HCT – Chapter 99 Braised Perch from the Yangtze River

At this time, transportation was inconvenient, and communication relied entirely on human messengers. As long as the siege was tight enough, a city might be surrounded for several months without allied forces even knowing it had happened.

“However, although it’s difficult for a besieged city to send out messages, Chu can still send word from the northern bank of the river,” the old King of Qin said, stroking his beard. “The King of Chu should already know the direction of Li Mu’s attack and will likely dispatch reinforcements to the next city in time.”

Bai Qi said, “This is the second reason Li Mu was able to win. After Chu’s last devastating defeat, they’ve been deeply afraid of Qin and dare not act rashly. If they do send reinforcements, they’ll do so only after making full preparations.”

Bai Qi continued explaining. Li Mu had sent word to the Qin king ahead of time, and by the time the King of Qin had finished preparations, Li Mu had almost completed his campaign. Let alone Chu, which was far less efficient than Qin—perhaps by the time the King of Chu finished notifying all the great nobles, and they traveled to the capital to discuss it with him, Li Mu would have already achieved his strategic objectives.

Li Mo relies on catching the enemy completely off guard.

Lian Po, having held back for a while and initially unwilling to enlighten the old King of Qin, finally couldn’t resist and added, “Besides, Chu’s nobles are even less reliable than Zhao’s. At least in Zhao, the King can directly command the national army. But the King of Chu has to beg each great noble to send troops. I’ve never seen such a slow and convoluted way to mobilize troops. They’re afraid of Qin, and since the war isn’t being fought in Chu’s heartland, their response is even more sluggish.”

Bai Qi nodded. “What Lord Lian says is the third reason. Since the capital of Chu moved inland to the Central Plains, the southern territories have essentially been abandoned. It’s hard for either the great nobles or the King of Chu himself to truly commit to opposing Qin for the sake of southern Chu.”

Bai Qi chuckled lightly. “Li Mu read the Chu court perfectly. With this kind of strategic mind, he might surpass even me and Lord Lian one day.”

Lian Po gruffly cursed with pride, “He’s still got a long way to go. Let’s talk about surpassing us once he wipes out Chu.” After all, he nearly destroyed Yan himself. Still, he had to admit—Li Mu was impressive.

The old King of Qin finally understood why Li Mu had advanced so rapidly. He summarized, “So in short, Chu is just too weak. Can I send troops now to directly wipe out Chu?”

So eager, so eager!

Bai Qi shook his head. “Li Mu attacked only the southern lands Chu had already given up on, which is why the fighting was so easy. But if we attack Chu fully, not only would Chu quickly unify internally to resist us, but the other five states wouldn’t just stand by and do nothing.”

Then Bai Qi smiled and said, “After all, with Zhu Xiang now on our side, Qin can truly turn every inch of conquered land into real power for itself.”

Lian Po agreed. “When I attacked Yan, the other states didn’t send reinforcements—not only because Yan started the war but also because they believed Zhao couldn’t fully absorb Yan, so Zhao’s power wouldn’t increase too much. But now that Qin has Zhu Xiang, the six states know any land Qin conquers will significantly boost its strength.”

He sighed. “Shu Commandery alone tripled its grain output.”

The old King of Qin had a very complicated expression.

Ah, Zhu Xiang, Zhu Xiang—truly a sweet burden. With Zhu Xiang, Qin could no longer feign weakness to trick other states.

Bai Qi said, “Understanding Chu’s internal dynamics, choosing the most vulnerable cities to strike, and using the most effective tactics—Li Mu’s success makes sense. But even so, his actions were somewhat rash. He could’ve waited for more reinforcements from Your Majesty. But Li Mu is not a rash man by nature, so what made him act on his own?”

Lian Po stroked his beard and stared at the map in contemplation.

The two old generals pondered in silence for a long while. Bai Qi was the first to speak: “Could it be… for this?”

He pointed to the estuary where the Yangtze River flowed into the sea.

Lian Po followed immediately. “Is Li Mu planning to use a naval fleet to transport grain and troops from the east?!”

