With a sharp twang of the bowstring, Bao Zhu suddenly shot an arrow toward the wild bushes in the field.
Shisan Lang looked around in bewilderment, unable to understand what was happening. Wei Xun applauded: “Excellent eyesight!”
Bao Zhu was triumphant, head held high and chest out, her nose practically pointed skyward. She had shot a spotted rabbit hiding in dense shrubs—a very small target. Hitting prey at this distance wasn’t particularly skillful, but what was remarkable was her ability to spot this similarly mottled creature amid the dappled shadows. Hearing his knowledgeable praise made her even more pleased.
Wei Xun flew across the bushes without his feet touching ground, retrieving her quarry in moments. Watching his light and graceful figure, Bao Zhu thought that though his nickname wasn’t “Something-Something Lynx,” his immediate pouncing to retrieve prey after the arrow was shot served exactly the same purpose as her lynx, which amused her.
However, when the scrawny dead rabbit was in hand, she immediately cried out in disappointment: “Why is it so thin!”
Wei Xun laughed: “You used to hunt in the imperial preserve, didn’t you? Commoners weren’t allowed in there, so the game lived carefree and naturally grew fat. People outside don’t have enough to eat, so rabbits in the wild naturally look like this.”
Bao Zhu had hoped to enjoy some meat today by roasting the rabbit, but weighing it in her hands, she feared that after skinning there would be nothing left but bones. She was quite vexed. Looking at Wei Xun, then down at the rabbit, she thought that after leaving the palace, people were thin, rabbits were thin, even the horses on the road were thin. By the time she reached Youzhou after traveling thousands of li through wind and rain, she would probably be as wretched as this rabbit.
She unhappily tossed the dead rabbit back to Wei Xun: “Throw it away—there’s nothing to eat on it.”
Wei Xun said: “It’s certainly edible—what a waste to throw it away.” So he pulled up a thin, tough grass stem and tied the rabbit to his waist. When they reached the next food stall, he skinned the rabbit, removed the limbs and entrails, and asked the proprietor to chop the carcass—bones and meat together—and stuff it into flatbread to bake in the oven. The rabbit skin served as payment for the proprietor’s labor.
After waiting a while, the rabbit meat flatbread emerged from the oven steaming hot. The bread was crispy and delicious, the filling fragrant and savory. Except for the bone fragments being somewhat hard to chew, the taste was surprisingly excellent. Bao Zhu, ravenously hungry, held the bread with both hands and devoured it. Though her eating manner remained refined and elegant, her eyes already resembled those of a starving refugee.
Wei Xun and Shisan Lang naturally wouldn’t compete with her for food. Standing aside to watch, they both felt somewhat sympathetic. This girl had lived in luxury since childhood, now homeless and displaced, racking her brains for a bite of meat—truly pitiful. No wonder she constantly shed pearl-like tears.
Shisan Lang whispered: “Her constitution is good after all—only twenty-some days since emerging from the tomb and her appetite is already this hearty.”
Wei Xun nodded without speaking. His gaze sharp as lightning, he habitually swept over the nearby travelers, when suddenly a flash of white light passed before his eyes. He immediately felt cold wind at his back and his hands and feet turned icy. He stared fixedly in that direction, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists tightly.
Leaving Xinfeng County, they entered Huazhou territory. Ahead lay Xiagui County, and beyond that, Tongguan Pass.
Tongguan Pass was the gateway to Guanzhong, always a strategic military position known as “the foremost danger within the capital region” and “throat of the four garrisons.” It was the most treacherous military stronghold on the route from Chang’an to Luoyang. Its defenses were different from others, with quite strict inspections—probably difficult to pass through with ordinary bribes.
The group planned in their inn how to successfully pass through Tongguan Pass, but after much thought found no solution. The safest method would be to forge servant identities and sneak through with a large merchant caravan, but this was exactly what Bao Zhu most opposed.
Wei Xun leaned against the window, head resting on his arm, gazing down at the people coming and going in the street. His whole demeanor was languid, seemingly absent-minded.
After Shisan Lang and Bao Zhu discussed for a long time without result, they turned to ask him: “Senior brother, what’s your opinion?”
Wei Xun didn’t turn his head, murmuring: “If we can’t get through, it’s no matter. We can return to Chang’an and take the northern route through Yanzhou and Taiyuan—same way to reach Youzhou.”
Bao Zhu frowned: “What strange talk is this? There’s no turning back once the bow is drawn. We’ve already traveled for several days—how can we return to Chang’an?”
Wei Xun turned around and said lazily: “Have Shisan lead the donkey across while I carry you and break through at midnight—it’s not impossible.”
Bao Zhu slammed the table angrily: “Stop talking nonsense! Have you been to Tongguan Pass? That place has cliff faces on both sides with only a narrow path in the middle wide enough for one ox cart. As long as someone guards it, even birds can’t pass through. Besides, the garrison at Tongguan ancient city has several thousand soldiers. When arrows fly in volleys, whether you’re an ape or a lynx trying to break through, you’ll be shot into a pincushion!”
