Crown Prince Li’s Tomb had fallen into disrepair, but both above and below ground were rammed earth structures where many animals had dug burrows and made nests, creating a natural hunting ground. Bao Zhu’s arrows never missed their mark. In no time she had taken down seven or eight prey, only regretting she hadn’t brought hunting dogs or falcons—even going all out, she couldn’t bag much more.
The corner of her eye suddenly caught a pale red small figure quickly darting into view. She drew her bow to shoot, but after seeing the prey’s appearance clearly, she released the string.
Wei Xun had just returned carrying an arrow-struck long-tailed pheasant. Seeing her spare prey for the first time, he found it somewhat strange: “Is it too skinny?”
Bao Zhu said: “That’s a fox. My elder brother’s childhood name is Little Fox, so I never kill foxes.”
Shisan Lang was busy helping her tie up the game. Hearing this, he suddenly laughed aloud: “Little Fox and Wildcat—both are fluffy little animals, and they’re somewhat alike too.”
Bao Zhu giggled: “You’re right. It seems I’ll have to show mercy to mountain cats in the future too, lest I accidentally harm your senior brother’s fortune.”
Wei Xun didn’t know what to say. He kept his head down fiddling with the pheasant, plucking the beautiful long feathers from its tail one by one, making it completely bald in moments.
Shisan Lang said with a smile: “It seems Jiu Niang has a very good relationship with her elder brother, always thinking of him in everything.”
Bao Zhu’s eyes lit up as she said proudly: “Of course! We grew up together. I won’t elaborate on how virtuous my elder brother is, but he’s a true gentleman—intelligent beyond compare, gentle and refined, kind and considerate to others, and particularly handsome. With him inheriting the throne, he would certainly be a benevolent and enlightened ruler.”
Once Bao Zhu started talking about Prince Shao Li Yuanying, she couldn’t stop. Shisan Lang looked at her thinking: though he didn’t understand what made an enlightened ruler, being intelligent and kind, gentle and considerate, and good-looking seemed like she was describing herself. He asked: “How does such an important person as your elder brother come to have a childhood name like Little Fox?”
Bao Zhu seemed slightly surprised and asked: “Haven’t you heard the story of ‘the white fox leading the way’?”
Both Wei Xun and Shisan Lang shook their heads to indicate they didn’t know it.
Bao Zhu became interested and said: “Since we have nothing to do today, I’ll tell you about it. That year during the Jingyuan military revolt, the rebel army suddenly attacked Chang’an due to supply shortages. Father was still Prince Liang then and happened to be leading dozens of attendants out of the city to hunt that day, with only his heir Li Chengyuan by his side. Unable to return to the Chang’an prince’s mansion, they directly took the Mawei slope route fleeing toward Shu region, losing contact with all the wives, concubines, and children in the mansion during the chaos.
“After more than ten days of wandering homeless, only able to sleep in wilderness at night, one midnight the guards discovered a white spirit fox had slipped into the camp. No matter how they drove it away, it wouldn’t leave, constantly calling out as if trying to lead people somewhere. Everyone marveled at this oddity. Father led people following the fox, and after crossing several mountain peaks, outside a hidden cave, the white fox called once and stood motionless.
“Curious, Father entered the cave to look and surprisingly found Mother hiding alone inside. She had been rescued by a Taoist nun who had old ties with the Xue family. This nun had divine powers—she carried Mother out from the chaos and hid her here, then sent the white fox to notify Father to come fetch her.
“Tens of thousands died in Chang’an during the military revolt, and most imperial clan mansions were completely looted, yet Mother emerged without a scratch, still wearing the pomegranate-red dress from the day they were separated. This old tale was known throughout the palace. My elder brother’s childhood name Little Fox commemorates the white fox that guided the way and saved Noble Consort at that time.”
