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.
Shisan, being young after all, still retained some innocence. He said to the princess: “People who appear dead from illness have cold bodies and weak breathing, causing family members to mistake them for truly dead and hastily bury them in coffins. Such cases aren’t very rare—perhaps you were also mistakenly buried this way.”
The girl didn’t respond, silently toying with the fierce mask in her hands. Though she had never personally presided over funerals, she had attended many imperial burial ceremonies. After the complex procedures of initial death rites, summoning the soul, preparing the bed, bathing, changing clothes, placing mouth objects, death announcements, court notification, minor burial preparation, divination for dates, starting the funeral procession, major burial preparation, and returning for mourning—it was hard to imagine that she could have appeared dead from illness without anyone noticing.
Moreover, even if such a one-in-ten-thousand coincidence occurred, no one would dare risk the grave crime of supreme disrespect by secretly placing such a suppression object in her golden coffin.
Wei Xun said: “The custom of covering the deceased’s face with thin white silk as a face cloth is precisely to detect the faint breathing of those who appear dead. But with such a heavy cypress wood moтоu mask on your face, even if you were breathing, no one could perceive it.”
The princess still refused to believe it. She lifted the moтоu with both hands and tried wearing it on her face, but the oppressive, heavy sensation and the distinctive smell of cypress wood made her immediately throw the mask away in terror.
That’s right! The mask was carved with four eyes, and in that long nightmare from which she couldn’t awaken, she had vaguely seen some light through these misaligned gaps before everything sank into darkness. No matter how she struggled, she couldn’t move, as if pressed down by a nightmare demon.
Though she hadn’t been conscious at the time, even in dreams, the terror of being buried alive penetrated deep into her bones. The girl’s face turned deathly pale, her cherry lips trembling.
This aroused some sympathy from Shisan. Wei Xun picked up the moтоu mask, covered it with cloth again, and gave it to his junior brother to hide in the outer corridor where she couldn’t see it.
After her emotions calmed somewhat, Wei Xun began inquiring about the most suspicious matter: “What exactly happened on the day before you ‘died’?”
The princess seemed absent-minded, murmuring in recollection: “Nothing particularly special… The day before, we had planned to hunt deer at Daxing Park. During morning grooming, I discovered that the gauze skirt I was to wear that day hadn’t been properly pleated, so I had my maid fetch another new one. But that little servant actually brought me a pomegranate-red skirt, which made me quite angry.”
Seeing the confused expressions on Wei Xun and Shisan’s faces, she explained: “My mother consort loved wearing pomegranate-red skirts when alive. She was a woman of devastating beauty, so everyone in the palace avoided wearing red, fearing they’d look like vulgar powder and rouge beside her. After Mother passed away, whenever Father saw pomegranate-red skirts, he’d think of her—either weeping uncontrollably or flying into a rage. So no one dared wear red skirts in his presence anymore.”
The two senior brothers knew absolutely nothing about women’s clothing. Hearing her explanation, they only felt that the inexplicably complicated matters of the deep palace were obscure and vexing.
Wei Xun sneered with slight disdain: “Such a trivial matter, yet a sovereign’s temper is so capricious and unpredictable.”
The princess angrily said: “You little thief have such audacity! How dare you criticize the Son of Heaven!”
Wei Xun smiled carelessly: “Since tomb robbing is already a capital offense and I have no parents or family to implicate, can he kill me a second time?”
The princess was momentarily speechless, greatly astonished. Though this man was named Wei Xun, he showed none of the “obedience” that “xun” implied—neither submissive nor respectful, but filled with a fearless, arrogant spirit. Unfortunately, she was now alone and truly helpless against him, so she could only temporarily swallow this insult.
Assessing the situation, the princess only said: “This is all the fault of those heretical alchemists. Father’s temperament was originally very gentle, but in recent years he’s been deceived into taking many elixirs of unknown origin, making him somewhat moody…”
She paused, thinking she must be ill and foolish to confide such palace matters to two strangers. Speaking of family affection, the Son of Heaven was deeply devoted to his deceased beloved consort, thinking of her day and night, unable to help shedding tears even at the sight of a pomegranate-red skirt. As an imperial daughter, she should only feel moved—what reason did she have to criticize? She only had some complaints about those alchemists who spoke complete nonsense.
