Chapter 11

Wei Xun left them with "I'll be right back," flicked the hem of his robe, and strode away.

Baozhu rode the donkey, looking back with every step.

Thirteenth Son said, "Don't worry. Senior Brother doesn't have travel papers either. He'll find his own way into town and meet up with us shortly."

Baozhu told Thirteenth Son everything that had happened the night before, then murmured, "Why did that fish seller set up shop at that particular crossroads?"

"To keep watch, of course, and stop people from going in at night and disturbing his livelihood. If someone like Eldest Senior Brother refuses to believe in ghosts and insists on going in to save the price of a room, it gives him time to prepare, knock them out, and earn a little extra."

Baozhu said indignantly, "For a little baldhead who eats vegetarian food and worships Buddha, you certainly know the trade."

Thirteenth Son laughed. "Keeping watch for Eldest Senior Brother is my job."

"If he'd been a little more diligent last night and chased the thief back to his den, we wouldn't have had to make this troublesome trip today."

Thirteenth Son said hesitantly, "People in that line of work rarely act alone. If that man had accomplices, and Senior Brother went after him on his own, I'm afraid you would have been left alone, Ninth Lady..."

Baozhu paused at his words, then snorted and declared with magnificent bravado, "I shot the thief myself last night. Why would I need his protection? Let another one come! I'll shoot them as a pair!"

Thirteenth Son thought, You still had tear tracks on your face when you got up for breakfast, and now you're putting on a brave face and talking tough. Too embarrassed to expose her to her face, he could only meekly agree.

Baozhu sang her own praises for a while. Unfortunately, there were no guards or eunuchs beside her to take turns showering her with flattery. After a few boasts, she ran out of steam and changed the subject. "I still wonder what that treasure Wealthy Master Fang was so proud of actually was. Is it hidden in some corner where nobody can find it, or was it stolen by those marauding soldiers all those years ago?"

Thirteenth Son said in surprise, "Wasn't it right in front of you, Ninth Lady? It was so big. Didn't you see it?"

Baozhu flew into a rage. "I can shoot a sparrow in the eye from a hundred paces! How dare you say there's something wrong with my eyesight?"

Thirteenth Son shrank back and said shakily, "I mean the coffin in the room. It was made of Kucha Wood, a rare import from the Western Regions brought in through the Maritime Trade Office. Didn't Eldest Senior Brother tell you?"

Baozhu's mouth slowly fell open. The battered coffin with its peeling paint surfaced in her mind. She sat stunned for a long while, too shocked to utter a word.

So that was it! That was actually it!

Even the most precious thing in the world was nothing but an ill-omened piece of rubbish to someone who did not recognize its worth. They could stare straight at it and still fail to see it. In that respect, she was no different from the fish seller who had searched so fruitlessly for the treasure.

"My guess is that Wealthy Master Fang confessed on the spot when they tortured him. But Kucha Wood is extremely heavy. Greedy as those bandits in uniform were, they couldn't carry a coffin around with them, and it wasn't easy to turn into cash either. They had no choice but to leave it."

Thirteenth Son paused, then explained with reverent envy, "Kucha Wood is valuable, but only by commoners' standards. It can't compare with your coffin and outer casket of imperial golden-thread phoebe, Ninth Lady. Money alone couldn't buy that. Using it would get your household confiscated."

At this comparison, a jumble of emotions surged through Baozhu. Her face turned red, then white, and she did not know whether to feel angry or proud.

Thirteenth Son had bribed the gate official beforehand. They led the donkey into town without the slightest obstruction, then found a little tavern on a street in the county town and decided to sit there while waiting for Wei Xun.

As they entered, they saw four coarse, burly men in gray cloth robes drinking noisily around a table. Wine and food were spilled all over it, while several green-headed flies and striped-legged mosquitoes circled overhead.

The sight filled Baozhu with disgust. She was about to lift the door curtain and leave when she remembered the little inn from yesterday. Had she not turned up her nose at its shabby accommodations and refused to enter, they would never have been forced to stay in that haunted house. If she could not adapt to these straitened circumstances, every step of the journey ahead would be a struggle.

