Chapter Four: My Mentor Is Xunzi

The teacher said Xiang Yan was not a serious concern, yet Xiang Yan later died in battle.

Fusu straightened himself and continued reading the bamboo slips. The teacher’s small seal script was actually quite neat, but upon reflection, perhaps Xiang Yan did not have to die. Generals Wang Jian and Meng Wu had not originally intended to exterminate all the nobles of Chu. However, after Xiang Yan fled, he and the remaining Chu aristocrats reinstated Prince Changping as King of Chu and led troops to resist the Qin army in Huainan, where he ultimately fell.

The correspondence of battle reports lasted only a month, and only then did Fusu realize that the war for Qin’s unification of the Six States was just nearing its end. From the teacher’s scroll, it was clear that Qin’s transformation of the realm had only just begun.

People wondered what kind of man the First Emperor truly was. If he could accept Li Si’s system of commanderies and counties and the Three Lords and Nine Ministers system, then he must have been one who embraced innovation.

Compared to Xiang Yan, who was intent on restoring Chu or even reviving the state, the First Emperor was far more receptive to change.

Reading the text twice, there were no descriptions of Xiang Yan’s death or the state of the war. Of course, Fusu did not find the phrase “Though Chu has but three households left, Qin’s destruction means Chu’s rise” anywhere.

The fall of Chu, the dispatch of General Meng Wu’s troops—none of these were detailed. The teacher only mentioned them briefly. To him, Chu’s demise and Xiang Yan’s death were inconsequential; his ambitions would not be swayed by a single Xiang Yan.

After all, he was Li Si.

The contents of the book were merely straightforward reports. Fusu felt somewhat patronized, as if still a child in his teacher’s eyes.

The night breeze wafted into the hall, flickering the flame of the oil lamp. Fusu set down the bamboo slips, placing them to the side without responding or picking them up again, instead focusing intently on the map.

To the palace attendants here, it seemed the First Emperor had assigned Li Si to instruct the prince, but the prince appeared indifferent to court affairs. If he truly cared, he surely would inquire.

In the Gaoquan Palace, there was an elderly eunuch named Tian An, in his sixties.

Since the passing of the Dowager Empress Huayang, this old eunuch had managed the palace. Bent over, broom in hand, he swept the courtyard outside the hall. Standing at the palace gates in the darkness, he could see inside where the prince held an oil lamp, studying the map on the wall.

After gazing for a while, he lifted his broom and left Gaoquan Palace.

Under the night’s cloak, the palaces of Xianyang were especially quiet. Zhangtai Palace remained brightly lit. The First Emperor sat inside, reviewing reports submitted from across the land.

Tian An approached and bowed: “Your Highness has been reading Li Si’s writings again today.”

Few in the palace knew when this white-haired eunuch had first arrived at Xianyang. It was said he had been there before Lü Buwei came, caring for Dowager Empress Huayang’s daily needs. Now that she had passed, he still remained at Gaoquan Palace.

The emperor had granted Gaoquan Palace to Prince Fusu, the beloved great-grandson of the Dowager Empress, and ordered Tian An to continue overseeing the prince.

Ying Zheng chewed on a walnut, his gaze fixed on the memorials in his hand. In a low, resonant voice he asked, “Has Li Si gone to see him?”

“Your Majesty, the prince has not met Li Si, nor has Li Si sought an audience with the prince.”

The emperor’s voice was deep and steady. On the desk lay three name plaques: Li Si, Wang Wan, and Feng Quji.

Ying Zheng was still deliberating the appointments for the Three Lords and Nine Ministers, especially with Wang Jian and Meng Wu yet to return.

After a moment’s thought, Ying Zheng waved the eunuch away and reclined to rest.

Life among the Qin was often dull, mostly toil. They worked from morning till dusk, then returned home, day after day.

Xianyang was a city of rigid hierarchy—so strict that even one’s clothing, residence, and sleeping quarters were regulated.

Under Qin law, not only Xianyang but all of Guanzhong lived this way.

