Once Bao Zhu spoke, her words shocked everyone at the table. Pang Liangji immediately stood and bowed, ordering the innkeeper to remove all the old wine and dishes from the table and prepare a fresh spread, earnestly inviting her to provide guidance.
Bao Zhu didn’t decline modestly. After taking her seat, she took the stack of papers Pang Liangji handed her and examined them one by one. Of the sixteen wedding poems, four actually had problems. She couldn’t help wondering if the ghostwriting teacher bore some grudge against the Pang family.
“Twenty Poems on Deep Spring” wasn’t some lewd or erotic verse—it was a masterwork by the Fragrant Mountain Hermit Bai Juyi. It contained many beautiful lines about the households of chief ministers, regional governors, prefects, scholars, censors, hermits, classical scholars, families marrying off daughters, and families taking wives. Among these twenty different households, the ghostwriter had specifically chosen the courtesan’s house line to plagiarize—truly vicious enough.
There was even a line “Shun plowed among remaining vegetation, Yu carved through old mountains and rivers.” This was written by Hanlin Academician Zhang Zhongsu when serving as best man at a certain wedding, specifically to mock the bride for being a remarried woman. On the surface it used the sage emperors Shun and Yu to praise the woman’s noble bloodline and extraordinary birth, but covertly used phrases like “remaining vegetation” and “old mountains and rivers” to satirize women who remarried for not maintaining chastity and violating Confucian propriety.
Bao Zhu explained everything clearly. Pang Liangji was immediately so angry his hands trembled, wanting to go smash that ghostwriter’s academy to pieces. He cursed: “We crude people can’t discern the subtleties, but my father-in-law’s family has studied for generations—opening my mouth would surely cause great disaster!”
Wei Xun sneered coldly and said to him: “Old Six, your wedding hasn’t even begun, but the troublemakers have already started working in secret. None of us can defend against these sinister hidden weapons of brush and ink.”
Huo Qi Lang suggested: “You need them urgently—why not ask Jiu Niang to write you some new ones?”
Bao Zhu said: “I can’t write poetry. My family also hires ghostwriters.”
This wasn’t false modesty. The Tang imperial family and nobility greatly loved poetry. From religious ceremonies, weddings, and funerals to banquets and entertainment, poetry was indispensable for embellishment. But ultimately it was just an elegant intangible plaything. Unless someone had particular personal interest, no imperial offspring specifically studied poetry composition. They preferred to appreciate and critique from their superior position, laughing as poets racked their brains and tore their whiskers trying to excel.
When various occasions required laudatory poetry, naturally imperial poets would create by decree. Of course, whether imperial or independent poets, none dared use such base methods to insult the imperial family.
Bao Zhu said: “Since you’re hiring ghostwriters anyway, you might as well directly use existing famous poetry, which differs from these inferior lines like clouds from mud, and guarantees no errors.”
Pang Liangji said anxiously: “But I don’t know which famous poems specifically write about urging makeup and refusing fans. Please elaborate, Young Lady Jiu!”
He turned and urgently prompted his steward: “Uncle Pang! Quickly, quickly, quickly! Prepare brush, ink, paper, and inkstone!”
Though the “Swift Wind Guardian’s” legs were crippled, his temperament remained as hasty as his former jianghu nickname. He immediately set up a square table beside the wine feast, spread out Chizhou Chengxin Hall paper, ground Yizhou pine soot ink on a Duanzhou purple stone inkstone, lifted a Xuanzhou Zhuge brush, dipped it thoroughly in ink, and respectfully handed it to Bao Zhu.
Bao Zhu thought she had no grudges with this nouveau riche family, and maintaining her dignified pride, was unwilling to bestow ink. She said indifferently: “I’ll only recite for you to hear—find someone else to write.”
Pang Liangji readily agreed: “Then I’ll write myself. Recite slowly—I need to think about some characters.”
Bao Zhu immediately recited over ten famous urging-makeup and fan-refusing poems by celebrated talents. Pang Liangji copied them earnestly. Glancing at the paper, Bao Zhu’s face showed complete disdain: “Your handwriting is truly terrible—such a waste of fine brush and ink.”
Pang Liangji wasn’t bothered, saying proudly: “This is already top jianghu standard. People even called me the martial world’s third-ranked scholar back then.”
Huo Qi Lang interjected enviously: “His family has money—could afford private tutors from childhood.”
Bao Zhu was startled, suddenly recalling Wei Xun saying most jianghu people were illiterate, including himself who could only read but not write. In comparison, this foolish young master had become exceptional.
Conversely, the Tang Dynasty’s finest literati almost all yearned for the carefree, unrestrained life of jianghu heroes. Li Taibai and others even daily wore long swords while wandering about, styling themselves as chivalrous. Thinking of these two classes that never interacted—though each wished to approach the other, neither could reach the other—Bao Zhu found a misplaced humor in it.
Pang Liangji had always assumed Bao Zhu was also from the jianghu. That a chivalrous woman would help in crisis filled him with admiration. He said: “The Pang family owns several mines and is quite wealthy in Jade City. Your literary talent is so formidable you can defend against brush and ink hidden weapons—how rich must your family be!”
This utterly naive comment made Bao Zhu chuckle twice. Turning, she saw Wei Xun had collapsed onto the table, burying his head in his arms, silently shaking with laughter.
After copying down all these famous verses, Pang Liangji suddenly discovered a new problem and couldn’t help wailing loudly: “Only three days left! I can’t possibly memorize them all!”
