In the eighth year of King Zheng's reign, summer scorched the lands as the Seven Warring States clashed on—though it was always Qin emerging victorious. Perhaps the royal surname Ying carried some unspoken edge. Qin's territories swelled ever larger, while the others withered away.
"King Zheng has been unstoppable since... what, a few years back now?" Li Haimo remarked.
"Why's that?" Xiao Meng and Xue Nu asked, genuinely puzzled.
"Because war's broken out between Qin and Zhao. Lord Chang'an, Cheng Jiao, can't hold back any longer—he'll surely seize this chance to rebel with the army under his command. Such a pity. Without the uprising, even King Zheng couldn't touch him. It was a blade gifted by the king and Lü Buwei themselves, yet one that ends up slitting his own throat." Li Haimo explained.
For all his regrets over Cheng Jiao, Li Haimo couldn't shake the sense of waste. The man's talents outshone most princes through the ages—even outpacing Fusu in the end. But fate dealt him a brutal hand: facing off against the future First Emperor, with Lü Buwei lording over all but the throne itself. Add in the sky-high hopes pinned on him by Grand Lady Hua Yang and Lord Changping, and rebellion became his only path—to death.
Cheng Jiao excelled in both letters and arms, groomed from boyhood as a future king. Even after Ying Zheng's ascension, Lord Changping and Grand Lady Hua Yang whispered that the crown could still be his. Had they instead molded him as a general or minister post-coronation, he'd have been an unmatched asset on the battlefield or in council. History brimmed with princes rising to Grand General in Qin. But from birth, even his father had eyed him for the throne—hence the name Cheng Jiao. Only snag: an elder half-brother, Ying Zheng, exiled in Zhao. And so, he fell.
His downfall was inevitable, really. The Chu lineage had burrowed deep into Qin's roots—two generations, from Grand Lady Xuan to Grand Lady Hua Yang. Lord Changping himself was Chu stock, once a royal hostage there. Cheng Jiao, with his Chu blood, bore that stamp from the cradle. To Qin's native clans, it was anathema—no more Xuan Ladies or Lords Rang to suffer.
Thus Cheng Jiao failed, and Lü Buwei claimed his prize: not just second to the throne, but mastery over all Qin. Even the king hailed him as "Uncle." Yet Lü Buwei teetered on his own precipice. With Cheng Jiao gone, Prince Zheng stood as the sole royal bloodline—winning the unswerving backing of the clans and the military. And Lü Buwei? Like Lord Changping's lot, no true Qin man at heart.
"Couldn't Cheng Jiao see that coming?" Xue Nu pressed, unwilling to buy it.
"Once he grasped the army's reins, seeing it or not didn't matter—he rebelled either way. No road back to Qin alive for him." Li Haimo said.
"Suddenly it hits me—men and their filthy hearts." Xue Nu muttered.
"The Qin court will shift now. The true war to end the Seven States... it's upon us." Li Haimo sighed.
And remarkably, feeble Han pulled off their spy ploy: Zheng Guo slipped into Qin to dig the Zhengguo Canal, turning the Guanzhong basin into another fertile Shu. It bled Qin a solid decade of momentum. Yet it birthed a granary that would fuel their blitz through the six realms.
"You know who the Four Lords of the Seven States are?" Li Haimo asked.
"The crown princes?" Xiao Meng ventured, brow furrowed.
"Nah—Lord Xinling of Wei, Wei Wuji; Lord Chunshen of Chu, Huang Xie; Lord Pingyuan of Zhao, Zhao Sheng." Li Haimo listed.
"And the fourth?" Xue Nu prompted.
"Our host here in Qi: Lord Mengchang, Tian Wen." Li Haimo replied.
"Why call them the Four Lords of the Seven—aren't they outshining even the royal heirs?" Xue Nu wondered.
"Aside from Lord Chunshen, the other three are royal scions," Li Haimo chuckled.
"Start with Lord Xinling, Wei Wuji. As a Wei prince, he blunted Qin's assaults time and again—even Bai Qi, the Martial Peace Lord, got nowhere against him. Twice he crushed Qin hosts; that cloak-and-dagger theft of the tiger tally to save Zhao? Routed them outright. Then the Six States' alliance, storming Hangu Pass—the only time it fell. Say he's not a prince of the Seven?"
"Fair—counts for me. And Lord Pingyuan?" Xiao Meng conceded Xinling's claim.
