Chapter Thirteen: Leading Three Thousand Disciples, Invincible Across All Nations

“This... is far too precious.”

Ying Shu understood well that the purer the salt, the more valuable it was.

This finely crafted salt, without any bitterness, must cost several times, if not ten times, more than the salt they normally used.

Zhao Zheng casually shook another jar. “It’s nothing. This salt isn’t expensive, it’s just that the production volume can’t keep up for now.”

“I made two jars—one to send to the Sovereign, and the other, Princess, you can keep.”

“Then... I shall accept it.”

Only after hearing Zhao Zheng say this did Ying Shu agree to accept the salt. Then, her eyes flickered with a suggestion: “If you’re going to see my elder brother, why not ride in my carriage? I’m heading back there myself.”

“In that case, I shall graciously accept.”

Zhao Zheng was far from polite; who would refuse a free luxury carriage ride?

The carriage exuded a unique, delicate fragrance, and the comfort was undeniable—no wonder the Qin Kingdom’s eldest princess was so cherished.

“Princess, how can you let just anyone board your carriage?”

Her personal maid’s face immediately tightened upon seeing Zhao Zheng slip inside. Her tone was stern.

Ying Shu raised a hand to stop her, her voice firm and unyielding: “This man is Master Guigu, the Left Minister of Qin. Don’t just say he can ride in my carriage—he should be accommodated wherever he wishes.”

The maid curled her lips, brimming with disbelief. “Master Guigu? Has the Sovereign been deceived? Isn’t Master Guigu supposed to be an old man? Why is he so young?”

Not just the maid—Ying Shu herself was inwardly doubtful. The rumors portrayed Guiguzi as a mysterious elder, but Zhao Zheng’s recent feats were undeniable.

First, he outwitted the Wei Kingdom twice, then single-handedly countered the entire old aristocracy in court.

And now, he had produced such a rare and refined salt.

Suppressing her doubts, Ying Shu decided to tease him:

“Right, I also remember the rumors say Master Guigu is an old man. You must be a fraud, then.” She crossed her arms and lifted her chin.

Zhao Zheng shot her an enormous eye roll. “Why are rumors called rumors? Because they’re passed around like that.”

He steadied himself—this Guiguzi persona had to be maintained no matter what.

“Speaking of which, what do you think Confucius was really like?” Zhao Zheng suddenly shifted the topic.

Confucius?

Ying Shu paused, answering without hesitation: “Naturally, he was refined, gentle, virtuous, and respected—a model gentleman.”

Zhao Zheng shook his head. “See? I told you rumors are misleading.”

“What? Isn’t that the image of Confucius?”

Ying Shu carefully recalled the image she’d heard of the sage. That was indeed how he was described!

Zhao Zheng laughed. “Of course not. The real Confucius was two meters tall, all sinewy muscle, broad shoulders and back, with muscles so defined they formed the character for ‘virtue.’”

“Behind him marched three thousand disciples, adept in both literature and martial arts. Anyone who dared oppose them was dealt with. That’s who Confucius really was.”

???

Ying Shu and her maid widened their eyes in unison, mouths agape wide enough to fit an egg.

Two meters tall, all sinewy muscle, leading three thousand disciples across the states?

That’s not traveling the states, that’s invading them.

Ying Shu hurriedly retorted, “You’re talking nonsense. Confucius was nothing like that.”

“Am I? Have you ever seen the real Confucius?”

Zhao Zheng raised an eyebrow, mercilessly countering.

“I...”

Ying Shu was speechless—how could she have met a sage from a hundred years ago?

“Then have you seen the real Master Guigu?”

Zhao Zheng asked again.

Ying Shu remained silent and shook her head.

Zhao Zheng assumed the stance of a wise elder: “Well, that settles it. Hearsay isn’t always true—seeing is believing.”

By then, the carriage had come to a steady halt before the gates of Liyang Palace.

He scooped up the jar of salt, jumped down nimbly, and turned to Ying Shu with a teasing smile:

“Ignorance is no sin, but spreading nonsense is wrong! Farewell, young miss!”

“You—!”

Ying Shu was flustered, but the figure had already sped away with the jar in his arms.

The palace guards at Liyang immediately saluted and cleared the path upon seeing Zhao Zheng.

This was a special privilege granted by Ying Quliang; Zhao Zheng could enter the palace without prior notice.

“Sovereign! Sovereign!”

Zhao Zheng sped into Ying Quliang’s main hall, where Ying Quliang was bent over, reading memorials. Hearing the voice, he looked up.

The so-called memorials were official reports.

“Master, you’re here? Didn’t I say you don’t have to address me as Sovereign?”

Seeing it was Zhao Zheng, Ying Quliang stood to greet him promptly and ordered attendants to prepare refreshments.

His gaze fell upon the jar Zhao Zheng carried, and he was momentarily stunned. “Master, what is this jar?”

Zhao Zheng said nothing, placing the jar on the desk.

Ying Quliang leaned in for a closer look. The jar was filled with a gleaming white substance, but he couldn’t fathom what Zhao Zheng was up to.

Zhao Zheng gestured for him to taste it; Ying Quliang complied, his expression turning to surprise.

His reaction was no less astonished than Ying Shu’s.

“This... is salt?”

Ying Quliang looked incredulous; this salt was vastly different from what they normally consumed.

Their salt was bitter, but this salt was purely salty—without any impurities.

Zhao Zheng nodded. “Indeed, salt. These are for the Sovereign.”

But Ying Quliang shook his head. “This salt is too precious. Master, you should keep it for your own use.”

He understood perfectly well that such pure, fine salt was as valuable as gold.

Zhao Zheng smiled mysteriously. “Sovereign, what if I told you the cost of producing this salt is very low?”

“Low cost?”

Ying Quliang was taken aback. How could this salt possibly be inexpensive?

Zhao Zheng then briefly explained how the fine salt was extracted.

“I only made two jars in the first batch. One is already with Ying Shu.”

Zhao Zheng sighed. He wanted to produce more, but the tools were too rudimentary, and the brine loss was significant.

Otherwise, the salt output would have been even greater.

“Master, you truly are a marvel!”

Ying Quliang had never heard of this method of salt production before.

He added, “If Master produces salt on such a large scale, won’t every citizen of Qin be able to have salt?”

Zhao Zheng shook his head and shared his concerns.

He had considered large-scale promotion but believed it was not yet the time.

In fact, the fewer who knew of this fine salt, the better.

If it spread recklessly to the Six Kingdoms, it would become a coveted commodity.

Salt was already a source of huge profit—fine salt even more so. The Six Kingdoms would surely covet Qin’s refined salt technology.

Qin was not strong enough to withstand the Six Kingdoms yet; holding such a precious resource was a risk, potentially inviting disaster.

Zhao Zheng planned to wait until after Shang Yang’s reforms, when Qin had established a new, capable army, before promoting the fine salt.

It wasn’t that a new army couldn’t be formed now—it was just that the military strength after Shang Yang’s system of merit-based rank was unparalleled.

After all, who wouldn’t want to gain rank, title, and high office for themselves?

No, he had to find a way to bring Shang Yang into Qin as soon as possible so he could develop more innovations to improve his life.

“Trouble! Sovereign, Left Minister…”

Suddenly, a soldier burst into the hall, breathless and panicked, footsteps pounding urgently behind him.