HCT – Extra 1 Flames of War in the First Year of the First Emperor

Not long after the Qin dynasty was established, it was met with a grave test.

In the First Year of the First Emperor, a great drought struck the realm. Especially in the Guandong region, from June to August, not a single drop of rain fell.

Rivers dried up, vegetation withered, and even water for drinking inside Xianyang became difficult to obtain.

For regions that harvested grain twice a year, the crops that normally filled out between late April and mid-May had already failed completely.

But in regions where two or even three harvests occurred in a year, this period was precisely when crops needed continuous irrigation. Watching the fields crack day after day, seeing a year’s hard work reduced to ashes, the farmers could do nothing but weep in despair.

Fortunately, the Zheng Canal had been completed just in time, relieving the urgent crisis in Qin territory.

The southern regions once again served as a vital “blood pouch,” supplying food to the north for disaster relief.

Ying Zheng returned to the Three Southern Qin Counties. His first act was to exempt them from taxes for the coming year. Then, following the example of his father Zichu—posthumously honored as Gaozu of Qin—he allowed wealthy households to donate grain in exchange for noble ranks and quotas for their children to enter state academies.

Southern Qin was Ying Zheng’s foundation. He could not drain the pond to catch the fish. If he wanted them to contribute, he had to reward them. Otherwise, relying solely on old affection—when Fusu was not yet old enough to stabilize the region—this territory furthest from Xianyang might grow alienated from Qin.

Ying Zheng began to wonder whether he should establish an eastern or southern capital.

Xianyang was the root of the Qin people, and the capital could not be moved. But ever since the Zhou dynasty, two capitals—east and west—had been the norm. Qin could do the same.

The idea of multiple capitals took root in Ying Zheng’s mind, but now was not the time. Disaster relief and stabilizing the people were his top priorities.

Ying Zheng sighed inwardly.

There were far too many things he wished to accomplish, and restraining the urge to drag Qin forward at full speed was truly difficult.

But his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather had all suppressed their ultimate ambition of unifying the realm. He too had to restrain his own ambitions and walk steadily, step by step.

Southern Qin had originally only needed to supply grain to Qin territory. Now it had to support the Central Plains as well. The irrigation systems in the Central Plains had lain abandoned for too long, leaving an even greater shortage of grain than in Qin. Southern Qin was under tremendous pressure.

Had Ying Zheng not rushed south in time—spending his political credit by promising “no taxes next year”—discontent would already have arisen under the provocation of certain schemers.

But now that their little prince had returned as the First Emperor, the people of Southern Qin once again pledged absolute loyalty.

They felt proud. It was our land, our water, that nurtured the First Emperor. The First Emperor remembers us!

Enduring hardship? What was that? They wouldn’t starve—just add more wild greens to the pot. In exchange for the emperor’s gratitude and more opportunities for education and office, this deal was more than worth it.

With Southern Qin’s hearts secured, Chu’s people were unexpectedly stable as well.

Chu had resisted the hardest during Qin’s conquest. By all logic, with Qin showing weakness now, they should have raised the banner of rebellion immediately.

Yet beyond Ying Zheng’s expectations, the Chu region neither rebelled nor wavered—on the contrary, they actively donated grain and paid taxes.

Originally, Ying Zheng wanted to ask his uncle for guidance. But remembering that his uncle had insisted he travel and learn on his own, he disguised himself and personally visited the common people to find the answer himself.

“Lord Chunshen once risked his life to save us from famine. And before him, the Chu King gave his life for our peace. Now we live well—how could we betray them and bring calamity upon ourselves?”

“Rebel? Should we rebel under the banner of those who murdered Lord Chunshen, or those who refused to bury our king properly?”

“Lord Zhu Xiang treated us Chu people kindly. He protected the remains of Lord Chunshen and the King of Chu. We listen to Lord Zhu Xiang.”

These were the voices he heard.

After returning from the visits, Ying Zheng wanted to write something… yet not a single word flowed. All he could do was sigh.

