After thoroughly mocking Wei Xun to her heart’s content, Bao Zhu reflected on their encounters since meeting and still found it incredible. She complained: “You still dared to lie to me that you were some nameless poor thief! Now it seems that from beginning to end, only the word ‘poor’ was true. I actually believed your nonsense and unknowingly became an accomplice to a flying bandit. If Yang Xingjian hadn’t arrived in time to protect his master, who knows what the situation would have become.”

Scolding him to this point, apart from occasional responses, Wei Xun still offered no defense. Bao Zhu then thought that he had disappeared due to illness, not deliberately hiding, so her tone softened somewhat: “Even court officials in the capital have a system of seeking medical treatment and taking sick leave when ill. Since you were unwell, why didn’t you tell me before leaving? Even if you had some unspeakable difficulties, you could have at least left a note. You made me worry anxiously and angrily for so many days.”

Wei Xun finally raised his head from his silence, looked at her with complex emotions, and said quietly: “I can’t…”

Bao Zhu didn’t hear clearly: “Can’t what?”

Wei Xun took a deep breath, as if summoning all his courage and resolving to speak: “I can’t write.”

Bao Zhu was stunned, then became even more furious, scolding: “Lying again! Whenever you pass by official notices and wanted posters, you’re always the first to squeeze over to read them. You hid so many bamboo scrolls at Cuiwei Temple—if you can’t read, were they for burning as fuel?!”

Wei Xun lowered his eyes, looking dejected: “I can read, but I can’t write. Chen Shigu had many books but never taught me. I learned by secretly listening on the roof of the county school’s study hall. I never paid tuition to any teacher, so no one taught me to write.”

He paused, his tone bitter: “When martial artists use painted walls to communicate with peers, it’s not romantic—it’s just because most of them are illiterate.”

Bao Zhu stared wide-eyed in shock, unable to speak for a long while. She had assumed everyone in the world should be literate, never thinking that many people lacked the opportunity to learn. Recalling that day drinking in the tavern when she had mocked him about the painted wall, Wei Xun had been melancholy throughout—it was because of this. This proud master thief whose reputation shook the martial world was now forced to admit he had no way to leave a note, his face full of shameful embarrassment.

Thinking back, Wei Xun had indeed left a painted wall at the Sun family shop—that blue wildcat wasn’t as vigorous as usual but was lying in the grass. He had left some secret information, only she hadn’t noticed at all.

Now recalling past events one by one, Bao Zhu immediately forgave his departure without notice. Seeing him still standing dejectedly against the wall, she thought for a moment and said gently: “That’s nothing. I can teach you to write in the future. Not to boast, but I learned calligraphy from Master Liu, and I personally taught even Yuanyi’s elementary education. I’m far superior to those county school teachers!”

Hearing no more mockery in her tone, Wei Xun looked at her in surprise. Bao Zhu guessed that these martial wanderers might have strong pride, so she added: “In exchange, you can also teach me things I don’t understand, like… like you could teach me underworld slang.”

Wei Xun managed a smile: “You really want to learn that?”

Bao Zhu nodded seriously.

Wei Xun solemnly agreed: “Alright, that’s very fair.”

Having resolved past grievances, Bao Zhu returned to the main topic: “The third missing woman case I mentioned earlier, I’ve already investigated—it really wasn’t you. But the first two cases remain unsolved, and the suspicion on you hasn’t been cleared…”

As she spoke, she casually brushed her long hair behind her ear, revealing one rounded cheek. Wei Xun froze, his expression suddenly changing. He quickly approached her, saying angrily in a low voice: “They still beat you? Who did it? Who gave the order?”

They had been chatting pleasantly, but Wei Xun suddenly changed expression for no apparent reason. Bao Zhu was startled by his cold, fierce gaze and said bewildered: “Who got beaten?”

Wei Xun saw two long, crescent-shaped blood marks hanging at her cheek and eye corner, appearing extremely vivid and frightening on her flawless skin. He gritted his teeth: “Your face…” Wei Xun choked, restraining himself from saying the word “disfigured.” His chest blood boiled, his hand moved to the dagger at his waist, and murderous intent unconsciously showed in his eyes.

Bao Zhu had never seen such a strange look from him. Feeling somewhat afraid and completely bewildered, she asked: “What about my face?” She got up and walked to the bronze mirror to look, then burst into silent laughter. Taking some camellia oil from her cosmetic box, she applied it to her eye corners and wiped it off with a silk handkerchief after a moment—the “wounds” disappeared.

Confined here with nowhere to go, bored during the day, she had used rouge to paint the “bloody slanted red” makeup popular in the palace. When removing makeup at night, she was absent-minded and forgot to clean this one spot completely. Under candlelight, it did look rather frightening.

