221 BC, Twenty-Sixth Year of Emperor Qin Shihuang

Feeling someone gently wiping his face with a warm, damp cloth, Hu Hai drowsily opened his eyes to see the face of a half-grown youth. Though it was quite an endearing chubby face, Hu Hai despised seeing this face every morning without exception.

Because it meant he had to get up!

“Sun Shuo, get away from me!” Hu Hai turned his face away, avoiding the damp cloth wiping his face, and squeezed his eyes tightly shut, planning to go back to sleep.

Sun Shuo was already accustomed to his little master’s daily morning bed-lounging behavior and advised with a smile: “Young Master, today is the first day your tutor comes to teach. Do you want to greet your tutor in this manner?”

It would have been better not to mention this matter. Once brought up, Hu Hai became furious, suddenly sitting up from his bed and complaining indignantly: “Sun Shuo, tell me, isn’t Father Emperor too biased? Elder Brother’s tutor is the contemporary great scholar Chunyu Yue. I heard Elder Brother began learning to write and read at age five, but I’m already almost ten years old and Father Emperor only now found me my first tutor. Moreover, this person is just the Master of the Imperial Stables! Master of the Imperial Carriages! Just a minor official managing the imperial horses and carriages! Having such a person as my tutor! It’s too unfair!”

Sun Shuo continued smiling. In his view, today’s task of waking the young master had been successfully completed. Looking at the young master’s state, he definitely wouldn’t be in the mood to go back to sleep. He gently helped Hu Hai wash his neck and hands and feet, while helping him change into his robes piece by piece, he persuaded: “Young Master, how much His Majesty dotes on you is plain for everyone in this palace to see. His Majesty fears you cannot bear the hardship of studying. I remember once passing by the First Prince’s quarters and seeing books stacked like mountains in the study. The First Prince’s attendants also privately complain that just moving those bamboo slips back and forth every day exhausts them half to death!”

Hu Hai’s mood indeed improved somewhat, but he was also very interested in what Sun Shuo said, raising his delicate eyebrows to ask: “Oh? Is this really true?”

Sun Shuo thought to himself that children were indeed easy to coax. Though he was only a few years older than Hu Hai, he always felt the young master was spoiled—after all, Emperor Shihuang truly loved him too much.

Young Master Hu Hai was born in 230 BC. In the very month of his birth, the then King of Qin (later Emperor Shihuang) conquered the state of Han, beginning his great unification enterprise. Emperor Shihuang was a very superstitious person who felt Young Master Hu Hai’s birth was heaven’s blessing upon him, so he treated him completely differently from other princes. He tried to satisfy whatever demands Hu Hai had, giving him the best food, clothing, and toys. Everyone in the Qin palace knew Young Master Hu Hai was Emperor Shihuang’s treasured darling.

Nine years had passed in the blink of an eye. Emperor Shihuang had unified the six states, and Hu Hai remained immensely favored, but Sun Shuo was beginning to feel something was amiss.

Yes, because the young master was already almost ten years old yet still had no tutor to teach him reading! Compared to First Prince Fu Su, who had begun studying diligently at age five, this was somewhat strange. Under Sun Shuo’s recent subtle hints, Hu Hai had finally noticed and personally asked Emperor Shihuang that he wanted to study.

Unexpectedly, the tutor Emperor Shihuang assigned to Hu Hai was Master of the Imperial Carriages Zhao Gao.

Sun Shuo wasn’t as disappointed as Hu Hai. So what if Fu Su’s tutor was the contemporary great scholar Chunyu Yue? Chunyu Yue’s Confucian political views were completely opposite to the Legalist thought Emperor Shihuang promoted, while Zhao Gao was an attendant Emperor Shihuang appreciated. Though currently just a minor Master of the Imperial Carriages, this position was responsible for managing the emperor’s carriages and horses and accompanying the emperor on travels, even personally driving for the emperor. The position was crucial and could only be held by the emperor’s confidants. Moreover, it was said Zhao Gao was well-versed in law and was a famous Legalist scholar. If he received this person’s sincere instruction, the young master would surely benefit greatly.

But these words weren’t something an attendant should say. If heard by someone with ulterior motives, he would die without a burial place. So he could only smile and smile, skillfully tidying up the young master from head to toe, then looking with satisfaction at this handsome child he had watched grow up.

Hu Hai remained unhappy in his heart, muttering constantly. But a child not yet ten years old couldn’t come up with any fresh words, just shouting repeatedly about unfairness. Just as Sun Shuo was about to offer a few words of comfort, he suddenly heard a cold snort from outside the sleeping chamber. A tall young man entered as if no one else existed, lifting the curtains and stepping in. Several attendants around lowered their heads and stood silently—not one stepped forward to stop him.

