HCT – Extra 3 Three Hundred Years From the First Emperor

Zhu Xiang and Xueji returned to Xianyang.

Later, the court historians wrote that Lord Changping and the Lady of Wu wept while holding the First Emperor’s hands—it was said to be a very touching scene.

And in fact, it truly was.

Except… after the tears, the First Emperor and Lord Chang’an both had reddened, swollen palms. They were kneeling on soft cushions, facing the wall to reflect on their mistakes.

Little Fusu puffed and dragged a small cushion over to Ying Zheng and Chengjiao. He tucked in his short legs and knelt beside them.

Ying Zheng turned his head. “What are you doing?”

Little Fusu said, “Granduncle just finished reading me The Classic of Filial Piety. I must be filial to my father. If Father made a mistake, then as his son, I must share the punishment.”

Before Ying Zheng could be moved, Chengjiao was already deeply touched. “What a good child.”

A trace of nostalgia flashed through Ying Zheng’s eyes. It quickly turned into painful sorrow.

The Fusu in his dream had also been very filial—too filial.

“Alright, I’m done sharing the punishment.” Little Fusu crawled off the cushion and dragged it away with a huff.

Chengjiao, who wasn’t finished praising him: “??”

Ying Zheng, whose nostalgia and sorrow were still lingering: “?!”

Chengjiao’s mouth twitched. “Is Fusu filial or not?”

Ying Zheng snapped, “You stayed with Fusu at our uncle and aunt’s place. If you don’t know, how would I know?”

Chengjiao muttered, “He’s very filial to our uncle and aunt. To you… I’m not sure. Ow! Why’d you hit me?! Hit your son!”

“Ahem.” Zhu Xiang, supervising from the side, cleared his throat.

Both brothers immediately dropped their heads and resumed facing the wall.

In moments like this, being the emperor or the emperor’s only brother was completely useless.

Zhu Xiang pressed his brow, exhausted.

Zheng’er’s little scheme had indeed produced good results—but how were they supposed to explain it to the outside world?

Say that Lord Chang’an’s rebellion was fake, and he cooperated with the emperor to “fish” for traitors?
Or tell the truth—that the so-called Lord Chang’an was actually the emperor in disguise?

Obviously, neither could be said.

If people found out the emperor staged a plot just to test loyalty, ministers would instantly think of “the beacon fire tricking the feudal lords.” Trust between ruler and ministers was already fragile—testing it would only shatter it. History had shown again and again that affection cannot withstand tests; when you start testing, it means a crack is already there.

Zheng’er’s intention was to “test” the old nobles of the six states—but in reality, he dragged the entire court into it.

Zhu Xiang originally thought Ying Zheng had schemed together with the ministers, in which case no explanation would be necessary.

But who knew this twenty-seven-year-old emperor—still capable of foolishness—had pulled only his tiny personal faction into the plan? Lin Zhi, Cai Ze, Li Mu and the other major Qin officials only knew the six states were about to rebel and had deployed troops in advance. They never imagined there was an additional “Lord Chang’an palace coup” performance!

This was nonsense!

Weren’t Lin Xian and Li Bo always staying outside Zheng’er’s inner circle? Why did they join in this madness too?!

“Enough. Judging from your expressions, wall-facing is useless.” Zhu Xiang sighed. “I’m giving you homework. You are now court remonstrators. Write a memorial criticizing the emperor’s act of testing the nobles and officials—at least ten thousand characters.”

Ying Zheng and Chengjiao’s faces changed drastically.

Zhu Xiang continued, “Just writing about ‘risking your own life’ won’t fill ten thousand characters. Think carefully—what is the greatest mistake in what you did? Do you need me to give you a hint?”

Chengjiao muttered, “The biggest mistake is the whole ‘beacon fire tricking the lords,’ ruining an emperor’s credibility.”

Zhu Xiang sneered, “Since you know, you did it knowingly?”

Ying Zheng said, “No, I—”

Zhu Xiang cut him off. “Zheng’er, were you going to say Chengjiao knowingly erred, but you didn’t? You didn’t consider this consequence? Then you’re saying you’re dumber than Chengjiao?”

Chengjiao immediately brightened with a delighted grin.

Oh yes, big brother—quick, admit you’re dumber than me!

Ying Zheng was trapped. He didn’t want to admit he acted knowingly, but he also didn’t want to admit he was dumber.

“Go write!” Zhu Xiang slapped the table. “Until you finish, I’ll pile all important documents here. You may not read them!”

Ying Zheng’s face darkened. “State affairs are not a child’s game!”

