Chapter Twenty-Three: The Old Qin Army

Fusu placed the calligraphy copybook by Cheng Miao into a wooden box, storing it with great care. This was the most primitive form of clerical script, making it particularly precious. Tian An sensed that the Young Master also enjoyed appreciating calligraphy.

The next day, as dawn broke, a bitter wind howled. It was the third month, and the veteran farmers of Guanzhong stepped out early, gazing at the sky with troubled expressions. The concern everyone dreaded had come to pass: the warm spring had failed to arrive, and a late spring chill had set in instead.

Shusun Tong woke early, drew a bucket of water from the river, and asked, "Old brother, the weather is getting colder by the day."

The farmer, addressed as "old brother," smiled and said, "I recall your village has water cellars; why come all the way to the river?"

Shusun Tong set the bucket aside, found a clean stone to sit upon, and explained, "The cellars are not often used in daily life. But old brother, it is already the third month in Guanzhong, yet it remains so cold."

"You are not from Guanzhong, are you?"

"I come from the land of Qi."

"Qi..." The old man's gaze seemed to drift into memory as he whispered, "I went to fight in the land of Qi years ago. I killed quite a few Qi people."

After saying this, a proud smile lingered on his face. Shusun Tong wanted to say something but swallowed his words instead. It had not been long since Qin extinguished the six kingdoms, and the years of conflict were still fresh; the older generation remained, and their memories were vivid.

The old man continued, "It is better now. No need to fight anymore. Let us just plant more crops."

"The weather is still so cold. Are you not afraid the seedlings will freeze?"

"Guanzhong is a blessed land; planting half a month late does not matter," the old man said, sitting firmly by the river. "Our summers in Guanzhong are very long, so we do not fear the spring chill. Born and raised here, we are used to it."

Shusun Tong noticed the way the man tied his belt and the cloth band in his hair—these were habits unique to the Qin military. This "old brother" was a veteran of the Qin army. Shusun Tong bowed slightly and departed.

The banks of the Luo River were tranquil. As Shusun Tong carried his bucket, he could only hear his own breathing and the occasional whistle of the wind. Green grass had begun to sprout on the ground, and in the distance, he saw squads of Qin cavalry galloping across the Guanzhong plains. This force had brought many people to inhabit and farm the land, compensating for the population drain. Fortunately, these new arrivals were not settled beneath Mount Shangyan, or the people there would be worrying about food and water again. The foot of Mount Shangyan lacked water; until the canals were dug, there was never enough. The water in the cellars was reserved for emergencies, which was why Shusun Tong had risen early to fetch a bucket.

Water and grain were of the utmost importance.

Back at the village, Shusun Tong saw Zhang Cang busy with a group of villagers moving potted plants. He asked, "What is this for?"

Zhang Cang replied, "The Young Master is coming today."

Shusun Tong set the bucket down and sighed, "The world truly will not see war again."

"Let us hope so," Zhang Cang said.

"Do you not think so?" Shusun Tong countered.

"The Young Master loves his people. Fusu treats his servants thusly, and in the future, he will treat the world the same way," Zhang Cang added. "The Mohists say that one must first love oneself, cultivate self-love, then love others, and finally love the world."

Shusun Tong was puzzled for a moment. "Are those Mohist disciples still around?"

Zhang Cang replied, "I asked the Young Master how one should practice universal love. The Young Master said that as Master Mo stated: when the people are harmonious, the country is wealthy, resources are sufficient, and the common folk are well-clothed and fed, there is no cause for worry."

A cold wind blew, ruffling Zhang Cang’s hair. He looked up, his expression tinged with compassion. Shusun Tong was secretly surprised; it seemed the Young Master and Zhang Cang corresponded often and even discussed the works of Master Mo.

As the morning light grew brighter, golden rays illuminated everyone's profiles. Mao Heng had begun leading a group of children in reciting the *Classic of Poetry*. For every line he chanted, the children followed. Everything here was serene. In the morning, people spoke in soft voices, and as thin wisps of smoke rose, the scent of rice and flour filled the village.