The two exchanged glances, the same glimmer of understanding and amusement in their eyes.

The old King of Qin was still confused. “What? What east?”

The crown prince Zhu, followed their line of thought and hesitantly said, “Could it be… the sea? Transporting supplies and troops eastward via the sea into the Central Plains?”

Bai Qi nodded. “Exactly.”

Only then did the old King of Qin shift his gaze toward the sea—and suddenly, everything clicked into place.

Wu and Yue had once fought naval battles, but for a landlocked state like Qin—and indeed, for all other states—the sea had been completely overlooked.

To people of this era, the ocean was full of unknown dangers and great fear.

But if Li Mu’s powerful naval fleet could dominate the Yangtze River, could it also withstand the sea’s tempests?

If so, then Qin wouldn’t have to transport its troops and supplies across thousands of miles from the west.

Water transport was already the most efficient way to move troops and supplies—why wouldn’t sea transport work the same way?

The inland-dwelling King of Qin stared dumbfounded at the ocean.

The sea… he had completely overlooked it.

“Chu has absorbed many nobles from Wu and Yue. They’ll realize this soon enough. Today’s King of Chu and his chancellor, Lord Chunshen, are not entirely foolish. Once they learn of this, they’ll surely station heavy troops at the river’s estuary,” Bai Qi said. “So Li Mu’s ‘rashness’ was actually aimed at this. Congratulations, Your Majesty.”

Lian Po looked at Zhao on the map, his expression complex—somewhat enlightened, somewhat regretful, and a little melancholy.

But soon, he too said, “Congratulations, Your Majesty.”

He still missed Zhao, but clearly, Li Mu had now become a full-fledged Qin general.

Perhaps it was time for him to let go of some lingering attachments. While he could still ride into battle, he shouldn’t keep wasting away in Xianyang.

Having been idle for so long, Lian Po suddenly realized that his old heart was filling with vigor again—he didn’t want to stay idle anymore.

The old King of Qin stared unblinkingly at the sea on the map. “Yes… so that’s it. It’s the sea! The sea! I had overlooked the sea!”

The crown prince’s eyes sparkled, as though he’d discovered a hidden treasure.

Thanks to Li Mu’s campaign, the inland-dwelling people of Qin had suddenly discovered an entirely new strategic path.

There was still the ocean!

Even Li Mu hadn’t expected things to go this smoothly.

Bai Qi and Lian Po had both analyzed the situation correctly, but Li Mu had thought that even if Chu couldn’t send many troops, they’d at least be able to alert the downstream cities he was about to attack.

But the farther he advanced, the easier it got. The last few cities didn’t even put up a fight—they opened their gates and welcomed the Qin army.

At the time, Li Mu was suspicious, fearing a trap.

But after investigation, he learned the truth: the King of Chu had indeed sent out messengers, and the cities had received the warnings. After some discussion… they surrendered.

The reason was simple: the Yangtze River estuary region had originally belonged to Wu and Yue.

After Chu conquered Wu and Yue, they found it hard to manage such vast territory. The southern lands along the Yangtze were also poor for farming—the soil in places like Yangzhou was rated as “bottom tier.” So Chu had continued to let the former Wu and Yue nobles manage the region.

Qin Shi Huang did much the same later on.

Although the Wu and Yue lands had been incorporated into the central government by Lord Chunshen, the more distant southern Yue regions were still ruled by nobles from the former Yue royal family. When Qin’s army invaded, these nobles surrendered and became the local governors.

It was technically a commandery-county system, but functionally no different from feudal lords.

After Qin Shi Huang died and uprisings broke out across the land, these nobles immediately opened their city gates and welcomed the anti-Qin coalition of the six states, continuing to rule their regions.

At this moment, the Yangtze River’s middle and lower plains—what is now Jiangsu, Zhejiang, etc.—were like the future southwestern regions of Fujian, Guangdong, Guangxi, and Yunnan. In essence, they were governed by tusi (native chieftains).

Before moving its capital, Chu had far more influence along the southern bank of the Yangtze, and the former territories of Wu and Yue—including modern-day Jiangxi and Hunan—were all part of Chu.

