Cuiwei Temple in the southern suburbs of Chang’an had originally been a summer retreat palace built by Emperor Taizong, originally named Cuiwei Palace. In the fifth month of the twenty-third year of Zhenguan reign, Emperor Taizong suddenly died while recuperating in the Hanfeng Hall of Cuiwei Palace. This retreat became a place of ill omen, and subsequent emperors never visited again. With the death of that legendary emperor, the fifth month as an evil month became even more deeply taboo in the Tang Dynasty.
When those above have preferences, those below must follow suit—the reverse is equally true. Cuiwei Palace gradually fell into ruin. Later converted to Cuiwei Temple, it also had sparse incense offerings and few visitors. Even the resident monks couldn’t make ends meet and sought other opportunities elsewhere. After the An Lushan Rebellion, the place became crumbling walls and overgrown weeds, bearing no resemblance to an imperial palace.
Wei Xun settled the princess in a meditation chamber in the rear hall that still had its roof intact. Though alive, she had been sealed in a coffin for days without food or drink, remaining unconsciously asleep. Only after wiping away the thick makeup on her face could one see her haggard appearance—she was already barely clinging to life. If not for a master with profound internal energy sustaining her breath at a critical moment, even if Bian Que and Hua Tuo were reborn, they would find it difficult to save her.
Wei Xun cared for her attentively. On the first day, he could only pour some hot soup through a reed tube. On the second day, she could take thin gruel. Only on the third day could she drink some watery porridge.
Initially, Shisan felt rather indignant toward this golden branch and jade leaf who had escaped death, feeling she had delayed Senior Brother’s urgent life-or-death matter. Yet he couldn’t bear to watch the girl die needlessly, so he helped by carrying soup and water.
Once, palace flatterers seeing Princess Wangshou’s favor claimed that after the Noble Consort, the princess was the greatest beauty in the capital region. Now seeing her true appearance, though she could be called graceful and lovely, honestly speaking, she was still far from deserving the title of “greatest.”
However, her skin was lustrous as jade, perfect and flawless, her abundant black hair thick and dense, so glossy it could reflect images, like a length of smooth, shining black brocade. Such skin and hair were truly the result of countless pampered care in the deep palace, impossible to possess in common households.
On the morning of the third day, the princess stirred with a soft moan, her starry eyes half-opening as she gradually awakened.
What met her gaze was a spacious, dilapidated meditation chamber. The door panels had long vanished, leaving the doorway wide open. Windows leaked and walls were broken, with several tile basins placed in corners to catch rainwater. Beneath her was an old narrow couch that had collapsed on one side and was propped up with bricks. The couch was bare without any bedding—what she wore and lay upon were her own outer robes stained with mud.
The princess struggled for a long time before barely managing to sit up, feeling her throat hoarse and dry, her hands and feet numb, as if they didn’t belong to her own body.
“Oh, she’s alive, she’s alive.”
Standing in the corridor were two people: a bald young novice monk and a thin man in bamboo-cloth blue robes with fair skin, sucking on a candy stick. The parties stared at each other, momentarily speechless.
Shisan asked Wei Xun in a low voice: “Senior Brother, do you think she’ll report us to the authorities?”
Wei Xun laughed and replied: “The officials might not believe it anyway.”
Princess Wangshou thought she was still dreaming, asking in confusion: “Who are you two? Where is this? Are you bandits who abducted me?”
Shisan said: “Bandits, yes—but abduction, no. Strictly speaking, Senior Brother is your benefactor who saved you.”
Wei Xun entered the meditation chamber, leaned against a pillar and slid down to sit on the ground in a leisurely posture. Then he briefly explained how the princess had died suddenly of illness, was buried alive in the tomb chamber, and how he, while tomb robbing, happened to lift her from the coffin—omitting only the human sacrifices.
This matter was too shocking for the princess to accept immediately. Combined with her recent recovery from serious illness, her mind was completely blank. She wore the highest-grade ceremonial phoenix robes—not everyday clothing. How could she possibly be wearing such attire and be abducted from the palace without remembering anything?
The princess asked in bewilderment: “Who exactly are you?”
Only then did Wei Xun spit out his candy stick, straighten up and sit properly, bowing with neither servility nor arrogance: “This humble person is Wei Xun, and this is my junior brother Shisan Lang.”
“Are you from the Jingzhao Wei clan or the Wuxing Wei clan?”
Both were aristocratic families no less prestigious than the Five Surnames and Seven Houses. Hearing this innocent question, Wei Xun couldn’t help bursting into laughter, causing much dust to fall from the ceiling.