“You must trust your ministers,” Zhu Xiang said. “Even if you stop working for a few days, Qin will not fall. If you don’t trust them, then stay up all night writing ten thousand characters. Then you can work tomorrow.”

Chengjiao cheerfully said, “Yes, big brother, hurry. Then I can take my time—ow?! Why are you pulling my hair?!”

Ying Zheng dragged Chengjiao by his topknot and hauled him away.

Little Fusu hopped inside holding a malt candy swirl. “Huh? Where’s Father? I brought him candy!”

“He’s next door doing homework,” Zhu Xiang said.

“Homework can’t be done while eating candy. Granduncle, do you want it?”

“No.”

Fusu popped the candy into his own mouth. “Then I’ll eat it. Oh—and snacks aren’t allowed during homework. I’m going to supervise Father!”

Zhu Xiang suppressed a laugh. “Alright, Granduncle will go with you.”

Thus Zhu Xiang and Fusu conducted a surprise inspection and confiscated every snack Ying Zheng and Chengjiao had hidden.

As they left, Fusu, hugging a pile of snacks, lectured seriously: “Father, Uncle, you must focus on your homework. No sneaking snacks or jerky. I’ll be back to check!”

Zhu Xiang answered, “Exactly.”

Fusu puffed out his chest proudly. “Granduncle, let’s go!”

Zhu Xiang saw the utterly miserable faces of Ying Zheng and Chengjiao and burst out laughing. “Alright!”

The uncle and nephew swaggered away.

Chengjiao grimaced. “Big brother… have you ever considered changing the crown prince?”

Ying Zheng said coldly, “If I did, you’d be rolling on the ground in protest.”

Chengjiao sighed. “True. Ah, we should hurry and write before Fusu returns. Do I not care about my dignity?”

Ying Zheng’s expression was dark as he spread the paper open.

This Fusu was nothing like the Fusu in his dream—yet equally heart-aching.

…

Under Zhu Xiang’s guidance—drawing on five thousand years of historical lessons—the entire affair was reframed: the First Emperor truly fell ill; the six states rebelled and encouraged Lord Chang’an to join them; Lord Chang’an pretended to go along merely to lure them away from Xianyang; he sealed the palace to maintain order; and only after the emperor recovered did he cooperate with Li Mu to quell the rebellion.

It was said the emperor had been walking on the edge of death, as if balancing on a thin string.

But Heaven favored Qin—turning crisis into opportunity. The rebellion allowed Qin to eliminate the last unstable remnants of the six states.

Xunzi looked deeply skeptical. “Really?”

“Of course!” Zhu Xiang insisted.

Xunzi said, “The emperor’s palms are still swollen. If that were true, would you have beaten him?”

Zhu Xiang: “…It wasn’t me! …Fine, yes, that’s what happened…”

Seeing he couldn’t deceive Xunzi, Zhu Xiang confessed everything.

Xunzi’s face twitched violently. Grinding his teeth, he said, “Let me see that ten-thousand-character memorial.”

Thus Ying Zheng’s assignment was rejected and expanded to twenty thousand characters.

Soon after, Lian Po rushed back from Zhao and unleashed a lion-like roar that made Ying Zheng’s ears ring for half a day.

If not for Ying Zheng shamelessly playing the victim—claiming his uncle and aunt had already beaten him—Lian Po might have dragged him to the training yard to “educate” him further.

By the summer of the First Emperor’s first year, all rebellions were quelled.

Zhu Xiang and Xueji then left Xianyang again. They temporarily left Fusu behind to study under Xunzi and Lian Po, while they themselves traveled to teach the people how to replant crops and prevent famine.

The rebellion had delayed spring plowing. After surviving the great drought, the farmers had hoped desperately for a good harvest—yet war struck again.

During war, Qin could not distribute relief grain as it had during the drought. Only after quelling the rebellion could Qin spare resources to aid refugees.

From last year’s drought to this year’s battles—as if in just one year, the Central Plains were devastated once more.

Zhu Xiang followed Qin’s unification campaign: from Han, planting fields; to Wei, planting fields; to Qi; to Yan; finally returning to Zhao.

All his years of work felt instantly erased.

Fortunately, Chu had only a small region near the Yellow River rebel; most areas had planted successfully and could provide grain.

And with many of the commoners dead—those killed in battle, starved, or lost to disease—the burden on Zhu Xiang during relief was lighter.

He retraced every road he once traveled.

The farmers remembered him. On his first trip, they had been wary of him—no matter his reputation, he represented Qin, and that made him frightening.

But now, when they saw him again, they wept with gratitude, cursing the old nobles of the six states for ruining their lives. Only the Qin Emperor was good, they said.

Nothing makes people value peace more than experiencing a brief calm followed by war and famine.

