Chapter Eight: The Rain of Early Summer

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The prince was eager to learn, so the Gaoquan Palace housed many scrolls, with gigantic bookshelves filled to the brim with bamboo slips. If stacked, these slips would form a small mountain taller than the palace itself. The prince remarked that bamboo slips were inconvenient to store and too heavy, so despite the piles, the actual amount of books wasn’t that great.

The palace staff did not quite understand why the prince hung his clothes on a wooden rack with many legs, supposedly for hanging outer garments. It was unclear which country’s custom this was—perhaps a refined practice from the Qi people.

Today, when the prince left, the palace attendants noticed his favorite pair of shoes no longer fit, a sign that the Qin prince had grown taller again.

After Fusu left Gaoquan Palace, the palace servants quietly began their busy work. Some took out the prince’s bamboo slips to air them, others cleaned the candlesticks and oil lamps; the entire palace was thoroughly tidied. The many affairs of Gaoquan Palace were arranged by Tian An. The previously lazy servants had been dismissed by him, leaving only the most diligent workers.

By sunset, when the prince returned and saw the clean palace and the bamboo slips still warm from drying, he would surely be pleased.

In springtime, the Guanzhong region was always windy. Its climate was characterized by many winds in spring, abundant rains in autumn, and particularly long winters and summers. To the south lay the Qinling Mountains, and to the north, a plateau. This terrain, high on both south and north sides with a lower central plain, bordered on the east by the Yellow River, created a landscape that was easy to defend but hard to attack.

Thus, the wisdom of the ancients could not be doubted. The chosen homeland of the forefathers was indeed a blessed land, a practical lesson gleaned through the course of human civilization and settlement.

Climatically, the Guanzhong Plain sat between the temperate zone and the subtropical monsoon climate south of the Qinling Mountains. This made it a truly fortunate land, able to sustain crops from both the north and the south.

Fusu watched small groups of farmers pulling a seed drill as they sowed the fields.

Lü Buwei had left behind much inheritance; just the hundreds of hectares of land were enough to manage. The teacher generously provided a thousand prisoners of war to help cultivate the land—one thousand mouths to feed—plus the household servants’ existing provisions and current consumption.

Fusu realized his grain was insufficient; he could no longer support all his servants. Who would have thought that maintaining servants was so costly? Counting Lü Buwei’s legacy, Fusu had over three thousand servants under his care. Supporting himself was simple, as palace life required no effort on his part. But now, feeding the three thousand servants outside was a heavy burden, especially the extra thousand.

Tian An watched the prince sitting by the grain cart, counting the grain.

Suddenly, Fusu asked, “How did Lü Buwei support those three thousand retainers back then?”

Tian An replied, “With grain and servants, naturally you can sustain three thousand retainers.”

Fusu put down his brush, sipped some cooled boiled water, and frowned. “If Lü Buwei were still alive, I should consult him properly.”

The grain was still being sown; the Longshou Canal was still being dug, and harvests were nowhere in sight. The crops sown were mainly wheat, followed by beans and millet.

How could the Qin prince lack money or grain? The teacher had long arranged everything. Lü Buwei’s mansion was in Xianyang City, and whenever the prince visited, those eager to curry favor would hasten to present gold, silver, beauties, and grain.

In truth, if all went according to the teacher’s plan, everything would fall smoothly into place.

Fusu picked up a bamboo slip before him—it was his ledger as well as his estate’s record.

The next day, when Li Si heard about the prince’s grain shortage, he quickly opened his family’s granary and sent over a hundred carts of grain to the foot of Shangyan Mountain.

Fusu ate freshly made noodles, watching the grain sent by his teacher’s orders arrive.

While eating, he heard loud slurping noises. Looking up, he saw Zhang Han devouring his meal greedily, even sniffing sharply—likely his first time tasting such delicious food—pickled vegetables stewed with noodles.

After finishing, Fusu put down his bowl and said to Tian An, “Give the rest to Zhang Han.”

Tian An silently went to serve more noodles.

Eating was a great matter in life. During the development of human civilization, gaining happiness from meals held great significance.

