HCT – Chapter 97 Lard and Pickled Mustard Noodles

Zhu Xiang’s proposal, of course, was not as simple as the phrase “officially enshrining the gods.” He provided the King of Qin with a reason that was hard to refuse: to establish the legitimacy of Qin’s unification by using the enshrinement of gods as a means to unify ideology.

This idea was repeatedly validated throughout later history. The first to put it into practice was none other than Qin Shi Huang himself.

In order to achieve true unification, Qin Shi Huang not only standardized writing and measurement systems but also undertook multiple inspection tours across the land, offering sacrifices to the deities of various states.

His tours were not merely to supervise the former aristocrats of the six states, nor merely to seek immortality or spiritual enlightenment.

At that time, it was held that “the gods do not delight in offerings from those unlike themselves, and the people do not worship gods not of their own kind.”

Thus, Qin Shi Huang made pilgrimage tours to Mount Tai in the east and Yunmeng Marshes in the south, paying homage to the major deities from the Central Plains to the Chu region. He also established a standardized system for rituals, acknowledging the gods worshipped by other nations as a way to convey the idea that Qin was unifying the six states, not annihilating them.

Why is it that among the four great ancient civilizations, only China’s civilization has endured, despite dynastic changes, while the others disappeared? This question finds its answer in what Qin Shi Huang was doing back then.

After a certain island nation invaded China, they arrogantly claimed, “There is no China after Yashan.” Some people, influenced by the “historical research” of that island nation, blindly followed with talk of restoring Han imperialism.

Yet anyone who has read even a few history books would know: Whether it was the “Five Barbarians disrupting China” during the Wei, Jin, and Northern and Southern Dynasties, or the Yuan and Qing Dynasties, the unified script established since Qin Shi Huang remained one of their official scripts. Even if additional official scripts were introduced, both officials and commoners continued to use the original characters.

Writing is one of the carriers of civilization. The second is ancestor and deity worship.

Although subsequent dynasties established different state religions, the ritual systems of worshiping heaven and ancestors—laid down by Qin Shi Huang and later formalized by the Han Dynasty—were carried on and maintained by every dynasty thereafter.

As long as writing and sacrificial rites endure, civilization remains unbroken.

This wasn’t only true in later generations. Even during the Spring and Autumn period, and earlier in the Shang and Zhou eras, the same principles applied.

Zhu Xiang presented the elderly King of Qin with a thick dossier detailing the deities currently worshipped by the seven states.

The gods worshipped in the Central Plains were largely similar, continuing the traditions of the Zhou Dynasty. Chu, however, worshipped a vast and varied pantheon, mostly centered around nature—mountains and rivers.

Qin’s military might had already reached a level sufficient to unify the world. What remained was merely a matter of time.

While military conquest could seize land and population, transforming the people of the six states into citizens of Qin required ideological means. And ritual worship was the most critical tool in this process.

On the surface, the King of Qin was using the excuse of banning human sacrifices to “officially enshrine the gods.” In reality, he was acknowledging the deities worshipped outside of Qin, thereby allowing local populations to continue their traditional spiritual practices.

For people of this era, the greatest fear wasn’t physical death—it was the eradication of their ancestral rites.

To the local scholars and gentry, the fact that the King of Qin was granting high-level official recognition to their native deities, including them in Qin’s national sacrificial system, gave them the sense that only the ruler had changed, not the faith.

This practice continued into later generations. When a dynasty decayed, it was expected to be replaced. Talented individuals sought out wise rulers, and common folk looked forward to a newly unified realm. Most people did not oppose dynastic change—they only cared whether the emperor governed well or not.

Zhu Xiang did not voice such lofty thoughts aloud. He only told the King of Qin that by incorporating non-Qin deities into the official sacrificial system and bringing order to a chaotic pantheon, the Qin court would facilitate the unification of the realm.

And if Qin succeeded in doing so, and instead of calamity grew stronger, it would prove more effectively than any omen that the King of Qin was heaven’s chosen ruler destined to unite the world.

