HCT – Chapter 98 Sliced Meat Over Crispy Rice

Zhu Xiang didn’t cultivate a large area of rebirth rice in Shu Commandery, but he standardized the rice cultivation process, built many irrigation canals, resolved several pest infestations, and since rice yields more than millet—and Shu didn’t suffer from floods this year—the grain harvest this time was three times greater than previous years.

The people of Shu regarded this as a miracle, but when Zhu Xiang heard the news, he simply pressed his forehead and gave a bitter smile.

Ying Zheng leaned against his uncle’s arm and, acting maturely, patted him gently in silent comfort.

Ying Zheng had already noticed that his uncle had strangely high standards in certain matters.

Just the increase in land tax revenue alone was triple, and the grain yield had increased at least threefold. Everyone thought it was a miracle, but his uncle not only didn’t seem satisfied, he even looked a little disheartened.

It was as if his uncle had seen better days and believed he should have achieved more—so he was unhappy with the current outcome.

This helpless expression often appeared on his uncle’s face.

Clearly, his uncle had already triggered many miracles, yet he still felt as though he had accomplished nothing.

Ying Zheng had once wanted to comfort his uncle, but he realized that Zhu Xiang would always self-regulate, returning to an optimistic state and clenching his fists with a smile, saying things like, “I’ve already done my best,” or “Progress is what matters.”

So, his uncle knew he had done his best and had achieved something. There was no delusion—no need for others to reassure him.

At times like this, he only needed to quietly stay by his uncle’s side and wait for him to bounce back.

Sure enough, just as Ying Zheng expected, Zhu Xiang briefly sank into a feeling of powerlessness.

He had truly given his all.

As an agricultural science professor, even among the many transmigrators, he could be considered one of the more capable.

He had a system that provided him with quality seeds; he had the future Emperor Qin as his nephew, and Zichu as a close friend; he had earned the trust and favor of the King of Qin, which gave him the means to do many things. The prefect of Shu, Li Bing, was also his friend and had entrusted him entirely with agricultural affairs, allowing Zhu Xiang’s policies to be implemented smoothly throughout Shu.

The farmers were diligent, and the weather had been perfect.

He had done his utmost, both personally and through external conditions. Yet even with knowledge from 2,000 years in the future and conditions far superior to what an average transmigrator could recreate, all he had managed was to increase grain output threefold.

Only that.

Threefold was a miracle to the people of this time, but in the grand scheme of history, it might not amount to much. This was the limit of what he could achieve now.

Just as Ying Zheng predicted, Zhu Xiang quickly adjusted his mindset and returned to his optimistic self.

Although tripling grain output was insignificant when stretched across the river of history, for the people of today, it might mean escaping famine.

As a transmigrator with a golden finger, he felt powerless and frustrated that his utmost efforts had resulted in only modest success—but he had genuinely helped many people.

There were people in front of him who would not go hungry—that was enough.

Zhu Xiang reminded himself not to place himself on the pedestal of a transmigrator with a golden finger or a savior. As long as he positioned himself as an ordinary person of this era, then what he had accomplished was already something to be proud of.

Once the high-yield seeds he introduced began producing more offspring, and when combined with current varieties to create seeds suited to the present without degrading too much, grain production could increase further.

Fourfold? Fivefold? As long as it reached the productivity levels of the Ming and Qing dynasties—before the advent of chemical fertilizers and pesticides—people’s lives would be much better.

After that, it would be up to future generations.

Although the next leap in grain output might still take another 2,000 years, if this era could reach the limits of what was possible under feudalism, many would benefit.

Zhu Xiang took a deep breath and smiled, rubbing Ying Zheng’s head. “A good harvest. That’s wonderful. Once your Uncle Li Bing finishes building the water-diverting dam, the Chengdu Plain will yield even more.”

Ying Zheng nodded and said, “No noodles today—I want rice.”

Zhu Xiang rolled up his sleeves. “Alright, Uncle will make a rice feast for you.”

Ying Zheng jumped down from his chair. “I want something sweet!”

