“Your humble servant Wanxi, eldest granddaughter of the Great Tang Emperor Emeritus, bows twice and states:
I am of meager talents and weak fate, and misfortune befell my late father. After nine years of heartache, in one night I have come to full understanding. Life is not under one’s control. Though I was born into the imperial household and granted the status of a princess, receiving imperial guidance, my beauty is less than that of common reeds, and my constitution more fragile than dew on spring onions. Following the rules of the imperial women’s quarters, I painfully left my mother’s loving care. After receiving education in the palace, I am ashamed to hear of the withering of pine and cypress in winter. The waters of Yanping have dried up, the dragon sword has left its spring; the Qin jade tower has collapsed, and the phoenix flute has departed forever. I humbly pray for my imperial grandfather’s ten thousand years, my various mothers’ thousand autumns, and for this prosperous era’s peace and the people’s contentment. I, Li, bow twice.”
Wei Shubin put down the plain paper for the eighteenth time, rubbed her eyes, and sighed, asking the other person in the room for the eighteenth time:
“Master Jingxuan, is this Yiniang’s handwriting?”
“Miss Wei, this servant truly doesn’t know,” Daoist nun Jingxuan smiled wryly. “This servant barely knows how to read, how could I recognize handwriting!”
After everyone else had left the room, Jingxuan was ordered to accompany Wei Shubin and tidy up, but Chai Yingluo had instructed before leaving “not to disturb anything in the room,” so the two only picked up the fragments of Yiniang’s wedding clothes and crown from the floor, with nothing else to do. The suicide note that Chai Zhiwei had discovered was placed on the writing desk, and Wei Shubin read it over and over again in the lamplight.
The calligraphy wasn’t particularly good, resembling that of a beginning student, with each stroke clearly separated and sometimes trembling. The prose, however, was in formal parallel style, with phrases like “fragile as spring onion dew,” “painfully leaving mother’s loving care,” and “Yanping waters dried up, Qin jade tower collapsed” clearly expressing the young woman’s self-pity, her departure from her beloved mother, and her decision to leave this world.
Wei Shubin’s gaze focused on the opening self-address: “eldest granddaughter of the Great Tang Emperor Emeritus.” Yiniang hadn’t mentioned her executed father, nor identified herself as “the current Emperor’s niece,” seemingly harboring considerable resentment about the palace coup at Xuanwu Gate nine years ago. The title “Emperor Emeritus’s granddaughter” carried a subtle hint of pride and accusation… Thinking back to the pale, shy bride-to-be she had seen two days ago, it was hard to imagine such complex emotions and resolute courage hidden beneath that timid exterior.
The inkstone on the desk was dry, as was the brush tip. No one knew when Li Wanxi had written this farewell letter, only that she had taken it out and tucked it under her pillow before deciding to hang herself today.
“Master Jingxuan,” Wei Shubin asked, “you’ve been here at Ganye Temple helping the Upper Truth Master with the wedding arrangements for quite some time, haven’t you? Do you think Yiniang seemed like the type of person who would commit suicide?”
Jingxuan sighed: “How can one say? This servant didn’t see much of Yiniang, but the poor young lady was so obedient and quiet, doing whatever others told her to do. I never noticed her feeling particularly bitter or sad. But who can truly know what’s in another’s heart? This afternoon when the Empress came and spoke with her privately, Yiniang cried and cried…”
“The Empress came this afternoon? Today?” Wei Shubin was startled.
“Yes. Don’t you know?” Jingxuan replied, “The Empress usually dislikes making a grand show, but today she made an exception, using the full imperial procession of the Inner Palace. Her four-horse carriage was so large it barely fit through the temple gates, and her ceremonial robes and crown ornaments were so dazzling they nearly blinded this servant’s old eyes. Tsk tsk, seeing such a sight once in a lifetime makes it all worthwhile…”
“Hasn’t the Empress been in poor health these past two years? To go to such trouble…” Wei Shubin muttered though she understood that Long Sun Empress wasn’t just casually visiting her niece as an aunt, but rather the “Mother of the Nation sending off a County Lady in marriage.” The carriages and ceremonial requirements had their protocols—being too modest would be disrespectful.
“This servant wasn’t far away and caught a glimpse—the Empress looked well and was very happy, laughing and talking with Madam Zheng and Lady Yang. She also brought quite a lot of dowry items, saying they were personal gifts for her niece,” Jingxuan smiled and sighed. “After the Empress finished talking with the two princesses, she said she had something to discuss privately with Yiniang, and took her into the east wing…”
“Here? Yiniang’s chamber?” Wei Shubin asked.
