobility.”

“Peasants doing corvée labor have to pay for their own travel, bring their own food and clothes. You know how expensive travel is. When we entered Shu, the cost for one person’s cart and horse was nearly equivalent to three months of a commandery governor’s full salary—if he didn’t eat or drink.”

“We traveled on public funds, so we didn’t feel the burden. But a peasant’s household wealth is far from enough to support self-funded food, clothing, and travel for the duration of corvée labor. So they’re forced to take out loans from the government. And you know what kind of interest rates those loans have.”

Zhu Xiang closed his eyes. The firelight vanished from his vision, and darkness enveloped his sight.

“Every time the government conscripts labor, it’s an excuse to issue high-interest loans. Afterward, how many peasants are crushed by debt? How many are forced to sell their land, their families, even themselves?”

“And ordinary commoners don’t get the chance to serve the nobility or be promoted as clerks. Even if military service offers a path to rise in rank, we all know how difficult that path is.”

Zhu Xiang slowly opened his eyes again, firelight reappearing before him.

“In my eyes, Qin doesn’t treat its commoners as true Qin people. It’s actually the convicts who are treated more like citizens. The reason the country is stable for now is simply because the Seven States are at war—so long as there’s one place without conflict, the people will not endure any hardship or exploitation.”

“But what about after unification?”

Zhu Xiang flicked his sleeve and sneered. “If they don’t treat Qin people as their own now, once the realm is unified, Qin’s greatest enemy won’t be the Six States—it’ll be the Qin people themselves.”

Li Bing was silent for a long time, then plopped down onto a hillside, gazing at the distant firelight. “Why not just tell Zheng’er directly?”

Zhu Xiang sat down beside him and said, “Zheng’er is a true king. He doesn’t listen to lectures or warnings fed to him by others. He only listens to what he figures out for himself.”

Li Bing gave a wry smile. “You sure put a lot of thought into raising your nephew.”

Zhu Xiang replied, “I’m raising the future ruler who will unify the world. Of course it takes effort. But Zheng’er…”

“Stop, stop, stop. I know you’re about to go off on how obedient, clever, and considerate he is again,” Li Bing covered his ears, “Don’t say it. I’ve got calluses in my ears from hearing it.”

Zhu Xiang chuckled. “If you’re jealous, you can praise your own Erlang too.”

Li Bing: “…Get lost.” Zhu Xiang had been serious for just a moment, and now he was joking again.

The two of them sat quietly for a while, watching the firelight and the night. When the night air started to seep into their bones and the chill crept in, they got up and walked down the hill.

“I want to distribute food and clothing to the commoners too.”

“If you do it openly, you’ll be impeached. They’ll say the convicts don’t have land-based income, so they deserve provisions, but the peasants do, so they should supply their own.”

“I’ll find a way. Even if I can’t give them the same rations and clothing as the convicts, some subsidies could still ease their burden.”

“You’re right. Doing something is better than nothing. Let me think… Maybe we can come up with some clever pretexts—rewards and stipends.”

“Zhu Xiang, you’re starting to sound like a corrupt official.”

“Yes, exactly—I’m the greatest traitorous minister in Qin’s history.”

Li Bing joked, and Zhu Xiang, sticking to his philosophy of “if I insult myself first, no one else can,” once again won the verbal sparring match.

Ying Zheng rubbed his eyes, standing on tiptoe waiting for his uncle to come back from his stroll and make him a late-night snack.

Finally spotting Zhu Xiang, Ying Zheng jumped in place and waved hard. “Uncle! Zheng’er is hungry!”

Zhu Xiang laughed and scolded, “What are you, a little piggy? Eating so much at night will give you indigestion! I’ll make you a light soup to fill you up.”

Li Bing held his forehead. “You know it’ll cause indigestion, yet you still let him eat late-night snacks. You really…”

Zhu Xiang truly oscillated between strictness and spoiling when it came to Zheng’er. Li Bing couldn’t understand his parenting at all.

He’d originally hoped to learn from Zhu Xiang to properly teach his own mischievous child. But now he realized Zhu Xiang’s parenting style was just impossible to imitate.

Ying Zheng swaggered off to continue acting as a clerk with the academy students, still mulling over the riddle his uncle had posed—What is it he wants me to understand?

Zhu Xiang temporarily acted as demolition supervisor, assisting Li Bing with explosive techniques and safety during mountain blasting operations.

To maintain maximum secrecy, Zhu Xiang introduced an assembly line model where each craftsman handled only one step of the black powder preparation.

