“Blood sacrifices” have existed since ancient times. Even now, the Seven States and the Zhou royal court continue to perform broad forms of such sacrifices.

In Zhou Li · Chun Guan · Da Zong Bo, it is written: “Offer solemn sacrifices to the Supreme God of Heaven; use cooked meat and wood for the sun, moon, stars; use firewood for spirits of time and weather gods. Use blood to worship gods of soil and grain, the Five Household Deities, and the Five Sacred Mountains. Use wildcats drowned in water to sacrifice to mountains, forests, rivers, and lakes; use unclean sacrificial victims to appease spirits of all things in the four directions.”

In ancient times, it was believed that “qi” (vital energy) connected the soul. Sacrifices were a way to create an atmosphere of communication with the gods using different types of “qi”—whether the qi of blood, the aroma of wine, or the smoke of burning offerings.

Starting with the Zhou dynasty, state rituals shifted from human sacrifices to animal offerings. Though there were signs of human sacrifice reviving during the Warring States period, it was largely condemned as a brutal and backward practice. Large-scale human sacrifices using non-slaves or captives were especially abhorred. The State of Qin, for instance, declined due to the infamous “Three Worthies Sacrifice.”

Yet, whenever blood sacrifices were emphasized, there were always those who would turn again to the most extreme form—human sacrifice.

When people demanded too much from the gods, or when the gods failed to respond, they would offer the most precious tribute of all: human beings.

With the rise of the feudal era, commoners became the lifeblood of the nation—its tax base and military force. “The people can overturn a state like water overturning a boat” became a tangible reality. Wise men began to value human life more dearly, and sacrificial rites gradually evolved.

The essence of sacrifices shifted—from the richness of offerings to the sincerity and virtue of the officiant. The “qi” that connected to the divine transformed from the blood of sacrifice to the virtue of the living.

This change had already begun during the Spring and Autumn period. Confucianism, which evolved from the officials in charge of sacrificial rites, was the first to promote the idea of worship through virtue rather than blood.

The Zuo Tradition records that Duke of Sui believed sacrifices should be made with “plump and fat livestock, and abundant grains,” while Ji Liang argued, “The people are the masters of the gods.” The abundance of offerings reflected not the sacrifice itself, but that the people lived well.

The Book of Documents also says, “Don’t take the water’s reflection as your mirror; look to the people instead.” The essence of sacrificial rituals was to use the offerings as a way to report to Heaven that the people were thriving, and thus to gather their hearts in unity.

If a sacrifice harmed the people, it was putting the cart before the horse.

Zhu Xiang wrote precisely this in his Declaration of War, synthesizing various evolving thoughts on sacrificial rites of the age. He proclaimed that the will of the people is the will of Heaven, and that the favor of spirits hinges on the people’s support.

In other words, any spirit that harms the people has no right to exist.

Because such ideas already existed in the Warring States period, Zhu Xiang dared to propose tearing down sacred mountains and breaking temple idols. He was confident that, as long as his reasons were sound, the King of Qin would approve his memorial—and that scholars across the realm would rally to his side to help him stamp out backward sacrificial practices.

Zhu Xiang’s declaration could be understood by the Qin soldiers, by the learned scholars of the world, and even by the monarchs of the Seven States. But the villagers he now sought to save could not comprehend it.

To them, all these classical quotes and impassioned rhetoric couldn’t compare to the shrieking, leaping dance of a local shaman whose meaning they didn’t understand—but trusted.

Qin soldiers conducting “bandit suppression” didn’t care about villagers’ lives. If villagers resisted, they were labeled bandits—and their heads would be chopped off for military merit.

This was something even Zhu Xiang couldn’t change.

The only path he had was to outdo the shamans at their own game—pretending to be even more of a shaman than the shamans themselves. That was the only way to shatter their authority and get the villagers to lay down their weapons.

Sometimes he succeeded. But more often, the villagers saw the gods they worshiped as ancestors. Even the bloodthirsty deities they revered were deeply interwoven with ancestral worship. To destroy those temples was to destroy their ancestral rites.