Zhu Xiang replied, “Don’t eat too many sweets—you’re about to start losing your baby teeth. Ugh, why haven’t you started yet?”

Ying Zheng immediately pursed his lips and glared at his uncle, annoyed.

I don’t want to lose my teeth!

Zhu Xiang burst out laughing at Ying Zheng’s aggrieved little expression, only to get a kick on the calf from his now-chubby nephew.

Ying Zheng’s expression and movements were fierce—living up to his future tyrant reputation. But his kicks were always light. The older he got, the more he held back his strength.

When he was younger, he could charge like a little bull and hurt Zhu Xiang’s waist, but now he never really hurt him anymore.

Although Li Bing couldn’t come in person, he had sent a lot of freshly harvested rice to treat Zhu Xiang and Ying Zheng—most of it being the new rice Zhu Xiang had cultivated.

Clearly, the new rice variety Zhu Xiang planted not only yielded better but also tasted better.

To promote rice, improving the dehusking tools was essential.

To get edible rice from paddy, people currently used handheld stone pestles. Pounding rice was extremely exhausting and physically damaging. Doing it all day could ruin your arms. Without timely treatment, women sentenced to pound rice could even die from it. Thus, in the Qin and Han periods, pounding rice was among the harshest punishments for women.

Fortunately, later generations improved the tools for rice pounding—like using the lever principle, where stepping on one end powered the other.

Just as the stone mill revolutionized wheat processing, these improved rice pounding tools helped rice become the staple in the South.

Even though later generations used machines, until rural electrification reached every mountain village, these ancient tools were still widely used. Zhu Xiang had seen many such tools. Though he couldn’t build them himself, he could draw diagrams and explain the principles for craftsmen to study.

The tools were simple—the current era just hadn’t imagined them yet. Once Zhu Xiang sketched them and explained how they worked, craftsmen quickly built new pounding tools.

To eat the new rice today, Ying Zheng personally took up the role of the rice-pounding boy.

He sat on a perfectly sized chair, stepped on one end of the lever, huffing and puffing as he stomped it a dozen times—then collapsed from exhaustion, only to be lifted up by Zhu Xiang with a proud shout: “Zheng’er, you’re amazing!”

Zhang Ruo, who had run all the way from Yunmengze to E County just for a meal, couldn’t stop twitching at the corners of his mouth.

Meng Wu took off his upper garment and tied it around his waist. “Zheng’er’s made a great start. Now, let Uncle Meng show you how it’s done!”

Ying Zheng shook his sore legs and cheered him on. “Uncle Meng, go for it!”

Li Mu blew on the tea leaves floating in his cup, took a sip, and let out a deep sigh.

Why did we have to pound the rice now? When am I going to actually eat this meal?

But Zhu Xiang was only playing around a little. Once Meng Wu had pounded a small batch of new rice, Zhu Xiang took that and the rice they had prepared earlier to start cooking.

Ying Zheng was moved over to Li Mu’s lap because Meng Wu was drenched in sweat.

Zhang Ruo looked at Prince Zheng, who very naturally treated Li Mu’s arms like armrests and his lap like a chair, and hesitated to speak.

Ying Zheng scowled and said, “Zhang Qing, what do you wish to say to Us?”

Although Zhang Ruo had seen Prince Zheng switch faces the moment Zhu Xiang left many times before, he was still not used to it.

Maybe he shouldn’t have let Meng Wu drag him along for free food…

“N-nothing,” Zhang Ruo said, not daring to voice his thoughts. He felt Prince Zheng was a little too pampered.

But since the ones educating him didn’t see any problem, he had no right to speak.

Ying Zheng nodded slightly. “As long as nothing’s wrong, that’s good.”

Li Mu set down his teacup and chuckled. “Zheng’er, don’t scare Lord Zhang.”

Ying Zheng immediately denied it. “I wasn’t. Teacher is talking nonsense.”

Li Mu said, “You were.”

Ying Zheng frowned. “I wasn’t scaring him. I was just joking.”

Zhang Ruo: “?”

