Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Practices such as witchcraft and curses had always been strictly forbidden within the palace. Those implicated would either be banished to the cold palace at best or face complete family extermination at worst—there was absolutely no mercy shown. She picked up the heavy wooden mask and noticed traces of white powder and rouge on its inner surface. Rubbing some between her fingers for closer inspection, she realized the texture and color matched what she had regularly used herself, causing a slight tremor in her heart.

Shi Sanlang, still young and somewhat naïve, said to the princess, “It is not entirely unheard of for someone in a deathlike state—cold to the touch and barely breathing—to be mistakenly buried hastily by their family. Perhaps you were one such case.”

The young girl remained silent, quietly fidgeting with the grotesque mask in her hands. Although she had never personally witnessed a funeral, she had attended many royal ceremonies. After the elaborate rituals of summoning the soul, preparing the deathbed, cleansing the body, changing garments, placing rice in the mouth, announcing the death, notifying the court, initial encoffinment, divining an auspicious burial date, the procession, final encoffinment, and the return wailing—it seemed impossible that anyone could have mistaken her for dead without notice.

Moreover, even if such an extremely rare coincidence had occurred, no one would dare commit the sacrilege of secretly placing this cursed object inside her golden coffin.

Wei Xun remarked, “The custom of covering the deceased’s face with a thin white silk veil is precisely to detect faint breathing in case of a false death. But with such a heavy cypress wood mask over your face, no one would have noticed even if you had been breathing.”

Still unwilling to believe, the princess lifted the mask and placed it over her face to test it. However, the suffocating weight and the strong scent of cypress wood frightened her so much that she flung it away immediately.

Indeed! The mask had four carved eyes, and in her endless nightmare of being unable to awaken, she had caught glimpses of faint light through those uneven gaps before everything turned pitch black again. No matter how hard she struggled, it felt as though a nightmare held her down, paralyzing her completely.

Though not fully conscious at the time, the terror of being buried alive had seeped into her very bones. Her face paled drastically, and her lips trembled.

This stirred a hint of sympathy in Shi Sanlang. Wei Xun picked up the mask, wrapped it in cloth once more, and handed it to his junior apprentice, instructing him to hide it from sight in the outer corridor.

Once her emotions had calmed slightly, Wei Xun pressed forward with the most suspicious point: “Exactly what happened on the day you ‘died’?”

Distracted, the princess murmured as she recalled, “Nothing unusual… The day before, I had arranged a deer hunt in Daxing Park. While dressing in the morning, I noticed that the pleats on the gauze skirt I intended to wear weren’t properly ironed. I told the maid to bring me a new one, but that foolish girl brought a pomegranate-hued skirt instead, which angered me greatly.”

Seeing the puzzled looks on Wei Xun and Shi Sanlang’s faces, she explained, “My late mother adored pomegranate-hued skirts. She was an unmatched beauty, so no one in the palace dared to wear red, fearing they would appear dull beside her. Even after her passing, whenever my father saw a pomegranate-hued skirt, he would either burst into uncontrollable weeping or fly into a rage. Hence, no one dared to wear red in his presence.”

The two brothers knew nothing about women’s fashion. Upon hearing this, they found the palace’s unspoken rules absurd and tiresome.

Wei Xun sneered disdainfully, “For such a trivial reason, can the ruler of a nation truly be so capricious?”

The princess flared up angrily, “How dare you, impudent thief! How can you speak so disrespectfully of the Son of Heaven!”

Wei Xun casually chuckled, “Well, grave-robbing alone is already punishable by death. I have no family left to implicate—can he execute me twice?”

The princess was momentarily stunned, astonished. Though his name was Wei Xun (“Xun” implying discipline), he showed no sign of obedience or reverence, exuding only fearless arrogance. Yet, isolated and helpless, she could do nothing but suppress her anger for now.