For rulers, such clear stratification had its benefits.

In time, all people under heaven would live like this.

Half a month later, Li Si still had officials deliver the day’s edicts to Gaoquan Palace for Prince Fusu to read—it was his duty as a teacher.

That day, an imperial edict proclaimed Li Si the Left Prime Minister.

Fusu thought this should be the most glorious day of Li Si’s life.

Indeed, absolutely.

Also on that day, Fusu submitted his “homework” to his teacher Li Si. What teacher would dare assign homework to a prince of Qin?

Li Si was certainly a competent teacher. Under his guidance, Fusu had grasped the future Qin official system—the Three Lords and Nine Ministers framework.

Understanding this system was the first achievement Fusu gained from Li Si’s tutelage.

After turning in his work, Fusu, like most Qin people, went out for a spring outing.

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The escort for Prince Fusu remained Meng Tian, son of General Meng Wu. The carriage moved slowly along the straight road, following the Zhengguo Canal, as they enjoyed the spring scenery.

Everyone inside and outside the passes knew Prince Fusu was wise, but he was only fifteen or sixteen—a youth in the prime age for change.

It was unclear when, but the prince had ceased socializing with his peers. He never glanced at the toys or pastimes that other youngsters liked.

Such was the child of the First Emperor; always somewhat different from ordinary boys.

Even Meng Tian thought so.

“Do you soldiers often read military texts? Like Sun Bin’s Art of War?” the prince suddenly asked.

Meng Tian quickly recovered and replied, “I have not read Sun Bin’s Art of War.”

The story of Sun Bin’s siege of Wei to rescue Zhao was brilliant—a real historical battle despite its proverbial status.

Come to think of it, Sun Bin’s warfare treatise was only formally compiled during the Han dynasty.

This Qin was close in time to the flourishing era of the Hundred Schools of Thought.

Han Fei and Li Si’s teacher, the famed Xunzi, had only recently passed away.

Was this Qin prince not entitled to call Xunzi his patriarchal master?

Fusu fancied himself so. Furthermore, if Xunzi’s spirit watched from above, would he reject a spiritual grandson like himself?

Meng Tian said, “I think General Wang Jian’s military strategy is better.”

“Is that so?” Fusu replied.

Meng Tian continued, “My father once said General Wang Jian excels in siege warfare and land conquest, but even more in military discipline. Sixty thousand troops’ provisions and logistics are managed by the general alone. Such skill is worthy of his rank.”

Meng Tian was taciturn but honest—when he spoke, he spoke truth.

Just seeing that General Wang Jian commanded sixty thousand troops and ensured their orderly maneuvers was a rare talent indeed.

Not only was Qin’s law strict, but even in later times, a squad’s discipline would hardly be looser.

And even then, leading a squad was no easy matter.

Let alone an army of six hundred thousand.

The carriage reached an official road. Fusu picked up the map again, comparing the landscape before him with the map in hand.

Zhengguo was a rare hydraulic engineer of the Warring States, having constructed the Zhengguo Canal that transformed Guanzhong into fertile lands—an important project initiated in King Zheng’s first year.

Whether the Dujiangyan Irrigation or the Zhengguo Canal, both were massive public works benefiting countless people. Qin’s experience in hydraulic engineering surpassed that of the other six states.

Qin law was not merely legal code; it also embodied the practical knowledge of laborers on how to farm different lands with suitable crops for higher yields.

Qin’s laws were more than strict—they were practical wisdom distilled from the people’s toil.

Those who still said Qin’s laws were harsh were likely spreading rumors.

Fusu looked at the map and then toward the Chan River, dismounted, and approached the barren land.

Meng Tian, curious but silent, watched as the prince scooped a handful of soil.

Fusu clearly remembered the location of Longshou Canal, west of the Chan River. When Emperor Wu of Han dug the Longshou Canal, subsequent renovations turned forty thousand hectares of saline-alkali land into fertile soil.

Now, beneath Fusu’s feet lay saline-alkali land, and the Longshou Canal was yet to be built—understandable, as he lived eighty years before Emperor Wu.

