Chapter 4

Fan Ju spent three full days hovering between life and death. At dawn on the fourth, his fever finally broke.

He had wasted away until he was little more than skin and bone. The agony of three broken ribs and a leg, compounded by a raging fever from his infected wounds, had nearly killed him. Yet his eyes, sunken deep in their sockets, shone brighter than they had three days ago—two cold stars, sharp and fathomless.

Even the wandering old physician Zheng Anping had unearthed from who knew where clicked his tongue in amazement.

The doctor was nearing sixty. A four-inch beard, gray and white in patches, hung from his chin, and he spoke with the slow, measured air of a man in no hurry. Two tortoiseshell divination tiles dangled from his belt. That was hardly unusual. At the time, medicine and sorcery had yet to split into separate arts, and with Wei bordering the Chu Lands, where witchcraft and curses flourished, most practitioners of the School of Medicine knew a little yin-yang divination.

After taking Fan Ju’s pulse, the old doctor clicked his tongue again. Then he stroked his beard and insisted on reading Fan Ju’s face.

“Three broken ribs, one broken leg, three days with a high fever—and you still pulled through. You’ve got a stubborn life in you, young man. A very stubborn life. I’ve practiced medicine for most of my years, and I’ve never seen anyone cling to life like you.”

Fan Ju lay on the couch, newly recovered from the worst of his illness and too weak even to struggle. All he could do was let the doctor’s hands, dry as old bark, roam over his face.

When the old doctor finished feeling his bones, he narrowed his eyes and stroked his beard, putting on a grave expression.

“Remarkable. You’ve survived a calamity, so good fortune must lie ahead. You’re a young man born for the life of a lord.”

Zheng Anping, listening nearby, was sorely tempted. He fished out a small gold ingot and pressed it into the doctor’s hand with a pained look.

“Would you feel my face too, sir? Do I have the makings of a general?”

The old doctor waved him off. “No need. You haven’t got it in you.”

“Hey, you old—”

Zheng Anping scowled, but the old doctor wasn’t intimidated. He slung his medicine case over his back and got to his feet.

“You’d be better off sticking to business.”

Fuming, Zheng Anping followed him, demanding that he at least say something encouraging. As they passed through the outer room, the old doctor abruptly stopped. His gaze fell on Ying Zheng, who was sitting on a bamboo mat, reading.

“Hm?”

He stared at the boy.

“Is this your nephew?”

Zheng Anping snapped, “If he isn’t my nephew, whose nephew do you think he is? Yours?”

The old doctor gave Ying Zheng a quick, searching look and murmured, “How strange. How can a face be both so fearsome and so noble?”

He couldn’t read the child at all. All he could sense was a mingling of danger and extraordinary fortune—a combination more unsettling than the King of Wei, whom he had once glimpsed from afar.

The thought flashed through his mind like lightning. Then he shook his head and laughed at himself. He must simply be unskilled in his art. The King of Wei already ruled a state; no ruler of the Six States could be more exalted than he was. There could be no one with a more noble face. His old eyes must be playing tricks on him.

He muttered so softly that even Zheng Anping, hurrying after him, couldn’t make out the words. He only caught the old man saying something as he looked at Ying Zheng.

“Come on, say it clearly!” Zheng Anping cried, stamping his foot as he chased the doctor out through the courtyard gate.

Ying Zheng looked up from his place on the mat and watched the old doctor’s retreating back, utterly baffled.

No. 108, what did that old man say?

No. 108 relayed the doctor’s words to him.

Ying Zheng gave a self-deprecating smile. “I’ve had more than enough brushes with death. As for wealth and rank…”

His expression and voice gradually fell quiet. A moment later, he lowered his head and returned his attention to the bamboo slips.

Half an hour later, Zheng Anping ran into the room in a panic and stopped beside Fan Ju’s couch, lowering his voice.

“We’re in trouble! The Chancellor’s residence has posted a notice. They’re hunting for you!”

By then, Zheng Anping was beginning to regret bringing Fan Ju home.

Ying Zheng came in at the commotion. He heard the regret in Zheng Anping’s voice, and a thought stirred. Without a word, he glanced toward Fan Ju, curious to see how he would respond.

Fan Ju wasn’t surprised to hear that Wei Qi had put out a search for him. No matter how foolish Wei Qi was, if he hadn’t found a corpse, he should have guessed Fan Ju was still alive.

Fan Ju coughed and struggled to sit up, his expression troubled.

“I can’t drag my benefactor down with me. Please hand me over to Wei Qi. But he’s a narrow-minded man. Killing me may not be enough to sate his anger. If he decides to take it out on you as well…”

Zheng Anping knew something of Wei Qi’s character. He cursed under his breath and quickly pressed Fan Ju back down.