Carefully choosing her words, the princess continued, “It’s all the fault of those fraudulent alchemists. My father used to be gentle-tempered, but over the past two years, these charlatans have deceived him into consuming questionable elixirs, causing his temperament to become increasingly erratic…”

She paused, realizing she had recklessly revealed palace secrets to strangers. From a familial perspective, the emperor's enduring love for his late consort—so profound that even the sight of a pomegranate-hued skirt could move him to tears—was touching. As his daughter, she had no right to criticize him, although she harbored resentment toward those fake alchemists.

Resuming her story, she said, “I figured the maid was inexperienced and unaware of these unspoken customs, so I simply scolded her and ordered another skirt. After dressing, I hurried out on horseback. That day’s hunt was successful—we captured two deer, a gazelle, and several smaller animals.”

Wei Xun and Shi Sanlang exchanged skeptical glances, doubting her hunting abilities. They assumed it was merely a royal hunt where guards drove prey into traps, allowing the hunters to shoot blindly and still claim credit.

“So, nothing unusual happened during the hunt?”

The princess shook her head. “Everything went smoothly. We returned from Daxing Park around mid-afternoon, and I felt overcome by the heat, so I ordered a bath. Since there was a banquet that night—which would likely last until dawn—I had a light meal and lay down to rest.”

Wei Xun asked, “What did you eat?”

After thinking for a moment, she replied, “Pomegranate nectar and chilled melon.”

“Did anything taste odd?”

She shook her head. “I understand your suspicions. My meals were always delivered directly from the palace kitchens, and portions were tasted by eunuchs beforehand to check for poison.”

“And then?”

“I slept for an unknown amount of time. It grew dark, and lanterns lit up the palace. Suddenly, I experienced severe stomach pain followed by continuous vomiting. The maids panicked, screaming, ‘The princess is vomiting blood!’ and fled in fear. My younger brother Li Yuanyi, who had just returned from his lessons, was terrified. Worried he might suffer nightmares, I had the attendants take him to Dowager Consort Song’s chambers.”

"Did you call for a doctor?"

Princess Wanshou frowned as if this were a stupid question. "Of course. The imperial physicians arrived shortly after, prescribing decoctions and performing acupuncture. But my abdominal pain persisted, and I vomited several times after taking the medicine. Soon, everything went dark before my eyes, and then... I was trapped in hazy nightmares, unable to recall clearly. Later, you two brought me to Cuiwei Temple."

Shi Sanlang interjected, "Sudden abdominal pain and vomiting blood usually indicate severe internal injuries or chronic illness in the elderly. For someone young like you, it sounds more like poisoning."

Wei Xun added, "I tested for poison in your mouth that day—found nothing."

The princess recoiled, covering her chest in shock. "You tested me for poison?!"

Wei Xun, unfazed, replied casually, "You were unconscious—might as well make myself useful. No poison detected could mean there was none, or that you'd already swallowed it by then."

"If it was poisoning, how did the culprit get past the palace food inspectors? And who would want to poison me? Thinking back, after the hunt, I didn’t see the maid who brought me the skirt that morning. I only scolded her lightly—no punishment. Perhaps the palace matrons disciplined her, making her hold a grudge? But how would she dare..."

As she continued recalling, pieces of that chaotic night came back—odd details. For instance, the imperial physicians who usually attended her at Qifeng Hall were Chen Yuange and Shen Lexian. Yet that night, among the three who came, only two were vaguely familiar, while the third, a young physician, was entirely unknown to her.

Wei Xun watched her closely before speaking slowly, "Whether sudden death or poisoning, what’s strange is how the emperor reacted. Instead of investigating your death thoroughly, he rushed to bury you and performed rituals to suppress your spirit—almost as if fearing your vengeful ghost."

Hearing him voice her deepest suspicion aloud, Princess Wanshou turned deathly pale. She wanted to rebuke him sharply for such wild claims, but no words came. This doubt had taken root last year when her beloved elder brother, Prince Shao Li Yuanying, was slandered and exiled to Youzhou.

No clear answers emerged from the tangled threads. Trembling, the girl stood unsteadily, her eyes red-rimmed as she muttered, "If you won’t escort me, I’ll damn well walk back to Chang’an alone."