“Then we’ll stay in Xiagui County a few more days to assess the situation.”
“A few more days?!”
No matter how dangerously she described it, Wei Xun seemed to treat it as idle chatter, leaving this bewildering remark before turning back to watch the scenery outside. Since leaving Xinfeng County, for some reason Wei Xun had become somewhat passive about traveling, delaying when possible and no longer urging her to rise early.
This person was usually energetic and bright-eyed all day long—you never saw him tired. But these past two days he’d been completely out of character, rising late and sleeping early, returning to his room as soon as dusk fell. When Bao Zhu had business to find him at night, he was nowhere to be seen—only Shisan Lang would come out to respond.
Bao Zhu was very puzzled. Following his gaze to look outside, she saw people coming and going in the street with nothing particularly special.
Shisan Lang stood up saying: “I’ll go bribe the gate clerks of Xiagui County right now. We must pass through Xiagui before we can discuss entering Tongguan Pass. Besides, my travel pass only says ‘permitted passage within the capital region’—wherever we go from here, I’ll need to apply to the authorities to add more destinations.”
Bao Zhu actually felt a trace of envy toward the little novice: “Religious status is so convenient. If I could get ordination papers and become a nun, I wouldn’t need such trouble.”
Shisan Lang was greatly surprised: “Jiu Niang wants to become a bhikkhuni?”
Bao Zhu gathered her thick black hair and said: “I don’t want to shave my head—naturally I’d become a female Taoist priest.”
Shisan Lang sighed: “The saying goes ‘the emperor’s daughter needn’t worry about marriage’—countless noble families’ handsome young men hope to marry you, yet you want to become a nun.”
Shisan Lang naturally didn’t know that the Li Tang imperial princesses actually worried greatly about marriage.
This was because Li family women were renowned for their arrogance and extravagance. Whether as daughters at home or wives after marriage, their status in the family far exceeded that of previous dynasties. When princesses married, they could not only avoid living with in-laws but could build their own princess mansions to live in, and needn’t follow the usual daughter-in-law protocols.
Powerful princesses after marriage often had male confidants, and when they died, their consorts even had to observe three years of mourning. This was tantamount to marrying an ancestor who would bow low and scrape—no noble family wished to marry into the imperial family. The court even had a saying: “Marry a wife who’s a princess, and a mansion appears on level ground”—having an official bureau suddenly controlling your household, how constraining was that?
Princess Wanshou was not only deeply beloved by imperial favor but also famous for her skilled archery and superior martial arts. Taking Princess Pingyang Zhao as her idol, she once achieved the astounding feat of piercing both eyes of a yellow sheep with one arrow at a hundred paces. With such a martially vigorous princess, even if men wished to curry favor with the dragon and were willing to humble themselves, they had to consider whether they could withstand an arrow to the chest from her.
Once the emperor heard that Han Jizhou, youngest son of Minister of Revenue Han Ren, was a refined young man famous throughout the capital. He tentatively asked the minister if he wanted to become in-laws. Old Han neither agreed nor refused—he just fell to his knees and wept bitterly, his goat beard soaked with tears and snot. The scene became quite awkward, and the matter was left unresolved.
Because of the princess’s marriage difficulties, the emperor and imperial consort prepared rich dowries for her, willing to exchange the realm’s wealth for Princess Wanshou’s marital happiness. They even considered extreme measures like “catching husbands from the examination lists.”
But these palace secrets weren’t for outsiders to know. The young woman had her own complex thoughts that weren’t convenient to explain. She grabbed a full handful of coins for Shisan Lang and urged: “Children don’t understand—don’t talk nonsense. I’m already dead—what’s this about marriage! Hurry up and go handle business. Find out if there are any good methods to pass through the checkpoint.”
Shisan Lang took the money and said: “Let me say this upfront—ordination papers I really can’t buy.”
People’s reverence for monks and longing for Taoism weren’t without worldly reasons. Religious practitioners were exempt from corvée labor and didn’t need to pay rent, taxes, or grain levies. If they owned good farmland and property, they could save considerable wealth, so naturally many sought the religious path. To prevent population loss, the authorities established ordination paper regulations—only these official documents could legally permit religious life. Therefore, ordination papers were not only quite valuable but required waiting for quota approval from above. You might not encounter opportunities several times a year—they weren’t easily obtained.
Shisan Lang explained these circumstances, telling Bao Zhu not to harbor high hopes. Taking the money, he went out to bribe the gate clerks while Wei Xun continued staring downstairs in a daze.
People came and went in the street—merchants traveling far and wide, artisans staying temporarily, displaced farmers heading to Chang’an seeking livelihood. Each person rushed along the road toward their own imagined life of plenty.