Female Disguised as a Man: A Warring States Hostage Slave Cannot Escape Chapter 1

In the autumn of the fifty-seventh year of the Son of Heaven’s reign, Qin invaded Zhao.

The Zhao army was trapped in a valley without supplies for forty-two days. Handan Wang ordered that two hundred thousand Zhao soldiers fight to the death for their country.

Crown Prince Shu defied the royal command, laid down his weapons, led the army out of the valley, and surrendered to Qin.

***

Two months later, East Gate of Xianyang, Qin.

Watching the bedraggled procession of Zhao hostages slowly enter the city, the commandant lying in wait to carry out an assassination tightened his grip on the heavy crossbow.

It was the dead of winter in the twelfth lunar month. The sky was dim as goose-feather snow drifted down, blanketing the towering palaces of Qin.

“My lord, among these beggar-looking people… is there really a descendant of the Zhou royal house?”

The petty official beside him was rather foolish. Not only did he fail to understand the danger of today’s military orders, he was unusually talkative.

Thinking of the daughter at home who had not yet been weaned, the commandant felt a sharp pain in his chest but said nothing.

Below them, within the long, narrow passage beneath the city walls, more than half of the Zhao hostages had already passed through the gate.

The bitter northern wind carried no voices, only the mournful clang of shackles dragging across the frozen ground.

“Lord! Lord! I see Crown Prince Zhao! In front of that brown horse! Ah, he truly looks like a prince of the royal Zhou bloodline. Do you think he compares with our own royal grandson?”

Ignoring how this fool had managed to survive this long with such a mouth, the commandant’s lifeless eyes followed the direction of the official’s finger.

The man being pointed out was tall, with long eyebrows slanting toward his temples. Though dressed in a bloodstained single robe and utterly destitute, his bearing and features still radiated unmistakable nobility.

Listening to the clerk’s excited admiration, the commandant finally interrupted impatiently. “After the Battle of Pingcheng, I heard Commanding General Lian Xu’s entire clan was exterminated. That man should be the last surviving member of the Lian family.”

The clerk let out a long, understanding “Oh.” Just as he continued looking around, a mechanical click rang out.

“Crown Prince Zhao… is behind Young General Lian,” the commandant said, his eagle-like eyes sharp as he checked the crossbow mechanism once more. “The one leading the horse.”

Resting the heavy crossbow upon the battlements, the petty official shed his foolish expression and looked with growing interest at the youth leading the horse.

His face was no larger than a palm, youthful and baby-faced, frozen deathly pale by the snow. On the horse behind him lay an unconscious young woman.

Crown Prince Zhao, fifteen years old, was born of the legitimate branch of the royal Zhou house and had long enjoyed the favor of both Zhao Wang and the Son of Heaven. He was the most infamous playboy in Handan. Rumor claimed his palaces overflowed with beauties, that at night he illuminated his halls with countless Eastern pearls, and each morning nourished himself with human breast milk and deer blood.

Everyone knew the Crown Prince was spoiled and arrogant. But who could have imagined that this prince would appear so graceful and delicate, as flawless as polished jade, looking almost as though he had not yet fully grown?

***

By the time Zhao Shu led the horse through the city gate, she could no longer feel the cold. Only her teeth continued chattering uncontrollably. Her limbs had become numb, as though she had lost even the ability to feel pain.

Even in her dazed state, her hand never loosened its grip on the reins.

They were passing through a narrow corridor leading into the Qin palace.

Built against the mountains, the Qin palace loomed with solemn grandeur like a giant beast lying in wait. The towering walls squeezed the long passage into what resembled the beast’s gaping mouth, dark and seemingly bottomless.

“Light… the torches!” The sudden command echoed down from above the walls. The snowstorm had left the passage dim, and the shout startled Zhao Shu. She stepped on a sharp stone, which pierced her foot. Pus and blood mixed with searing pain instantly cleared her foggy mind.

When she looked up again, torches were being lit one after another along both sides of the walls, illuminating the icy world. The falling snow became even more distinct beneath the firelight.

Soon came the sound of armored troops approaching. A squad of Qin soldiers in black armor and carrying iron swords marched toward them.

At that moment, dreams of a warm bed and shelter completely overshadowed the humiliation of being a captive from a fallen kingdom.

Ignoring the blood seeping from her foot, Zhao Shu pressed the sore patch where the disguise paste had irritated her skin before finally daring to turn and look at the person lying on the horse.