Zhu Xiang’s memorial was methodical and well-supported—like a carefully written thesis.

The King of Qin, while persuaded by Zhu Xiang, also sensed his utter lack of reverence for the divine.

Only someone entirely unafraid of the gods could write something like: “If Qin remains unscathed after enshrining foreign gods, it proves that Heaven favors Qin.”

Another monarch might have suspected Zhu Xiang had some divine revelation.

But the old King of Qin, already familiar with Zhu Xiang’s nature, instead envisioned his smug face declaring, “It’s mindless and senseless—what can it do to me?”

Ah, Zhu Xiang… No matter how humble and respectful his demeanor appeared, deep down he remained wildly arrogant. No one could truly make him submit.

That was what troubled the King of Qin most.

Even though Zhu Xiang bowed when it was time to bow, knelt when it was time to kneel, and kowtowed when it was time to kowtow, the King always had the eerie sense that this man had never truly bowed.

“If even the gods cannot make him yield, how could a mortal ruler hope to?” After reading Zhu Xiang’s memorial, the old King of Qin felt his resentment toward Zhu Xiang lighten significantly.

Muttering “Zhu Xiang is too arrogant,” the old King summoned all his ministers to the palace to work overtime.

These ministers were to compile a list of each state’s main deities and argue their way toward a sacrificial system that would satisfy both the King and the public.

The King of Qin boasted arrogantly that not only would Qin worship the gods of the territories it had conquered, it would also worship the deities of the six states it had not yet subdued.

The new sacrificial system would be implemented starting with next year’s state ceremonies!

Xunzi was also summoned to the palace.

His usually stern face, with its perpetually downturned lips, was now wrinkled into a smile that bloomed like a flower.

“This was Zhu Xiang’s idea?” Xunzi asked.

The old King of Qin nodded. “Indeed.”

The assembled ministers all gave expressions of “as expected, it was him.”

Crown Prince Zhu, already in the know, pretended to ask innocently, “Why would Lord Changping suggest such a thing?”

The King of Qin adopted a merciful and compassionate look, sighing: “When Zhu Xiang went to Yunmeng Marsh to plant rice, he witnessed the Chu people preparing to blood-sacrifice an entire village to their gods. Sigh… If the court doesn’t regulate folk rituals, who knows how many commoners will suffer misfortune.”

As he wiped away a tear for his beloved commoners, the King nearly disgusted his ministers to the point of vomiting.

Yes, yes, we get it—Zhu Xiang may genuinely feel pity for the people. But Your Majesty, could you drop the act already?

Xunzi chuckled. “If Your Majesty is to become the sovereign of the realm, it is only fitting to worship the gods of the realm. Starting now is not too soon.”

The King of Qin dropped the act and stroked his beard. “Indeed.”

Xunzi bowed. “Might Your Majesty entrust this matter to me?”

This was the first time Xunzi had taken the initiative to request a responsibility before the King. The ministers looked at this leader of the Confucians with mild surprise.

But indeed, there was no one better suited for the task. After all, Confucian scholars were the most knowledgeable about official rites and sacrifices.

“Very well,” the King of Qin immediately appointed Xunzi as Shangqing, bestowing upon him the role of Minister of Rites.

Previously, as the headmaster of the Xianyang Academy, Xunzi had only been an “unofficial guest minister.” Now, he was formally inducted into Qin’s bureaucratic system—a true civil servant of Qin.

Though Xunzi had traveled widely and accepted government posts in various states, he had always remained distant from the core of political power—always able to withdraw at any time.

Everyone assumed his arrival in Qin would mirror his time in Qi: simply teaching disciples and spreading his philosophy at the academy. No one expected him to take the initiative to request real authority and commit to serving the King of Qin.

Even those who hadn’t cared much about sacrificial rites now became intrigued, pondering:

What about Zhu Xiang’s proposal to worship foreign deities moved this great Confucian so deeply that he, who normally avoided officialdom in Qin, would now aid a ruler he almost certainly disliked?

Even the old King of Qin himself was a little surprised.