Farmers sitting in small groups in the fields, their children smiling happily, brought smiles to the adults’ faces as well.

How simple happiness could be.

The thousand prisoners of war, now well-fed, had eyes shining with green light like starving wolves. They stuffed their mouths fiercely with food, then worked with desperate energy.

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Recently, Fusu enjoyed sitting by the ridges, watching farmers eating in the fields, living more like true old Qin people.

Two months later, Fusu saw the wheat shoots sprouting anew.

Today, Meng Tian, absent for a long time, finally arrived.

Fusu offered him a freshly baked cake, saying, “Just out of the oven, eat it while it’s hot—it’s delicious.”

Then he asked Tian An, “Have you sent some to Father and the Chancellor?”

“Yes, Young Master, it has been sent.”

A few sparrows flew overhead before settling nearby.

Chewing his cake, Fusu asked Meng Tian, “I heard you went north?”

Meng Tian sat upright and replied, “My father said the Great Wall needs repairs. He has reported to His Majesty and awaits the decision.”

Fusu fanned himself, handing him a peach. “Your father is going to repair the Great Wall.”

Meng Tian took the peach and said, “My father is old. If he cannot oversee the repairs, I will take my family and lead the army to guard and repair the Great Wall.”

Hearing this, Fusu patted Meng Tian’s shoulder firmly.

“Prince, I am a general of Qin; I should be the one guarding the Great Wall.”

The Meng family had been loyal to Qin for generations. Meng Tian’s grandfather, Meng Ao, was originally from Qi but earned the trust of King Zhao Xiang of Qin. Speaking of Meng Tian’s grandfather inevitably involved a man named Fan Ju, though that was long ago. The Meng family had served Qin generals through four generations, their fate tightly bound to Qin.

“Do you have grain at home?”

“Ah...” Taken aback, Meng Tian’s earlier melancholy vanished, replaced by hesitation. “We have some.”

Zhang Han was alone, with no family or grain stores, living off military pay. He truly had no grain to spare.

Afterward, Tian An brought out ten shi of grain, and even Meng Tian was supplied with a hundred carts of grain.

Supporting three thousand servants was difficult, but the days must be lived through. After half a year, things would improve.

During this year’s Grain Rain season, rainfall was scant—just enough for Guanzhong.

Meng Tian’s father, Meng Wu, was about to retire. The First Emperor had granted Meng Tian a military post; now he could attend morning court meetings.

At dawn, the court session was underway in Zhangtai Palace.

Fusu left Xianyang City and again came to Shangyan Mountain.

This was nearly a daily routine—checking how the crops were growing.

He examined the newly dug well canal with frustration, then looked up at the clear sky and muttered, “Summer is almost here.”

Tian An said, “After April comes Summer Begins.”

“Summer should bring rain, right?”

Tian An, always expressionless in the palace, had lately smiled more.

Hearing the prince’s words, Tian An laughed, “Rain should come.”

After the grain was newly sown, approaching Summer Begins, the fields were lush and green. Fusu saw Zhang Han working in the field, standing barefoot in the water, bent over scooping up mud to raise the ridges.

Fusu asked, “What is he doing?”

Tian An glanced and whispered, “The Chancellor and General Meng Tian brought a lot of grain to the prince. Zhang Han, feeling he could not contribute much alone, felt guilty.”

“Guarding is his proper duty; he needn’t feel guilty.”

Tian An added, “Zhang Han knows the prince wants to reclaim wasteland, so he helps with farming.”

Fusu nodded in understanding.

April passed in Guanzhong. With May’s arrival came distant thunder.

Fusu sat inside Gaoquan Palace, watching the heavy rain.

Tian An smiled again, saying, “Prince said Summer Begins would bring rain, and it truly did. The grain on the wasteland by Shangyan Mountain can now grow.”

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This was truly joyous news—the rain came at the perfect time. Once the newly built cisterns filled, the three thousand servants at the foot of Shangyan Mountain would have their water needs solved.

Fusu sighed, “As a prince of Qin, I have only now solved the water problem for my own servants.”

