With this bond of friendship established, Pang Liangji warmly invited Bao Zhu and Wei Xun to attend the wedding in three days.
Bao Zhu was naturally lively and couldn’t sit still. Yang Xingjian’s cold had struck like a mountain collapse but was departing as slowly as drawing silk threads. Though there was no danger to his life, no one knew how long it would take for him to recover and continue their journey. Being cooped up in the inn day after day was already stifling, so hearing Pang’s earnest invitation, her heart began to waver. However, since it was a formal ceremony, she still wanted to dress appropriately—her crooked, twisted hair bun would absolutely not do.
She said hesitantly, “I left home in too much of a rush and didn’t bring any maid to do my hair and makeup…”
Before Pang Liangji could speak, Manager Pang readily agreed: “Young lady need not worry. Tomorrow I’ll send our family’s hair-dressing ladies to serve you here. Our countryside doesn’t have as many new fashions as the capital, but whatever you need, just give them guidance—it’ll broaden their horizons too.”
Bao Zhu was delighted, thinking that while Pang Liangji was unrestrained and spoke without thinking, this steward was quite considerate. She asked, “Are you inviting me to serve as a bridesmaids accompanying the bride? I’ve done that several times for my brothers and sisters at home.”
This time both the eldest and sixth shook their heads.
Pang Liangji paid no attention to anyone’s expressions and bluntly refused with characteristic directness: “No way! The most dazzling woman at the wedding must be my wife. You’re quite attractive too—if you steal her thunder, that would absolutely not do.”
Bao Zhu was about to lose her temper and get angry, but Wei Xun said, “During the wedding procession disruptions, the bridesmaids bear the brunt of the teasing—it’s not a pleasant position, nothing like the ceremonies in your household.”
Huo Qi Lang chuckled mischievously: “So I should be the one accompanying the bride! Old Seven here isn’t afraid of disruptions—the more raucous, the more fun!”
Pang Liangji rolled up his sleeves, ready to snap at someone, but the steward grabbed his clothes from behind and shook him vigorously, begging him not to speak anymore. Manager Pang forced a proper smile and said to Bao Zhu: “Young lady, you are an honored guest invited by the master. You need not take on any duties—just being willing to attend and witness the ceremony brings great honor to the Pang family.”
Bao Zhu nodded, thinking to herself that being able to invite her to attend indeed elevated this common folk’s wedding to an extremely high status—they should rightfully feel deeply honored.
By now the rain had completely stopped. Bao Zhu didn’t want to delay any longer and called the innkeeper to ask if Lingbao County had any famous scenic spots or historical sites, planning to ride her donkey out to explore.
The innkeeper thought for a moment and said: “About twenty li southwest from here, there’s Crown Prince Li’s Tomb—the burial site of Liu Ju, Emperor Wu of Han’s son who died unjustly. The Longing for Son Palace and the Gazing Hopefully for Return Platform there are quite famous. Many traveling scholars make special trips to see them.”
The distance wasn’t too far. Bao Zhu immediately decided to visit there for sightseeing, called Shisan Lang to bring an oiled paper umbrella, and the two of them left together.
Wei Xun raised his head and drained the remaining wine from his bowl, stood up intending to follow. Pang Liangji said puzzledly: “That’s just a big earthen platform—nothing much to see. Is Big Brother planning to dig his way in to examine the underground chamber?”
Wei Xun smiled faintly and said: “I’m no longer in that line of work.”
Pang Liangji’s heart tightened. He wondered whether Wei Xun had found that pill formula or completely given up on it. He asked: “Then why are you following along? Wouldn’t it be better for us brothers to drink and go through the ceremony procedures in advance?”
Hearing the clip-clop of donkey hooves departing outside, Wei Xun was already impatient. He said dismissively to Pang Liangji: “I’m going to lead the donkey. Didn’t you hear I was captured?” With that, he strode out quickly, lightly leaped over the threshold, and rapidly disappeared from the inn’s entrance.
Pang Liangji turned back in shock, only then seeing Huo Qi Lang’s face break into a mocking smile she’d been suppressing for ages. She said with infinite amusement: “In this world, it’s not only Sixth Brother who acts foolishly.”
The sky was overcast, and distant mountains under gray cloud cover had blurred outlines, like landscapes from Wang Wei’s paintings with ink colors washing and blending layer upon layer. The endless peach groves, washed by rain, showed leaves even more verdant and bright up close, resembling the blue-green landscape style of Li Sixun and his son. The scenery’s contrast between near and far created a uniquely charming atmosphere.