Meng Wu gulped down tea and wiped his mouth. “Zheng’er, have you ever realized that no one can tell when you’re joking?”

Ying Zheng thought about it and shook his head. “That can’t be. Uncle always notices.”

Zhang Ruo: “??”

Meng Wu said, “Alright, aside from your uncle, no one can tell when you’re joking.”

Ying Zheng replied, “That’s because you’re all stupid.”

Meng Wu asked, “Zheng’er, are you joking right now?”

Ying Zheng shook his head. “No, I’m telling the truth.”

Zhang Ruo was completely confused. He had no idea what this whole exchange meant.

Joking? When did Young Lord Zheng joke with him?

Li Mu kindly clarified for Zhang Ruo: “Zheng’er deliberately kept a straight face when addressing Lord Zhang and even called him ‘Zhang Qing.’ That was his way of joking with you.”

Zhang Ruo: “…” Who could possibly tell that was a joke?!

Ying Zheng’s eyes curved into a smile. “Uncle Zhang, I was being rude!”

Zhang Ruo: “…Not at all, not at all.”

Li Mu gently pinched the chubby cheek of the young disciple in his arms.

Ying Zheng, at some point, had developed a fondness for “joking.” But apart from Zhu Xiang, no one could ever tell if that suddenly stern and distant expression of his was part of a joke.

Sometimes even Li Mu doubted whether Ying Zheng was actually joking, or just practicing the kind of inscrutable, unpredictable demeanor of a monarch—one that made it impossible for others to read his heart.

But regardless of the truth, since Ying Zheng was destined to become King of Qin one day, this kind of “joke” wouldn’t hurt him.

Ying Zheng teased Zhang Ruo, who had been secretly watching him the whole time, then pestered Li Mu to explain military strategy.

Meng Wu picked up some chess pieces and joined in as Li Mu’s opponent.

Zhang Ruo couldn’t hold back either and jumped in to team up with Meng Wu against Li Mu.

Ying Zheng squirmed around in Li Mu’s lap, wildly giving commands.

Li Mu actually followed Ying Zheng’s chaotic commands, which led to a crushing defeat—so much so that Ying Zheng howled in frustration.

Midway through, Zhu Xiang brought out a plate of sweet rice cakes for them to snack on. Seeing what was happening, he couldn’t stop laughing at Ying Zheng.

“Zheng’er, when you become king one day, please don’t try to direct the frontline generals from Xianyang! Hahahaha! With your ridiculous strategy, you’d go down in history for all the wrong reasons!”

“Uncle, shut up!”

“Hahaha, Zheng’er’s embarrassed and angry!”

“Shut up! Shut up!”

Zhu Xiang cheerfully drifted back into the kitchen, leaving Ying Zheng puffing with anger as he bit into a rice cake.

Then Ying Zheng felt something was wrong. He looked down—the rice cake was covered in blood.

Li Mu’s expression changed drastically. “Zheng’er? What’s wrong? Zhu Xiang! Zhu Xiang! Zheng’er is coughing blood!”

Meng Wu jumped up in alarm and ran over, tripping in the process. “Zheng’er? Could someone have poisoned him?!”

Zhang Ruo knocked over a teacup in panic. “An assassin?! Where’s the assassin?!”

Ying Zheng covered his mouth and looked at the blood on his hands in disbelief. “My… my…”

Li Mu: “Zhu Xiang!!”

Meng Wu: “Zheng’er!!”

Zhang Ruo: “Assassin!!”

The house guards and servants were thrown into chaos, while Zhu Xiang rushed out upon hearing the shouts.

Ying Zheng: “My… my…”

Ying Zheng: “My tooth! Waaaaah!!”

Everyone who had been frantically panicking suddenly froze as if someone had hit a pause button—movements and voices halted mid-action.

A stunned Li Mu finally noticed that in Ying Zheng’s other hand, clutching the bloodied rice cake, was a tiny baby tooth stuck in the pastry.

Meng Wu: “What?”

Zhang Ruo: “An… assassin?”