“Yingying… we’ll warm ourselves by the fire and take some medicine soon.” She gently touched Qi Ying’s face, then rubbed her frost-reddened nose playfully against the horse’s neck as she murmured softly, “Once I present the letter to Qin Wang… we’ll be able to return to Luoyi.”

The Qin soldiers who had been escorting them suddenly withdrew, leaving the area empty.

“Lian Yu, why are the Qin soldiers all just standing there? Go ask them, when can we enter the hostage quarters?” The young girl’s soft, resilient voice carried a trace of petulance, completely unaware of the murderous atmosphere spreading around them.

Only when Lian Yu stepped in front of her protectively did Zhao Shu sense something was wrong. Her heart began pounding uncontrollably.

The Qin lieutenant leading the troops strode forward, his voice cold and imposing.

“By order of Prince Yi: all Zhao craftsmen accompanying this party, every male between the ages of thirteen and sixty, are to be executed on the spot!”

The sudden proclamation shattered the previously silent, despondent hostage convoy. Cries of grief, curses, and wails erupted everywhere.

The first to lose control were the groups of craftsmen who had built the city defenses. They tried to rush through the still-open city gate, only to be cut down in an instant by two gate guards.

As their mangled heads rolled across the ground, their eyes remained wide open, staring toward the vast, snow-filled sky.

The heavens grew ever darker. The ragged Zhao captives shrank against the towering city walls like frightened quails. Other than weeping, pleading, and cursing, no one dared take another step forward.

“Crown Prince Shu is incompetent! That old thief of the Lian clan clung to life and doomed our State of Zhao! They have destroyed our country and delivered the people to slaughter!” A shrill voice suddenly cried out from somewhere in the crowd.

The people from Handan who had accompanied the convoy were immediately stirred into action. Dozens of them, young and old alike, turned and pressed toward Zhao Shu.

Zhao Shu’s chest tightened. Half dragging, half carrying the unconscious Qi Ying, she wanted to defend herself but found herself utterly powerless. When the crowd surged toward them, Lian Yu flung Qi Ying aside and retreated while shielding Zhao Shu.

Only when he realized the Qin soldiers were merely standing by and watching did he have no choice but to draw a concealed blade and slash open the throat of the man who had been kicking and beating them most viciously.

Blood sprayed across his face. Facing his fellow countrymen, who stood frozen in terror, Lian Yu shouted with bloodshot eyes, “The incompetent one is Zhao Jian! We were trapped at Pingcheng for forty-two days! The king’s command was for two hundred thousand of our soldiers to fill the battlefield with their own flesh! There were never any Wei reinforcements! Zhao Jian knew the situation was beyond saving and only wanted to flee to Luoyi, depose the Crown Prince, and establish another heir to save himself!”

Snow continued to fall heavily as he struggled to suppress his killing intent.

“Why am I even telling you this…” Lian Yu muttered with a bitter laugh.

Zhao Shu suddenly trembled. She rushed forward, shoved him aside with all her strength, pushed several others away in succession, and gathered the person lying on the ground into her arms. Behind her, the Qin officer spoke again.

“What is the hurry? The order has not yet been fully delivered!”

Instantly, silence fell over the crowd.

 Fearful yet hopeful, everyone turned to look at the Qin soldiers.

Only Zhao Shu ignored them. She unfolded her silver needles, sterilized them over a fire striker, struggled to steady her trembling fingertips, and, cradling the unconscious young girl, inserted the needles into the Dazhui, Shixuan, and Shenzhu acupoints.

Of all the reckless years she had wasted as a spoiled noble, only her medical skills and acupuncture, personally taught by her sworn elder brother, were talents worthy of being displayed.

Just as she focused completely on her work, the Qin commander spoke again.

“If Crown Prince Shu is willing, then you Zhao craftsmen need not die.”

The crowd immediately parted, exposing the previously surrounded Crown Prince Shu to the Qin soldiers.

She could not afford distraction while inserting the needles. Without lifting her head, she merely inclined it slightly and said softly, “Please speak, General.”

Her voice was faint and hoarse, devoid of emotion. Though she addressed him respectfully as “General,” it somehow sounded almost contemptuous.

The lieutenant glanced at the frail figure sitting half on the ground. For some reason, a trace of pity arose within him. Turning his eyes away, he announced loudly, “In the Battle of Pingcheng, Great Qin lost thirty thousand brave warriors. If Crown Prince Shu wishes to spare these Zhao craftsmen, he must remove his crown, wear shackles, pass through this gate onto the Imperial Avenue, kneel once every three steps and kowtow once every nine steps, so as to console the spirits of our thirty thousand fallen heroes.”