After Chu moved south and Qin took over Qianzhong Commandery, the southern territories of Chu shrank to a narrow strip clinging to the southern bank of the Yangtze River. The lands of Wu and Yue to the south had all essentially become independent.

In regions that had not declared independence, Chu’s influence had waned significantly. So when the Qin army arrived, after only a moment’s hesitation, the locals surrendered.

The Wu and Yue aristocrats saw Chu as a dying state—better to pledge allegiance to a rising power with a new monarch.

“They told us to wait for reinforcements. I don’t think the Chu people ever intended to send help.”

“Or maybe they just wanted us to fight the Qin until we were both exhausted, then come in later.”

“General Li Mu is this powerful—probably about on par with Lord Wu’an, Bai Qi. What do we have to fight him with?”

“I heard Lord Zhu Xiang is here too. Wherever General Li Mu goes to battle, Lord Zhu Xiang is nearby, farming. The common people all support him and are even stopping the Chu army from returning on their own accord.”

“What?! Lord Zhu Xiang is here too?!”

The Wu and Yue nobles looked troubled.

Li Mu’s presence was one thing, but if Zhu Xiang was also here, wouldn’t their local prestige collapse quickly? Wouldn’t life under Qin become harder than it was under Chu?

Rumor had it that Qin didn’t grant local rulers much autonomy. If the local populace didn’t support them, how could they ask the Qin court for the right to self-govern?

“But the Qin capital is all the way in Xianyang—so far away. Wouldn’t they be even worse than Chu at managing us?”

“That’s true. It’s such a long distance.”

“Besides, I’ve heard that as long as you don’t disturb Lord Zhu Xiang’s farming, he won’t interfere in local governance. Why would we obstruct Lord Zhu Xiang?”

“Exactly, exactly! We would be thrilled if Lord Zhu Xiang came to guide us in farming.”

“So… should we surrender?”

“What else can we do? Fight the Qin? Do you know how to fight those monster-like ships of theirs?”

“They say Lord Zhu Xiang even destroyed Chu’s local deities and invited protective spirits to bless his navy. How could we possibly fight the Qin?!”

And so, after a long journey, Li Mu arrived at the Yangtze River Delta. The Wu and Yue nobles opened the gates to welcome the Qin army.

What was Chu? Who was the King of Chu? The people of Wu and Yue had no connection to them.

They even tearfully recounted their “grievances” against Chu, reminiscing about the glory of Wu and Yue before their fall. They claimed they would follow anyone as long as it wasn’t Chu! Each one of them insisted they had generational grudges against Chu!

Though young, Li Mu didn’t believe a word of it.

Still, no matter what was in their hearts, as long as they cooperated in farming and raising troops, and were willing to accept the Qin king’s edicts and Qin law, Li Mu pretended to believe their stories.

Privately, Li Mu met with them and emphasized:

“Since you claim your surrender is out of long-standing dissatisfaction with Chu and genuine loyalty to the Qin king, you must consistently tell others the same.”

Raising a wine cup and glancing around, Li Mu said:

“You surrendered because of the Qin king’s power and Qin’s strength, and out of discontent with Chu—not because of any rumors about Lord Zhu Xiang within the city.”

Everyone immediately understood his implication.

General Li must’ve heard the rumor spreading in the city: that they had surrendered out of fear of Zhu Xiang’s ability to sway the people and defeat even the gods.

Clearly, General Li did not want such rumors to grow—lest Lord Zhu Xiang’s fame rise too high and arouse the Qin king’s suspicion. After all, Zhu Xiang was not only a great sage of Qin but also a royal in-law, potentially influencing the Qin succession.

The nobles promptly promised to quash any rumors related to Zhu Xiang and began lavishly praising the Qin king and Qin’s might.

Yes, it was truly because the Qin king was so heroic, and Qin so powerful, that they had long yearned to serve!

Seeing how tactful they were, Li Mu reciprocated generously.