Because they had planted many wheat and bean crops in the fields, the people of Mount Shangyan primarily lived on rice, flour, and bean porridge. This year’s harvest had been bountiful, and neighboring counties had decided to increase their wheat planting for the spring. For this, they had to report to Xianyang and await approval from the court.

On the west side of the village, a troop of cavalry approached at high speed—General Wang Ben was escorting the Young Master. Shusun Tong calculated the time; if the Young Master arrived now, he must have departed Xianyang at the very first light of dawn. Upon learning of his arrival, the villagers came out to pay their respects.

Fusu stepped down from his carriage, his gaze sweeping over his private estate. He first reached out to help up Zhang Han, who was standing at the front. By rank, Zhang Han was a subordinate of Wang Ben. Dressed in black, the Young Master appeared to have grown taller since the previous year. Indeed, fifteen or sixteen was the age when a boy grew the fastest.

"General Zhang Han," Fusu said, "let them return to their work. There is no need for everyone to gather here."

Zhang Han bowed and went to convey the order. With the Young Master's word, the crowd dispersed. It was fortunate they left early; otherwise, with more servants arriving to pay respects, the sea of people would have been too overwhelming. Shusun Tong stood respectfully to the side. Zhang Cang, dressed in worn linen, stood nearby, while Mao Heng had returned to teaching the children.

The resettlement of the border was on track, and with winter passing, the construction of the canals at Mount Shangyan had become a major affair of the Great Qin. With their immediate tasks done, everyone’s attention turned back to this place. Some wanted to see what this newly built village could achieve, what merit it could earn, or what trouble it might invite. Beyond this, there were surely those who felt that Fusu, by enslaving his servants, would one day enslave the world. As a Prince of Qin, one's every word and action was subject to speculation.

Fusu walked through the village for the morning and heard that some of the newly settled commoners from Chu had attempted to flee back to their homeland but had been captured. Looking at the scene of the argument in the distance, he saw a family of five clashing with several Qin soldiers.

"Teacher, why are they unwilling to stay and farm? Guanzhong has provided them with land, and no local lord is seizing their grain. If they work hard, they could have more here than they ever did in Chu."

Zhang Cang replied softly, "Because they have never seen the people of Qin; they have only seen the Qin army."

"Teacher speaks the truth," Fusu said, his expression clearing.

"Young Master, in the eyes of the former states, Qin is a brutal tyranny. Those who have not entered Qin and seen for themselves are like this—they are afraid and do not trust the Qin people. The solution is simple: find a virtuous and prestigious elder from Chu to lead the persuasion, and the problem will be solved."

At this point, Zhang Cang lowered his voice. "If one household escapes, three or five more will follow. But look, the County Magistrate has arrived. They will not allow these people to leave. They hold office and understand the stakes better than you do, Young Master. Do not worry."

Zhang Cang stopped, waiting for a response, but realized the Young Master was no longer watching the argument. He was examining some tree saplings. Zhang Cang felt a bit foolish—he had worried that the Young Master was worried, when in fact the Young Master was not worried at all. He took a deep breath and walked back to the Prince's side.

"March and April are good seasons for planting trees. Teacher, what trees do you think are best?"

"What kind of trees does the Young Master wish to plant?"

"Naturally, the ones that are easiest to grow."

Zhang Cang hesitated for a moment, then picked up a sapling. "Young Master, plant mulberry trees."

"Mulberry?"

"The value of a mulberry tree outweighs the rest," Zhang Cang explained. "If you can plant ten acres of mulberry, Mount Shangyan will prosper. Mulberry leaves raise silkworms for silk, the three-year-old branches make walking sticks, ten-year-old branches make bows or knife handles, and a twenty-year-old mulberry is excellent timber for carriages. A fine carriage is worth ten thousand coins. Not to mention the silk and the fruit—the tree is valuable from its leaves to its roots. What does the Young Master think now?"

A man of great learning was truly useful. As long as you asked, he could answer immediately, saving you the trouble of learning everything yourself. It was no wonder that the powerful loved to associate with the learned; their knowledge might just make you wealthier and more powerful. A few words from them could often unearth immense value.