After placing the final needle, a snowflake landed upon Qi Ying’s face. Zhao Shu gently brushed it away, entrusted the girl to an attendant behind her, then slowly rose and walked forward.

A large bowl of leftover stew was suddenly slammed down in front of her, blocking her path.

“By Prince Yi’s command, Crown Prince Zhao is first invited to dine.”

With a loud clang, two rust-covered sets of shackles were thrown into the bowl of scraps, splashing warm broth across her face.

Zhao Shu stared blankly at the bowl of leftovers. Then, as though she had gone mad, the corners of her lips slowly curled into a smile.

The world had been overturned. Mountains had collapsed. Throughout this journey she had witnessed every hardship, every displacement, every misery the world could offer. She had endured sufferings she had never imagined possible. And now, in the end, the Qin sought to use nothing more than a bowl of leftover soup to force her to become, in seven hundred years of Zhou history, the first descendant of the Royal House of Zhou to kneel before the feudal lords and beg for mercy.

The scene was terrifyingly silent. Even the craftsmen from Handan who had cursed her moments before no longer uttered a word.

…

Meanwhile, hidden in the shadows atop the city wall, where a commandant and a junior clerk lay concealed, a man approached, his long braid hanging loose and his wide sleeves billowing in the wind.

His features were striking and deeply sculpted. A closer look revealed traces of Hu ancestry. Though blessed with a breathtakingly beautiful, almost enchanting face, his bearing was upright and gentle, as warm as a spring breeze.

“Greetings, Imperial Grandson!” The commandant, crossbow in hand, was about to kneel when Ying Wuji stopped him.

He raised a hand, signaling the man not to concern himself, then casually sat upon a stone step and smiled warmly at the young clerk. “Mi Rong, have you finished copying the Strategies of the Warring States that Mother assigned you?”

Disguised as a petty clerk, Mi Rong inwardly groaned. Wearing an ingratiating smile, he hurried forward while giving Ying Wuji a detailed account of everything that had just transpired below.

Ying Wuji was unusually exhausted today. Because of the Zhao hostages, he had spent over a month negotiating with the old Qin Wang.

Prince Yi dreamed of destroying the Zhou royal house. Ying Wuji had originally opposed the idea. But after reconsidering, he realized that if it merely brought Qin under attack from the feudal states a few more times, then, even if it was a dangerous and inferior strategy, it could still serve as the perfect opportunity to completely bring down Prince Yi.

“Brother, you haven’t even looked below. That Crown Prince Zhao is rather interesting… and remarkably devoted.”

Ying Wuji smiled faintly and waved a dismissive hand. The overall situation had already been decided. He should have returned home early to rest, yet for some unknown reason he had wanted to walk alone through the wind and snow. Without realizing it, he had wandered all the way to the East City Gate.

Perhaps… he had simply been reminded of certain memories from his time in Zhao.

Memories of being trampled into the mud and humiliated.

His own birth mother had also died in Zhao.

The victor becomes king, the loser a bandit. What Crown Prince Zhao? At this point, the prince was nothing more than a single chess piece in the game of national strategy. In the end, no different from an ant. Nor did Ying Wuji have any hobby of watching fallen people suffer.

All that remained was to provoke the Crown Prince according to plan. Once the prince’s anger had been ignited, a single cold arrow would be loosed, the grand performance would begin, and Ying Wuji could finally return home and enjoy a peaceful night’s sleep.

Below the city wall…

The sound of the Chief Commandant drawing his sword snapped Zhao Shu back to her senses. Behind her came the shouts of Lian Yu and the condemned soldiers, mixed with the cries and desperate pleas of the people of Handan who had finally recovered from their shock.

She did not look back.

Bending down, she used a shard of broken porcelain to scrape up half a spoonful of the cold leftover stew.

She lifted her head toward the towering halls and elevated walkways of the Qin palace in the distance. In a daze, she remembered the late spring of the previous year. She had been invested as Crown Prince. Her father had personally placed the ceremonial crown upon her head. Flowers had bloomed in brilliant splendor. The ministers and officials had all bowed before her.

In truth, she knew nothing of governing or the politics of the feudal states. In Zhao, she had her royal father and her sworn elder brother Ruhui above her, while the entire Lian clan supported her below. For over a decade, she had spent all her thoughts on pleasure and amusement.

Until the Battle of Pingcheng four months ago.

Everything had changed.

