Chapter 7: The Young Noble’s Fondness for Planting Trees

Li Si said, “Some matters do not require your direct involvement, my lord; others can be handled by others without using your name. If certain affairs are inconvenient, I can represent you.”

Fusu nodded. “Yes, Teacher, thank you for your guidance.”

Li Si smiled and nodded before resuming his composed posture.

Most of the people in the hall had companions with whom they could converse freely, except for the teacher, who sat alone.

Perhaps it was because those who studied Legalism often had few friends.

The banquet lasted until nightfall before it ended. The teacher escorted the generals out, while Fusu watched as palace maids and eunuchs tidied up the hall.

Then, a group of attendants emerged from the rear chamber. Fusu looked up and saw his father, the Emperor, with a somewhat drowsy expression—he must have just awakened from his midday nap.

Fusu rose and bowed. “Father.”

Ying Zheng slightly nodded, took a cloth to wipe his face, then sat down and asked, “You are close with Li Si. Some have advised me to assign you another tutor.”

There was no trace of worry in the emperor’s voice.

Seeing boxes of bamboo slips brought in, it was clear they were about to attend to state affairs again.

Fusu replied, “Father, those who advise are mostly acting with ulterior motives.”

“What motives do they have?”

The emperor’s voice was low, his gaze fixed on the bamboo slips.

Fusu bowed again and said, “Father, those who claim to instruct me actually harbor other intentions. They fear I might become like Li Si; they fear Li Si, and even more so, they fear that the prince of Qin might become another Li Si.”

“Just one Li Si frightens them so much?”

Fusu nodded.

The hall fell silent for a moment; even the palace maids and eunuchs moved quietly.

Standing below, Fusu could hear his father’s occasional heavy breathing.

He wanted to speak again but saw his father wave his hand, signaling him to leave.

“I take my leave,” Fusu said with another bow and exited the hall.

They barely exchanged a few words in that meeting. Outside the hall, he put on his shoes; the night sky was as dark as ink, dotted with twinkling stars.

Tonight was a new moon— a slender crescent hung silently in the sky.

Walking back to the Gaoyuan Palace, Fusu pondered, uncertain how his father usually interacted with Li Si, or how the former emperor had dealt with Lü Buwei.

It was the busiest spring plowing season in Guanzhong. He had heard the court was full of affairs, all requiring the emperor and the teacher to manage.

It had been several days since he last saw the teacher. Occasionally, he received scrolls sent by the teacher’s men, learning of recent court happenings.

Yet the prince of Qin still had no real power or influence.

Apart from being the son of the First Emperor, he could barely speak a word or two in his father’s presence.

Recently, the prince had developed a new hobby—he had taken to planting trees.

The weather was warming, and by midday the sun made one sweat slightly. In the distance, farmers labored in the fields.

After planting a tree, Fusu stood and looked around.

The saplings he planted were water ash and white mountain ash. By good fortune, he found a pear seedling in the imperial forest garden and transplanted it as well.

He washed his hands in the canal water and noticed a family eating in the fields nearby.

Taking a bowl of bean rice from Tian An, Fusu watched the family eat. They sat in a circle, seemingly siblings, each sharing their own food with the others.

The people of Qin were simple folk, their way of eating straightforward—wherever they worked, there they ate. During sowing season, they had two meals a day in the fields.

Their whole day was spent in the fields.

Eating his bean rice, Fusu admired the scene of spring plowing. The strength of Qin was closely tied to its land. In other words, Qin’s power stemmed from its fields. The state granted land to commoners, who earned it through military service, which in turn gave the Qin army unrivaled combat strength.

The more he read, the clearer the true nature of the feudal system became.

In the ancient feudal system, ordinary farmers could not claim land ownership. Only nobles and officials owned land, creating an immense wealth gap.

A fiefdom was a vast territory granted to a single man, who became the lord. The lord owned the land and distributed it to his officials.

So the saying went: “Are nobles and generals born or made?” Everyone aspired to become such lords and generals who owned everything.