Bao Zhu turned to show him clearly, explaining embarrassedly: “Without trusted maidservants to serve me, it’s really inconvenient.”

Seeing her miraculously wipe away what seemed like serious injuries, Wei Xun was also shocked. After his relief, he felt completely drained inside. This night his emotions had gone through countless ups and downs—he smiled self-mockingly and slowly sat down against the desk. Having just awakened and rushed over was ultimately too much strain.

Bao Zhu saw his movements were heavy and slow when sitting, far less graceful than before, clearly not fully recovered. She touched the clay pot he had brought back—it was still full and untouched, making her unhappy: “Why didn’t you take your medicine? I accompanied a very annoying person out and finally gained temporary freedom to buy this.”

Wei Xun buried his head in his arms, mumbling in a low voice: “I can’t eat spicy things.”

Bao Zhu angrily said: “Good medicine tastes bitter but benefits illness! Black pepper is the best medicine for dispelling cold. Don’t you have a cold condition?”

Wei Xun said again: “Cooking soup with cornel or Sichuan pepper would have the same cold-dispelling effect. Why buy such expensive spice?”

Bao Zhu said righteously: “Black pepper is sold at fragrance medicine shops, while cornel and Sichuan pepper are sold at oil, salt, sauce, and vinegar seasoning shops. How can they be used equivalently? Expensive things are expensive for good reason. Do you need to be coaxed with rock sugar like seven-year-old Li Yuanyi before you’ll take medicine?! Eat quickly!”

Under her repeated urging and pressure, Wei Xun had no choice but to lift the pot lid. When he left, he had carried some dried meat, but during his attack the pain was excruciating—he vomited even water—so he hadn’t eaten much. After several days, he was thoroughly hungry.

This mutton, wolfberry, and wheat kernel porridge was a nourishing medicinal dish that tonified the liver, nourished the heart, warmed the middle, and heated the lower body. Simmered over low heat, both the mutton and wheat kernels were tender—it should have been delicious. But Bao Zhu’s extravagant hand had dumped in enough black pepper for an entire banquet, making it bitter, spicy, and choking—it could only be swallowed like bitter medicine.

Bao Zhu said proudly: “This is Sun Simiao’s medicinal cuisine recipe. I personally prepared the ingredients.”

Wei Xun’s face contorted from the spice, coughing repeatedly, his lips bright red, adding a rare touch of color to his pale complexion. He glanced at her sideways, questioning: “You cooked this yourself?”

Only then did Bao Zhu’s face redden, and she sat before the bronze mirror to comb her hair, pretending not to hear.

As a woman, even an imperial princess, she had to learn domestic responsibilities from childhood. While her brothers studied classics, history, philosophy, and literature for governing the country, she had to memorize “Women’s Instructions” and “Women’s Precepts”—doctrines preparing her for future wifehood and motherhood. When parents fell ill, she had to personally serve meals and medicine, fulfilling filial duties.

Fortunately, as a princess, she didn’t need to toil personally at well and mortar like common women. She only needed to take a bowl from a maidservant’s tray and pass it along to count as serving. Sprinkling a pinch of salt on food sent up from the Imperial Kitchen could count as personally making soup, satisfying ritual requirements.

This pot of meat porridge was naturally just ordered from Wu Zhiyuan’s kitchen, then she sprinkled the ground black pepper into it. As for heavy or light hand, how much she sprinkled—that wasn’t her concern.

This little thief eating her personally prepared medicinal porridge was extremely honored and should be grateful to tears, promising to serve faithfully and safely escort her to Youzhou. Bao Zhu took pride in the people-management methods her parents and brothers had taught her, becoming increasingly pleased the more she thought about it, gradually showing her satisfaction.

Wei Xun was indeed tearful—but from choking.

He silently thought this wasn’t medicinal porridge but golden porridge, forcing himself to eat half with gritted teeth. His internal organs felt boiled and scalded, the cold-dispelling effect more powerful than the strongest liquor. Unable to swallow anymore, he wiped tears from his eyes: “I’ve read all thirty volumes of the Medicine King’s ‘Essential Prescriptions for Emergencies’ and never saw black pepper used this way.”

Bao Zhu laughed: “You don’t know—in his later years he wrote another thirty volumes called ‘Supplement to the Thousand Gold Prescriptions’ as a supplement to his earlier ‘Essential Prescriptions,’ hence called ‘Supplement.’ He wrote this while living in seclusion at Mount Wutai in Tongguan County. When the Medicine King passed away in the Yongchun era, Emperor Gaozong sent people to his former residence to pay respects and brought back these thirty volumes to the palace. The Imperial Kitchen made medicinal dishes based on his writing that ‘black pepper regulates qi, warms the middle, removes phlegm, and eliminates wind and cold from the organs.’ We ate this porridge as children when we caught colds. Listen—’eliminates wind and cold from the lungs’—doesn’t that suit your cold pathogen condition perfectly?”