Her hand rose to touch the ceremonial crown upon her head. It was carved from Mount Tai cypress and inlaid with jade from Mount Jing. Perhaps hunger and freezing cold had numbed her heart along the way. Snowflakes slipped into her sleeves. She felt neither cold nor sorrow.

The Qin commander urged her again. The next instant, the bowl of leftovers crashed to the ground. With all her strength, her left hand tore away the cypress-and-jade crown. Her long black hair spilled down like a waterfall.

The snowfall intensified. The young “man” suddenly laughed again. There was equal measure of petulance and madness in the sound, yet her face remained icy and resolute. Thinking of those two months at Pingcheng, Zhao Shu felt as though something inside her chest were about to explode.

“What crime have I committed?! At Pingcheng, Zhao lost eighty thousand soldiers, and the remaining two hundred thousand were surrounded without provisions for forty-two days! If I had sacrificed another two hundred thousand lives merely to delay for ten more days, would I not still have ended up entering Qin today as a hostage?”

“Had the war dragged on longer, the royal Zhou court would only have mediated the conflict anyway. The outcome would have been exactly the same. Or do you Qin people intend to usurp the Zhou and replace the Son of Heaven yourselves?”

“How utterly laughable! By the royal genealogy of Zhou, Qin Wang and I are of the same generation! If rank and power must be built upon the mountain of countless dead, then I want no part of being born into the imperial bloodline!”

She hurled the jade crown violently to the ground. It shattered into countless fragments.

She had never possessed a particularly strong voice and because she had deliberately lowered her pitch, her impassioned words echoed through the vast stone passage sounding all the more fragile and insignificant. 

By the time her voice reached the city wall above, it had weakened even further. It sounded almost like an angry child shouting in protest.

When a palace attendant arrived to ask when they would make their move, Ying Wuji silently repeated their final two sentences to himself. For the first time in many years, his usually tranquil heart stirred with an emotion he could not name.

Soon afterward, a woman’s hoarse, faint sobbing drifted up from below. The Zhao hostages descended into chaos once again.

Imperial Grandson, the time has come.” The commandant’s expression remained lifeless. He knew this entire spectacle had already been carefully recorded, and edited, by the historians of the various states. Once this arrow was fired, his own role would simply be that of the sacrificial scapegoat, offered to appease both Zhou and Zhao while buying Qin time.

Just as he squeezed the trigger, a long, calloused hand covered his own.

“I haven’t practiced on a living target in quite some time.” Ying Wuji smiled faintly. “Allow me.”

The commandant froze. When he understood what was happening and confirmed no one else was nearby, he immediately dropped to one knee. “This humble one is Zhang Mao, born to a merchant family of Yunmeng. Today I have received Your Highness’s great favor. For the rest of my life, I shall repay this kindness even unto death.”

Examining the heavy crossbow as he spoke, Ying Wuji turned and personally helped the man to his feet. His deep, broad eyes shone with sincere warmth. His smile was bright as a field of stars. He appeared every bit the noble gentleman, gentle as a clear breeze and bright moon, compassionate toward all living things.

After helping Zhang Mao up, he even casually dusted off the man’s shoulder. “You serve my royal uncle,” he said lightly, “and you’re one of Qin’s rare masters of mechanical weapons. You shouldn’t die alongside a mere hostage slave. It’s only a foolish weakling, softened by a woman’s compassion. Since he’s declared he no longer wishes to be of imperial blood, this age of constant warfare is no place for him anyway. I’m kind-hearted. One arrow will send the brat peacefully on his way…”

Zhang Mao had just opened his mouth to agree when he suddenly saw Ying Wuji’s expression freeze. The fingers that had been about to pull the trigger slowly curled into a tight fist. It was as though his soul had left his body. His eyes remained fixed upon a single point below the city wall.

Little by little, every trace of warmth and gentleness vanished from that face capable of toppling kingdoms.

Hatred.

Rage.

Bitterness.

Unwillingness.

Madness.

All merged together until the expression became so distorted that no single emotion could be distinguished.

His long fingers repeatedly flexed and tightened. Only after his nails carved deep scratches into the crossbow stock did Ying Wuji suddenly lift his brows and smile. Yet beneath those elegant brows, the pair of emerald eyes that glittered like precious gemstones had become dark and resolute. Turning his head, he met Zhang Mao’s stunned, frightened gaze. His smile remained gentle and terrifying.

“Go to the Imperial Grandson’s Manor and send out ten lobbyists. Crown Prince Zhao must not die. They have until before His Majesty retires tonight to accomplish it.”