Crossing the Yellow River
The Yellow River, a vast waterway cutting across the Central Plains. Flowing northeast from Handan, the capital of Zhao, it eventually reaches the Bohai Sea. Following the direction of its turbulent currents, a caravan moved northeast. I had joined their ranks and taken a seat among them. Not as part of any escort, but simply as an ordinary merchant caravan. Several trading houses, including the one I had founded during my stay in Handan, traveled together for safety. We had left Handan, passed through Lieren and Beiqiu, and were now continuing steadily eastward—to cross the Yellow River.
Because we rode ox carts instead of carriages for better value, several people sat clustered around me. Out of nowhere, someone spoke.
"Come to think of it, you said your family lives in Chengtong, didn't you?"
"Yes. Though it's quite an old story now."
"Haha, you're barely at the age of learning, yet you call it old."
"About three years, I suppose."
"Oh, come on. Three years is practically yesterday!"
Given that they addressed me as Chengtong—a term for a fifteen-year-old boy—they clearly still saw me as a child. Hearing me speak of three years as if it were a long time must have amused them, like watching a youngster play at being grown.
I laughed along with them, exchanging idle talk, when a sudden shout erupted from the front of the caravan.
"Looks like we've arrived."
"Our young Chengtong here has never seen it, has he? Come on, get closer and take a look."
The merchants urged me forward like seniors eager to show a junior something remarkable. As I moved nearer, the ox-cart driver pointed with an outstretched finger.
"That's the Yellow River."
Where his finger pointed, a mighty river flowed in serene grandeur. We had reached the Yellow River, the lifeblood of the continent.
§
Why was I traveling with a merchant caravan without proper escorts? To understand that, I must go further back.
After Zheng chose to return to Qin, I spent a long time lost in thought. Zheng would become the King of Qin. She had said so herself, and having watched her talents from close by, I believed that with the right justification, she could indeed ascend the throne. And that justification had been granted to her. As the legitimate eldest daughter of the Crown Prince Ying Zichu, her status carried the strongest claim to succession in a world where women could inherit. Though weaker than the strict primogeniture of later Confucian eras, it was more than enough for Zheng. In reality, she had become the Royal Princess.
How could the daughter of a crown prince become a royal princess? It sounds absurd, but after the death of King Zhaoxiang of Qin, Lord Anguo ascended the throne only to die three days after his formal coronation. He received the posthumous title of King Xiaowen, and Ying Zichu, the former crown prince, became the new King of Qin. With Ying Zichu on the throne, a power struggle erupted over whether Zheng or Ying Chengjiao was the rightful heir. Zheng emerged victorious and claimed the title of Royal Princess. Behind the scenes, it meant Lu Buwei's faction—which had brought Ying Zichu out of Zhao—had triumphed over Qin's entrenched noble class.
All of this unfolded within a single year. Zheng's return to Qin, King Xiaowen's death, Ying Zichu's ascension, and Zheng's rise as Royal Princess passed in a flash, like roasting beans over lightning. By the time I left Zhao, Zheng had already become the Royal Princess. Watching this from neighboring Zhao, what thoughts must have crossed my mind?
From the moment I sensed that the girl I had taken in would become Qin Shi Huang, the unifier who would destroy the other states, I had wrestled with what I must do. Could war alone stop her? Was leading the allied forces of the other states against Qin's conquests the only duty left to me? Was there truly no other path?
Unable to find a clear answer, I wandered in uncertainty until Han Jing, unable to watch any longer, offered advice.
"Rather than tormenting yourself alone forever, go to the Jixia Academy. Even if the scholars gathered there cannot give you the answer you seek, they may at least provide a clue."
The Jixia Academy. It was a hall of learning, a research institute, an advisory body to the state of Qi, and an educational institution all at once. The southern gate of Linzi, Qi's capital, was called the Ji Gate. Kings Wei and Xuan of Qi built residences beneath it, invited scholars, and established the academy, giving rise to Jixia. As Han Jing said, it was a place any seeker of knowledge yearned to visit. Status, origin, or scholarly lineage mattered little there. Anyone could freely expound and pursue their own theories and philosophies, with all expenses covered by the state of Qi. Admission and departure were equally free—come as you please, leave as you please. That was Jixia's guiding principle.
Several Jixia scholars moved in my circles. Han Jing, my closest retainer, had studied there, and Zou Yan was one of its senior figures. Even Gongsun Long, who did not get along with Zou Yan, had studied at Jixia and maintained deep ties with Mohist scholars Song Jian and Yin Wen. Further back, the renowned Mencius had also been a student there, and Xunzi—often mentioned alongside him—was currently serving as the academy's head, the Jijiu.
If such eminent philosophers gathered there, perhaps they could offer some resolution to my dilemma. It felt as though a faint beacon had appeared on a vast, dark sea.
Almost at the same moment I resolved, following Han Jing's advice, to head for Jixia, my time as a hostage came to an end—as if fate itself were toying with me. When told to prepare for my return to Yan, I informed my father, the King of Yan, that I wished to stop at Jixia along the way. Having endured years of hardship as a hostage, I thought he might grant me this small request. Yet even that proved unexpectedly difficult. Qi, where Jixia stood, was a latent enemy of Yan. If I were detained there, Yan would lose one of its bargaining chips. So I proposed conditions: I would not reveal my identity, and I would limit my stay to one year. Perhaps feeling some lingering guilt for having started a war despite knowing I was a hostage, the King of Yan accepted.
A new hostage arrived from Yan, and my attendants—including Han Jing—returned home. After seeing them off, I set out alone for Qi. Concealing my identity posed no great problem; I had my trading house as cover. Traveling under a merchant's guise would afford me a far more comfortable life than during my days of unsupported exile in Yan. Merchant caravans generally maintained their own guards, so safety was not a major concern. Though one year was tight, I had no intention of becoming a formal scholar at Jixia. As long as I calculated the travel distance properly, there would be no issue.
And so far, everything had gone according to plan without incident.
"We've already arranged for boats to cross the Yellow River. Once we're over, we'll be at Pingyuan, on the border between Zhao and Qi. Best stay alert from here on."
Pingyuan. A name both achingly familiar and deeply nostalgic. I clutched the seal of Lord Pingyuan, which I always kept close to my chest. In Pingyuan, Lord Pingyuan's fief, the retainers I had sent away when I took in Zheng were still living. Including Pingyuan on my route to Linzi was not merely for the sake of the shortest path. I intended to meet them as well. And not only them—there was someone else in Pingyuan I wished to see.
Mao Sui is in Pingyuan, if I recall.
After Lord Pingyuan's death, his most trusted aide had vanished, declaring he would handle the funeral himself. Though Mao Sui lacked the deep scholarly learning of Jixia's academicians, the wisdom and experience he had gained through life were in no way inferior. Perhaps he could offer me a more direct and practical solution than scholars prone to empty theorizing.
One year remained until my return to Yan. During that time, I would meet as many people as possible and see as much of the world as I could. That was the best choice available to someone who had yet to find the path he must walk.