So she continued the previous topic: “I think that servant girl hadn’t served long and was young—she probably hadn’t yet learned these unwritten palace rules. So I only scolded her a few times, had someone fetch another gauze skirt, and after dressing, hurriedly rode out of the palace. That day’s harvest was quite abundant—we caught two deer, one yellow sheep, and some small game.”
Wei Xun and Shisan exchanged glances, not quite believing she had such hunting skills. They thought it was probably the imperial family’s favorite hunting technique—having guards drive large numbers of prey into ravines and traps, then letting the master take action. Even shooting arrows with eyes closed would yield results.
“So nothing unexpected happened during the hunt?”
The princess shook her head: “Everything went smoothly. Returning from Daxing Park at the third quarter of the Hour of the Monkey, I felt unbearably hot and had servants prepare bath water. Since I still had to attend an evening banquet that would likely last all night, I casually ate something and lay down to rest.”
Wei Xun immediately asked: “What did you eat?”
The princess thought carefully and said: “I drank pomegranate fruit syrup and ate ice-chilled sweet melon.”
“Any strange taste?”
The princess shook her head: “I know what you suspect. My meals are normally sent by the Inner Palace Food Bureau, and they always set aside portions for palace attendants to taste for poison beforehand.”
“Then what?”
“After sleeping for some unknown time, the sky seemed to darken and palace lanterns were lit everywhere. I suddenly felt severe abdominal pain, then couldn’t stop vomiting. The maids were all frightened, screaming ‘The princess is vomiting blood! The princess is vomiting blood!’ as they ran out. My younger brother Li Yuanyi had just returned from a lecture and was scared speechless seeing me like this. Fearing he’d be frightened into nightmares, I had the female officials send him to stay temporarily with Dowager Consort Song.”
“Did you summon physicians for treatment?”
The princess looked as if she’d heard something obvious, frowning: “Of course. Moments later the imperial physicians arrived, prescribed medicine, and performed acupuncture. But my abdominal pain continued, and after taking medicine I vomited several more times. Before long my vision went black, then… I kept having confused dreams and can’t remember clearly. Later, you brought me to Cuiwei Temple.”
Shisan interjected: “But sudden abdominal pain and vomiting blood—that’s either from serious internal injury or chronic illness in the elderly. For a young person to vomit blood like this sounds more like poisoning.”
Wei Xun continued: “That day I tested for poison in the princess’s mouth, but found nothing unusual.”
The princess covered her chest and recoiled in shock: “You also tested me for poison?!”
Wei Xun was uninhibited, answering frankly: “You were unconscious—I was idle anyway. Finding no poison could mean there was none, or that after several days, you’d already swallowed it all.”
“If it was poisoning, how did the culprit bypass the Food Bureau? And who would poison me? Thinking more carefully, when I returned from hunting, I didn’t see the little maid who’d brought me the skirt that morning. I only scolded her a few times without punishment—perhaps the female officials dealt with her separately, making her resentful? But how would she dare…”
The princess continued recalling. In that chaotic evening, there were indeed some suspicious details. For instance, the imperial physicians who usually came to Phoenix Roost Hall to check her pulse were Chen Yuange and Shen Lexian, but of the three who came that night, only two were ones she recognized—though not well—and the other young imperial physician she’d never seen before.
Wei Xun gazed at her intently, slowly saying: “Whether sudden illness or accidental poisoning, what’s strange is that when the princess died violently in the palace, the Emperor not only didn’t investigate thoroughly but hastily buried you while performing various soul-suppression rituals—as if fearing you’d become a ghost seeking revenge.”
Hearing Wei Xun voice the most secret suspicion in her heart so bluntly, Princess Wangshou’s face immediately became paper-white. She wanted to angrily denounce his wild words but couldn’t say anything. Last year when her beloved elder brother Prince Shao Li Yuanying was slandered and demoted to Youzhou, this doubt had already quietly taken root in her heart.
With countless tangled threads showing no clear pattern, the girl shakily stood up, eyes reddening as she said tremblingly: “If you won’t escort me, I’ll walk back to Chang’an myself.”