For them, the conflict with the Qin soldiers was a fight to the death.

Once the Qin army moved, it was like a war chariot speeding downhill—unstoppable. Even Li Mu’s campaign against the Yunmeng Swamp hadn’t killed as many people as this “religious war” initiated by Zhu Xiang.

When Li Mu heard about this, he rushed back to E City and exploded at Zhu Xiang:

“Those people might’ve deserved to die, but could you at least have sent a letter so I could come back and fight?! What the hell are you doing on the battlefield?!”

Zhu Xiang replied quietly, “I’m fine…”

Li Mu snapped, “Fine, my ass!”

Zhang Ruo tried to interject, “General Li, breaking temples and pacifying the mountains is still considered anti-bandit warfare. It’s military merit…”

“He doesn’t need military merit!” Li Mu didn’t spare any face for this old general of Qin. He pointed at Zhu Xiang’s hair and barked, “You don’t understand him. Back in Zhao, Lord Lian tried to give him military merit by sending him to the frontlines. He did nothing—others killed enemies for him to get the credit, and even then, he didn’t want it. Lord Lian had to chase him down just to beat some sense into him.”

“To Zhu Xiang, human life is sacred above all else—whether friend or foe. He couldn’t bear to take a life, so he refused to go to war. Zhao soldiers risked their lives to save him, and it turned his hair white from grief.”

“And now he’s actually gone to the battlefield… He really went to the battlefield!” Li Mu clenched his fists and smashed them against the table. “Zhu Xiang, do you not trust me? I told you I wouldn’t let you go to war, and I meant it! This was just some temples—if you told me, do you really think I couldn’t take down a few ruined temples?!”

Zhang Ruo looked at Li Mu’s anguished expression, then turned to Zhu Xiang’s head full of white hair, unable to speak for a long while.

He realized that although he thought he understood Zhu Xiang, perhaps he didn’t understand him nearly well enough.

He only knew that Zhu Xiang’s hair turned white overnight when he defected from Zhao to Qin, but he didn’t know that Zhu Xiang’s whitening hair had little to do with leaving his homeland — it was closely tied to the people of Zhao.

Zhu Xiang loved the people — this was not an empty compliment. But did Zhu Xiang’s love for the people include even those ignorant commoners wielding weapons?

When Li Mu slammed his hand on the wooden table, he cracked a corner of it. His palm was pierced by splinters, and blood poured out. Zhu Xiang quickly had someone bring filtered wine and prepared herbs to bandage Li Mu’s hand.

“I don’t distrust you,” Zhu Xiang explained, “but this matter started because of me. I was the one who called for attacking the mountains and breaking the temples. So I should be on this battlefield.”

“I issued a challenge to the wild gods of the mountains. Do you want me to stand behind you all and enjoy the fame of ending human sacrifice, while leaving all the consequences to you and Lord Zhang? Li Mu, I may be weak, but not so shameless.”

Li Mu glared at Zhu Xiang. “You’re like a brother to me. I’m a general — I’ve killed countless enemies. This campaign against the mountains and temples is naturally my duty. Why concern yourself with fame and consequences?”

Zhu Xiang replied, “The world may not care, but I do. Confucius said, ‘A gentleman examines himself and feels no shame.’ Before the world and my friends, I want a clear conscience.”

Li Mu was breathing like an angry bull, but in the end, he pounded his bandaged fist against his knee, clenched his teeth, and didn’t argue further. Zhu Xiang said he wanted a “clear conscience” — how could Li Mu argue with that?

“Even with blood on your hands, you’ll still have a clear conscience?” Li Mu finally asked.

Zhu Xiang’s expression was dazed for a moment, then he responded firmly, “Evil cults and depraved sacrifices must be eradicated. I have no regrets.”

“Good. Then remember what you’ve said today,” Li Mu said. “What you’ve done is right. You can stand tall.”

Zhu Xiang sighed and gave a bitter smile. “Alright, I’ll remember.”

Li Mu said, “I don’t know how much pain Lin Li and the others will feel when they learn of this. Lord Xun and Lord Lian will surely be heartbroken. They’ll probably blame me for not watching over you properly.”