Bao Zhu told the story vividly and interestingly. Shisan Lang listened with great interest, but Wei Xun frowned, thinking: a Taoist nun with martial skills certainly had the ability to save people—that wasn’t really the fox’s achievement. It’s just that this Prince Liang had dozens of armed attendants with him, yet not only did they flee at the sight of enemies, they actually abandoned all his wives and daughters to be ravaged and brutalized by the rebel army—truly cowardly and weak to the extreme.
Though he thought this, not wanting to hurt Bao Zhu’s feelings, he held back from speaking.
During that revolt, the rebel army slaughtered people like cutting wheat, specifically seeking out princely and noble mansions to plunder. Except for the future Noble Consort Xue who escaped death, no other wives, concubines, or children from Prince Liang’s mansion survived—even the princess consort perished. Therefore, when Prince Shao Li Yuanying was later born, he was already ten years younger than the eldest son.
Bao Zhu didn’t know what fate befell imperial clan women who fell into the hands of rebels harboring old grudges, so she could recount these old events as interesting stories. Wei Xun understood perfectly well but didn’t want to tell her.
The world’s tragedies are endless—eight sufferings and nine difficulties, all beings in torment. Why must one know about everything?
That day Bao Zhu used up every arrow in her quiver, losing every single one, but returned with a full load. Without Yang Xingjian nagging and spoiling the mood nearby, all three felt very satisfied.
When leaving Crown Prince Li’s Tomb, Wei Xun turned back for a distant look at Liu Ju’s burial mound, thinking this was the first time he’d visited someone else’s grave without planning how to rob it—purely for pleasure—and his state of mind felt unusually relaxed.
Arrows were consumable weapons with high damage rates. The Tang army’s standard was one quiver with thirty arrows. From leaving Cuiwei Temple to finishing today’s hunt, not a single intact arrow could be found in the quiver.
Having Shisan Lang lead the donkey back to the inn with the game first, Bao Zhu and Wei Xun searched the county town for supplies. They found the blacksmith shop with the best reputation and purchased a tube of new arrows, a leather bow case that could hold a strung horn bow, and forced Wei Xun to buy a dining knife.
Seeing various swords, spears, and halberds displayed in the shop, with decorative swords especially ornate and gorgeous compared to other weapons, Bao Zhu casually picked one up to examine. Finding it quite dashing, she asked: “How about I buy you a three-foot sword? The poem says ‘Precious sword dark as water, faintly red with lingering blood; white horse neighs frequently at night,霸陵 snow at third watch.’ How truly graceful and heroic!”
Immersed in romantic fantasies of knight-errant poetry, Bao Zhu was enthusiastic, but Wei Xun smiled and shook his head: “I don’t know how to use that. When running and jumping, it bumps and gets in the way terribly, and besides, I don’t have a horse either.”
Bao Zhu felt puzzled. Though almost every famous poem describing knights mentioned precious swords, among these martial world people she’d encountered, not one actually carried a sword. Wei Xun simply roamed the martial world with just a dagger the size of a dining knife.
She asked in confusion: “Does your master not know swordsmanship? Your senior and junior brothers all seem not to use precious swords.”
Wei Xun spoke frankly: “Master is actually skilled with all weapons, but aside from him, very few people in the martial world actually like using swords. This weapon is difficult to master, even harder to perfect, not as sturdy as sabers, easily damaged, with decorative value greater than practical use. If you don’t believe me, ask that blacksmith.”
Bao Zhu actually took the precious sword to ask the shop owner. The answer was indeed as Wei Xun said—most sword buyers were wealthy families using them to hang on walls for decoration or ward off evil. Those simply constructed, easy-to-maintain weapons were the preferred choices of soldiers and knights.
This rather disappointed her. She put the precious sword back, thinking: did poets write this way because “sword” rhymed better with other characters, or simply because swords looked better hanging at the waist? Come to think of it, this poem by Wen Bajia described a knight riding a white horse at the third watch of night—the posture was graceful, but the target was far too obvious. In her view as an archer, he was indeed a living target.
While pondering the differences between reality and poetry, Bao Zhu walked toward the door. Before crossing the threshold, she felt the shop’s light suddenly dim, as if something had blocked out the sun.