Jingxuan nodded: “That’s right. Yiniang didn’t originally live here—she stayed with her four sisters in the west compound under Madam Zheng’s care. But since she was getting married, with all the complicated arrangements, the Upper Truth Master decided to have this east wing cleaned up nicely and moved Yiniang here until her wedding day.”
Wei Shubin turned her head to survey this bridal chamber, which was newly furnished—the walls had just been whitewashed, and the window paper was fresh and thick.
Ganye Temple had been converted from the former Prince of Qi’s mansion, and the main hall rooms of imperial retreat palaces and princes’ mansions weren’t meant for daily living—pursuing only “high and spacious” architecture, the beams were far from the ground and the doors and windows were wide, making it cool and breezy in summer but allowing the north wind to whistle through every crack in winter, with even ten braziers unable to warm the room. So this room had been fitted with a warm chamber, but the beams were still unusually high.
A tall table lay overturned beneath the beam. Wei Shubin thought for a moment and realized this must have been what Yiniang used to reach up. County Lady of Linfen Li Wanxi, fully dressed, had moved whatever was on the tall table, carried it beneath the beam, climbed up, made a noose from a silk cloth, threw it over the beam, put her head through, and kicked away the table…
Shuddering, she shook her head to clear away that terrible scene and continued questioning Jingxuan: “What did the Empress and Yiniang discuss in this room? Does anyone know?”
“When the Empress said she wanted to talk privately, who would dare eavesdrop?” Jingxuan sighed. “Everyone waited outside until the Empress called in her maid partway through. It was nearly dark when the Empress came out, and she didn’t return to the main hall to sit, but went straight to her carriage and returned to the palace… After that, Yiniang just stayed in this room, who knew she would think of such a desperate act…”
This meant… that the last person to see Yiniang alive and speak with her was Empress Long Sun.
If Yiniang had indeed committed suicide, wouldn’t that be closely related to the Empress? Could it even be concluded that she was “frightened or forced to death by the Empress’s private conversation”?
This thought startled Wei Shubin herself. This was Empress Long Sun, praised by court and commoners alike as a model of feminine virtue and motherly conduct for all ages…
Footsteps sounded outside the warm chamber, and Chai Yingluo’s voice grew closer, soon entering with the Fourteenth Prince of Wu and her elder brother Chai Zhiwei.
Earlier, Wei Shubin had asked Jingxuan and learned that the Prince of Wu was named Yuan Gui, indeed the fourteenth son of the Emperor Emeritus and the current Emperor’s half-brother, born during the Wude era and only fifteen or sixteen years old, much younger than his nephew and niece of the Chai family. Though his status was noble, everyone knew that after Emperor Emeritus ascended the throne in his later years, he had vigorously produced over thirty children in less than ten years, and this Prince of Wu was just one of them, not necessarily highly regarded…
Minister Wei’s precious daughter comforted herself with these reasons, trying her best to ignore her earlier discourtesy toward Li Yuan Gui as she rose to welcome Chai Yingluo and the others. Given the current circumstances, no one was concerned with formalities. After they all sat down, Chai Yingluo sent Jingxuan away and, without any small talk, went straight to the point:
“Fourteenth Uncle, you said Yiniang didn’t hang herself but was strangled to death—explain in detail. I must report clearly to the Empress when I enter the palace tomorrow. Suicide or murder, this is a matter of great importance—you mustn’t deceive me.”
Li Yuan Gui sighed:
“What’s so difficult to determine? Yingniang, you studied medicine with Doctor Sun when you were trying to revive Yiniang earlier, didn’t you notice the strangulation marks on the back of her neck?”
Chai Yingluo was startled and went to the bed, lifted the cover, and turned the corpse to examine the back of the neck. Wei Shubin looked too, and indeed, on Yiniang’s delicate neck were two deep red marks crossing each other. Earlier, she and Chai Yingluo had been focused entirely on saving her life, and Yiniang’s long hair had been covering her neck, so no one had noticed this.
“If she had hanged herself, putting her neck through the noose and kicking away the tall table to suspend herself, the noose would only have marked the front of her neck and jaw—how could there be marks on the back?” Li Yuan Gui said. “It’s obvious someone caught her off guard, used cloth or fabric to strangle her from behind, crossed it at the back of her neck and tied it, then tightened it with force to suffocate her, before hanging her up to create a false scene.”