So she heaved a long sigh, gritted her teeth, and went back inside, where she found a quiet corner and gracefully seated herself.

The proprietor looked up and was surprised to see a beautiful girl of sixteen enter with a little novice monk. Her clothes were not particularly splendid, and she wore only a comb in her hair, yet every movement was dignified and noble, her face radiant. She did not look like an ordinary girl. Removing her curtained hat and veil, she looked around curiously, as though she had never entered a street-side tavern before.

The wine waiter came to attend them. "What would you like to drink, young lady? We have our own rice wine and clear wine."

Baozhu paused, thinking that such a small place was unlikely to stock famous wines like Kunlun Cup, and asked for the most common ones instead. "Do you have Yingzhou Spring or Stone-Frozen Spring?"

The wine waiter shook his head.

"What about Autumn Clear or Mulberry Fall?"

The wine waiter shook his head again.

Thirteenth Son coughed. "I'm afraid the wine here won't suit your palate, Ninth Lady. You'd better order fermented milk."

Fermented milk was a drink made from cow's or sheep's milk. Its ingredients were readily available, and its sweet-tart flavor was pleasant, so both noble households and street-side eateries served it. It was the first choice for women who could not hold their drink, and Baozhu nodded her assent.

Thirteenth Son also ordered a few vegetarian dishes to accompany the wine. The waiter brought a plate of dried tofu with Sichuan pepper, a plate of crisp fried dough twists, and a plate of salted boiled broad beans.

Chang'an City had thousands of taverns, including magnificent establishments as lavish as noble mansions, where feasting, singing, and dancing continued day and night. This, however, was only a shop in a county town. The tables, couches, and mats were neither new nor quite worn out, and an aging foreign serving woman whose beauty had faded stood listlessly at the counter, selling wine and shooing flies.

The only thing they shared was the writing and drawings on the walls.

Drinking was all the rage in the Great Tang, and composing poetry was a fashion shared by every class. Unless a shop had only just opened, its plastered walls bore the brushwork of passing travelers. Naturally, the quality of the verses varied as widely as heaven and earth: an immortal masterpiece might sit beside an unbearably vulgar erotic poem.

Though the place was shabby, its wall inscriptions were impressive, suggesting an old establishment that had been open for many years. Baozhu studied them with interest and discovered that the walls held not only poems but also many baffling drawings: birds, insects, snakes, teapots, stone mortars. They had no common theme and looked more like children's idle scrawls. She could not make sense of them.

Wei Xun was indeed as good as his word about being "right back." They had only just finished a plate of broad beans when he returned, carrying a bulging leather sack in his left hand and a long wooden stick in his right. He planted the stick beside the entrance and lifted the curtain to come inside. The tavern fell silent.

Baozhu hurriedly asked, "Is it settled?"

Looking thoroughly refreshed, Wei Xun set the leather sack on the mat. "As easy as reaching out my hand."

Baozhu was both curious and frightened. Seeing no blood or dirt on the hem of his robe, she did not know how to ask and chose her words carefully. "Were you hurt?"

Wei Xun smiled. "Just a villager. Even the donkey couldn't be bothered to bray last night. He really wasn't worth a trip." Then he requested her permission. "I'd like some wine."

Baozhu nodded her approval. "After all that fussing for half the night, I'd like a couple of cups myself."

With his superior's approval for the expense secured, Wei Xun called the wine waiter over and ordered a jar of Burn-Spring. Before long, the waiter brought a pewter wine pot and two cups and set them on the low table.

Wei Xun frowned. "You misheard me. I asked for a jar."

Taking him for an arrogant, overconfident youth, the waiter smiled apologetically. "Sir, this is strong liquor from Shu. It's potent and packs quite a delayed punch. This pot should be enough for the two of you. A whole jar holds twenty jin."

Wei Xun pointed at Baozhu. "Someone here is paying. Just do as I ask. And this cup is too small. Bring me a bowl instead."

Privately astonished, the waiter hurried away with repeated murmurs of assent. These two don't look like siblings, and they don't behave like lovers. But if they're master and servant, what servant would sit so brazenly across from his master, eating and drinking?