Fusu pondered long, gazing at the spring scenery and the simple, hardworking people under the sun.

He returned to the carriage. On the way back, this time traveler familiarized himself with Qin while contemplating his situation, his identity’s responsibilities, and his future aspirations.

He came to understand two things.

First, the revered Xunzi had passed away. Yet, as his spiritual descendant, well-read in Han Fei’s works and taught by Li Si, his master, Fusu could claim Xunzi as his ancestor.

This placed him within the academic circles of the Hundred Schools—a ticket and an identity in this era.

In this age, having a legitimate teacher was crucial, for political resources and connections.

Second, the Longshou Canal must be dug to enrich Qin.

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Xunzi had passed, and the Longshou Canal remained unbuilt.

Between these two points, Fusu found the plan of claiming spiritual heritage fitting.

At dusk, Fusu returned to Xianyang and coincidentally encountered Wang Wan preparing to leave.

Behind Wang Wan were many young scholars, some richly dressed, others plainly clad—his disciples, students, and several sword-bearing court officials.

They parted with heavy hearts. Wang Wan, once Prime Minister of Qin, was moved to tears.

Qin now had a new prime minister: Li Si, a young man of great ambition.

Fusu cast one last glance and quietly said, “Return to the palace.”

Meng Tian drove the carriage through the south gate of Xianyang.

Seeing the splendid carriage, the escorting General Meng Tian, and the young man inside, the crowd bowed deeply. To be escorted by General Meng Tian and ride in such a grand carriage commanded respect.

Before the crowd, the gray-haired Wang Wan trembled as he bowed.

At this moment, Wang Wan deeply felt Qin’s coldness and harshness. This mighty Qin would discard all useless burdens to advance and grow stronger.

Whether former kings, the current First Emperor, or Prince Fusu himself.

Xianyang no longer had a place for him, though the emperor had granted him generous retirement.

On the path to his goal, learning and accumulation were indispensable. Fusu sighed that he had never seen Xunzi’s Jixia Academy, likely destroyed by war. Xunzi had died peacefully in the old Chu lands.

Fusu wished to ask Li Si about the academy and what Xunzi was like in life.

But since submitting his last “homework,” Li Si had sent no further letters nor allowed visits to Gaoquan Palace.

Li Si became his teacher by the emperor’s command.

Apparently, Li Si had recounted the conversation before Dowager Empress Huayang’s coffin at Gaoquan Palace, which convinced the emperor that Fusu needed someone like Li Si to instruct him.

Before Gaoquan Palace stood a newly made chair. Fusu sat there, holding a wooden plaque and lost in thought. The plaque was meant as a spirit tablet for Xunzi but remained uninscribed.

Fusu did not know whether to honor Xunzi according to Zhao, Qi, or Chu customs, since Xunzi died in Chu.

Different states had different customs, and after much thought, he gave up.

People sometimes act on impulse, sometimes ponder deeply, then abandon their plans.

Tian An’s footsteps were distinct. When he walked, his shoes scraped against the ground, making his steps easily recognizable.

“Your Highness, the Prime Minister has arrived.”

Fusu turned and bowed, “Teacher.”

Li Si bowed in return, then straightened and smiled gently. “I have been busy with state affairs and neglected you.”

“Thank you, Prime Minister, for your hard work governing the state.”

Li Si produced a roll of bamboo slips and smiled, “This is what you wrote.”

Fusu recognized the fine hemp cord and the condition of the slips—it was indeed the work he had submitted.

Li Si sat down, comfortable in the chair, and began explaining the assignment. Fusu listened attentively.

The Prime Minister seemed in good spirits because his pupil was diligent. This was like a solid anchor in an otherwise busy life.

As Li Si taught, he was surprised by the prince’s talent for drawing analogies and connections, proud to be his teacher.

Having just finished explaining the core differences between officials appointed under the Three Lords and Nine Ministers system and the enfeoffed officials system, Fusu responded, “Teacher, I have learned it.”