His description of the scene was clear and precise, but his tone was emotionless, cold, and detached as if speaking of a stranger’s death that had nothing to do with him. Wei Shubin saw Chai Yingluo give Li Yuan Gui a complex look and sigh softly, asking: “Is there anything else?”
“Yes,” Li Yuan Gui nodded. “That was just the first suspicious point. Have you ever seen someone who died by hanging? Even if not, you’ve heard descriptions of hanging ghosts, haven’t you? They all have paper-white faces with protruding tongues—that’s not just made up. But Yiniang’s face is completely different.”
Wei Shubin couldn’t help but look down at the corpse again, glancing before averting her eyes. Yiniang’s swollen, distorted face was bright red, with blood foam still seeping from her mouth and lips—a horrifying sight.
“Blood rushing to the head and foaming at the mouth—these are signs of being strangled on level ground, right?” Chai Yingluo asked. “Fourteenth Uncle, did you hear this from coroners who examine corpses?”
Li Yuan Gui nodded without elaborating. Wei Shubin found it strange—why would a young prince, the Emperor’s brother, have heard coroners discuss such gruesome matters?
“Earlier, Fourteenth Uncle, you said four suspicious points were proving Yiniang was strangled—that’s the second. What about the other two?” Chai Yingluo pressed.
Li Yuan Gui hesitated for a moment: “This is rather indelicate to mention, but when people struggle at death, their muscles relax, and they inevitably release their bladder…”
He pointed to the overturned tall table under the beam: “If Yiniang had hanged herself here, this carpet should have the smell, but it doesn’t—I detected the odor over by the dressing table under the window!”
Everyone in the room looked toward the dressing table under the west window. It was unlit there, and the mirror stand, cosmetic boxes, and incense burner were barely visible. Li Yuan Gui pointed them out one by one:
“While you were trying to save Yiniang, I walked around the room and followed the smell to the dressing table. The mirror cover and cosmetic boxes were open, and there were signs of urination where someone had sat. The killer strangled her from behind while she was in her mirror, then dragged her body and the tall table under the beam to stage the hanging. I guess that incense burner was originally on the tall table, and the killer moved it to the dressing table because they needed the table to reach up, or maybe they smelled the urine and deliberately moved the burner there to cover it.”
“That’s right, the incense burner was indeed on the tall table!” Chai Yingluo slapped her knee. “I brought that incense myself! This afternoon when the Empress was coming, I came in to check on Yiniang’s preparations and thought the air wasn’t fresh, so I told her to burn some incense to welcome the imperial visit. Who knew Yiniang barely understood what I was talking about—she had forgotten how to burn incense, poor child—”
She stopped speaking and sighed. Wei Shubin also felt a surge of melancholy. Although her own family lived modestly and rarely burned incense to perfume their clothes, they still had the basic implements—vases, burners, and accessories—and she had helped her mother blend incense balls and powders. Yiniang should have been the Emperor’s eldest daughter and First Princess, living surrounded by fragrance, but now she had forgotten everything about burning incense…
“Fortunately, Yiniang’s nurse, who was also from the former Eastern Palace, still remembered the old customs,” Chai Yingluo continued. “The temple naturally had no ready incense, and we couldn’t find proper burners, so I could only have the nurse find a clean piece of tile to place in the brazier, and gave Yiniang my sachet, telling her to pick out a couple of incense balls to burn as a temporary measure.”
“So that’s it, it was your incense, Yingniang, no wonder…” Li Yuan Gui paused, swallowing the rest of his sentence.
A lingering fragrance still permeated the room, deep and lasting. “Yes, it was mine, still from what your mother made and gave me before she passed… ah, let’s not talk about that. Fourteenth Uncle, what’s the last suspicious point?” Chai Yingluo sighed.
No one answered her. Li Yuan Gui stared blankly ahead, his mind seemingly wandering elsewhere.
Chai Zhiwei, who had been silent since entering the room, touched his shoulder: “Fourteenth Uncle?”
Li Yuan Gui flinched, as if just awakening, cleared his throat softly, and continued: “The final suspicious point is the cord used to hang Yiniang… look at it, have you ever seen such a complex hanging rope?”
He bent down to pick up a long cord from the floor near the bed, and with a slight movement, it made sounds of objects striking against each other. The two men and two women in the room passed it around to examine it, finally reaching Wei Shubin’s hands. Before she could look clearly, she heard Chai Yingluo cry out suddenly: “This leather strap… this leather strap…”
“What about it?” Li Yuan Gui stared intently, questioning.