“Hahahahaha, look at these common clothes I wear—which Wei clan could I possibly be from?”
The princess’s face reddened, realizing her mistake. After this unexpected disaster, she felt dizzy and found even sitting difficult, her thoughts as simple as a newborn baby’s. Though this man was under twenty years old and wore common cloth, his eyes were bright as lightning and his bearing was free and unrestrained—he didn’t seem like a menial servant.
“Rest for two more days before making plans. These are the jewelry you wore when exhumed—keep them all safe.”
Wei Xun placed a heavy bundle beside the couch and strode out with Shisan. The bundle’s wrapping was a sutra banner covered with spell symbols, exactly as he had described.
For the next two days, Wei Xun was nowhere to be seen. Each day the young novice brought simple gruel and soup cakes—bowls completely devoid of meat or fish. As Bai Letian wrote in his poetry: “When hungry, hemp porridge smells fragrant; when thirsty, cloud soup tastes beautiful.” Having starved for so many days, the princess had no other food to choose from and could only eat whatever was available.
She had been born into luxury with servants surrounding her—even when sleeping, several palace maids stayed beside her footstool. Now alone in a desolate temple, so weak she could barely walk, the only people she could see were two strangers of questionable identity. Her heart was filled with both fear and confusion, always feeling she hadn’t yet awakened from that chaotic, terrifying nightmare.
When she could finally manage to get up and walk, the princess discovered her clothes had become loose and her jade-like body had lost much weight, somewhat overwhelmed by her garments. Fortunately, she had previously been plump and enjoyed horseback riding and polo, enabling her to endure these many days without water or rice. Had it been a delicate woman of swallow-like build, she would have starved to death in the stone coffin long ago.
Over these days, no other visitors had come to this desolate temple—only birds, insects, and ants occasionally exploring. With no word from the outside world and no relatives in sight, the princess had no other option but to have Shisan summon Wei Xun. She arranged her clothes and sat properly, saying seriously: “Cuiwei Temple was my ancestor’s retreat palace, not far from Chang’an. If you two safely escort me back to the palace, this princess will surely reward you handsomely.”
Wei Xun asked with a grin: “How handsomely would this reward be?”
Princess Wangshou, precious as gold and jade, had never conducted a single transaction in her life. Except when playing card and leaf games using gold currency as stakes, she had never touched copper coins and had no concept of money. She only remembered hearing a scholar at a banquet mention that buying an ordinary residence in Chang’an cost three hundred thousand coins, so she said hesitantly: “A reward of one thousand strings of cash.” (One string equaled one thousand coins)
Wei Xun shook his head.
“Then five thousand strings.”
Shisan’s heart raced with excitement, urgently poking him. Living in Chang’an was difficult, but this enormous sum the princess promised would be more than enough to build a magnificent mansion with carved beams and painted columns even in Pingkang Ward. However, Wei Xun shook his head again.
The princess also felt troubled. Seeing that money couldn’t move him, she changed her approach: “How about I get you an official position?”
Wei Xun remained unmoved.
“I’m a vagrant without fixed residence or registration—what official position would I hold?”
The princess asked in puzzlement: “Then what do you want?”
Wei Xun said with a laugh: “Robbing imperial tombs is a capital offense of abandonment in the marketplace—an unpardonable crime among the ten abominations. Though Wei’s head isn’t worth much, I’m reluctant to sell it.”
Princess Wangshou suddenly understood: “So you fear punishment—this is no problem. As long as I speak to Father, nothing is impossible.”
Wei Xun’s expression grew serious as he said: “That’s not necessarily so. The person who buried you probably hopes you’ll never be reborn.” He then described in detail all the strange and eerie things he had witnessed in the tomb chamber, producing the моtоu mask that had covered her face as evidence.
Seeing this mask with its blue-green face, protruding fangs, and four carved eyes—more grotesquely strange than anything seen on theater stages—just looking at it sent chills throughout one’s body. She frowned and asked: “What is this thing?”
“It’s a моtоu mask. Common folk often use it when performing exorcisms and soul-suppression rituals. When I opened the coffin, I found this covering your face.”
The princess naturally didn’t believe it.
Witchcraft and malevolent magic had always been strictly forbidden in the palace. Those involved faced light punishment of consignment to the cold palace, or severe punishment of family destruction and extermination—absolutely no mercy. She took the heavy wooden carved mask, but saw the inside still bore traces of white powder and rouge. She pinched off some to examine, and its texture and color were indeed what she habitually used. Her heart couldn’t help but waver.