This was especially true during the age of the warring states, when kingdoms would spend fortunes, offer their daughters, and gift land just to invite a learned hermit to their courts. They all knew that to make a state strong, knowledge was paramount. Even two thousand years later, the theories of the Hundred Schools of Thought, when combined with later philosophies, remained extraordinary. Now, with Zhang Cang by his side, Fusu realized his teacher’s profound intentions.

Fusu personally planted several mulberry saplings. Shusun Tong, having heard Zhang Cang’s discourse, remarked, "Young Master, we do not have enough manpower to plant mulberry trees."

A person's labor was limited, and the villagers of Mount Shangyan were all busy digging canals. In truth, mulberry trees were easy to grow; Fusu planted a branch, watered it, and waited for it to sprout. Before Zhang Cang could answer, Fusu nodded. "Master Shusun is right, our manpower is insufficient. But that is not an insurmountable problem."

Shusun Tong bowed respectfully. "Does the Young Master have a strategy?"

"Invite the children from the other counties to come here for lessons. Let them learn to read and write under the banner of Mount Shangyan. For every student who comes, they must plant one mulberry tree each day and tend to it."

Shusun Tong fell silent, unable to decide if this strategy was good or bad. Since studying under Kong Fu, he had become adept at reading people; seeing Zhang Cang remain silent, he held his tongue as well. Educational resources were incredibly important. In an age of material scarcity, where no one had enough to eat, education was a resource of high added value. For a Prince of Qin, utilizing this was effortless.

At midday, the village became lively. A crowd of children sprinted toward their homes, fearing they might starve, and began to devour their meals. They were truly hungry, having not eaten for most of the day. Fusu noticed that Mao Heng, usually quite lively, was rather restrained in his presence. He recalled from Zhang Han’s reports that Mao Heng was usually a handful.

Previously, Mao Heng had thought that by serving Prince Fusu, he would live a life of comfort and prestige. But now, all he saw were dilapidated thatched huts and a group of dirty, barefoot children in hemp clothes. These children were unruly and difficult to manage. He had expected to reside in a guest house in a grand mansion in Xianyang.

Fusu took a sip of hot water and asked, "How does the teacher find this place? If you are not accustomed to it, I can find another location."

Shusun Tong smiled; the "other location" the Young Master mentioned would likely be even harsher—perhaps the bitter, cold north.

Mao Heng bowed. "I am perfectly content here, my Lord."

Shusun Tong, who had been hoping for a spectacle, felt a flicker of disappointment. Zhang Cang and Zhang Han sat together, eating earnestly. In a lull in the conversation, Shusun Tong tucked a half-eaten cake into his sleeve and asked, "Young Master, do you intend for these three hundred children to serve you once their studies are complete?"

Fusu replied, "Master, what do you think of these children?"

"If these three hundred children can achieve success, and you have three hundred capable and loyal ministers to assist you in governing the world, then the Great Qin will be secure for three generations."

Shusun Tong was exaggerating, but he spoke with such finesse that it was always pleasant to hear. Tian An stood to the side, watching the scene. He placed a bowl of bean porridge before the Young Master and continued to observe. Beside the Prince were General Wang Ben, General Zhang Han, Zhang Cang, Shusun Tong, Mao Heng, and Li You, the son of the Chancellor.

Tian An felt a sense of comfort. He lowered his head, wiping away a tear. He missed the Empress Dowager Huayang; it had been over a year since she passed. With learned men, renowned scholars, and loyal generals by the Young Master's side, he felt relieved. The Young Master had been gifted and polite since childhood, and with these men to guide him, the Empress Dowager must be at peace in heaven.

Just then, a rider approached, kicking up dust. He arrived and announced, "An imperial decree! Young Master Fusu is ordered to lead one thousand cavalry to Hangu Pass to welcome General Wang Jian into the capital!"

Fusu did not need to think twice. This was certainly his teacher's arrangement—he must have petitioned the Emperor.