Baozhu heard none of it. Her eyes remained fixed on the leather sack. Could there be a severed head inside?

Wei Xun guessed her thoughts from her gaze and immediately untied the cord around the sack to show her. It contained nothing but bean meal for the donkey.

"Such petty scum isn't worth bringing back a head for."

At the sight of her stunned expression, Wei Xun burst out laughing. Thirteenth Son sighed. "Eldest Senior Brother just loves teasing people."

Baozhu glared at him with an angry huff and said nothing more. He's almost old enough for his capping ceremony, yet sometimes he's naughtier than my little brother-crouching on rafters and meowing to frighten people, sneaking into the imperial tribute storehouse only to steal oranges, and all the rest.

The wine waiter returned with two more wine pots, an empty bowl, and a large plate of steamed lamb on his tray. Displeased, Baozhu was about to demand whether he had ears at all when he said respectfully, "These two pots are a gift for the young gentleman from the guests at the table by the door. They said to bring twice as much of whatever wine you ordered."

Baozhu turned and saw that the four burly men who had been making such a racket were now standing beside their table, bowing toward them with their hands clasped. Their manner was deeply respectful, but they did not approach.

Wei Xun merely nodded without returning their salute.

He wiped a cup clean, lifted the wine pot, and filled it, setting it before her first.

Baozhu looked down at the wine in her cup. It was bamboo-green, with a layer of white foam on top. She took a tiny sip. It burned her throat going down and left a sour, astringent aftertaste. She frowned slightly, set it down, and did not touch it again.

Knowing that the princess found the poor wine of this little country tavern crude, Wei Xun did not urge her to drink. He poured and drank by himself, emptying a pot in the blink of an eye. The four men who had sent the wine abandoned their table of food and drink, quietly settled their bill, and left. The tavern became considerably quieter.

Baozhu asked, "Who were those men?"

Wei Xun shook his head. "I don't know them."

"If you don't know them, why did they send you wine?"

Thirteenth Son said, "Perhaps they know Eldest Senior Brother."

Baozhu was dubious. "Do you actually have something of a reputation in the martial world?"

Wei Xun shook his head again, his expression indifferent. "Master had a bit of a reputation when he was alive. I'm just a poor thief who can't afford wine."

The Burn-Spring was not to Baozhu's taste, but the lamb had been steamed until tender and richly flavored. She had seldom had meat since her misfortune and helped herself again and again. Unfortunately, the weather was hot, and several green-headed flies caught the scent of mutton and joined the striped-legged mosquitoes in buzzing around them. It quite spoiled her appetite.

Wei Xun drew the dagger from his waist and gently pushed against the guard, exposing an inch of blade, then laid it across the table. Whether it was the blade's aura or its murderous air, the mosquitoes and flies fled at once, desperate to escape.

Baozhu was amazed. Thinking back to her days at Green Micro Temple, she realized that insects had never troubled her there. She had assumed the detached palace stood on a well-chosen, blessed site imbued with a dragon's aura. Now she suspected it was because this dagger had so often been beside her. It truly was a precious blade.

Seeing her eat without touching the wine, Thirteenth Son asked around a mouthful of dried tofu, "Can't you hold your drink, Ninth Lady?"

The girl replied, "I can manage a few cups, but I like sweet wine."

"Eldest Senior Brother likes searching old tombs for wines aged a hundred years or more. He says they're the richest and best to drink-and free, too."

Baozhu was rather surprised to hear this.

Everyone loved aged wine, but wine was not gold, silver, or jewels. However much one amassed, every jar drunk meant one less remaining, to say nothing of whether such collections could survive the rise and fall of families and dynasties. Thinking of it that way, only a special place like an ancient tomb could truly preserve them.

She found the thought somewhat revolting. "But those wines were buried with dead people. Doesn't that turn your stomach?"

Wei Xun smiled. "There are plenty of living people in this world more stomach-turning than the dead. By comparison, the dead are quiet. Whatever they were in life, once they're dry bones, they can no longer do evil."