Tian An did not understand the meaning behind “water problem.” He only knew that when the prince needed rain, heaven sent it.

Compared to other princes of the Six States, the heir of the unified Qin kingdom had but three thousand servants—remarkably frugal.

Fusu did not look outside at the heavy rain but studied the political decrees sent by his teacher. The First Emperor and the teacher planned to divide the realm into thirty-six commanderies.

After finishing one scroll, he took up another but still found no mention of “Though Chu be but three households, Qin’s fall means Chu’s rise.”

After Xiang Yan backed Lord Changping as King of Chu in an attempt to restore Chu, the rebellion was crushed by Wang Jian’s army. Xiang Yan died in battle, and Xiang Liang disappeared without a trace to this day.

As for Zhang Liang, it remained unknown where this conspirator against Qin was hiding.

Some words could serve as warnings: if Qin did not govern well, the prophecy of Chu rising after Qin’s fall might come true.

People always needed a sense of urgency. These days, Li Si also felt this. Today, the court re-divided the commanderies and decreed that all official documents use the small seal script, a move opposed by Chunyu Yue.

Li Si sat in his shaky carriage, anger rising anew, wishing he could have Chunyu Yue and the other scholars from the Six States quartered in the market.

He even dreamt last night of Chunyu Yue’s execution, blood staining all of Xianyang. Upon waking, he wore a smile.

Yet at this morning’s court, Chunyu Yue was alive and standing before him again.

The carriage left Xianyang City, heading southeast. Li Si’s body swayed with the carriage’s movement. Fortunately, the First Emperor had decreed all documents must be written in small seal script—the unification of writing was a key step.

The carriage slowed. The driver said, “Chancellor, we have arrived.”

Li Si frowned as he looked through the rain-drenched distance. There was a verdant wheat field.

Unexpectedly, the prince had truly managed to grow grain on this wasteland.

Staring longer, Li Si spotted a figure wearing a raincoat digging the field ridges in the rain.

He smiled and said, “Let’s go back.”

“Chancellor, won’t you take one more look? I heard there’s another canal north of Shangyan Mountain.”

Li Si’s mood improved greatly. One day, he would have Chunyu Yue executed in the market.

But for now, the First Emperor still needed them to win hearts and minds; better to endure for now.

Seeing the prince’s fields put Li Si in good spirits—he could set aside personal grudges for the moment.

He withdrew his gaze, looked at the scroll in his hand, and listened to the rain tapping on the carriage roof. He whispered, “The prince has so many servants but does not indulge himself. This is good for Qin. Let’s return.”

The driver urged the horses, and the carriage returned to Xianyang City.

In the field, the man in the raincoat laboring was Zhang Han. He looked up at the strange carriage; it came hurriedly and left just as swiftly. He did not know who they were.

With cautious eyes, Zhang Han waited until the carriage was gone before lowering his head to continue planting the grain for the prince.

The rain poured for a day and night, stopping only at noon the next day.

After the rain, the Wei River ran muddy. When sunlight broke through the clouds and shone on the land, beams of golden light pierced the overcast sky.

In moments, the damp Guanzhong was bathed in the midday sun.

With little wind, the temperature rose swiftly.

Fusu stood by the river for just half an hour, sweat forming on his brow. Watching the rushing water flow southeast, he asked, “Is Meng Tian going north?”

Tian An replied, “Today’s court did not mention it.”

When Meng Tian would go to guard the Great Wall depended on the emperor’s word. The Great Wall must be repaired; this was crucial for Qin.

Recently, the court discussed unifying the script. The empire was moving toward centralized imperial power.

After centuries of the Zhou dynasty’s feudal system and the Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods, Qin would usher in the first true centralization.

In some ways, Fusu thought his teacher and father were not ruthless enough. The Three Lords and Nine Ministers system supported the commandery’s local administration; the unified script ensured effective communication. Qin’s standards had to be highly uniform.

Yet the First Emperor still showed humane care. Against those who opposed, Fusu felt there was no need for excessive mercy.

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