"Lord Pingyuan Zhao Sheng kept a swarm of retainers. When Bai Qi besieged Handan, he emptied his coffers, dashed between courts, and roped in Xinling and Chunshen to march to Zhao's aid. Amid the siege, he had his wives and concubines mend soldiers' garb right in the ranks—sparking Handan into a city under arms, holding out for Chu and Wei's relief. Victory won, he claimed no honors." Li Haimo pressed on. Both Pingyuan and Xinling were in their twilight years now, though. And I still reckon Lord Changping passed the Three Hundred Sword Forms of the Book of Songs to Xinling, not Chunshen. Character-wise, Xinling or Pingyuan outrank that silver-tongued schemer any day.
"What of Lord Chunshen?" Xue Nu asked.
"Slick as an orator—talked Bai Qi's host right out of Chu with honeyed pleas to the Qin court. Later welcomed back the crown prince to claim the throne: today's Chu king. Just last year, he led the allied host of six against Qin." Li Haimo said.
"Last up: Qi's own Lord Mengchang. Every courtier in the Seven dabbles in retainers—aping Mengchang. Three thousand guests at his door, they say. Qin相, then Qi相, then Wei相. Vertical alliances against Qin; horizontal strikes on Qi. Neither pure Zong nor Heng, yet master of both." Li Haimo wrapped.
"Well said! That earns a toast on my tab." A brocade-robed elder woman at the next table clapped, signaling her servant to deliver a cup.
Li Haimo downed it neat. The Four Lords? A later tally—but spot-on for the era.
"Might I ask which house's scion you are, young lord?" the woman inquired again.
"Han Feizi of Han, at your service, madam." Li Haimo fired back without missing a beat—impersonating Han Fei on impulse. The real one's still grinding away at Little Sage Village Hamlet; close enough to pass, and his rep for wine, women? Perfect cover for Xiao Meng and Xue Nu at his side.
"Ah, the Ninth Prince of Han." She nodded sagely.
"Besides the Four Lords, there's the Four Ladies of the Seven," Li Haimo added—spotting Xiao Meng and Xue Nu's faint disinterest in the lords' roster, pivoting to the ladies.
"Four Ladies too?" Now the women perked up, eyes alight.
"Mind if this old crone eavesdrops?" The brocade woman leaned in, rounding out a mahjong table's worth.
"First: Qin's late Grand Lady Xuan, Mi Bazi. Held sway forty-one years—kept the king from ruling in his own right, yet steered Qin from chaos to might without a hitch." Li Haimo began.
"Mi Bazi earns that top spot, no question." The woman agreed.
"Second: Han's Queen Dowager of King Huan and Hui—Han, long the weakling, lost nigh twenty cities to Qin under him, including Shangdang and Yewang's great walls. The realm quaked at Bai Qi's name, Qin-fear marrow-deep. Huan and Hui died; King An rose. The Queen Dowager danced between Qin, Zhao, and Wei—a frail woman's frame propping up Han's spine. Deserves the Seven's lady crown?" Li Haimo posed.
"Damn right. Han's lot are all spineless whelps—a whole kingdom needing a skirt to stand tall." Ears perked around the inn; guests chimed in.
"And the third?" Xue Nu leaned forward.
"Queen Dowager of Zhao's King Huiwen—today's Zhao matriarch. In the Handan siege, she climbed the walls herself to mend and feed the troops. Now she rules as dowager. But Zhao's threadbare: Zhao She gone, Li Si lurking in the ranks, even Pingyuan abed. Only the octogenarian Lian Po left to wield. And still, she shoulders it—backing the old general. Dares youth Li Mu at Yunmeng Pass: one clash, blood rivers at the frontier, Xiongnu dare not cross the Central Plains. Heads piled into watchtowers beyond the pass, a hundred-odd. Folks still won't piss at night. Zhao's dowager? She claims the title." Li Haimo declared.
"Zhao's king's a fool—great generals sidelined, slanders heeded, forcing the old lady to guard the rear for her vets. Spits on King Wuling's legacy." The woman spat bitterly.
"The last, then—out with it, lad! Wine's on the house today." The innkeep sidled over, plunking down to egg him on.
"Our own Qi's Queen Dowager, Lady of the King." Li Haimo said, watching the woman's face: first blank, then blooming joy.
"Why her?" The innkeep beamed—Qi snagging a lord and a lady?
"Simple: How long since Tian Dan reclaimed Qi? Any wars? Tax hikes, corvée drafts? Linzi packs near a million souls—the Seven's grandest city, hands blotting the sky, shoulders jostling at every step. Credit to King Jian or his mother? No need to spell it out." Li Haimo said.