He largely kept the original local officials in places that had surrendered on their own, only replacing them with military officers in more critical areas. He didn’t seize their tax revenues, only accepted reasonable tributes.

Li Mu even held grand banquets, inviting local noble families to bond and exchange gifts. He promised to send their promising young men to study at the Academy in Xianyang.

“Today, all the world’s finest talents are gathering at the Xianyang Academy. You live in a corner of the realm—your lives may be stable, but you cannot rise further unless you seize this chance,” Li Mu said kindly. “If you want your family’s youth to advance, I can write recommendation letters to help them gain admission.”

The local gentry were visibly tempted.

Though they worried about sending their sons all the way to Xianyang—fearing the Qin king might treat them as hostages—if Qin truly did unify the world, then remaining as a local power would never bring true prestige.

Besides, even if they hired tutors for their children, they would be no match for the talented instructors of the Xianyang Academy. Who with any ambition wouldn’t want better teachers? It was only the chaos of the times that kept them from venturing far. But if Qin soldiers provided escorts and they traveled via waterways, they no longer feared accidents on the road.

Li Mu added another lure:

“In a few days, once the Chu people settle down, Lord Zhu Xiang should arrive here too. He is very fond of Wu City. You may choose promising young men from your families to study under him first. If Lord Zhu Xiang takes a liking to them, he may bring them to Xianyang personally—and their futures will be even brighter.”

The nobles’ eyes lit up like torches.

If they could enter Lord Zhu Xiang’s tutelage, what was there to fear about being a hostage?

Even the dangers of picking sides early in the Qin succession no longer seemed to matter—they had no way to participate in the game anyway. They didn’t even have a seat at the gambling table!

“But Lord Zhu Xiang is very strict—it will be difficult,” Li Mu said, swirling his wine before setting down the bronze cup with a dull thud. “You know he is kind and fair. In his eyes, noble and commoner lives are equally valuable. If you want your sons to follow him, they must be compassionate, able to endure hardship, and willing to walk the fields at his side.”

He shook his head. “Very difficult.”

Having stirred up Lord Zhu Xiang’s reputation, Li Mu left the local nobles to struggle with the dilemma while he continued building up his navy.

Zhu Xiang, as Li Mu had predicted, was making his way slowly down the lower Yangtze with hoe in hand, leading his disciples and accompanied by Zheng’er.

As he traveled, he guided autumn planting.

Winter wheat could be grown in the south just as in the central plains. Rice would wait until spring.

Regardless of whether they planted wheat or rice, the winter couldn’t be idle. They needed to prepare the fields and repair irrigation systems. Zhu Xiang also introduced waterwheels, stone mills, and rice-pounding tools along his route, teaching people how to make their wheat and rice taste better.

He had village elders manage the stone mills and worked out arrangements for villagers to borrow them, paying either a little grain or labor to cover maintenance costs.

“Don’t be greedy. Only when the whole village prospers will your lives improve,” Zhu Xiang reminded each village. “The Qin king is now selecting officials in Xianyang, and anyone with talent across the realm can take the exam. There will be academies in each region, and commoners and scholars alike can earn government posts. Only if most of your village is well-fed will more people be able to study. If someone from the village becomes an official—won’t that be far better than hoarding a bit of grain from the mill?”

The elders were shocked. “We can become officials too?”

Zhu Xiang replied, “Think about it. Qin is about to unify the Central Plains and take over many regions—someone will need to govern them. If they let former officials of the six states rule, are those lands truly Qin’s or the six states’? The Qin king is wise—of course he’ll choose new talent.”

The elders believed him.

After all, when Li Mu took new territory, he appointed local scholars without official titles instead of keeping the original officials.

This didn’t change the fundamental power structure, as those officials still came from the same elite families. But Li Mu’s message was clear: This was now Qin’s land, and the old Chu system no longer held sway.

And though these nobles were from the same local clans, not all were united—siblings and cousins could still be rivals. Naturally, many hoped their enemies would fall while they themselves gained office.

Zhu Xiang’s words sparked greater ambition.

He implied that current officials were only temporary, and according to Qin law, future officials would need to pass evaluations. Anyone—including commoners—could take the exams.