Baozhu thought that made sense and asked eagerly, "Can you really drink wine from ancient tombs? Doesn't it spoil?"

"At most, one part in ten is drinkable. The rest has either dried up from poor storage or gone so rotten you can't bear the smell."

Baozhu said, "The oldest wine I've ever drunk was a hundred-and-twenty-year-old Qianhe Grape at last year's Spring Rivalry Banquet. Just two cups knocked me out. My elder brother said strong wine was bad for me and told me to drink only newly brewed wine from then on. What's the oldest wine you've drunk?"

Wei Xun thought for a moment. "It must have been the wine in a bronze pot with a swing handle from a Shang Dynasty noble's tomb. An extraordinary fragrance rushed out when I opened it. Only two fingerbreadths of amber-colored liquid remained."

Baozhu exclaimed, "A thousand-year-old wine! It must have tasted like the nectar of immortals!"

Wei Xun smiled and shook his head. "It tasted like plain water. I suppose all the alcohol had evaporated after so long, leaving only the fragrance. A wine's flavor has something to do with how long it's stored, but its original quality matters more. Poor wine is still poor wine after a thousand years."

They chatted enthusiastically about wine for a while, Wei Xun recounting the fine vintages he had tasted. Baozhu asked, "Then what was the richest, most fragrant wine you ever drank in a tomb?"

He began at once, "It was your..."

He had meant to say that the richest and most fragrant was the jar of "imperially bestowed Dew Nectar" he had drunk in the princess's underground tomb, its lingering flavor truly inexhaustible. But telling her to her face that "the best wine was the one stored in your tomb" seemed decidedly strange. He stopped himself and steered the conversation elsewhere.

Wei Xun thought privately that he had always treated the strictures of propriety as nothing, flouted convention, and spoken without restraint. Yet today, for some reason, he had begun minding his words and behavior in her presence. Even he found it exceedingly odd. With something weighing on his heart, this drink after a killing was far less satisfying than it usually was.

As they talked, a middle-aged man in a dark red silk robe, with a steel whip hanging at his waist, entered the tavern. Without sitting down, he went straight to the counter, pointed toward them, and said a few words in a low voice. He paid and left.

The proprietor personally brought over a tray bearing four wine pots. His gaze toward Wei Xun had grown still more respectful, even tinged with fear. "You have so many friends, young gentleman. Someone else has sent you wine. Unicorn-Whip Lord Qiao instructed us to take good care of you and said to bring twice as much of whatever you ordered last time."

Having wanted only a quiet place to drink and chat, Wei Xun looked irritated by the repeated interruptions and said bluntly, "If anyone else comes to pester me, whoever it is, tell him to get lost."

"Yes, yes. Double it again and that would be eight pots. There wouldn't even be room on this table. Nobody could drink that much even if it were water."

The proprietor set down the newly delivered wine and gathered the empty dishes, only to discover that the previous three pots had already been drained. He was astonished. Both these guests were so young, and neither looked capable of drinking an ocean.

After these two incidents, Baozhu also realized something was amiss. But she had always been the moon surrounded by a constellation of stars, lofty and the center of everyone's attention. Today, in this shabby little shop, she was merely a supporting player. She could not help feeling a sour pang.

Once the proprietor had gone, Thirteenth Son said to Wei Xun with a rueful smile, "It seems word of our whereabouts has already leaked out. You'd better leave a mark on the wall, Senior Brother."

Baozhu looked from one to the other, wide-eyed and bewildered. Is he going to compose a poem? But he doesn't even have a pouch of brushes and ink with him.

After a moment's dispirited consideration, Wei Xun took a blue-green stone from the small pouch of flint at his waist. Finding a blank patch among the scrawls, he drew a simple figure in a few strokes. With long ears and tufts of fur, it looked like a blue-green lynx sitting on a rock.

Baozhu had been looking forward to admiring his masterpiece. Never expecting him to draw such a thing on the wall, she could not help bursting into laughter.

"What's this? I thought you were going to write a poem!"

Rather embarrassed, Wei Xun buried himself in his wine, downing a bowl with every gulp.