Hearing this explanation, Wei Xun thought to himself that though he had often prowled around the Imperial City and visited royal libraries like the Hongwen Academy and Jixian Academy, he never imagined the Medicine King’s books were kept in the Imperial Kitchen of the Palace Secretariat, serving only the daily diet of imperial nobles rather than benefiting the world—truly pearls cast before swine. Looking at this one recipe, it would be useless even if spread among common people. Ordinary families might afford mutton and wolfberries with saved money, but who could afford black pepper?

Wei Xun sighed: “I’m surprised you’re so familiar with medical texts.”

Bao Zhu opened her round almond eyes wide: “I haven’t read them! I only remember because black pepper was involved in a lawsuit years ago.”

She suddenly realized that after talking for so long, there was no sound outside, and Wei Xun hadn’t even tried to muffle his coughing. She wondered if the watchers had heard. Bao Zhu stood up and quietly opened the door to investigate, only to see two maidservants in the corridor lying askew—one leaning against the wall, one half-sprawled over a flower stand, both sleeping deeply. She went over and touched their shoulders, but they didn’t move at all. She saw no wounds on them and didn’t know what had happened.

Returning to the room, Bao Zhu asked: “What happened to them?”

Wei Xun was still painfully swallowing his bitter medicine, forcing down what was in his mouth before looking at her: “I sealed their sleep acupoints—they’ll wake tomorrow. If you want to leave, I can take you now.”

Bao Zhu was stunned. Remembering he had indeed said he could carry someone over the city wall, her heart immediately leaped with the desire to escape this cage for freedom. But after thinking it through, she still couldn’t agree. She said regretfully: “No, if the case isn’t solved, even if we could climb the wall and escape the city, it would confirm our guilt. The journey to Youzhou would be smooth if things go well, but if our status becomes wanted criminals, that would be even harder than having no household registration.”

Wei Xun nodded and said no more.

This man truly lived up to being a hero of great endurance—he stubbornly spent half an hour slowly swallowing the black pepper medicinal porridge spoonful by spoonful. After finishing, he broke into sweat. Apart from his stomach burning and his tongue too painful to speak, he actually felt much lighter. Wei Xun secretly thought this truly deserved to be the Medicine King’s posthumous work—if he had the chance, he must get those final thirty volumes from the palace.

Glancing at the moon’s position, Wei Xun stood and said to Bao Zhu: “Since we’re not leaving, you should rest peacefully. I’m going to handle some business.”

Bao Zhu said in surprise: “You… who are you going to trouble?”

Wei Xun said slowly: “You’re confined here because of me, but the root cause is Liu Mao reporting me to the authorities. This grudge is formed and must be resolved.”

Bao Zhu mused: “So the flying knife message really was from that old man…”

“If not Liu Mao, then his subordinate. As the local gang leader, he must take responsibility.”

“After you disappeared, Liu Mao came to the Sun family shop once, still wanting you to return that snake pearl.”

Hearing this, Wei Xun felt some alarm and raised his eyebrows: “Did he show you any disrespect?”

Bao Zhu shook her head: “No, he offered a few cups of wine and left. But your illness isn’t cured yet—must you go now? That old man has many subordinates.”

Wei Xun said seriously: “I can’t leave grudges overnight—I won’t sleep well. Besides, to deal with Liu Mao’s kind, being able to walk is sufficient.” Seeing Bao Zhu’s worried expression, he smiled calmly: “In Wei Da’s lifetime, none of the strong enemies I’ve encountered were as troublesome as your pot of medicinal porridge.”

Saying this, he lightly flipped out the window. In an instant, he leaned back in through the window opening, seriously instructing: “Lock the doors and windows before sleeping. I’ll come find you tomorrow, so no one else will come tonight.”

Bao Zhu quickly walked over wanting to see how he would jump down, but saw Wei Xun bend backward as if falling accidentally, dropping rapidly. Bao Zhu covered her scream, gripping the window sill to look down again, only to see him nimbly flip in midair, touch down with his toes, and vanish into the darkness.

Author’s Note: Wei Da has a cat’s tongue (sensitive to hot food).

Rock sugar was extracted from sugarcane. Sugarcane sugar-making technology was imported and quite rare in the Tang Dynasty, only enjoyed by nobles—much more refined than the malt and barley sugars Wei Da and others were used to eating.

Master Liu refers to Liu Gongquan of “Yan sinew, Liu bone” fame, who served as Grand Tutor to the Crown Prince and was known as “Master Liu.” Bao Zhu is an all-around talented warrior—having some extra skills doesn’t hinder her performance.