“This leather strap on the noose…” Chai Yingluo’s long eyelashes closed briefly, “This was personally bestowed upon Yiniang by the Empress during her visit this afternoon.”
Vol 1 – Chapter 5 Notes:
1. Li Wanxi’s farewell letter imitates medieval Chinese literary style and uses many classical allusions and idioms. It may be necessary to translate and explain each line:
“妾以材命兼薄，禍延先考”
– “I am of meager talents and weak fate, and misfortune befell my late father”
– “先考” refers to her deceased father
– Implies she believes her ill fate brought misfortune to her father
“九載椎心，一宵徹悟”
– “After nine years of heartache, in one night I have come to full understanding”
– Refers to the nine years of grief since being confined in Ganye Temple
– Suggests a sudden enlightenment or realization
“人生不由已，投牖帝室”
– “Life is not under one’s control, born into the imperial household”
– “投牖” literally means “thrown through the window”
– Expresses that being born into the imperial family wasn’t her choice
“雖託體王姬，沐教宸猷，而姿遜蒲柳，質弱薤露。”
– “Though granted the status of a princess and receiving imperial guidance, my beauty is less than common reeds, my constitution more fragile than dew on spring onions”
– “薤露” (dew on spring onions) references a famous funeral song comparing human life to fragile dew on spring onion leaves (thinner than chive leaves)
– Expresses her self-perceived inadequacy and predestined short life
“承規姒幄，痛棄慈親鞠養，稟訓公宮，慚聞松柏寒凋。”
– “Following the rules of the imperial women’s quarters, I painfully leave my mother’s loving care. Receiving education in the palace, I am ashamed to hear of the withering of pine and cypress in winter”
– Expresses her sorrow at leaving her mother and her inability to be as strong as pine and cypress trees that withstand severe winter
“延平水竭，龍劍離泉；秦玉樓傾，鳳簫長往。”
– This contains two classical allusions:
1. From Jin Shu (Book of Jin), Biography of Zhang Hua: Zhang Hua and the extraordinary person Lei Huan unearthed a pair of precious swords—Longquan and Tai’e—in Fengcheng, Yuzhang. Each kept one sword. After Zhang Hua’s death, his sword disappeared. One day, Lei Huan’s son was passing Yanping Ferry wearing the sword when it suddenly leaped out and plunged into the water. When people tried to retrieve it, they saw two great dragons swimming underwater, creating a great commotion before disappearing. This allusion is usually written as “dragon sword leaving the abyss (yuan 淵)” but here uses “spring (quan 泉)” to avoid the taboo name of Tang Gaozu Li Yuan.
2. From the Han Dynasty’s Liexian Zhuan (Biographies of Immortals): During Qin Mu Gong’s time, there was a handsome flutist named Xiao Shi. Mu Gong’s daughter Nongyu married him to learn the flute, and their music even attracted phoenixes. Mu Gong built a high tower where the couple lived for several years without descending. Eventually, they flew away with the phoenixes and became immortals.
“伏惟我皇祖萬歲，諸母千秋，盛世清平，人間樂業。妾李再拜。”
– This is a formal closing similar to “Yours sincerely.” In the Tang Dynasty, women often referred to themselves in letters and speech as “your servant (妾) + surname,” with given names being used less frequently.
2. Dressing Bed (梳妝牀):
Before mid-Tang, Chinese furniture was generally low-set. In wealthy households, women’s bedrooms often had a dedicated “dressing area” with a large, low couch called a “dressing bed” holding a standing mirror, cosmetics, and grooming tools. The lady would sit on this bed while servants helped with her grooming, as shown in the “Admonitions Scroll” (image viewable on the author’s Weibo), though that earlier illustration shows a mat rather than a bed. The image also demonstrates how such tall hairstyles were created…
3. Incense Burner (香爐):
The incense burner wasn’t the open-mouthed type with stick incense that people typically imagine today. Before the Ming Dynasty, there was no “stick incense” as we know it. In medieval times (and even among professional incense enthusiasts today), people burned incense cakes, balls, or spheres, placed in burners with a fire-separation plate below and a pierced cover above to release the fragrance. This is why Tang Dynasty imperial incense burners excavated from Famen Temple in Shaanxi have covers (image viewable on author’s Weibo). The “Three Implements for Incense” (瓶爐三事) that Wei Shubin mentions (though this term appeared later) refers to the incense burner, utensil vase, and incense box. The “utensil vase” held chopstick-like tools and incense shovels for handling ash, while the “incense box” stored the incense cakes, balls, or spheres.