Thirteenth Son explained for him. "Don't laugh, Ninth Lady. This isn't a picture. It's Mynah Talk."

"What's that?"

"A sort of code used in our circles... When you pass through unfamiliar territory, you leave a mark. First, it helps you keep in touch with your companions. Second, it lets the local people in the trade know you're here, so you aren't trespassing on their toes."

Thirteenth Son pointed the drawings out to Baozhu. "Look, this patterned sparrow belongs to a master thief nicknamed Forest Sparrow. The five feathers in its tail mean there are five people in his party. This stone mortar belongs to a wandering swordsman nicknamed Ironheart. The crack means he's injured, and the pestle pointing west means that's where he's heading. There's plenty of other complicated information too. I can't explain it all in one breath."

Baozhu laughed. "I understand. This lynx is Wei Xun himself, and the tufts on its ears point east because we're heading east?"

Thirteenth Son nodded. "You're very clever, Ninth Lady."

Baozhu asked, "Why don't you draw one?"

Thirteenth Son sighed and said despondently, "Master died before I finished my apprenticeship. Only people who've made a name for themselves have the right to leave marks on walls. Underlings and followers can't just draw whatever they please."

Baozhu understood. Those men from the martial world who had sent wine might not share any deep friendship with Wei Xun. Perhaps they simply feared his reputation and worried that he might stir up wind and waves on their territory, so they sent wine first as a gesture of goodwill.

Looking at the wall drawings again, she felt as though her eyes and ears had been opened to an entirely new world. That blue-green lynx had been drawn in only a few casual strokes, yet it looked vigorous and spirited, full of life. But then she remembered that Wei Xun's childhood nickname was Lynx, and she covered her mouth and laughed softly again, her voice clear as a bell.

"Is your nickname in the martial world something-or-other Lynx, then?"

Thirteenth Son glanced at his senior brother and said quietly, "Not exactly. Besides, nicknames are what other people call you. You don't choose them yourself..."

Wei Xun was filled with regret.

He had teased her with the leather sack earlier. Who would have thought retribution would come so swiftly? He had never found anything funny about his nickname or his wall markings, but with her asking about them in such delighted amusement, he suddenly felt ridiculous from head to toe.

So he said nothing more and drained every cup that came his way, swiftly finishing those pots of wine. After twenty or thirty bowls of strong liquor, he showed not the slightest sign of it going to his head. Instead, his face grew paler the more he drank.

Even imposing, powerfully built men with waists ten spans around would have staggered and collapsed into a drunken stupor after drinking like that. Yet this slender youth drank as effortlessly as if it were water. The other patrons, the proprietor, the wine waiter, and even the cook came out to watch.

Having drunk every last drop of wine on the table himself, Wei Xun rose to settle the bill. Seeing that the cup before Baozhu remained untouched, he picked it up and drained it in one swallow.

Several times during their journey, they had shared a flatbread or a pear, but those had always been broken into pieces first. Seeing him drink without the slightest concern from a vessel she had used made Baozhu feel somewhat bashful.

Yet Wei Xun acted with such easy, unselfconscious grace that saying anything would only make her seem fussy. She could only pretend nothing had happened. But a wine-like flush slowly rose over the girl's luminous, jade-white cheeks, and she hurriedly put on her curtained hat and lowered the veil to conceal her face.

Thirteenth Son looked from one to the other, tapping an empty bowl with a chopstick. "This Burn-Spring is strange indeed. The one who drank it doesn't blush, while the one who didn't has turned red."

At this, Baozhu's face burned still hotter. Humiliated into anger, she bent her forefinger and delivered a vicious flick to his bald head.

Thirteenth Son belatedly clutched his head. "Ow. Why did you hit me?"

Baozhu snapped, "I can hit Li Yuanyi, so why can't I hit a loose-tongued bald thief like you?"

With her willow-leaf brows raised and murderous fury rolling off her, Thirteenth Son dared not argue. Having suffered a flick to the head for no good reason, he sighed, "Misery, misery!" while hurriedly tucking all the leftover dried tofu and fried dough twists into the front of his robe.