“Open your mouth and let me see.” Surprisingly, the calmest one was Zhu Xiang, who cared the most for Ying Zheng.

He squatted down and looked up at his tearful little nephew, who was covering his mouth with one hand. “Come on, open your mouth.”

Ying Zheng shook his head hard, still covering his mouth.

Zhu Xiang took the sticky rice cake from Ying Zheng’s hand and carefully retrieved the baby tooth. “I haven’t seen you cry this hard in ages. I have to write to His Majesty about this…”

Ying Zheng: “Nooo! Waaaah! My tooth!”

Ying Zheng finally couldn’t hold it in anymore and opened his mouth to bawl—revealing a big gap where his front tooth had fallen out.

Even the future First Emperor loses teeth like any other child—the first ones to go are always the prominent front teeth.

As they looked at the big hole in Ying Zheng’s mouth and listened to his whistling cries, Meng Wu collapsed onto the ground, hands buried in his hair. “Scared me to death.”

Zhang Ruo slumped into a chair. “So… no assassin.”

Li Mu didn’t speak for a long while, unsure what expression to make.

Ying Zheng had lost his first tooth—and nearly scared everyone to death in the process.

“Alright, go rinse your mouth and change clothes. Your whole mouth’s covered in blood—it’s terrifying,” said Zhu Xiang, tucking away the tooth. “Where do we throw upper teeth again so the new one grows out properly? Never mind, I’ll just send it to Xianyang and let Xia Tong figure it out.”

Ying Zheng tearfully asked, “Why… why send it to Father?”

Zhu Xiang replied, “So your father can witness your growth, of course.”

Ying Zheng pouted. “I don’t want to.”

Zhu Xiang laughed. “Losing your baby tooth means you’re growing up—turning into a dashing, capable young man. This is such a big milestone; how can we not share it with your father and aunt?”

Ying Zheng’s pout deepened. “Then… then fine. Give it to Auntie, not Father.”

Zhu Xiang took out a handkerchief and gently wiped the blood from Ying Zheng’s lips. “Alright.”
(But once it’s sent to Xianyang, your father will definitely see it.)

After Zhu Xiang took Ying Zheng away, Li Mu finally exhaled the breath he’d been holding all this time.

“Zheng’er lost his baby tooth… he’s finally growing up,” Meng Wu said, standing up and brushing off the dust from his pants. “Why didn’t it happen like this when my son lost his first tooth…”

He paused, then said with a strange expression, “Actually, it was worse. He ran around crying that he was going to die. The servants couldn’t catch him, and his mother fainted from fright. We even had to call in the imperial physician.”

Li Mu stared, then covered his forehead and burst out laughing. “Really? Then I’d better educate my child before they lose their first tooth.”

Zhang Ruo, thinking of his own younger relatives, realized he couldn’t recall how any of them lost their baby teeth.

He had been away at war for so long that he’d missed the births and growth of his children.

He had never minded it before, but now a sense of regret quietly rose in his heart.

Should he write to the King of Qin and request retirement—so he could spend more time with his family?

But then, thinking of what Li Mu and Zhu Xiang were doing now, Zhang Ruo quietly set aside that thought… for now.

He could see clearly that Zhu Xiang and Li Mu were bound to accomplish feats far beyond what ordinary people could hope to achieve. He deeply desired to join them in creating such a magnificent undertaking.

Life in Qianzhong Commandery was quite good now—maybe he could even bring his family to live with him?

Zhu Xiang helped Ying Zheng rinse his mouth and change his clothes, then took out a herbal remedy he had long prepared for reducing swelling and relieving itching. He stuffed the herbs into sterilized cotton gauze and made a teething pouch for him.

“When you’re losing your baby teeth, your gums will itch. Don’t bite anything hard. If you feel uncomfortable, bite this pouch,” Zhu Xiang said. “I’ll change it for you every day.”

Ying Zheng nodded weakly.

He looked at his gapped teeth in the bronze mirror and silently closed his mouth tight.

Until his teeth grew back, he didn’t want to speak at all.

Seeing him like this, Zhu Xiang couldn’t help but laugh.