The First Emperor’s strategy indeed worked.

But at what cost?

As Zhu Xiang traveled everywhere again, helping officials redo household registrations, he found that across the Central Plains, population had dropped by half a cheng (5%).

Even after including the seized estates of the six-state nobles—whose hidden households were added to the census—the population still shrank massively.

Now the total registered households were under thirty million. Even on paper, over one million people were gone.

Rebellion engulfed all six states; the Central Plains were ravaged.

Wherever the rebel armies passed, they stripped the land bare. With no supply lines, their plunder exceeded even the worst wars of the Warring States.

In earlier wars, at least they were governments—not destroying the foundation of their rule. Now they were rebels, bandits, eager to ruin the world.

Qin’s earlier relief efforts had barely kept civilians alive. Now, with those scraps seized, starvation followed.

The strong robbed others; the weak starved in large numbers. Corpses piled like mountains, polluting the fields and water. Famine bred disease.

Walking the same roads again, those “costs” turned into faces Zhu Xiang recognized—etched into his memory.

Killed. Starved. Sickened.

This was Qin’s flesh and blood scraped off during its self-purging.

Afterward, the First Emperor declared a period of rest, continuing the policy of “no warfare or heavy labor for a year.”

He toured the land again, granting surnames to all the people, proclaiming they were no longer subjects of the six states. From now on, commoners would be called bai-xing—the hundred surnamed people. He granted them the right to study and become officials.

After returning to Xianyang, he announced that schools across the empire could recommend students for examinations in Xianyang, regardless of birth. Those who excelled would receive official positions. This system ran for three years.

Through these reforms, Qin’s painful self-healing was extremely effective.

The dead could not speak.

The living were full of gratitude.

The nobles who had not rebelled became Qin officials, governing the realm alongside the emperor.

Even when three consecutive years of major earthquakes struck the empire, the people’s trust did not waver.

They said the earth-dragon turning over symbolized Qin replacing the old dynasties—the rise of a new era.

Not a disaster, but a sign of the dragon lifting its head—prosperity and renewal!

In the fifth year of the First Emperor, the earth shook.

In the sixth year, again—with Dai Commandery suffering the worst.

In the seventh year, yet again.

In Zhu Xiang’s original history, great earthquakes had struck continuously for years, causing massive famines.

But in this history, Qin scholars argued passionately that the earthquakes were good omens—proof of Heaven’s mandate.

Zhu Xiang led troops through every disaster zone, rescuing survivors, replanting fields.

Beside cracked earth, collapsed homes, ruined villages, he planted pumpkin vines and sweet potato slips. On reclaimed soil, he sowed potatoes and soybeans.

“Lord Zhu Xiang, will we survive?”

“I don’t know. But I will do everything I can so you do.”

“Lord Zhu Xiang… I believe you.”

The elderly went into the mountains; the weak lay bedridden; the injured slipped away into the night.

But the famine crops grew, and most people lived.

Three years of earthquakes passed, and Qin rose—just as the scholars praised it—like a dragon ascending.

An age of great governance dawned.

The first golden age of a unified China arrived:

The Great Prosperity of the First Emperor.

Zhu Xiang returned to Xianyang, finally able to take a breath.

After the First Emperor conquered the Hetao region and the Baiyue, Zhu Xiang prepared to set off again.

“Uncle, rest a while longer.”

“Hahaha, I’m the type who gets uneasy when idle. Didn’t I promise you? Wherever you expand the borders, I’ll plant the land.”

“You build the empire; I’ll feed it.”

Zhu Xiang and Xueji smiled as they bid farewell to the child.

This time the journey was short—just to the Hetao Plain. They brought young Fusu, now a proud young boy. The carriage swayed as they left, with the First Emperor watching from behind.

…

The Qin dynasty lasted nearly three hundred years before it fell. The people rose, warlords fought for dominance, and after decades of chaos, the Han dynasty was founded—another three-hundred-year unified empire.

Qin and Han—the foundations of Chinese political structure for millennia. Unity became the shared belief of all Chinese people.

After a century of chaos, the Tang dynasty rose—another great unified empire, once again standing atop the world.

Zhu Xiang, of course, knew nothing of the Han dynasty yet to come.

But as he sat in the swaying carriage, one leg casually crossed, he hummed an off-key little tune—unknowingly naming that very dynasty:“Peaks gather like clouds, waves roar in anger.
Mountains and rivers guard the Tongguan road.
Westward I gaze, my thoughts stirred.
Ah, the sorrow of passing Qin and Han—
Palaces of ten thousand chambers all turned to dust.
When the state thrives, the people suffer;
When the state falls, the people suffer.”