This person wore a five-colored fish-scale silk deep robe, with golden clasps tied at his feet, a ceremonial belt and jade pendant at his waist, and a military cap on his head. The military cap was bound with blue silk cords and double tails standing left and right, with the cap’s crest pointing skyward. This military cap alone had great significance—it was said to be the cap worn by King Wuling of Zhao. After Emperor Shihuang destroyed Zhao, he bestowed this royal cap upon his close ministers.

A close minister could wear a Zhao king’s royal cap, and this person was also surnamed Zhao—was this coincidence?

Sun Shuo suppressed the questions in his heart. Not having time to examine this person’s appearance closely, he prostrated himself on the ground—he was just a minor attendant. He discreetly tugged at Hu Hai’s robe that trailed to the ground, reminding him to respect his teacher.

“Who permitted you to rudely barge into the sleeping chamber?” Hu Hai’s clear voice rang out in the chamber, utterly imperious. Cold sweat trickled down Sun Shuo’s cheeks—his young master’s temperament was truly spoiled by Emperor Shihuang.

“I heard someone shouting about unfairness. Was it the young master who spoke thus?” Zhao Gao’s voice was low with some shrillness, and with deliberate affectation, he maintained a tone neither high nor low that was very uncomfortable to hear.

“So what if I said it?” Hu Hai stamped his feet in anger. Without lifting his head, Sun Shuo knew this child’s little face was definitely flushed red with rage.

“Does the young master know what the two characters for ‘fairness’ mean?” Zhao Gao’s voice remained level and unchanging, calm as stagnant water.

“Ah?” Hu Hai obviously hadn’t expected Zhao Gao to ask this. Being naturally intelligent, though he hadn’t systematically studied books, his father emperor occasionally held him while conducting government affairs. After brief consideration, he answered: “After Father Emperor unified the six states, he wanted to achieve unified writing, standardized cart axles, and uniform measurements. Uniform measurements means the unification of weights and measures. ‘Heng’ is a weighing instrument. The two characters for ‘fairness’ seem to come from weighing instruments.”

“Correct. Weighing instruments are devices for measuring the weight of objects. Generally made of bronze, ‘quan’ is the weight, ‘heng’ is the balance beam. The Zhuangzi says: ‘Make weights and scales to weigh them.'” Zhao Gao said flatly, obviously satisfied with Hu Hai’s answer. He took out a bronze scale and several bronze weights from his robe sleeves and handed them to Hu Hai. “These are newly forged bronze weights and scales. Young Master, take them to play with.”

Hu Hai was secretly delighted. What his father emperor usually bestowed upon him was nothing more than gold, silver, pearls, and jade. This was the first time seeing such bronze market goods. Beginning to think this tutor before him might not be bad, Hu Hai reached out to receive them. But because his small hands weren’t large enough, several bronze weights fell to the ground and rolled far away.

Sun Shuo hurriedly crawled on his knees to pick up the scattered bronze weights one by one, placing them in his palm and raising them above his head, waiting for Hu Hai to take them.

Hu Hai played with the bronze weights and scale in his hands, quickly using one bronze weight to measure the weight of a princely gold seal on his person, crying out joyfully: “This is fairness, right? Neither biased nor partial.”

Zhao Gao snorted coldly: “Fairness? This is indeed fair. But if I used this bronze weight to exchange for the princely gold seal in the young master’s hand, would the young master trade?”

Hu Hai was startled. Though this was his first time seeing bronze weights and scales, he knew the value of bronze and gold couldn’t be compared. After a moment of confusion, he shook his little head: “No trade. This isn’t fair at all.”

“Exactly. So though fairness comes from weighing instruments, weighing instruments cannot weigh fairness.” Zhao Gao’s emotionless words sounded somewhat eerie.

Sun Shuo’s arms were getting a bit sore from holding them up, but he lowered his head even further. He knew this person was teaching the young master—not from books, but from reality.

It seemed the young master had truly gotten quite a good tutor!

Hu Hai felt somewhat headachy from Zhao Gao’s string of words, placing the heavier bronze weight and scale in Sun Shuo’s hands beside him, and asked in confusion: “Then what is fairness? Oh, I know—is what the public says fairness?”

Zhao Gao gave a slight cold laugh: “The public? Did the people of the six states want to become Qin people? Did they hope to have their homelands trampled by Qin’s cavalry?” His words were full of sarcasm and dissatisfaction, yet his tone was so peaceful as if devoid of any emotion, creating an immense sense of discord. More and more cold sweat dripped down Sun Shuo’s cheeks—was it really alright to say such things within the Qin palace?

Hu Hai was also somewhat stunned, not knowing how to answer this question.

Zhao Gao didn’t expect anyone to respond to his words. He continued flatly: “Therefore, only what the most powerful person says can be called true fairness.”

“This is the first lesson I give the young master. It’s not what the public says that constitutes fairness—what kings, dukes, and rulers say is fairness.”

“So strive to become a person of power, Young Master.”

After his daze, Hu Hai immediately became excited.

Sun Shuo was drenched in sweat. Was such a tutor really acceptable?