“Leave the matter of soothing the people to me.”

He recalled his uncle’s words.

“Uncle always says I must walk alone from now on,” Ying Zheng murmured, his expression complicated—pride, joy, and indignation all mixed together.

“But how am I walking alone?”

His uncle was still carrying more than half the burden for him.

Once Southern Qin and Chu—the two largest, farthest territories—were stabilized, the rest posed no threat.

Qi had also suffered drought. But Qi had long neglected agriculture; the wealthy thrived on commerce while the common people starved.

Now the Qin had come, rebuilt irrigation, allocated farmland, and the peninsula’s mild coastal climate and abundant fish made ordinary life far better—though the wealthy suffered.

A handful of wealthy clans attempted to stir trouble, only to be swiftly wiped out by Qin troops; their confiscated estates were used for disaster relief and more farmland was given to the common people.

When Qin unified the realm, Qi had been the most reluctant—always hopping up and down in protest. This time, its wealthy clans were the first to jump out as troublemakers.

And, naturally, they were the first to be destroyed.

Seeing Qi’s burdens lighten after its powerful clans were eliminated, Ying Zheng immediately adjusted his strategy.

He wanted to force the Central Plains to rebel.

From his uncle, Ying Zheng had learned of the saying: “When the First Emperor dies, the land will fracture.”

Less than a year after his death, all states rebelled.

While he lived, those with treacherous hearts did not dare act, merely waiting underground, gathering strength.

So—why not spark the conflict while he was still strong enough to control it, and destroy the Six States a second time?

In the other timeline, he could not do this because the territory was too vast, and capable officials too few. Local governance was half out of control, mostly in the hands of former Six States scholars.

But he possessed the legacy of his great-grandfather, grandfather, and father—the academy system.

In just over a decade, the three-tiered academic structure—state academies, higher academies, and imperial academies—had produced a new generation trained in Qin law and identifying as Qin citizens. Even if more of the old aristocracy were purged, local governance would not collapse from lack of officials.

Yet forcing rebellion required finesse.

He needed to push the old aristocracy of the Six States into revolt, without losing the hearts of the people. So the first step was to divide the “people” into those he wished to win over and those he was willing to abandon.

The commoners were easy. He also needed the hearts of idealistic scholars—like his uncle—who would become the foundation of future local governance.

Ying Zheng convened a small council.

This time, he did not invite his elders.

Present were Zhang Liang, Meng Yi, Han Fei, Li Si… and two confused young men who had somehow been swept into the meeting: Li Mi and Lin Xian.

Li Mi was Li Mu’s son; Lin Xian, Lin Zhi’s son. Following their elders’ teachings, they never became close to Ying Zheng despite their fathers being his mentors. Though they had met him several times, they always remained respectfully distant.

They also intended to follow their families’ instructions: whether they served in the central court or local postings, they must hide their talents and avoid high office.

Both the Lin and Li families had already reached great heights; they knew well the dangers of excess. Their next peak should come in their grandchildren’s generation—not father and son shining simultaneously.

By the time Lin Zhi and Li Mu grew too old to serve, their grandsons would be grown as well.

Cai Ze shared the same idea, though his own son needed no guidance—he had thrown himself entirely into the craftsman’s life, studying neither books nor governance.

Li Mi and Lin Xian exchanged glances.

Li Mi: His Majesty told me to deliver some documents, then locked me in here. You?

Lin Xian: Same.

Cold sweat broke out on their foreheads—they realized they had been tricked.

Lin Xian suddenly took a deep breath and flung himself to the floor, rolling dramatically. “Aah! I’ve suffered heatstroke!”

Li Mi: …?!

Only after Lin Xian rolled twice did Li Mi react. He hurried to kneel and said, “Your Majesty, allow me to escort Attendant Lin to medical care!”

The First Emperor stood, strode over, and kicked Lin Xian—still rolling—several times.