He had thought that even with Zhu Xiang’s presence, having Confucian disciples in Xianyang Academy doing the bare minimum was already the limit. At most, they might encourage a few young Confucians to join officialdom. As for those so-called “great Confucian scholars,” surely they would continue to maintain their proud aloofness.

Yet now, Xunzi had actually become a senior official in charge of sacrificial rites by the king’s side. This was nothing short of raising the banner and openly declaring: Confucianism supports the Qin state.

The old King of Qin even wanted to wipe his face with his sleeve to check if he was hallucinating.

But now, he had to act as if everything was under control, treating Xunzi’s “submission” with an air of calm detachment.

With a professional like Xunzi by his side, the old King of Qin only needed to wait.

Xunzi had even considerately helped draft the imperial edict for deifying the gods. Upon reading the version Xunzi wrote — “I too am reluctant to do this, but for the sake of all under heaven, I must go through with it” — the King of Qin quietly tore up his own version full of domineering flair.

He realized that perhaps he had underestimated this Confucian man who constantly spoke of benevolence and righteousness.

Maybe the “softness” of Confucians wasn’t truly weakness — it had its strengths.

The Qin state had always governed by Legalist doctrine, but that didn’t mean it rejected other philosophies.

How could the King of Qin be a mere follower of a single school of thought? That past kings had chosen Legalism was simply because it worked.

If another philosophy proved useful, the King would not reject it.

This was the true path of kingship.

Thus, from this moment, the Confucian school formally entered the Qin imperial court.

Back at his small courtyard, Xunzi held the handwritten letter from Zhu Xiang, personally delivered by the King of Qin, and couldn’t help but laugh aloud again.

Han Fei asked curiously, “Master Xunzi, w-why are you so happy?”

Xunzi replied, “I used to think that though Zhu Xiang studied Confucianism, he wasn’t a true Confucian. But now it seems — if he is not a great Confucian, then who in this world dares call themselves one?”

Xunzi handed the letter to Han Fei. “But take a look at this document. Perhaps you’ll feel something else.”

Han Fei respectfully unfolded it and read it carefully.

By the time Xunzi had finished drinking the cup of goji-infused water Zhu Xiang had brought from the south, Han Fei finally set down the letter and let out a long breath, as if he had been holding it in the whole time he read.

“I thought the Legalist ideal was to use the law to restrain the commoners, the scholars, even the nobles and rulers themselves.” Han Fei gave a wry smile. “I never imagined that Lord Zhu Xiang would go so far as to use mortal-made law to restrain the gods.”

Xunzi reminded him, “You’re not stuttering anymore.”

Han Fei blushed scarlet. “T-t-that’s because I’m shocked!”

Xunzi burst into laughter. “If Zhu Xiang scares you a few more times, you’ll be speaking fluently in no time.”

Han Fei stammered, “My-my-my lifespan will be shorter, though.”

Xunzi laughed heartily again.

After his laughter, Xunzi said, “Standardizing sacrificial rites has always been something we Confucians attempted, but we could never find a breakthrough. Zhu Xiang opened up a whole new line of thought for me. What are ‘immortals and gods’? What are ‘demons and monsters’? Those who benefit the people are gods; those who harm them are monsters. Since the Son of Heaven is mandated by Heaven, then naturally he has the authority to constrain lesser gods. Sacrifice is not only a form of reverence but also a form of control.”

He smiled and sighed deeply, “I hope I can live a few more years — long enough to see the Confucian ideal of a complete sacrificial system realized.”

From heavenly deities to local spirits, from ancestors to sages, all gods should be brought into the state’s official sacrificial system.

To achieve this would be a small step toward fulfilling the dreams of the Confucian forebears.

“What about you? After reading this letter, what do you want to do?” Xunzi asked.

Han Fei hesitated for a long time, hanging his head without replying.

Xunzi said, “Think it over carefully. I’ve only borrowed Zhu Xiang’s letter. In a few days, I have to return it to His Majesty. Help me make a few copies.”

Han Fei bowed, “Yes, Master Xunzi.”