Zhu Xiang replied, “…You all have protected me too much.”

Li Mu said nothing. It wasn’t that they wanted to be overprotective — it was just that a gentleman is like jade: noble, but fragile.

“Leave the rest to me. Go get some rest,” Li Mu said.

Zhu Xiang refused. “E Yi is extremely important — you should go back and guard it. I have Lord Zhang. I don’t need you.”

Zhang Ruo: “……” He suddenly felt like escaping this mess.

Li Mu and Zhu Xiang were at a stalemate. A few days later, the matter was resolved.

Meng Wu threw aside his baggage and rushed ahead in a fast boat, delivering a command from the King of Qin.

After arriving at E Yi dock from the Han River and learning of Zhu Xiang’s actions, he abandoned the boat and rode hard for two days straight to Zhu Xiang’s camp. As soon as they met, he lashed out: “You think Qin doesn’t have enough generals? Why are you on the battlefield?!”

Zhang Ruo, who had been about to greet Meng Wu, paused: “…” That sounded familiar.

Zhu Xiang, exhausted, said, “Stop yelling, stop yelling. Li Mu already yelled at me once.”

Li Mu, arms crossed nearby, added, “When you get back to Xianyang, you’ll be scolded a few more times.”

Zhu Xiang replied, “I’m not that fragile.”

Li Mu said, “Have you looked in a mirror? Dark circles under your eyes, sunken cheeks — you haven’t slept properly in days.”

Meng Wu lifted the seated Zhu Xiang and examined him closely. “If Zheng’er and Xue Ji saw you like this, how worried would they be? Sometimes I really don’t understand the point of your stubbornness. If you don’t want to be on the battlefield, then never go to war. Don’t force yourself for some strange reason.”

Zhu Xiang patted Meng Wu’s hand, shaking his head. “It’s not strange at all.”

Meng Wu released him.

Zhu Xiang straightened the wrinkles in his robe and said calmly, “I saw children — fair, cute — dismembered on the altar, served up as divine offerings. I saw beautiful women in ceremonial dress, strangled to become attendants of the gods. Strong young men with their throats slit, their blood poured into goblets to toast the gods.”

“I am not just attacking one mountain or toppling one temple.” Zhu Xiang pointed to his chest.

“I want to destroy the evil cults and false gods in people’s hearts.”

“Sending out a challenge isn’t enough. I need to be on the battlefield myself — to experience it firsthand — and then tell everyone…”

“Tell everyone: I killed the gods. What could they do to me?”

Zhu Xiang took a deep breath and forced a smile.

“To enshrine the gods and bring folk worship under state control isn’t something that can happen overnight. But I know one way to make it happen instantly — by having the person said to be closest to the gods take on the task of destroying the temples and breaking the altars.”

“Only I can do it. None of you can.” Zhu Xiang looked at his two friends and repeated, “Only I can.”

Zhu Xiang had seen the horrors on the altar — the people he had hoped to save, now under the swords of Qin soldiers. Even though his legs were trembling, he had to stand on that battlefield.

There are many injustices and tragedies in the world. He could ignore them if he never saw them — even the suffering of the Zhao people in war, he could pretend not to see. But this — this had appeared right before his eyes. And he had the ability to act.

So he had to act.

“Li Mu, return to E Yi. I will stay and continue the purge,” Meng Wu said, not arguing with Zhu Xiang anymore.

“Zhu Xiang, now that you’ve entered the battlefield, you no longer need to participate in the follow-up. Lord Zhang, transfer command of the troops to me.”

Zhang Ruo let out a long sigh. “Alright.”

Meng Wu pulled out a decree: “Zhu Xiang, receive the edict. The King of Qin commands: should Zhu Xiang enter danger again, I am to place him in custody.”

Zhu Xiang knelt to receive the edict. He looked at the familiar handwriting of Lin Zhi and Xia Tong, the signatures of Meng Wu, and the seals of the Crown Prince Zhu and the King of Qin — and fell into silence.

This decree… seemed a bit suspicious?