His little nephew had always cared deeply about appearances. Losing his front teeth must’ve been a huge blow to him—he shouldn’t tease him too much.

“Zheng’er, didn’t your uncle tell you? Losing your baby teeth means you’re growing up. It’s like a fierce beast shedding its milk teeth that can’t chew bones and growing a set of powerful and magnificent fangs instead.” Zhu Xiang rubbed his head. “This is a joyful event—you don’t need to hide or be embarrassed. If anyone laughs at you, just ask them with surprise: haven’t they lost their baby teeth yet? Are they still chewing with infant teeth?”

Zhu Xiang put on an exaggerated shocked face. “Oh my! You still have baby teeth? You haven’t lost a single one?!”

Ying Zheng burst out laughing.

He covered his mouth and nodded hard. “Got it.”

Zhu Xiang chuckled. “Later, your voice will also change—that’s your throat developing. Your childlike voice will become as deep and authoritative as your uncle’s…”

Ying Zheng interrupted him, “Uncle, your voice isn’t authoritative at all.”

Zhu Xiang lowered his voice. “Like this?”

Ying Zheng laughed again, covering his mouth and nodding. “Authoritative.”

Zhu Xiang smiled. “Right? Probably when you’re around ten, your voice will start changing. It’ll sound hoarse, your throat will hurt easily—just like how your mouth feels now with the teeth coming out. A brief awkward phase.”

He flapped his hands like butterfly wings. “Like a caterpillar turning into a butterfly, it must first become an ugly cocoon. If anyone makes fun of you during this time, just laugh back—‘What? You’ve never grown? Your voice never changed?’”

Ying Zheng nodded again.

Zhu Xiang extended his hand. “Come on, let’s go back.”

Ying Zheng held his hand, no longer covering his mouth with the other.

Li Mu and the others had already cleaned up. When they saw Ying Zheng return, they didn’t mention his missing teeth at all, nor did they tease him.

Ying Zheng sat back in Li Mu’s lap. After a brief hesitation, he didn’t cover his mouth and said, “Uncle, I’m hungry.”

Zhu Xiang replied, “Alright, I’ll cook right away.”

After Zhu Xiang left, Ying Zheng stared at the unfinished rice cakes on the table. He hesitated, then picked one up.

Li Mu couldn’t help but ask, “Aren’t you worried about pulling out another tooth?”

Ying Zheng replied, “You have to lose your baby teeth to grow up. The sooner they fall out, the sooner the new ones grow in.”

Li Mu chuckled. “Still, don’t rush. Take your time. But since Zhu Xiang didn’t say you couldn’t eat them, I suppose it’s fine?”

“I’ll try one too. Li Mu, if I lose a tooth from this, will it grow back?” Meng Wu asked.

Li Mu replied, “Probably not.”

Meng Wu was dismayed. “So I’d be missing a tooth forever?”

Zhang Ruo stroked his beard. “It won’t grow back, but you can make a false one from shell, gold, or bronze.”

Meng Wu was surprised. “Zhang Gong, you sound very experienced.”

Zhang Ruo smiled. “Well, I am an old man.”

Ying Zheng watched the adults naturally discussing teeth falling out. Holding the rice cake in both hands, he took tiny bites, his lips curling into a soft smile and his chubby cheeks dimpling slightly.

Someone as clever as him could tell: the elders here were deliberately lightening the mood to cheer him up after he’d been embarrassed and cried about his teeth.

He constantly felt the love around him—and that love didn’t come from his status as a prince of Qin.

This little episode about teething didn’t stop Zhu Xiang from presenting a full rice-based feast.

He made fried rice, rice porridge, rice noodles, rice cakes, and even crispy scorched rice topped with meat slices.

After searing the rice crust at the bottom of an iron pot, he transferred it to a plate and poured over it a thick, sweet-and-sour meat sauce. The scorched rice crackled as it soaked in the hot sauce, releasing fragrant steam and mouth-watering aromas.

Zhu Xiang used a spoon to crush the rice crust, letting the meat juices seep in fully.