"I've heard the Confucians scorn Lady Jun—say her virtue's wanting." Xue Nu blurted, timing it poorly. The woman's glow dimmed.
"Only because Grand Scribe Ao overprized rites at Confucianism's expense. 'Ru' means what people truly need. So what do people crave? Gold? Rank? Carriages, beauties, silks, gems? Face and form? Nah. First: fill the belly. Sate that, and what next? Safety for life and limb, coin and kin—no ills, wounds, mishaps." Li Haimo scanned the room—not just guests, but robed scholars too.
"So basics: food, shelter, security. Met those—what then? Xue Nu, tell me: worries lifted, safety sealed—what do you seek?" He turned to her.
Xue Nu pondered, cheeks flushing. "Someone to care... to cherish me."
"Exactly. With those secured, we crave kin's warmth, friends' gaze, spouse's embrace—a home." Li Haimo said. Dawning looks spread; eyes misted.
"Home in hand—what's left? Innkeep, say I barge in and hawk a loogie your way—still roll out the welcome?" Li Haimo asked.
"I'd sooner gut you than greet you," the man laughed.
"Know why?" Li Haimo pressed.
The innkeep shook his head; all did—instinct, duh. What's to why?
"Because beyond the basics, we hunger for respect—given and given back. These years, we've roamed south to north, cities aplenty, faces beyond count. So: rampant chariots barreling down lanes—what curbs that?" Li Haimo queried.
"Edicts! Harsher laws!" the woman barked.
"Work on the rabble, sure. But lordlings and nobles? Who gives a damn?" Li Haimo countered; nods rippled.
"But in some nameless county I passed through—no decrees, yet flawlessly tamed." He teased.
"How?" The chorus went up.
Li Haimo eyed a brocade-clad youth. "Young sir: you spur your mount along a rutted road past a pond, two old farmers at the brink. Do you rein in, lead her past?"
The youth flushed. "No."
"No shame—most wouldn't. But say they spot you afar, bow from the verge, yielding the way?"
"I'd halt, let them pass first." The youth allowed.
"That's the county's way: their academy drills every pupil in courtesy. Spot a cart or mount? Pause, salute, resume once clear. Natives and travelers alike crawl at a snail's pace—no law to whip 'em." Li Haimo revealed.
"Because we all thirst for respect." He summed.
"Well put! Years in the Confucian halls, and now it clicks—this is Ru at its core. Sir, our bow to you." A knot of scholars advanced, saluting with grave decorum.
"Hold—those were the Ru basics. True statesmen, grand Ru? They build on that: chase ambitions, max their gifts. In want, mend the self; in power, aid the world. That's it—peak need once the first four yield: self-ideal, value made real. Fulfill all five? That's Ru." Li Haimo built.
"Our thanks, teacher." They rose as one, offering the master's rite.
"So back to it: Lady Jun and her sire Grand Scribe Ao—who wronged whom?" Li Haimo tossed to the crowd.
"Neither wrong, both at fault." He answered.
"Lady Jun erred eloping sans matchmaker—madam, where's her fault there?"
"In scorning her father's respect." The woman said.
"Dead wrong. A father's deepest ache? Lady Jun shattered it all: fled, imperiling her own keep and safety—his nightmare. Shattered the home. Trampled his dignity last. And as Qi's Grand Scribe? His spotless name, life's work—poof. She razed every layer of his needs." Li Haimo unpacked.
Tears streamed down the woman's face. My own willfulness... Father's whole life, in ruins.
"Had she left a note, sent word of safety now and then, shared tales of her husband's care—then King Jian sues for her hand at the door? None of this." Li Haimo soothed.
"But Ao blameless? She's his blood—true. Sons roam the world; daughters deserve love too. He offered a father's heart, but she claimed her joy's right. Yet he, for one skipped rite, for slighted honor... forgoes family, bars reunion till death. Dooms her to lifelong ache. All for muddled priorities—his and hers, a bleak half-life. 'Serves her right'? Not unjust." Li Haimo said.
"And her gravest sin? Not once homeward, not an incense stick at his grave. Spare me 'house forbids, Ru denies'—it's pride, can't beg the Ru or kin. With her sway now? Who in Qi bars her? But blood before a parent's mound—unseemly for the queen. So: from the tenth-li pavilion, three bows, nine kowtows home. Age spares her; let King Jian stand proxy. Which Ru dares block a daughter's grave-tend? Let her try—who blocks, counts one. See if this prince's blade's gone dull." Li Haimo thundered.
"Right! Which Ru steps up—we'll drag Master Xun out ourselves." The room surged, blood afire.
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