He noticed that Xunzi, who used to refer to the king privately as “Qin Wang,” now called him “His Majesty.”

After Xunzi left, Han Fei stared at Zhu Xiang’s letter in silence for a long time, then suddenly clutched his head and sobbed.

After copying the letter once, Han Fei brought in his new friend Li Si to help make additional copies, sending them to the Xianyang Academy per Xunzi’s request.

Soon, students throughout the academy were vying to copy Zhu Xiang’s petition urging the King of Qin to deify the gods — for a while, paper in Xianyang became scarce.

It was Li Si’s first time encountering Zhu Xiang’s calligraphy. That night, he lay wrapped in his blanket, silently weeping.

All the torment he endured from Han Fei had finally paid off!

If he held out a few more years, he might get to personally meet Lord Zhu Xiang when he returned to Xianyang!

Young scholars often harbored pride in their hearts. Zhu Xiang’s letter — viewed as heretical by many court nobles — was almost universally praised and embraced by the students of Xianyang.

They buried themselves in bamboo scrolls, searching for records of their ancestors battling evil gods.

To say nothing of other tales, even the myth of Yu the Great taming the floods involved slaying countless evil gods. Mortals matching gods in power — it wasn’t the first time.

Even self-proclaimed gentle Confucians pulled out stories of their sages to prove it — one of Confucius’ 72 disciples, Zhan Tai Mie Ming, once crossed a river and slew a dragon — the river god.

Disciples of other schools responded with admiration: “As expected of you guys.”

A lone Confucian charging in to slay a god blocking the road — why didn’t that seem surprising at all? That was something a Confucian would do!

Li Si listened with yearning, wondering whether he should abandon Legalism and join the Confucians.

But one glance at his scrawny arms and legs, and he gave up the idea. He hadn’t mastered the Six Arts of the Junzi, would surely be mocked by Confucian disciples, and couldn’t win a debate — better not.

At the Xianyang Academy, just as Confucian students were discussing Zhan Tai Mie Ming, Zhu Xiang happened to meet disciples of Zhan Tai Mie Ming.

Though Zhan Tai Mie Ming was from Lu, he had gone to the then-barbaric Chu state to spread Confucianism, followed by more than three hundred students.

In later generations, Jiangxi would become a center of culture, producing many successful scholars in imperial exams — this was its root.

As Li Mu gained a foothold in Eyi, Qin gradually encroached south of the Yangtze, formerly Chu territory. These Confucians finally had a chance to meet Zhu Xiang.

They were curious about Xunzi.

Though Xunzi was now the de facto leader of Confucianism, many opposed him — because Xunzi had harshly criticized the majority of the 72 disciples.

Thus, the people most dissatisfied with Xunzi weren’t from other schools, but from within Confucianism.

Zhu Xiang, as Xunzi’s disciple, naturally attracted their attention.

But Zhu Xiang was also a famed sage. They were too embarrassed to confront him directly, so they hoped to speak with him first and then decide how to act.

Before they could meet him, though, they heard stories of Zhu Xiang drawing his sword against gods, calming the chaos of spirits in Chu, and proposing the construction of a standardized state sacrificial system.

The Confucians immediately donned tall Chu crowns and rushed to pay respects to Zhu Xiang — no more waiting. They hoped to follow him.

The Rites of Zhou were an introductory course for Confucian students. All Confucians preferred the standardized rituals of the Zhou Dynasty.

Yet Chu, a land of rampant ghost-god worship, had rituals that clashed with Zhou rites. Southern Confucians had long been dissatisfied but powerless.

Now they felt they had backing — and were finally ready to raise their heads proudly.

Had they finally lived to see this day?

They had heard that their grandmaster, while following Zhan Tai Mie Ming, had once killed gods as easily as cutting grass. Unfortunately, they had yet to reach such scholarly heights themselves.

Zhu Xiang’s reputation now was nearly equal to the legendary Zhan Tai Mie Ming in their eyes.

Before meeting Zhu Xiang, they imagined many refined and elegant images of him in their minds.

But when the moment finally came—

Zhu Xiang was squatting at the edge of a field, slurping noodles.