At this point, biting into it revealed a tender outer layer soaked in sauce and a crispy core, full of smoky flavor.

Ying Zheng forgot all about his awkward teeth, crunching happily through several pieces of scorched rice before moving on to the meat.

“This is… noodles?” Meng Wu lifted some rice noodles. “Or rice?”

Zhu Xiang replied, “It’s rice flour noodles—also called mi xian. The method’s a little different from making wheat noodles. I’ll write it down for you. But you eat them pretty much the same.”

Meng Wu slurped some noodles. “They’re more refreshing and chewy than wheat noodles. Tasty.”

Zhang Ruo looked at the rice-centered meal and marveled, “Who knew there were so many ways to prepare rice?”

Zhu Xiang said, “Rice, like wheat, absorbs the flavors of other ingredients. That’s what makes it so versatile—it can go with anything. Rice grows best in monsoon climates and has good yields. Plus, with its husk, it stores well. Eventually, it’ll replace millet as the main grain in the south.”

Zhang Ruo nodded. “Since you say so, I suppose Qianzhong should seriously consider switching to rice cultivation.”

Zhu Xiang replied, “Rice farming requires more irrigation and better tools. Don’t promote it blindly. I’ve cultivated new strains in Shu Commandery—we’ll phase them in step by step. Also, wheat, millet, and legumes can still be grown together. Let the farmers decide what they want to plant. It’s better to guide them with incentives.”

Zhang Ruo smiled. “I understand. Zhu Xiang’s point is: don’t harm the people. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Meng Wu said, “Qin officials prefer direct orders—it’s faster. But food is too crucial. Rushing it and causing famine would be a disaster. But… what’s a monsoon?”

Zhu Xiang explained, “In summer, there’s heavy rain; in winter, it’s dry. Basically, in summer, the ocean surface is rich in moisture…”

Meng Wu immediately interrupted, “Stop, stop, stop! My head hurts. If you want to lecture, go to the Academy in Xianyang!”

Zhu Xiang shut his mouth in defeat. Ugh, Meng Wu, you blockhead! Learn from your well-read sons!

Li Mu said, “We can use newly reclaimed land primarily for rice. Once the rains lessen in October, we’ll start campaigns downstream of the Yangtze and seize the entire southern bank for Qin. That area is ideal for rice farming.”

Meng Wu asked, “You really plan to split the river with Chu?”

Li Mu smiled. “Why not?”

Zhang Ruo sighed with a smile. “If you do, you’d take about twenty percent of Chu’s land. They won’t take it lying down.”

Li Mu said, “I’m counting on that. More battles, more merit.”

Zhu Xiang added, “It’s more than just twenty percent.”

He pushed aside the empty dishes and laid a chopstick flat on the table. “Li Mu has already assembled the largest navy—our naval division. If we modify their ships slightly and reinforce them with a giant timber beam to withstand sea storms, we can transport troops and fight anywhere along the coast.”

He pointed to the Yangtze River delta. “In the future, when Qin attacks the Central Plains, it won’t be through Hangu Pass, slogging through Shangdang and the Taihang Mountains, but…”

He drew a circle with his finger. “The coastline is all flat plains.”

Li Mu tapped the end of the chopstick. “Exactly. I want to claim everything south of the Yangtze for this very reason. With the river’s mouth in our hands, both grain and troops can embark from there. With naval transport, we head straight north.”

Li Mu tapped the places Zhu Xiang had pointed to. “From the sea, our supply lines are unimpeded. Once troops land, there are no mountains in the way. Attacks will be swift and unhindered.”

Meng Wu’s eyes lit up. “Then when Qin strikes at the six kingdoms in the future, we can attack from both sides?”

Li Mu nodded. “We don’t even need a pincer movement. Just sending troops from the east is enough—they have no natural defenses there.”

Zhu Xiang said, “Let’s stick with the pincer attack. If we only attack from one direction, and they concentrate their forces, the pressure on Qin’s front line will be too great.”