“I grew up under Lord Lin’s care. He could never deceive me—did you really think such theatrics would fool me? Get up, or I shall promote you.”

Lin Xian leapt to his feet instantly.

He brushed off the dust, helpless. “Your Majesty, you know my family forbids me from holding high office.”

Ying Zheng replied, “Then you shall work for me, and I simply won’t reward you. That won’t violate Lord Lin’s wishes.”

He turned to Li Mi. “The same goes for you.”

Lin Xian: “?!”

Li Mi: “…”

Zhang Liang couldn’t hold back. “Your Majesty, do these words not make your face burn?”

Ying Zheng tilted his head. “Why would they?”

Meng Yi chimed in, “To serve His Majesty is only proper; refusal of reward is their fathers’ command. This arrangement satisfies both sides.”

Zhang Liang shot Meng Yi a cold glare. “Lord Zhu Xiang once described the term ‘bootlicker’—I believe he must have been referring to people like you.”

Meng Yi countered calmly, “And he also spoke of ‘arrogant troublemakers’—surely he meant people like you.”

Han Fei glanced at Li Si.

Li Si snapped, “Why are you looking at me?”

Han Fei murmured, “Perhaps… we shouldn’t be here. They are all so young.”

Li Si was not only exasperated—he was panicking.

Cai Ze, Lin Zhi, Li Mu—none had retired yet. Why were their sons stepping up already? He had finally—finally—returned to court, yet now he was squeezed between the old generation and the young? The pressure was immense!

“Enough. To the serious matter.” Ying Zheng returned to his seat. He waved for the others to sit wherever they wished and began outlining the plan to force rebellion in the Central Plains.

Zhang Liang’s eyes darkened; he took a deep breath and suppressed the ache in his heart. Those targeted by the emperor’s scheme… included the old nobles of Han as well.

Han Fei and Li Si showed no hesitation—on the contrary, they were eager.

As for Meng Yi, he firmly believed: Whatever His Majesty says is right.

Lin Xian and Li Mi exchanged another glance, chilled to the bone.

This is the man Lord Zhu Xiang raised?

One could only imagine what Lord Zhu Xiang would think, hearing of these schemes.

…

While Zhu Xiang was busy in the Central Plains, he received an imperial edict from the First Emperor, ordering him to travel south with Li Bing and Zheng Guo to oversee the clearing of the Hangou Canal.

After years of service, even Zhu Xiang—slow as he was—had developed some intuition.

He sensed something was wrong.

But he still set out with Xue Ji, carrying young Fusu as they journeyed south.

Chengjiao came to bid them farewell.

The evening before returning to Xianyang, Chengjiao quietly told Zhu Xiang and Xue Ji: “Anything you hear about Big Brother from now on is just rumor. Big Brother is perfectly safe—please don’t worry, Uncle and Aunt.”

Xue Ji didn’t understand, but Zhu Xiang did.

He sighed deeply. “When Xia Tong once cut himself with an arrow, that was what finally convinced King Renwen of Qin to expel Prince Zixi. A son following his father’s example… it is all Xia Tong’s fault.”

Chengjiao froze.

Zhu Xiang and Xue Ji departed with their grandnephew, and Chengjiao headed back to Xianyang.

Upon returning, he immediately relayed his uncle’s words to Ying Zheng.

Ying Zheng sat silent for a long time before waving him away.

“No matter how old I become, whenever I displease Uncle… he always says it’s Father’s fault.”

Ying Zheng sat alone for a long time, finally closing his eyes with a sigh.

…

In the eighth month of the First Year of the First Emperor, just as rain finally fell in the Central Plains, the emperor’s health failed from excessive toil—and Prince Chengjiao raised troops in a palace coup.

The old nobles of the Six States in Xianyang immediately connected with their homelands. They smuggled messages, weapons, and armor back to the Three Jin regions, and amidst the chaos in Xianyang, many escaped home.

In less than half a month, the Six States all rebelled. Even Qi—only just pacified—raised its banners again.

The flames of war rose once more.