The air was moist and fresh, neither sunny nor hot—truly perfect weather for mountain touring and sightseeing.
On the road to those Han dynasty ruins, Bao Zhu rode her donkey while eloquently recounting the full story of the witchcraft calamity that occurred seven hundred years ago.
Emperor Wu of Han became muddled in his later years and trusted the treacherous minister Jiang Chong. Jiang Chong was at odds with Crown Prince Liu Ju and deeply feared that when Emperor Wu died, Liu Ju would seek revenge. So he fabricated witchcraft incidents to frame Liu Ju, slandering the crown prince as treasonous. Liu Ju was forced to raise troops, and the Wei clan fought against government forces. Eventually outnumbered and defeated, he fled to Lingbao County where pursuing soldiers discovered him. Rather than be captured and humiliated, Crown Prince Wei chose to die nobly by suicide.
A year later, Emperor Wu finally realized his terrible mistake—he had wrongfully killed his virtuous and benevolent heir. He executed Jiang Chong to avenge Liu Ju, but the crown prince could not be brought back to life. The emperor could only weep as he built the Longing for Son Palace and Gazing Hopefully for Return Platform for him.
Listening intently to this ancient tale of power struggles that cost tens of thousands of heads, Shisan Lang felt both moved and thrilled. He said: “Our generation also had a crown prince who was deposed, but fortunately they didn’t kill each other—he was just confined.”
Bao Zhu was greatly displeased. Seeing no one around and the road empty, she darkened her face and scolded: “How can Li Chengyuan compare to Crown Prince Wei Liu Ju?! He’s not worthy! If we’re talking about treacherous ministers spreading slander and virtuous men being defamed, thus becoming estranged from the Son of Heaven, that should describe my elder brother Prince Shao. Li Chengyuan at most deserves that violent character ‘Li’ (戾). If I ever get the chance to turn things around and destroy him, I’ll definitely give him that posthumous title.”
Hearing that he’d angered her, Shisan Lang quickly apologized, though he didn’t quite understand why inwardly.
Wei Xun was also surprised she was so furious and turned to ask: “How did he offend you?”
Bao Zhu said with a face full of rage: “His despicable acts are countless—I’ll mention just one. That year when Tibetan forces invaded and military provisions were insufficient, Li Chengyuan directly petitioned the Son of Heaven, proposing to send me to marry the Tibetan king Trisong Detsen to end the military threat. Trisong Detsen was already sixty years old, and I was only nine that year.”
Wei Xun was shocked and inwardly furious, though his face showed no expression—he only gave a cold laugh.
Bao Zhu continued: “Fortunately, I was deeply beloved by my parents from childhood. Mother was still alive then, and Father couldn’t bear to part with me, so naturally wouldn’t let me suffer such grievance. Li Chengyuan just wanted to isolate my elder brother by removing his supporters.”
Shisan Lang was also stunned: “This person is so wicked—did he also slander your brother?”
Bao Zhu said: “Yes. By then he’d already lost power, and seeing my elder brother about to ascend to the crown prince position, he joined with Prince Wei to do it.”
Shisan Lang asked: “I wonder what kind of slander they spoke?”
Bao Zhu didn’t want to elaborate, only saying with a stern face: “Extremely sinister, extremely malicious rumors.”
Malicious enough to rob the Son of Heaven of his trust and favor overnight, and within a few years transform someone from heir apparent candidate to being banished to remote borderlands.
They’d come out together happily to play, but inadvertently made her upset and angry. Both senior and junior disciples felt somewhat regretful.
Just then they saw a stone tablet by the roadside inscribed with four characters “Han Tai Feng Yu” (Han Platform Wind and Rain). Bao Zhu knew they’d arrived and told Wei Xun to lead the donkey down the small path.
Because the witchcraft calamity was a very famous political event in ancient times, local officials of successive dynasties maintained and contributed to Crown Prince Li’s Tomb. The area around the burial site once had lush forests and bamboo groves with scattered pavilions and platforms—a fine place for spring outings. But after the An Lushan Rebellion when the empire’s population was decimated by half, local areas no longer had the financial and material resources of the High Tang period, so it gradually fell into disrepair.