Only now did Zhang Ruo catch up with their rapid thinking. “I had thought General Li simply intended to launch a pincer attack on Chu, but with a powerful naval force, this strategy effectively creates a two-front assault on other Central Plains states as well. Brilliant! Truly brilliant!”

Zhu Xiang added, “The only issue is whether the Chu people will allow us to seize the southern bank of the river.”

“I doubt Chu would want to be caught in a pincer by Qin,” he mused.

Li Mu replied calmly, “What does it matter what they want? War doesn’t require the enemy’s approval before launching an attack.”

Everyone chuckled.

Ying Zheng’s gums were itching again. He stuffed the herbal pouch into his mouth and bit down, replaying the map of the Central Plains in his mind.

Teacher is even more formidable than I imagined. If everything goes so smoothly for him, and Father recovers his health… will I still become Qin Shi Huang?

A sudden sense of existential crisis overwhelmed Ying Zheng.

What terrified him most was that, no matter how clever he was, he couldn’t solve this problem.

And… he didn’t want this biological father he’d grown so close to, to die early either.

That night, Ying Zheng had rare trouble falling asleep.

Zhu Xiang asked with concern, “Zheng’er, does it hurt or itch badly?”

Ying Zheng shook his head listlessly. He couldn’t possibly tell his uncle, Your Zheng’er doesn’t want to become Qin Ershi.

He made up his mind—he absolutely couldn’t tell Father about the title “Qin Shi Huang,” and definitely couldn’t let him come up with the terms “Second Emperor” or “Third Emperor.”

Being Qin Shi Huang himself was fine, but Qin Ershi and Qin Sanshi… now that he thought about it, those titles really didn’t sound good.

If he couldn’t become Qin Shi Huang, then let Father choose some posthumous title like other Qin kings. He could always change it after ascending the throne himself.

Zhu Xiang rubbed his cheek and said, “It really doesn’t itch? Then why are you frowning?”

Ying Zheng flattened his brow with a finger. “I wasn’t frowning.”

Zhu Xiang chuckled. “Alright, alright. No frown. If it doesn’t itch, then go to sleep.”

Ying Zheng buried his face in the pillow. “Mmm…”

He wanted Father to live a long life, but he also didn’t want to be Qin Ershi. So frustrating…

Come October, Li Mu began deploying troops, leading a now even more powerful navy eastward along the Yangtze.

During the rest period granted by Chu, he had constructed more large ships and weapons and trained more soldiers adept at naval combat.

Now, with Zhang Ruo stationed at Eyi and Li Mu as the commanding general, assisted by Meng Wu as his deputy, the grand Qin fleet set sail once again.

Chu fell into utter panic.

The King of Chu immediately gathered his troops south of the capital to guard against a direct attack following Li Mu’s landing.

Li Mu paid no heed to the heavy troops massed north of the Yangtze. Right under the anxious watch of the Chu army there, he swiftly captured several river ports and towns on the southern bank.

Chu was no fool. They soon realized Li Mu’s intent—he was brazenly trying to use Qin’s naval power to control the Yangtze and sever Chu’s territory across the river!

Chu quickly dispatched reinforcements by ship to the southern side, but Li Mu was prepared. He had constructed several new docks and watchtowers along the river and maintained constant surveillance. He could deploy his navy to respond at any moment.

Li Mu didn’t have many defending ships, but they were heavily equipped with long-range weapons and enjoyed defensive advantages, making it hard for Chu’s navy to cross south.

Moreover, Chu’s navy wasn’t significantly stronger than Qin’s. They could only land a few scattered small boats, which did little beyond nuisance attacks against Qin’s garrisons.

But the Qin troops stationed in the cities weren’t going to be defeated by such weak forces.

Li Mu’s current strategy resembled that of Bai Qi back in the day—lightning war and surprise strikes. While Bai Qi used forced marches, Li Mu used the Yangtze’s powerful current and wind sails, which had yet to be widely adopted elsewhere.

Even going upstream, the presence of sails meant that as long as he timed his movements right, his reinforcements were still astonishingly fast.

And so, Li Mu’s navy continued to seize city after city along the southern bank, often arriving at the next target before Chu reinforcements could even respond.