“What are you saying, sir? Do you take me for someone who breaks his word? I brought you home. There’s no way I’d hand you over to a man like Wei Qi.”

Fan Ju yielded to his pressure and lay back. The worry vanished from his face, and a flicker of amusement passed through his eyes.

Zheng Anping sighed. There was no need for Fan Ju to spell out the consequences. By now, they were both in the same boat. If Wei Qi got his hands on Fan Ju, Zheng Anping would be charged as an accomplice.

He remembered Wei Qi humiliating Fan Ju at the banquet. What if it had been him in Fan Ju’s place? A shiver ran through Zheng Anping, and he trembled twice.

No. Whether he wanted to invest in Fan Ju and help him rise again or avoid Wei Qi’s revenge, he had to find a way to get Fan Ju out of Wei.

“I’ll figure out how to get you to Qi,” he said through gritted teeth.

Fan Ju opened his eyes. “No.”

“Why not?” Zheng Anping stared at him.

Ying Zheng was puzzled too. At the banquet, he had heard plainly that Fan Ju had been branded a traitor because the King of Qi had rewarded him. If the King of Qi valued him, wouldn’t it make sense to seek refuge in Qi?

Unlike Zheng Anping, however, Ying Zheng wasn’t in a panic. He knew Fan Ju would eventually enter Qin. For now, he waited for an explanation and listened closely, learning all he could.

After all, between his convenient uncle Zheng Anping, his own eight-year-old self, and Fan Ju, the future Chancellor of Qin whose name would one day shake the world, even someone as proud as Ying Zheng knew which of them truly had the skill.

“First, if I seek refuge in Qi, my identity will be exposed. Qi is weak; it won’t risk falling out with Wei Qi for my sake. Second, the Tian clan controls Qi’s government. The King of Qi is little more than a puppet, and a puppet can’t help me get anywhere.”

Fan Ju calmly laid out his reasoning, then named the destination he had already chosen.

“I should go to Qin. While I was with Xu Jia, I heard that a Qin envoy would soon be coming to Wei. Please help me find out where he is.”

Only Qin. He wanted to be like Zhang Yi in years gone by, to make the whole world tremble when he grew angry.

Zheng Anping muttered, “But isn’t Qin run by Queen Dowager Mi and Lord Rang these days?”

Fan Ju gave him a faint smile and said nothing more.

“We can’t keep using the name Fan Ju,” Zheng Anping mused. Then he glanced at Ying Zheng, who was sitting ramrod straight and pretending not to listen, though his ears were clearly pricked up. Zheng Anping’s eyes lit up.

He pulled Ying Zheng over to the couch.

“This is my nephew Zhang Zheng. He came from Zhao to seek service a while ago. Tell people you’re his uncle, waylaid by bandits on the road and held for days before I bought you back. That’ll explain all your injuries.”

The more he thought about it, the better the plan seemed. The only unknown was whether Fan Ju had the sort of pride some scholars did—the kind that would rather break than bend.

“I’ll leave everything to you, my benefactor,” Fan Ju replied evenly, without batting an eye.

Survival mattered far more than the scraps of pride that Wei Qi had ground to dust in his mansion only days ago.

“And if you have time, sir, it would be wonderful if you could teach your nephew a thing or two,” Zheng Anping added warmly, already calculating.

At the very least, he’d save the cost of hiring a tutor.

Fan Ju smiled. “Then I’ll accept the connection, even if I have to do so shamelessly.”

Zheng Anping left to investigate the Qin envoy’s whereabouts. Ying Zheng stayed behind.

The room held only the two of them: one man and one boy.

Looking at the nephew he had acquired by way of this new false identity, Fan Ju found himself unusually unsure of what to say.

What did one talk about with a child?

Fan Ju tried to lower his intelligence to a level beneath Xu Jia’s and Wei Qi’s, then gently coaxed him.

“Don’t be afraid. I’m not a bad man. How old are you?”

Ying Zheng raised his dark eyes and stared at Fan Ju with an expression of deep exasperation. His soft cheeks slowly puffed out.

Did he look like a fool? He might not be as clever as Fan Ju yet, but of the three people in the room, he certainly wasn’t the least educated.

“Nine,” Ying Zheng said flatly, fixing Fan Ju with a pair of dark, grape-like eyes.

He thought of all the things Zhao people had cursed Fan Ju for since he was a child. The enemy of his enemy was Qin’s Chancellor. That made Fan Ju one of his own.

“You’re using him,” Ying Zheng said slowly. “You can’t even show your face right now, and you want to go to Qin. He’s the only lifeline you can hold on to.”

Fan Ju paused, then realized that by “him,” Ying Zheng meant Zheng Anping. He studied the boy in surprise and dropped the act of coaxing a child.