Next to him, also squatting and slurping, was a chubby child in fine hemp clothes.

When he saw someone approaching, Zhu Xiang said, “Wait a moment, I just have a few more bites left.”

The chubby little boy swept a majestic gaze over the newcomers, then picked up his bowl and gulped it down—ton ton ton.

The two of them were eating pickled vegetable noodles.

The southern climate was perfect for fermenting vegetables, and Yunmeng Marsh produced all kinds of greens in abundance. Zhu Xiang used rice-washing water, well salt, Sichuan peppercorns, and chili to pickle shepherd’s purse and Chinese cabbage. Today, feeling a bit fatigued, he scooped some pickled vegetables out of the jar, chopped them up, stir-fried them in lard, then added water and cooked noodles in the broth.

The sour, savory noodles were incredibly appetizing, and although the uncle and nephew had little appetite at first, it was quickly revived. After finishing, not only did they replenish their lost salt, but their body heat and fatigue also seemed to evaporate with their sweat. They felt refreshed from head to toe.

“Hungry? Want a bowl?” Zhu Xiang asked.

The neatly dressed Confucian disciples from Southern Chu: “……”

If it were anyone else, they would have already rebuked him for his improper etiquette. But standing before them was the famous Lord Zhu Xiang—they honestly didn’t know how to respond.

Ying Zheng reached out. “They’re not eating. Give me another bowl.”

“Wait for dinner,” Zhu Xiang said. “A little snack in the afternoon is enough.”

Ying Zheng reached out stubbornly again. “One more bowl.”

Zhu Xiang gave in and cooked him another small bowl of noodles. “You all really don’t want any?”

The Confucian disciples from Southern Chu were caught in an internal battle.

According to etiquette, they shouldn’t eat. But this was food personally prepared by Lord Zhu Xiang, and it looked and smelled delicious. They were very tempted.

Zhu Xiang saw their expressions and smiled. “Forget it. You probably can’t squat here like I do to eat. I’ll invite you again tomorrow.”

“I-I’ll have a bowl!” one of the burly men couldn’t resist saying. “How many times have we squatted by the roadside to eat while traveling?”

The others immediately looked down on this fellow disciple, then turned to Zhu Xiang with slightly embarrassed expressions.

Ying Zheng sneered. Just eat if you want to—why pretend? Ton ton ton.

Seeing this, Zhu Xiang brought out all the noodles and cooked a large basin for them to serve themselves.

The Confucian disciples immediately became cautious.

Sharing food was akin to the ritual of dividing sacrificial meat—this was a test of their scholarly knowledge!

They quickly selected the most learned among them to portion the noodles. With methodical precision, they divided the food and then looked at Zhu Xiang with pleading puppy eyes.

Zhu Xiang: “?”

He didn’t know why dividing noodles had to be so serious, but he could read the expressions on these students’ faces and cooperated: “Well done.”

The Confucian disciples from Southern Chu smiled like they were drunk.

Ying Zheng shook his head, sighed, and kept slurping noodles.

Lard-pickled vegetable noodles were so delicious—he just kept eating.

After everyone had eaten, Zhu Xiang handed out coarse tea to rinse their mouths. Then under the shade of a tree, he laid out grass mats for everyone to sit on and began taking questions.

A full-bellied Ying Zheng lay on Zhu Xiang’s lap and soon drifted into a peaceful sleep.

Zhu Xiang poked his chubby nephew’s cheek. Eating and then falling asleep like this… You’re not the First Emperor’s son—you’re a piglet.

“Lord Zhu Xiang, a-are you really Lord Zhu Xiang?” the lead disciple asked.

Zhu Xiang chuckled. “Do I look more like an old farmer than a great scholar? Don’t forget—I am a farmer by origin.”

The lead disciple awkwardly adjusted the strap on his headpiece. “N-no… I just…”

Zhu Xiang said, “Among the seventy-two disciples of Confucius, their backgrounds and habits were all different. That’s why Confucius scolded nearly all of them.”