Everyone’s eyes involuntarily turned to Bao Zhu again, as if she possessed such heaven-reaching abilities that she could instantly open Young Master Pang’s meridians and make him memorize wedding poetry.
Even the Pang family steward looked hopeful, humbly pleading: “My young master spent over a month barely memorizing those previous poems to seventy or eighty percent. Starting from scratch now—what can be done! Please, young lady, be thoroughly charitable, help Buddha reach the west, and assist my young master!”
Bao Zhu glanced at the misty drizzle outside, thinking she couldn’t go out anyway. She simply sat down, ordered a pot of sweet osmanthus wine, and provided guidance while watching the rain and drinking.
“Do you know the court once issued a grace allowing folk weddings to ‘assume grandeur’?”
Faced with unfamiliar terminology, Pang Liangji shook his head blankly.
Bao Zhu explained: “It allows wedding couples to use carriages, horses, and clothing exceeding their rank by one level, to show prosperity. Even without official position, on your wedding day you can wear red ceremonial robes of fifth-rank official level without it being presumptuous.”
Pang Liangji clapped his hands: “I know this! So that’s where the groom’s red clothing comes from—it’s not naturally proper but requires court permission?”
Bao Zhu ignored this and continued: “Since there’s the ‘assume grandeur’ regulation, you can not only wear red robes but also carry a tablet.”
Pang Liangji said excitedly: “I’ve prepared this! Hehe, specially ordered the most expensive ivory material.”
Finally reaching the key point, Bao Zhu said: “Copy the poems you can’t memorize in tiny script on the tablet’s inner side, then secretly read while reciting.”
Everyone was stunned again. Pang Liangji was extremely surprised, murmuring: “You can cheat like this?”
Bao Zhu was dismissive: “That’s exactly what tablets are for. During court audiences, recording the Son of Heaven’s edicts, or reporting scattered matters, or when complex household registration and tax figures can’t be remembered—those old men with failing memories copy them on the tablet’s back to avoid forgetting and being punished. Otherwise, why do you think everyone pointlessly holds those things? Quite troublesome.”
Pang Liangji said dazedly: “I’ve actually wondered about this. Hearing that high officials entering the palace can’t bring swords or weapons, maybe when they can’t reach agreement, they use these tablets to beat each other—at least they won’t kill anyone.”
Before finishing, Bao Zhu burst out laughing, nearly choking osmanthus wine into her nose. Imagining the chaotic, ridiculous scene Pang Liangji envisioned, she laughed and coughed simultaneously, swaying back and forth uncontrollably.
Huo Qi Lang naturally moved to pat her back and help her breathe, but was warned off by Wei Xun’s vigilant glare. He also wanted to help, but Bao Zhu’s shirt was thin—he extended his hand not knowing where to place it. After hesitating momentarily, he finally just pulled out a clean handkerchief for her to wipe her face.
Witnessing this scene, Huo Qi Lang wanted to laugh but didn’t dare, suppressing it until her abdominal muscles ached.
She thought this person’s Evening Smoke and Waves Palm was supremely soft and pure—its internal energy could shake enemies until they appeared unharmed externally but had all five organs shattered. His claw techniques were more fierce and unmatched than Qiu Ren, Fourth Brother Ghost Hand Vajra, who was famous throughout the jianghu for this skill. Yet encountering such situations requiring gentle care, these rarely matched claws became clumsy, not knowing how to function.
Huo Qi Lang only wanted entertainment, deliberately not speaking up, waiting to see how obtuse this arrogant brat could become. Openly watching Fool Pang go mad while secretly observing the lynx act stupid—this business deal was quite profitable, not a wasted trip from Guanzhong.
Seeing one tablet couldn’t hold all the poems, Pang Liangji quickly ordered several backups made. The Pang steward felt confident, laughing: “My young master doesn’t need imperial examinations for office—he’ll have a bed full of tablets like Guo Fenyang!”
He cupped his hands and bowed to Bao Zhu: “Young lady has greatly helped the master. The Pang family will firmly remember this kindness. You’re familiar with court affairs—are you from Chang’an martial circles? May I ask what business your family conducts?”
Bao Zhu was startled, regretting speaking too much in her excitement. After thinking, she answered ambiguously: “My family does business with the palace.”
The Pang steward said respectfully: “So you’re imperial merchants—no wonder you’re so knowledgeable. If the young lady ever comes to Jade City, you’ll be an honored guest of the Pang family. Please speak freely if you need anything.”
He couldn’t help muttering: How wonderful if his troublesome young master could fancy this girl—not only literate and eloquent, but carrying herself with complete wealth and nobility. Wouldn’t she be a hundred times better than that poor scholarly family’s daughter?
Though that family had noble ancestry, now no one held office—all commoners so poor they couldn’t afford meals yet still insisted on face. Demanding enormous betrothal gifts was one thing—the Pang family had money and didn’t care. But after receiving the gifts, they still clearly looked down on others, arrogant and snobbish, taking soft rice hard, everywhere belittling and despising the young master—truly infuriating.
Pang Liangji didn’t know his family elder’s thoughts, only feeling a great worry resolved. In high spirits, not knowing how to express gratitude and admiration, he insisted on making a soil offering on the spot to become sworn siblings with Young Lady Jiu.
Wei Xun collapsed on the table again, shaking with laughter. Bao Zhu was speechless, thinking she had helped from righteousness, but this wastrel wanted to gain a royal title from her—how could such bargains exist in the world? She curtly refused without courtesy.