“We each get what we need,” he replied evenly, neither concealing nor embellishing the truth.

It would have been easy to fool a child, even one more precocious than most, with the School of Diplomacy’s tricks. But Fan Ju hadn’t chosen to use them.

For now, he was “Zhang Lu,” and the boy was his nephew. He really was using Zheng Anping. He was also truly grateful to him for saving his life.

Fan Ju paused before asking, “Do you think I mean Zheng Anping harm?”

“No.” Ying Zheng frowned even more deeply. He knew this was an exchange of favors, like the arrangement between Lu Buwei and his father, Ying Yiren. To Zheng Anping, Fan Ju was a gamble worth making—a valuable investment.

It wasn’t the right moment to laugh. Still, Fan Ju couldn’t help smiling at the sight of a child whose baby fat hadn’t yet left his cheeks trying so hard to look serious.

“Master Fan has nothing now. How can you be so sure my uncle will help you?” Ying Zheng asked casually, though his ears had already perked up.

He pretended not to notice Fan Ju smiling at him. After all, he was the one who needed something from Fan Ju.

“What does Master Zheng want from me? Could he possibly want my gratitude, when I’m worth not a single coin?” Fan Ju put aside his teasing and slipped straight into teacher mode.

After all, he had promised Zheng Anping he would take Ying Zheng as a student.

Zheng Anping, of course, hadn’t expected Fan Ju to teach Ying Zheng diplomacy before teaching him how to read.

Ying Zheng answered without hesitation. “He wants to use your name to escape the lowly merchant’s status.”

Fan Ju leaned forward slightly. Candlelight flickered in his sunken eyes.

“If I win the King of Qin’s confidence one day, I’ll recommend Master Zheng to join me in undertaking great things. Of course he’ll be willing to give me everything he has.”

Ying Zheng asked, “What if he’s already helped someone else and gotten what he wanted? Why should he help you too?”

“Gotten what he wanted?” Fan Ju repeated softly, a cold smile at the corner of his mouth. “Human greed has no bottom. Today a man gets one gold piece; tomorrow he wants ten. Today he’s a petty official; tomorrow he wants to be a minister.”

Only after he had spoken did Fan Ju remember that the person in front of him was a child. It dawned on him that his words had been too harsh.

“Have you finished reading the bamboo slips in the study?” Seeing trouble ahead, Fan Ju promptly deployed the ancient equivalent of “Have you done your homework?” to shut Ying Zheng down.

Ying Zheng: “……”

Slowly, he lowered his eyes to his small, round-tipped fingers, looking troubled.

So if I want Lu Buwei to help me too, I’ll have to offer him something my father can’t.

For the next month, Zheng Anping was out and about, trying to find out where the Qin envoy was. Fan Ju stayed inside, recovering from his injuries and devoting himself to teaching Ying Zheng.

Ying Zheng was like a little tiger dropped into a pile of meat. He followed Fan Ju around every day, ready to learn anything Fan Ju was willing to teach, no matter which school it came from.

Fan Ju was preparing to seek office in Qin, and Ying Zheng yearned for Qin in a hundred different ways. So most of their lessons revolved around the state.

[Skill Trait Entry acquired: Qin Law (White)]

[Qin Law (White) upgraded to Qin Law (Green). Skill Trait Entry acquired: Legalism Basics (White)]

[You learned the Art of Sophistry]

[Skill Trait Entry acquired: Diplomacy Basics (White)]

…

The sky was clear and bright. A convoy from Qin rolled slowly through the western gate of Daliang, the capital of Wei.

The head of the mission was an official named Wang Ji, sent to Wei by order of King Ying Ji of Qin.

Ever since the Shang Yang Reforms, Qin had grown steadily stronger and had kept its sights fixed on advancing east through Hangu Pass. Su Qin’s Vertical Alliance of the Six States had once forced Qin back behind the pass, but its wolfish ambition had never faded. It continued to probe the other states for news.

Wang Ji’s mission, however, was not merely to gather intelligence on Wei.

After the formalities of receiving an envoy, the Wei officials courteously escorted Wang Ji to the guest house and saw to his lodgings.

Ever since its crushing defeat at the Battle of Yique, Wei had both hated and feared Qin. Once the official had settled Wang Ji in, he hurried away, determined not to speak with the Qin envoy any more than necessary. As long as he provided decent food and lodging, that would be enough.

Wang Ji didn’t mind. He settled in, handed out gifts to the guest house clerks, then casually asked,

“Does Wei have any men of talent?”

That was the real purpose of his mission. The King of Qin needed capable people and had sent Wang Ji in secret to search for them in the homeland of Shang Yang and Zhang Yi.

What was Qin to do if it needed talent?

Go looking in Wei.