He winked at them. “But according to The Analects, the ones he scolded were mostly the stubborn ones who never changed their ways.”

The Confucian disciples from Southern Chu were stunned.

They quickly recalled the classical accounts of the seventy-two disciples of Confucius and then awkwardly realized Zhu Xiang was right.

When Confucius scolded his disciples for their bad habits, most of them stayed the same till death. Though he was their teacher, the disciples had their own convictions and personalities. They never talked back, but also never changed—even if they acknowledged their faults.

“If I had studied under Confucius, he probably would’ve scolded me daily for not dressing properly. But more likely, he wouldn’t have cared what I wore,” Zhu Xiang said. “As long as I practiced ren (benevolence), Confucius would acknowledge me as his student. You see, despite his harsh words, he never expelled any of his seventy-two disciples.”

Zhu Xiang added proudly, “So Xunzi wouldn’t disown me either.”

The Confucian disciples felt deeply conflicted.

This Lord Zhu Xiang was completely different from what they had imagined. He didn’t seem like a great sage, more like… a senior fellow student?

They studied Zhu Xiang’s face closely.

Though his hair was white as snow (even if they’d never seen snow), his face was youthful. Thinking back on what they’d heard of him, it dawned on them—Zhu Xiang might be… their peer.

No—he was younger than most of them. The Confucian disciples of Southern Chu suddenly realized this.

To be traveling scholars, they were at least of coming-of-age age, most nearing thirty. Zhu Xiang, though famous, was clearly quite young.

Upon realizing this, they felt as if they had wasted their lives.

So this is what a true sage is like…

Seeing that these disciples were no longer so uptight, Zhu Xiang again asked if they had questions.

Now discovering that Lord Zhu Xiang was approachable and kind, the Southern Chu disciples began asking questions in order of age.

From Confucian classics to historical anecdotes, current policies of the Seven States, to Zhu Xiang’s own experiences and the matter of destroying false gods—they had countless questions for him.

Zhu Xiang answered them one by one.

By the time Ying Zheng woke up, he rubbed his tiny fists against his eyes and let out a big yawn. Zhu Xiang was still holding a bamboo tube, sipping water and answering questions.

The sun was already slanting westward.

Attendants lit mosquito-repelling incense. Wisps of smoke curled around Zhu Xiang and the Southern Chu Confucian disciples.

Ying Zheng still thought he was dreaming. He rubbed his eyes with his little fists again, but Zhu Xiang stopped him.

“Don’t rub with your hands.” Zhu Xiang took out a handkerchief, dipped it in water, and washed Ying Zheng’s face.

Ying Zheng tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and let Zhu Xiang help him.

Zhu Xiang also helped him straighten his loose linen robe with long sleeves and smoothed his hair.

Although cotton was soft, in summer, fine linen was cooler to wear.

“It’s getting late. Let’s go back for now,” Zhu Xiang said, ending the day’s preaching. “I’ll be staying here for quite a while, one more day won’t make a difference.”

The disciples of the Confucian school respectfully bowed to Zhu Xiang in the manner reserved for a teacher.

By now, they no longer doubted Zhu Xiang’s identity as a great sage. They were proud to have had the chance to listen to his teachings.

Later, in the Confucian temples of Southern Chu, the portrait of the venerated sage no longer showed just one of Confucius’ seventy-two disciples, Dan Tai Mie Ming—it also included Lord Zhu Xiang.

As for Xunzi… 🙄

Back in his temporary residence, Zhu Xiang arranged for the disciples from Southern Chu to live near the disciples from the Xianyang Academy.

Because he was lazy, Ying Zheng had been carried home on Zhu Xiang’s back. He laughed and said, “Uncle, do you think they’ll fight tonight?”

Zhu Xiang said, “Not necessarily?”

Ying Zheng insisted, “They’ll definitely argue!”

Zhu Xiang laughed, “That’s for sure.”

Even disciples from different schools within the same Confucian tradition would argue, let alone those from different schools altogether.

He only hoped they wouldn’t draw their swords and start a real fight—otherwise, he’d have to step in and punish them with labor.