Though a determined spy could still piece together the whole process, it was currently the most effective method of protecting the secret. Qin used this same approach in domestic armor production.

Weapon crafting wasn’t considered a secret, but armor was. That’s why during the Han dynasty, aristocrats could privately own weapons, but hiding armor was considered treason. Whenever someone’s home was targeted for confiscation, ruthless officials would report: “So-and-so has hidden X sets of armor in his estate.”

Just as they were about to blast open the mountain, Li Mu—who had been busy organizing a new cavalry unit—finally arrived, fashionably late.

Despite his packed schedule, he couldn’t afford to miss the first use of black powder. He had grand plans to use it for siege warfare.

The drilling positions before the black powder blasting were about the same as those used for chiseling stone.

For the first explosion, Zhu Xiang personally took charge. He wore leather armor and a helmet, placed the prepared black powder charge into the hole, lit the fuse, then immediately dashed back a few steps and dove to the ground.

With a thunderous boom, it was like sudden thunder striking the flat earth. The nearby craftsmen were momentarily frozen in shock, then one after another dropped to their knees, begging the mountain god not to punish them for opening up the mountain.

“This power… not bad,” Li Mu, the bravest of them all, rushed forward to examine the blasted crater. “Just as Zhu Xiang said, blowing open the capital’s city walls or gates is probably not realistic.”

Li Bing stared at the terrifying crater on the ground, then glanced at Li Mu’s regretful expression and sincerely said, “I don’t understand what you generals are thinking. This is already terrifying enough!”

Even though he’d seen the experiment before, witnessing it again still made Li Bing’s hands and feet go numb.

No wonder Zhu Xiang kept emphasizing, “Safety, safety, and more safety.” If the construction didn’t strictly follow the safety procedures Zhu Xiang laid out, there was no telling how many people would die.

Human bodies are not as tough as stone. If someone were caught in a blast like that, there might not even be a whole corpse left.

“I want to try it!” Li Mu wasn’t afraid at all and was eager to have a go.

“Alright. After lighting the fuse, immediately run back. After a few heartbeats, dive to the ground and cover your head,” Zhu Xiang instructed. “If you can’t be sure about the timing, just count to seven or eight, then dive.”

Li Mu asked, puzzled, “Why not just use a shield and duck behind it?”

Zhu Xiang replied, “They’re still too afraid to coordinate effectively. Someone might freeze up and not move in time. So, for now, only brave but cautious individuals are chosen as blasters—they’re responsible for their own safety. It’s less efficient, but much safer. Later, we’ll train more people and improve work efficiency.”

Li Mu nodded. “I’m brave and cautious. Leave it to me!”

Zhu Xiang hesitated, wanting to say something.

Future Lord Wu’an, right now you don’t seem brave and cautious—you look more like an eager kid dying to play with cannons.

But Zhu Xiang still trusted Li Mu, and Li Mu didn’t let him down. The second blast went very smoothly.

Seeing his two friends step up, Li Bing gritted his teeth and joined in.

Zhu Xiang cupped his hands around his mouth like a megaphone and shouted, “Don’t force yourself if you’re scared!”

Li Mu added sincerely, “Don’t go if you’re afraid. What if you mess up?”

Zhu Xiang: “Don’t go—I won’t mock you for being scared!”

Li Mu: “Mock you? No way.”

Li Bing was so furious that even his hands stopped shaking. Fueled by rage, he executed the third blast in one go.

Zhu Xiang burst out laughing. Li Mu scratched his head, not understanding what Zhu Xiang was laughing at or why Li Bing was angry.

Although the trained blasters had practiced many times, they were still nervous and scared when actual construction began.

But with the three nobles taking the lead, their courage rose.

With scraps of cloth stuffed in their ears, they lit fuses skillfully—much more efficiently than Zhu Xiang, Li Mu, or Li Bing.

After observing, Li Mu stepped forward to try a few more times, eventually developing a more efficient blasting method suited for the nimble.

He was learning and experimenting with this to prepare for introducing black powder charges into warfare.

Zhu Xiang had mixed feelings about this.

But in the end, he exhaled his frustration and not only refrained from opposing it—he even offered Li Mu advice.

He also proposed improvements to crossbows. While he didn’t know exactly how to upgrade them, he articulated the requirements, giving the craftsmen a clear research direction and raising the chances of success.

He suggested building catapults and replacing the stone payloads with black powder or fire oil.