Viewed from afar, the Longing for Son Palace had already collapsed, and the Gazing Hopefully for Return Platform was just a large earthen mound.
Crown Prince Li’s Tomb was located precisely on the “Two Capitals Corridor” between Chang’an and Luoyang. Traveling scholars and poets liked to come here to pay respects and compose poems borrowing from the past to comment on the present. The remaining building walls around the area bore many inscribed poems.
Bao Zhu recited the most famous work by Bai Juyi—”Two Poems with Feelings at Longing for Son Platform”—for her two companions, and explained to them the allusions in the verses about hearing the shuttle thrown at the Zeng family loom and seeing wasps gathered in the Yin family garden.
Wei Xun listened carefully throughout and commented: “From his meaning, the treacherous minister Jiang Chong’s role was limited—it was still Emperor Wu himself who lightly believed rumors, leading to estrangement between flesh and blood.”
Hearing these words, Bao Zhu felt as if a sharp dagger had been thrust into her chest, momentarily too pained to speak.
This was certainly not Wei Xun’s fault. Though he hadn’t attended school, he was extremely clever and studious. When she casually mentioned literary passages, he always grasped them immediately and could draw inferences. If he could have been born into an official or noble family, who knows how outstanding and literarily gifted he might have been.
Just in commenting on these two poems “Feelings at Longing for Son Platform,” he immediately grasped the poet’s most essential viewpoint.
No matter how treacherous people spread slander, ultimately it was still the Son of Heaven himself who decided to listen selectively and wrongly accuse his own flesh and blood. How could Bao Zhu not understand this principle? It was only because she’d been deeply beloved by her father since childhood, and their father-daughter bond was hard to sever, that she’d never dared think deeply about the crucial point. Today, having Wei Xun’s unintentional words pierce through it, the pain was almost suffocating.
Wei Xun immediately noticed her irregular breathing. He turned back to look at her and asked puzzledly: “What’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell somewhere?”
Bao Zhu didn’t want to admit that a single sentence had stirred her thoughts. She forced a smile and said: “I think I was greedy earlier and drank too much osmanthus wine. With the wind blowing, I’m a bit dizzy.”
Wei Xun observed carefully and saw her looking dazed with a pale complexion—not like someone who’d drunk too much. Suspecting that Old Yang had passed his illness to her, he immediately lost interest in sightseeing. He quickly had her dismount from the donkey to rest by the roadside while Shisan Lang hurriedly took down the water pouch and held it for her to drink some to settle her qi.
The senior and junior disciples stared at her with such concern they seemed ready to bore holes in her face and body. But after a while, Bao Zhu herself thought things through. Anyway, the marriage alliance incident was long past, Li Chengyuan had his entire face torn off by a bear and was now both blind and mute—presumably suffering far more than death many times over.
And Prince Shao was far from Crown Prince Wei Liu Ju’s situation of being driven to suicide. When she reached Youzhou, with the siblings working together, they might not lack opportunities to turn the tables.
Having thought it through, her state of mind naturally stabilized. Bao Zhu took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the fresh post-rain air. Seeing a line of wild geese flying overhead in the distance, she decided to test her luck with archery to divine future fortune.
She immediately took her horn bow from the bow case, nocked and drew the string, channeling all the displeasure in her chest into the arrowhead. Dropping her shoulder and marshaling her strength, she drew the entire bow to full extension like a full moon, her arms not trembling in the slightest.
When the quarry entered range, she made a slight adjustment in aim. Only hearing the bowstring’s resonant twang, the arrow shot toward the flock like chasing wind and moon. A goose fell in response, landing precisely on the Gazing Hopefully for Return Platform.
This arrow had magnificent momentum, both steady and fierce with extremely long range—definitely not something a sick person could demonstrate. Wei Xun and his junior disciple relaxed and praised her wholeheartedly with complete admiration.
Bao Zhu beamed with joy and laughingly said to Wei Xun: “Quick, quick, run fetch it for me. Be careful not to break the wings. Though I’ve fallen on hard times, I can’t attend someone’s wedding empty-handed. Presenting a goose to the newlyweds has very good symbolic meaning.”
Author’s Note: A bow is a precision weapon. Tang dynasty military practice was to loosen the bowstring during long journeys, storing it relaxed in the bow case (leather bag) to preserve it, only stringing it when battle was imminent. Bao Zhu learned from military generals, so her habits align with army practices.