Of course, realistically, most commoners couldn’t take them yet, because they couldn’t read. Only scholars could.

But the wealthier commoners began to dream: If not this generation, what about the next? Their sons or grandsons? If they started educating them now, who’s to say it couldn’t happen in the future?

“Thank you, Lord Zhu Xiang, for your guidance.” The village elder kowtowed repeatedly. Zhu Xiang helped them up and continued walking with his disciples. Behind him, the disciples whispered among themselves.

“See? Our Confucian school is truly formidable.”

“Nonsense, Lord Zhu Xiang belongs to the Xianyang Academy—he doesn’t represent any particular school.”

“No! He’s a great sage of our Confucian tradition!”

“Lord Zhu Xiang promotes legal codes—why wouldn’t he be from the Legalist school?”

“Wrong! Lord Zhu Xiang is one of us Mohists—he’s our Juzi!”

“Rubbish! Lord Zhu Xiang is good at farming, so he must be from the Agriculturalist school.” 

“Why don’t you say he writes fiction, so he’s from the Novelists then?”

“Uh…”

Ying Zheng had been deep in thought, pondering Zhu Xiang’s concept of the “examination official” system, but was abruptly distracted by the noisy chatter behind him. He turned and glared furiously.

The disciples immediately fell silent.

Although Young Lord Zheng was still a child, he already carried a certain authority. Well… truthfully, his glare was kind of adorable, but no one dared say that aloud. They all stiffened their faces, pretending to be frightened.

Ying Zheng turned back, satisfied. “Uncle, which school do you belong to?”

Zhu Xiang didn’t quite get the question. “Huh? I belong to Zheng’er’s family.”

Ying Zheng: “…Oh.” Forget it. No point asking. Uncle is from my family.

There wasn’t much for Zhu Xiang to personally oversee in winter. He only needed to hand over the tools needed for spring plowing to local officials, so they could open up wastelands and build irrigation works.

When Ying Zheng’s seventh birthday arrived, Zhu Xiang traveled to Wucheng. On the way, he detoured east to catch a glimpse of the ocean.

Though Zheng’er was now seven, with some effort, Zhu Xiang could still carry his little nephew on his shoulders—just not too far.

Perched atop his uncle’s shoulders, Ying Zheng gazed at the surging sea, a bold, heroic feeling welling up in his chest.

In his dreams, he only saw the ocean after becoming Qin Shi Huang. But now—he was seeing it already!

“Zheng’er, shout out loud to the sea—it feels amazing,” Zhu Xiang encouraged.

“Really?” Ying Zheng asked.

“They say if you yell out your dream, the odds of it coming true are much higher,” Zhu Xiang said.

Ying Zheng didn’t really believe it, but still wanted to try. He wanted to shout that he would become Qin Shi Huang, and that his father should abdicate early. I don’t want to be Qin Er Shi, wail wail wail!

He imagined that scene in his mind, then shook his head violently to banish the image. So stupid. Never mind.

But then Zhu Xiang started acting silly. He suddenly shouted “AHHHH!” at the sea, startling Li Mu behind him.

Li Mu asked, “What’s gotten into you?”

Zhu Xiang replied righteously, “Don’t you ever feel the urge to yell when you face the sea or stand on a mountaintop?”

Li Mu thought about it. “I guess… yes.”

Zhu Xiang said, “Come on, you yell too—let’s see who’s louder. Meng Wu, you too!”

Meng Wu pointed at his own nose. “Me? Compete in what?”

“We’re seeing who can shout the loudest,” Zhu Xiang explained. “I heard that military generals have powerful voices—some can scare people to death with just one shout.”

Meng Wu: “I don’t buy it.”

Li Mu: “Neither do I.”

Zhu Xiang snorted. If you two live long enough to meet Xiang Yu or Zhang Fei, then you’ll believe it.

Zhang Fei was debatable, but even if this Qin dynasty doesn’t end with a Second Emperor, Xiang Yu would still become a renowned general.