These were all ancient siege weapons and might serve as an alternative to breaching city walls by flooding cities through dam destruction—possibly easing civilian suffering.

The fall of the Six States was inevitable, and their capitals would eventually be besieged. If these methods could break city defenses, the people’s suffering might be somewhat reduced.

Li Mu’s expression grew complicated as he listened to Zhu Xiang’s suggestions.

He wanted to interrupt but, seeing Zhu Xiang’s earnest eyes, he clenched his jaw and silently memorized every word.

“I won’t give you credit,” Li Mu later said. “These were all my own ideas.”

Zhu Xiang took a deep breath and said, “Thank you.”

He knew his persistence seemed odd—timid, even hypocritical. But people naturally choose the path that makes them feel most at ease. Thankfully, his family and friends indulged his stubbornness.

Once they became familiar with the blasting, the mountain-clearing proceeded in an orderly fashion.

When the craftsmen realized that this thunderclap wasn’t divine punishment, but a tool they could control to open mountains, their fear gradually turned to excitement.

Zhu Xiang didn’t quite understand their excitement, but if it increased productivity, it was a good thing.

Due to the limited amount of black powder and Li Bing’s reluctance to let too many people learn how it worked, only key areas of the mountain were blasted. Elsewhere, laborers used traditional methods to move and dig rocks.

One method involved heating the rocks with fire and then dousing them with cold water to induce expansion and contraction cracks.

The laborers carried the rocks down the mountain on their backs or shoulders. These stones would later be used to build diversion dams.

Although Li Bing, following Zhu Xiang’s advice, set strict safety guidelines for laborers, the workers often slacked off. Combined with exhaustion and the complete lack of safety equipment at the time, injuries were a daily occurrence.

Superficial wounds were common. Broken bones often meant certain death.

Dujiangyan was a magnificent feat. But its construction lacked any scenes of grand passion or heroic sacrifice—only forced laborers being whipped by overseers as they carried stones and soil, slowly inching forward across the fractured earth.

Even though Li Bing explained the benefits of the dam project during his mobilization speeches, to most people, they were just numb and sorrowful as they carried out their orders—step by step, bit by bit, using up their lives.

Zhu Xiang watched everything unfold with his own eyes, remembering every scene, and he brought Ying Zheng along to observe as well.

People from later generations—or those not present at the scene—when reading written records, would always comment on grand strategies and boast about grand achievements, shouting lofty slogans like “One generation’s effort secures a thousand years of prosperity” or “The sins are borne in the present, the benefits for millennia.”

But what about the cost?

The cost wasn’t paid by them. They couldn’t even see the cost.

Among the fallen laborers were men, women, even the elderly and children. They were injured, they bled, they lost their lives.

When they died, they might vanish quietly and alone, or they might have loved ones to weep for them.

They might not have had grand dreams, but the will to survive is an instinct shared by all living things.

Who could speak so lightly of “the sins borne in the present for the benefits of the future”? Only those who neither paid the price nor saw the price.

Li Bing was not such a person.

He watched every person who fell, and he ordered their corpses burned. Some of the ashes were sent back to their hometowns; some were buried on-site.

He personally oversaw every disbursement of condolence money, though there were always cases where no one could be found to receive the compensation.

He gathered medicinal herbs, invited military doctors, and pushed for policies to subsidize the commoner laborers as much as possible.

From initial sorrow to eventual numbness—yet Zhu Xiang saw that burning flame still alive in Li Bing’s eyes. He knew that Li Bing was not truly numb. He simply buried his grief deep within.

Li Bing was a man with a conscience—one who was unlike the typical nobles.

That’s why, in history, he would devote his entire life to water management in Shu Commandery, and Dujiangyan was not the only project that benefited the people.

In the Warring States era, “loving the people” and “benefiting the people” were rare traits for officials. Because to the nobility, the commoners were not even considered people.

Yet Li Bing treated the commoners as human beings. He wanted to do something for them. He wanted to lessen the floods and disasters of the Chengdu Plain. So when he saw laborers die, how could he possibly remain unmoved?

He knew how heavy the cost was. And he felt it.

That was why Zhu Xiang gave him his full support, even putting aside his own work to accompany him.

Zhu Xiang knew that the Li Bing of history had endured it all alone, and would spend the next few decades battling mountains and rivers in Shu, ultimately dying from exhaustion on a waterworks site.

But now, Zhu Xiang had become Li Bing’s friend. Since he was there, he would share the weight of that burden.