But Shang Yang gave land to the common people, granting them usable farmland, land to cultivate food, and a place to put down roots.

So, was Qin law truly harsh?

Fusu sighed. In truth, Qin law was not harsh; it was better than the laws of any of the Six States.

Qin law paid great attention to detail, was rigorous without cruelty, and cared for the people. Qin law taught farming and managed every state affair meticulously.

People claimed Qin law was harsh mostly because they feared it and dared not enforce it if it harmed their own interests.

For some reason, Fusu felt a twinge of sadness, wondering if Shang Yang could ever find peace in this world.

Though he had never met Shang Yang, Fusu deeply understood and admired him.

After finishing his bowl of bean rice, Fusu noticed a shy glance nearby. A plainly dressed young woman, noticing his gaze, quickly looked away and bowed her head.

She wore a thick, dark gray garment and sat beside her parents eating quietly.

Fusu paid no mind and handed his empty bowl to Tian An. When Zhang Han brought more saplings, Fusu continued planting.

Everyone in Qin was busy—The First Emperor was occupied with his groundbreaking projects, Li Si pursued his ambitions, officials hurried along the roads delivering documents, and farmers rushed to sow their fields.

It seemed everyone was busy except Fusu himself.

Indeed, he was probably the most idle person in Guanzhong now.

He had heard that Wang Wan traveled five hundred miles in three days after leaving Xianyang—whether true or not, it was remarkable for a man of his age.

“Master, the canal is finished,” someone reported.

Hearing this, Fusu washed the mud from his hands and followed Zhang Han to the banks of the Chan River. This was originally a dry plateau, a high barren area.

The land was saline-alkaline and had remained uncultivated.

A breeze stirred the dust; Fusu donned his bamboo hat for shade and approached the canal.

Zhang Han said, “Master, this section of the canal was easy to dig. We completed it in three days.”

According to Zhang Han, the excavation proceeded smoothly, though this well was far from the scale of the Longshou Canal.

That was understandable; manpower was limited during the busy plowing season. Farming and warfare had always been Qin’s top priorities.

With the war now halted, farming was the sole priority, so large-scale canal excavation was out of the question.

Fusu turned and saw two county magistrates and five pavilion chiefs smiling nearby. The magistrates appeared middle-aged; the pavilion chiefs looked only sixteen or seventeen.

Fusu asked, “Are the pavilion chiefs here all so young?”

Though separated by some distance, the magistrates and pavilion chiefs dared not approach, as Fusu was surrounded by guards carrying swords.

Though they could not hear the conversation, Zhang Han replied quietly, “Master, Guanzhong is different. During the wars against the Six States, much manpower was sent out. Many pavilion chiefs went to battle with their village men. Often, a pavilion chief led all the men from one township.”

“That’s because their elders died in battle, so the position of pavilion chief passed to their children, which is why they are so young.”

Hearing this, Fusu stood silently for a long time.

Tian An distributed rewards to the pavilion chiefs and villagers, then handed Fusu a rolled map. “This is the map you asked to have drawn.”

Unrolling it on the ground, Fusu could no longer recall the exact appearance of the Longshou Canal but clearly recognized Shangyan Mountain.

Fortunately, the mountain still bore its ancient name.

The Longshou Canal had to pass through a mountain several miles away and included an underground channel beneath it, connecting downstream to the Wei River, which was mostly complete.

Fusu tied a hemp rope to a wooden bucket and lowered it into the well. The canal water sounded clear, though some murkiness remained.

The water quality was good; with time to settle, it would become clear.

Zhang Han said, “Villagers upstream caused trouble but were driven off.”

Fusu replied, “It matters not. If we can irrigate the fields, some can be allocated upstream.”

Tian An whispered, “Many people wished to visit you today. They are waiting at the residence in Xianyang.”

“What sort of people?”

“Some are disciples of Xunzi, friends of the Chancellor, and others have come after hearing of your reputation.”

Fusu poured the water onto a nearby barren patch and instructed, “Zhang Han.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Plant some beans.”