The Xiang family weren’t fools—once they realized rebellion wouldn’t work, they’d change tactics and aim to enter Qin’s upper echelons through military merit.

As long as Qin remained powerful, the Xiang family’s anti-Qin sentiment would dissolve. Xiang Yu would naturally enter the Qin army, and with his talent, he’d shine.

As for Liu Bang—though later generations often underestimated him, he was actually extremely capable and charismatic. Whether during chaos or peace, if given the same opportunities as Xiang Yu, Liu Bang might even achieve more.

The political world values emotional intelligence, and Xiang Yu had dumped all his skill points into raw strength. Even if he became a general in Qin, Zhu Xiang worried his arrogance might get the better of him.

Zhu Xiang zoned out a little. By the time he snapped back, Meng Wu had already agreed to the shouting contest.

He said to Li Mu, “I may not beat you in battle, but I’ll definitely out-shout you.”

Li Mu muttered, “I don’t even want to compete.”

Ying Zheng egged them on: “Teacher, you must win!”

Zhu Xiang fanned the flames too: “Li Mu, Zheng’er’s watching. Surely you won’t back down without a fight, right? Surely not, surely not?”

Hearing Zhu Xiang’s series of “surely nots,” Li Mu realized Zhu Xiang was up to his old tricks again.

Back in Handan, Zhu Xiang often teamed up with Lin Zhi to use their sarcastic “surely not, surely not” routine to piss people off.

Li Mu asked, “So how do we judge? What’s the prize?”

Zhu Xiang pondered. There were no decibel meters—this might be hard to judge.

Ying Zheng said, “Pick a few people to be judges.”

Zhu Xiang nodded. “That’s our only option. Why not rope in more contestants while we’re at it?” 

Ying Zheng added, “Get the strongmen! They’ve got loud voices!”

Zhu Xiang agreed, “Big lungs come with big muscles.”

Ying Zheng asked curiously, “What are lungs?”

“It’s how much air you can breathe in and out—we’ll cover that later. Zheng’er, want to try too? I’m in.”

Ying Zheng hesitated briefly, but seeing all the grown-ups taking part, he felt less embarrassed and nodded. “Okay, I’m in too.”

Zhu Xiang started chuckling inwardly again.

If he trained Zheng’er to shout “Ahhh” every time he saw a mountain or sea, then in future historical records—whenever Zheng’er climbed Mount Tai or stood by the East Sea—would they write that he cupped his hands to his mouth like a trumpet and went “AHHH”?

What a scene that would be! He had to draw it later.

Under Zhu Xiang’s guidance, Qin Shi Huang’s vibe was getting more and more… peculiar. Not only did Zhu Xiang want future generations to see it—he wanted people from his own past life to see it too.

Oh, if Qin Shi Huang himself could see this scene, that would be even better. Zhu Xiang imagined him charging over with his longsword in hand.

Zhu Xiang put Ying Zheng down, picked judges, and began to yell “AHHH!”

The Wu-Yue nobles who had accompanied them to watch the tides were horrified to be made into judges. They stared blankly as the gallant and composed Li Mu, the mighty and stern Meng Wu, and the matchless statesman Zhu Xiang ran down to the seaside… to compete over who could shout the loudest.

Was this a hallucination? This wasn’t the Li Mu, Meng Wu, or Zhu Xiang they had in their hearts!  How could you all behave like this?! Aren’t you ashamed?! Are you all as childish as that chubby little prince?!

No matter how dazed and emotionally shattered the Wu-Yue nobles were by their idols’ image collapse, the contest had already begun. They even brought in strongmen from the guards to join.

The guards had long gotten used to how weird things got when these men gathered. They cooperated without complaint. Besides, the prize was tempting—not just gold, but also Lord Zhu Xiang’s personal calligraphy.

Zhu Xiang thought his calligraphy was only neat, not beautiful. But when he asked the other contestants—besides his friends—whether they wanted any “bonus gifts,” they all asked for a piece of his calligraphy.

Since the Qin army occupied this area, paper had only just begun to be used here. They didn’t just want Zhu Xiang’s writing—they wanted his calligraphy on paper.