Outside the threshold was a pair of enormous monk shoes like small boats. She slowly raised her head to look up, craning her neck higher and higher until her gaze floated to the top of the door frame, finally seeing the full appearance of an enormously tall giant—it was this person standing in the doorway, blocking the sunlight completely.
This man had disheveled hair and a full beard, wore a purple copper precept ring on his head, and held a staff as thick and long as a flagpole. His attire marked him as a wandering monk with hair, and his rough features and muscular forearms were dotted with burn scars, making him look fierce and terrifying.
Going in and out, the two happened to block each other at the shop entrance.
This monk’s appearance was naturally wild and menacing, with many hideous burn scars that inspired fear. Throughout his wanderings in the martial world, others always consciously made way for him. However, Bao Zhu was born supremely noble—except before the Son of Heaven’s imperial carriage, she never knew what yielding the way meant. She had received many valiant generals and strongmen of unusual appearance from the army and wasn’t afraid of such a big fellow.
Neither person yielded to the other, creating a temporary standoff.
Seeing this little girl motionless, the monk thought she was scared stiff and wanted to reach out to lift her up and set her aside. However, looking down carefully, he saw she wore a tender goose-yellow dress, held her head high with chest out, looking directly at him with extremely proud bearing, as if she wore not a yellow dress but the emperor’s yellow robes.
Looking at this delicate yet proud little yellow bird, the monk found it quite interesting. Not wanting to frighten her, he stepped aside to give her half the doorway. The little yellow bird nodded with satisfaction and stepped over the threshold to leave.
When the monk moved to enter the blacksmith shop again, he saw a pale youth in blue robes coming out. The monk’s heart jumped, immediately sidestepping to avoid him, yielding the entire door to this blue-robed person. His massive body showed no clumsiness—his movements were agile and skilled.
Wei Xun glanced up at him, also seeming somewhat surprised: “What are you doing here?”
The monk stood with hands at his sides and answered in a low voice: “Someone in Luoyang ordered a large batch of explosives—it’s good business.”
Wei Xun grunted acknowledgment without further inquiry and hurried after Bao Zhu’s steps.
Bao Zhu used one wild goose and a pair of beautiful golden-crowned red-bellied pheasants as wedding gifts for the Pang family. Pang Liangji was extremely delighted. In traditional wedding ceremonies’ six rites,納采 (proposal), 納吉 (acceptance), 請期 (setting the date), and 迎親 (welcoming the bride) all required wild geese as gifts for the bride’s family.
There were always people getting married in the world, but not enough wild geese for everyone to use. Moreover, geese were naturally alert and flew at extremely high altitudes. Very few hunters had the ability to shoot geese, and even with money, they weren’t necessarily obtainable. Therefore, common folk generally used domestic geese, ducks, or even wooden carved birds to replace wild geese’s role in the six rites.
Pang Liangji had previously offered a hundred gold reward to obtain just one goose, already used during the proposal ceremony. He was originally planning to hold a big white goose when fetching his bride on the wedding day, but now having a real wild goose available, he was overjoyed. He quickly had it wrapped in satin and sent home with servants to gut and salt for preservation. Manager Pang had already secretly listed Bao Zhu among the honored guests who could enter the wedding tent to witness the ceremony.
As for the teaching master who had sabotaged the wedding poetry, the Pang family sent people that very day to smash his academy. Under interrogation, it turned out no one had instructed him. The impoverished scholar, due to his firm belief in Confucian requirements for women’s chastity, thought the bride should remain faithful to her deceased husband and not remarry. Hidden darkness and jealousy toward wealthy families led him to embed traps in the poetry, thinking the nouveau riche household was full of illiterates who couldn’t detect it. He never expected to be discovered and beaten half to death. Since the Pang family was about to hold joyous celebrations and wanted good luck, they spared his dog life, gave him a thorough beating, and drove him out of Jade City.
Author’s Note: According to some historical records, live geese should be used. Minor variations in fictional plot need no further elaboration.