“Orders received.”

As the most idle person in Guanzhong, Fusu had plenty of time for seemingly trivial pursuits. Tian An and others believed the prince should seize this opportunity to build connections.

Their advice likely reflected the emperor’s wishes and Chancellor Li Si’s plans.

But such a splendid world—spending precious time socializing seemed a waste.

After Fusu walked away, a group of children gathered eagerly around the canal, peering in.

Fusu suddenly thought, In the teacher’s eyes... ha, I am still a child.

Shangyan Mountain lay beside the Luo River, its breadth creating barren land on both sides, difficult to irrigate.

Such a beautiful realm made Fusu wish to see more—to witness the Yellow River before it changed course, the magnificent Hangu Pass, or gaze eastward at the Jieshi cliffs overlooking the sea.

Zhang Han was diligent; given rain and care, he could accomplish the work of ten men.

At the foot of Shangyan Mountain, Zhang Han had, at some point, hunted two rabbits.

By afternoon, he had roasted the rabbits.

From hunting to preparing the meal, accompanying the prince on walks, and guarding him, Zhang Han seemed to be constantly occupied, devoted in every moment to Qin.

Eating rabbit meat, Fusu noticed a flock of birds resting on a meadow. When the wind swept the grass into ripples, the birds took flight, soaring toward the distance.

Guanzhong was beautiful now; the Yellow River had not yet risen to flood the fields, nor had the loess plateau brought dust storms.

Perhaps one might still see herds of rhinoceros in the south.

Heard rumors that even the northern Xiongnu had endless flocks of sheep. Fusu sighed, “Guanzhong is so beautiful. We should plant more trees to make it even more lovely.”

Zhang Han stood silently beside him.

News of the prince quickly reached the palace. While discussing how to manage the Chu territory, Li Si spoke up, “Your Majesty, many war captives have arrived from Chu. Since both sides of Shangyan Mountain are barren, why not assign them to cultivate the land?”

Ying Zheng nodded slightly.

Li Si said, “I will arrange this matter.”

“I have heard many seek an audience with Fusu,” the emperor said, producing a bamboo slip and tossing it onto Li Si’s desk. “This was given to me by Chunyu Yue. He says many nobles from the Six States sought to visit Prince Fusu, but the prince refused. This disappointed those nobles, who claim Fusu is too proud.”

The emperor’s voice deepened. “I know you have always been at odds with Chunyu Yue, but—”

He paused; Li Si immediately stood and bowed deeply.

“But no matter what you teach Fusu, the prince must not be caught between you and the nobles of the Six States, even if it is Chunyu Yue.”

Leaving Zhangtai Palace, Li Si’s steps quickened. He now wished to execute Chunyu Yue publicly.

The First Emperor was right—the prince must not become a pawn in their private conflicts.

In other words, even if Li Si and Chunyu Yue fought bitterly, it must not involve the prince.

That meant incidents like Wang Wan’s could only happen once; no one was to exploit the prince.

Even if the prince erred, only the emperor could reprimand him.

Exiting the palace, Li Si scowled and abandoned thoughts of punishing Chunyu Yue. He summoned his servants, gave brief orders, then departed.

Recently, a turtle had appeared in the fish pond at Gaoyuan Palace—another gift from Zhang Han. Fusu tossed it into the pond and paid it no further mind.

Meng Tian was taciturn but imposing. As the son of Meng Wu and a respected military figure, he did not need to curry favor to have a bright future.

Zhang Han, however, was different. Though of noble birth, he had no backing in Xianyang and had struggled for his opportunity. Naturally, he worked hard.

Two troubling reports had come: a man named Zhang Liang was gathering former nobles to rebel against Qin, and another named Xiang Liang’s whereabouts remained unknown.

“Master, the Chancellor has assigned a thousand men to General Zhang Han, who is leading the canal excavation.”

“Where did the teacher get these men?”

“They are prisoners of war from the various states.”

Fusu sipped his tea and remarked, “Teacher, truly your support is invaluable.”