Zhu Xiang knew these so-called treasures wouldn’t last through the ages.

When the Wu-Yue nobles heard that Zhu Xiang was giving away calligraphy, they immediately wiped away their rivers of tears, suddenly full of interest.

“Can we send people to participate too?”

Li Mu looked at their earnest expressions and nodded. “Of course.”

If everyone makes a fool of themselves together, then it’s no longer shameful. The more participants, the merrier.

Li Mu didn’t care about winning at all—he was only playing along because Zhu Xiang and young Ying Zheng forced him into it.

Meng Wu rubbed his fists excitedly, brimming with competitive spirit. “I’m definitely going to win!”

Li Mu replied flatly, “Oh.”

With the lineup ready, Ying Zheng was the first to take the stage.

He took a deep breath, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted with all his might, face turning red: “Ah—AHHH!” I don’t want to be the Second Emperor of Qin!

Zhu Xiang clapped with gusto!

After screaming, Ying Zheng felt something odd in his mouth and spat out a tooth.

Zhu Xiang exclaimed, “Wow, Zheng’er’s scream was so powerful it knocked out a tooth!”

Ying Zheng lifted his stubby little leg and kicked his uncle in the knee.

Shut up, Uncle!

Zhu Xiang burst into laughter. Li Mu held his forehead. Meng Wu covered his mouth, trying not to laugh.

Go on, laugh now. But when Zheng’er gets angry, guess who’ll have to coax him back? You.

With Ying Zheng’s dramatic tooth-loss setting the tone, the yelling contest became fierce.

Even Li Mu showed his true strength. Though he didn’t want to participate in such a ridiculous competition, since he was already in, he did his best.

But in the end, the winner was a completely unknown local strongman.

The Qin soldiers didn’t look happy about it, but they acknowledged his skill. The man’s roar almost burst their eardrums.

The winner looked very embarrassed. He said he used to be a fisherman and had developed his voice from chanting work songs.

Li Mu appreciated him and recruited him into his naval forces.

The Wu-Yue nobles eyed the strongman’s prize calligraphy with greedy eyes, eager to buy it with a hefty sum.

But no one dared to force a deal—this was someone publicly recognized by Li Mu, Meng Wu, and Zhu Xiang.

The strongman hesitated for a long time, then asked nervously, “Can I place it on the altar in my family’s ancestral hall?”

This was Lord Zhu Xiang’s calligraphy—like an immortal’s work!

Zhu Xiang chuckled. “Keep it yourself. You can sell it if you want—just don’t enshrine it. I don’t like being worshipped. Even if you do, I won’t grant you any wishes.”

The strongman quickly replied, “I won’t make wishes, I swear!”

Zhu Xiang waved it off. “Then do as you please.”

Ying Zheng tugged at Zhu Xiang’s robe. “Uncle, I want braised perch for dinner tonight.”

Zhu Xiang said, “Okay, I’ll arrange it.”

Ying Zheng turned to the strongman and said, “See? Uncle lied. Making a wish to him totally works.”

Everyone: “……”

Should they laugh now?

Zhu Xiang laughed so hard he was in tears. He picked up Ying Zheng and rubbed their cheeks together, praising his nephew’s excellent sense of humor—a master at breaking the ice.

In short, my Zheng’er is so witty!

Li Mu’s brow twitched. If Zheng’er tells these kinds of “jokes” on the court after becoming king and scares half the ministers to death—it’ll all be your fault, Zhu Xiang.

Zhu Xiang had now arrived at what would someday be the fertile Yangtze River Delta, though it wasn’t much yet. As the new year approached, the King of Qin once again received a letter from Li Mu and Zhu Xiang.

The King of Qin sighed, “The sea… how wonderful.”

His heart filled with longing.

If he were younger and not burdened by the long journey, he’d have thrown his state affairs to the crown prince and gone to see the sea himself.

He had never seen the sea in his life.

The more he thought about it, the more tempted he became. His health was still good—maybe he could go.

If he didn’t go now, he might never get the chance.