“If so many commoners have died, and I fail to save even more commoners,” Li Bing told Zhu Xiang, “then I’m the sinner. I must succeed.”

“You will succeed,” Zhu Xiang said. “And I support you in this. You’re not alone.”

Li Bing’s heavy expression lightened into a rare smile. “That’s true. At least I have you to share the burden. If something happens to me and I can’t finish the project, I hope you’ll carry it on. I believe I’ve made the right call!”

Zhu Xiang said, “Don’t worry—you won’t need me to step in.”

Ying Zheng, holding his uncle’s hand, looked up and listened thoughtfully to the conversation between Li Bing and Zhu Xiang.

He buried his thoughts deep in his heart, along with many other experiences, like seeds waiting for the right moment to sprout and bloom.

Once the mountain-clearing project entered routine operation, Zhu Xiang left some of the academy students to help and took Ying Zheng back to Chengdu City to assist Li Bing with spring farming matters.

Li Bing was busy with waterworks, but as governor, he had other responsibilities too.

Historically, Li Bing had shouldered everything himself, with only his family and a few advisors to share the burden. But now, with a sweep of his hand, he declared: those with ability should do more—spring farming could be handled by Lord Changping.

Zhu Xiang agreed cheerfully.

“Zheng’er, the governor’s job is sometimes like that of a monarch. Try managing Shu Commandery first—build experience for ruling Qin someday!”

Ying Zheng silently held the governor’s seal Li Bing had given his uncle.

He asked earnestly, “Uncle, does Uncle Li Bing know about this?”

Zhu Xiang said, “He asked me to act as temporary governor. He should’ve guessed I’d do this.”

Ying Zheng took deep breaths.

It’s just a governorship—of course he could handle it. But putting a child in charge of a commandery? Uncle, you trust me far too much!

No—this isn’t about trust.

“Uncle, I’m only six years old!” Ying Zheng repeated a complaint his departed teacher Li Mu had often made. “You’re bullying me! This is child abuse!”

“Then go report me,” Zhu Xiang said with an evil grin. “Hurry, tell your great-grandfather. Or your father or your uncle.”

“I’m going to tell Auntie!” Ying Zheng retorted.

Zhu Xiang burst out laughing. “Too bad—you can’t right now. Off you go, little governor!”

Ying Zheng puffed his cheeks like a steamed bun, fuming.

He wasn’t really angry about being made a behind-the-scenes acting governor. But his uncle’s attitude was so infuriating!

“It’s just paperwork,” Zhu Xiang said, still laughing. “No different from your daily studies. You can also take a break at home. You worked hard on the construction site.”

After all, life on site couldn’t compare to the comforts of home. Ying Zheng had been running around with Zhu Xiang, and he’d even lost weight—his soft little tummy wasn’t round anymore.

But he’d also grown heavier—probably not thinner, just taller and sturdier.

“Wasn’t hard at all,” Ying Zheng replied honestly. How could he suffer under his uncle’s care?

“Uncle, I figured out the answer to your question.” Ying Zheng had almost forgotten about it. “Why do I feel like the criminals are treated better than the commoner laborers? Isn’t that encouraging crime? But criminals should still be kept alive, not treated worse—so we should raise the treatment of commoner laborers.”

He paused to organize his thoughts, then continued: “The government should cover their food and lodging, and maybe travel costs too. Yes, it would increase spending, but more laborers could return home alive and continue farming. Otherwise, service equals death, the commoner population shrinks, and the military draft collapses.”

“Also, the mutiny of Zhao soldiers at Changping proved that when commoners are pushed to the limit and face certain death, they’ll rebel. For now, uprisings can be endured since they have nowhere to flee. But once the realm is unified, rebels from the Six States will definitely rise, and those desperate commoners will become their soldiers.”

“So you see—the treasury will bear more, but the benefits far outweigh the costs.”

Zhu Xiang praised him, “Zheng’er, you’re so smart! Truly brilliant!”

Ying Zheng frowned. “I meant that sincerely. But I don’t think you liked hearing it. Even if we reached the same conclusion, you probably wanted me to feel the hardship of the people.”

Zhu Xiang scooped him up and rubbed his still-soft cheeks. “What I saw was the people’s suffering—that’s my perspective. What you saw was the threat of civil unrest—that’s your judgment. You understood my perspective and reached your own conclusion. That’s full marks on this question!”

Ying Zheng wrapped his arms around his uncle’s neck and muttered with his face resting on Zhu Xiang’s shoulder, “Mmm… Zheng’er always gets full marks… sigh.”