Crossing south was already difficult for Chu, and now with Li Mu’s speed advantage, they were left scrambling, helplessly watching as the Qin flag was raised over one city after another.

To make matters worse, since Chu had moved its capital to Chen (modern Huaiyang, Henan), the lands of its great aristocrats were mainly north of the Yangtze and south of the Huai River.

The southern bank of the Yangtze had once been Wu-Yue territory. Though Chu had developed it for years, many Wu-Yue remnants still remained. It was home to minor nobility—newcomers with small fiefs.

These minor nobles lacked sufficient troops and relied on Chu for support.

But upon seeing the strength of Qin’s navy, the great aristocrats of Chu were reluctant to engage Li Mu.

It was understandable. If they didn’t send troops, their own lands weren’t affected. If they did send troops and even gained land south of the river, they couldn’t manage it well, nor could they use it to boost their power quickly. Worse, they’d have to split their forces to defend it, weakening their own base.

Sending troops would benefit Chu, but not themselves—and might even endanger their safety. With that in mind, how could the great nobles be willing to fight? Not unless the king offered substantial concessions.

But the King of Chu was already at odds with the nobles over succession issues and kept them at arm’s length. He was unlikely to offer such benefits.

Even if he used his own royal troops, the risk was the same.

If his own army was badly damaged by Li Mu, then even if he managed to hold the south, his power would decline—and he might not even be able to hold the capital at Chen.

His son was still too young; he couldn’t take that risk.

To him, the land south of the Yangtze was a chicken rib—tasteless to eat, but too wasteful to throw away.

So Chu kept sending troops, but in weak numbers and with low morale. The soldiers and generals seemed to understand the situation too—they all just went through the motions. Since they were fighting by the river, slacking off—or “paddling”—felt rather appropriate.

As a result, Li Mu faced little resistance and soon reached the mouth of the Yangtze where it flowed into the sea.

Staring out at the boundless ocean, he broke into a joyful smile.

To have achieved such glory in so short a time—surely, the title of Wuan Jun of Qin would belong to no one else but him.

When Zhu Xiang recommended him to the Qin King, he had predicted: If he stays in Zhao, he’ll be Zhao’s Wuan Jun. If he joins Qin, he will succeed Bai Qi as Qin’s Wuan Jun.

He was going to fulfill that prophecy.

At Xianyang Palace, the aging Qin King and his Crown Prince sat opposite each other, elbows propped, chins resting on their hands, their expressions eerily alike. Anyone who saw them would remark: Truly father and son.

The Qin King said, “Zhu… why has Chu become so weak?”

Crown Prince Zhu replied, “Maybe it’s not that Chu is weak—perhaps Li Mu is just too strong?”

The Qin King muttered, “Even if Li Mu is strong, Chu is still far too weak…”

Crown Prince Zhu didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

When Xianyang first received Li Mu’s request to mobilize troops, the King had immediately ordered an inventory of the granaries and preparations for support.

But just as they were ready to send supplies, they received another report—Li Mu’s campaign was nearly finished.

It had only been a month since the last battle report.

Just one month!

And that included travel time!

Even going downstream by boat would take time.

The King and Crown Prince racked their brains but still couldn’t figure out how Li Mu had done it.

They couldn’t wait for the next day. Instead, they summoned Bai Qi and rode out to Zhu Xiang’s villa, where Bai Qi was recovering from a slight cold, hoping to seek his advice.

Bai Qi, upon hearing the news, was stunned as well.

He unrolled a map, did some calculations using the data Li Mu had sent regarding the naval fleet and river current speeds, and soon had a rough idea.

“The fleet moved very fast. When one city fell, the next hadn’t even received the news yet. That’s the first key.”

Li Mu had taken the water route. To warn the next city, messengers had to travel by land. But the southern bank of the Yangtze was filled with hills and lakes, making horseback routes long and winding—and Li Mu would’ve intercepted any messengers anyway.

So, by the time he conquered one city, the next rarely had enough warning before he arrived.