“Disciples from Southern Chu’s Confucian school are a bit more unrestrained than those from the North,” Zhu Xiang remarked. “Maybe it’s because they live among the southern tribes.” 

Sliding down from his uncle’s back and yawning, Ying Zheng said, “Uncle, what’s ‘unrestrained’? Why don’t you just say they’re more fierce? These Confucian scholars living with barbarians probably fight a lot.”

Zhu Xiang pinched his nose. “That’s not fighting—that’s called persuasion.”

Ying Zheng rolled his eyes impolitely. Using swords and fists to ‘persuade’—what kind of persuasion was that?

In his dream, the Confucian scholars he met were all so prim and proper. Why were Xunzi’s people so much more entertaining?

He yawned again. “Uncle, I’m hungry again.”

“You’re really growing fast, huh?” Zhu Xiang touched his belly—already flat again. He shook his head and went off to cook for the chubby nephew who might just eat his poor uncle into poverty.

As expected, the arrival of the Southern Chu disciples sparked a chaotic debate with the Xianyang Academy students.

Meng Wu, who never missed excitement, reported from the scene: the debates had escalated into sword dancing and archery, making it all quite intense.

Meng Wu said, “If these kids joined the army, every one of them could be a brave general.”

Zhu Xiang rubbed his forehead.

Still, conflict breeds familiarity. After several rounds of debate, the Southern Chu disciples declared themselves students of Zhu Xiang and thus part of the Xianyang Academy. They merged with the rest.

When they learned Zhu Xiang was staying to help the farmers reclaim wastelands, the Southern Chu disciples immediately shed their grand Chu robes and high headdresses, wrapped their hair in headscarves, changed into narrow-sleeved short coats, and went to the fields with the others.

Zhu Xiang was quite surprised.

The Southern Chu disciples smiled and said, “Encouraging farming and weaving is also a part of enlightenment. When Dan Tai, our predecessor, traveled Southern Chu with 300 disciples, he not only taught but also encouraged diligent farming and weaving.”

Hearing this, Zhu Xiang felt that Confucianism had already begun to integrate other schools of thought.

Confucianism considered the small-scale peasant economy of men farming and women weaving as part of good social customs. They also accepted Guan Zhong’s idea that people must first be fed before they can learn etiquette. Thus, they highly valued agriculture and sericulture.

Due to its geography, most of Chu’s commoners didn’t practice intensive farming.

When Dan Tai Mie Ming first entered Southern Chu, it was a wild land. Some tribal micro-states still lived by fishing and hunting.

So when Confucian disciples followed Dan Tai Mie Ming to travel the region, they did more than preach—they guided people to reclaim land, farm, weave, and settle into villages.

Only then could they spread their teachings. Ideology has always been inseparable from economics.

Although Northern Confucian disciples lived in war-torn lands, they still existed in what could be called “civilized society.” Unlike Southern Chu, they didn’t need to reclaim land. Hence, Southern Chu disciples were bolder and more vigorous in action.

With the help of these Southern Chu disciples who were deeply familiar with local customs, Zhu Xiang’s efficiency greatly improved. He finally had time to write novels.

He didn’t want to invent a new mythology. Myths needed to be rooted in generations of culture. Rather than relying on his modern mind full of fantasy novels, the people of this era were more qualified to classify and rate the gods they worshipped.

Zhu Xiang guessed that Xunzi might help him.

Confucians deeply valued rituals. If Xunzi saw Zhu Xiang messing around, he’d likely step in to clean up the mess.

Thinking of this, Zhu Xiang couldn’t help but shrink his neck.

He already foresaw the scolding he’d get once he returned to Xianyang. Xunzi’s ruler—it really hurt.

After handing the matter of deifying gods over to the King of Qin, Zhu Xiang no longer planned to manage it himself. He would stick to what he was good at—writing fantasy novels. With all his experience reading fantasy, it was easy for him to write a story of a mortal slaying an evil god.

Whenever he wrote by lamplight, Ying Zheng would sit in a tall chair, resting his chin on his hands, legs swinging as he waited for Zhu Xiang to finish a section and read it to him.