Aside from that Qin prince who was once a hostage in Qi, how many kings of Qin had ever seen the sea?

In the days that followed, the King kept staring thoughtfully at the Crown Prince Zhu.

Crown Prince Zhu got increasingly nervous under his father’s intense gaze.

He racked his brain trying to figure out what he’d done wrong but came up with nothing.

He quietly went to Prime Minister Fan Ju for advice. Fan Ju told him to just ask directly, but he didn’t dare.

Finally, after several sleepless nights, Crown Prince Zhu couldn’t take it anymore and cautiously asked the King of Qin if he had done something wrong.

The King nearly gave his son a heart attack before confessing, “I want to go see the sea.”

Crown Prince Zhu: “……”

What the actual—?! He wanted to scream but could only choke out a garbled string of nonsense.

He took a deep breath and respectfully said, “Father, the journey is long, and the south has many miasmas. You shouldn’t travel so far.”

The King sighed. “I know. I’m just thinking about it.”

But the next day, he was still staring at Crown Prince Zhu with that same expression.

Crown Prince Zhu gritted his teeth. “Father, you still want to see the sea?”

The King nodded.

Crown Prince Zhu said, “Father, what if you get sick? Please don’t go far.”

The King sighed again. “I know. If I go, I might lose a few years off my life.”

Crown Prince Zhu burst into tears. “Then don’t go!”

Please don’t make this harder for me!

The King sighed. “Fine.”

Then, half a month later, the King began packing his bags and ordered Crown Prince Zhu to act as regent.

Crown Prince Zhu: “……”

What could he do? He knelt down and hugged the King’s leg, crying, “Father, don’t go! What if you get sick?!”

The King sighed yet again. “But if I don’t go now, I might never get to see the sea.”

He had made up his mind. He had lived long enough. Even if the journey cost him a few years, he wanted to see the sea.

If he didn’t go now, he’d never leave Xianyang again.

Previous kings had only dreamed of seeing the Central Plains—he had the chance to go even further, to see the great sea that others only read about in books.

How joyful he would be!

And how proud he would be when he met his ancestors in the afterlife!

No one could stop the old King of Qin from seeing the sea—not even himself.

So Crown Prince Zhu cried all the way to the Han River, sending his father off. The King was healthy, but Crown Prince Zhu fell terribly ill.

Even worse, he had to manage state affairs while bedridden, tearfully begging Fan Ju to return from retirement. Fan Ju reluctantly agreed.

Zhu Xiang had received the news early on and sat in stunned silence for a long time.

He scooped up Ying Zheng and rubbed his head hard enough to make him cry out. Ying Zheng bit Zhu Xiang’s arm and lost another tooth.

Zhu Xiang gasped. “Zheng’er, you haven’t used my arm to teethe in a long time—did your tooth grow back?”

He pinched Ying Zheng’s chubby cheeks and pulled on them.

Ying Zheng mumbled, “They’re itchy… so itchy.”

Zhu Xiang laughed and cried. “Use the medicine pouch to teethe—why are you using my arm?”

Ying Zheng thought, Because you’re annoying me.

He changed the subject. “Uncle, what did you read that shocked you so much? Did something happen in Xianyang?”

Zhu Xiang nodded. “Yes, something big happened.”

Seeing that his uncle’s expression was calm, Ying Zheng guessed it wasn’t too serious and casually asked, “Did Great-Grandfather grant you a noble title?”

Zhu Xiang knocked him on the head. “In your dreams.”

Then he looked back at the letter, his expression turning complicated. “Your Great-Grandfather is going to see the sea. Not even the Crown Prince crying while hugging his leg could stop him—he’s probably already on the boat by now.”

Ying Zheng’s jaw dropped. His teeth clenched with a crunch—and out came another one.

The old King of Qin sat at the bow of the boat, wearing a straw raincoat, fishing contentedly.

“What luck! I caught a perch! Xia Tong, braise it for me!”

Zichu stood behind the King, looking a little dazed. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

He thought, When Zhu Xiang sees me here in the Wu-Yue lands… he’s probably going to look even more shocked than I do right now.