Baozhu hurriedly shoveled a mouthful of coarse millet from the earthenware bowl into her mouth, her tears going in with it. She chewed with all her strength, the grains scraping her gums raw as the bitter taste of tears spread over her tongue. It probably tasted little better than livestock feed.
Millet had always been one of the staple grains commoners paid to the court in taxes. In the palace, it was often made into Imperial Yellow Queen Mother Rice, sweet millet porridge, and other dishes, all sweet, soft, and thoroughly cooked. Why this particular meal was so coarse and vile, she could not fathom.
Amid the sounds of fighting and shouting in the courtyard, a short man crashed through the window. He struggled twice on the ground, then lay still. He was the proprietor of this murderous inn.
The bandits disguised as servants had all rushed outside to fight, leaving no one to wait on them. Trembling, Yang Xingjian rummaged through the room and found an earthenware jar, then scooped some fermented black bean paste out of it. Apparently, this was their only side dish today. He tipped the paste onto a plate and respectfully set it before Baozhu, saying shamefacedly, "Today's fare really is rather meager. Perhaps we'll find something decent to eat once we reach Luoyang."
Baozhu did not answer. She merely kept shoveling rice into her mouth.
"Eldest Senior Brother! Someone's on the roof!"
Thirteenth Son's shout came from outside. A jumble of footsteps sounded overhead, followed by a scream. A heavy body crushed one corner of the thatched roof and plunged headfirst into the room, landing in the woodpile without another sound. Dust billowed from the rammed-earth floor.
Baozhu and Yang Xingjian hastily covered their bowls to keep their millet from acquiring another layer of