His uncle always had fun stories—and these fun stories always subtly revealed principles about governance and ruling.

Though his uncle likely didn’t even realize it himself. He probably just wanted to write about a mortal defying fate.

After Zhu Xiang had written a small volume, local novelists from Chu came knocking. But before they could contribute much, the students from Xianyang and Southern Chu had already adapted many stories from old classics.

Stories of mortals slaying gods were everywhere in ancient texts. Take the Battle of Zhuolu, for example—wasn’t that a war of gods? Even in the spiritual and superstitious mythology of Chu, there were tales of excessive deities being slain by valiant warriors.

The people of Chu: You think we don’t slay gods?

All Seven States were the same—no one should laugh at another. Who hasn’t slain a god or two?

Since Li Mu was still sweeping through the areas south of Eyi that hadn’t surrendered to Qin, and since the King of Chu and his nobles had already abandoned those lands, they were now free and idle.

The King of Chu had developed a new hobby—collecting novels. He especially loved the ones signed by Lord Zhu Xiang.

Lord Chunshen now had a new daily duty: discussing novels with the king. The two of them gathered to analyze and gossip about stories like schoolboys staying up late reading fiction.

After finishing one story, the King of Chu said to Lord Chunshen, “I should also confer titles upon gods!”

Lord Chunshen bowed. “Your Majesty is absolutely right!”

The King of Chu summoned the nobles to a feast and proposed deifying gods.

This time, everyone attended and agreed. They had all read Zhu Xiang’s novels. If their ancestors could slay gods, what harm was there in conferring titles upon them now?

Besides, it was just classifying rituals, not usurping anything. When they heard the King of Qin planned to title all the gods in the world, they felt it wasn’t too arrogant to at least title their own local gods.

Not just Chu—the rulers of the other five states thought the same. The battered King of Zhao even sat up from his sickbed and asked the ailing Lord Pingyuan about god-deification.

Most Central Plains deities were located in the territories of the Three Jins. As such, Zhao should care the most about such rituals. They couldn’t let Qin take the lead.

Rituals and warfare were the two most important matters of state. Even though Lord Pingyuan was ill, he climbed out of bed to handle it.

But as he worked, he realized he had no capable colleagues left to assist. In the past, he’d only needed to recommend talents to the king—others would carry out the work. Now, looking around, he saw only himself and a few clear-headed royals.

When had Zhao become so barren of talent? He wiped his tears and continued reviewing documents through clenched teeth.

Zhao made its move, and the other Central States followed. They summoned ministers and began planning official worship strategies. Though not all used the term “deification,” the actions were basically the same.

Zhu Xiang’s memorial to the King of Qin had somehow spread from the Xianyang Academy across the Six States, widely copied and discussed.

His campaign against gods in Yunmengze also became widely known. The other kings imitated him, smashing temples and scaling mountains to show their divine mandate.

Future dynasties continued this tradition, even going so far as to suppress Buddhism, Daoism, and foreign religions.

Some said Zhu Xiang was fighting superstition. Others said he violated religious freedom.  Everyone had their reasons. No one could convince the other.

Debates over whether Zhu Xiang’s actions were right or wrong became their own field of study.  The Chinese had debated this for two thousand years—and still hadn’t come to a conclusion.

Now with more helpers, and with Li Mu and Meng Wu constantly sending prisoners of war to clear land and eliminate snail infestations, Zhu Xiang worked hard for half a year before finally handing over the rest and taking Ying Zheng to Eyi for rest.

Li Bing had returned to Shu. Zhang Ruo had taken off his armor and resumed his post as governor. Meng Wu continued guarding Yunmengze.

In Eyi, Li Mu had prepared a large mansion and even built a small river using filtered water for Ying Zheng—saying he wanted to teach him naval combat.

During leisure time, Zhu Xiang roamed the streets as a storyteller, while Li Mu held Ying Zheng in the crowd and played the role of the enthusiastic audience.

And so, another autumn harvest arrived.