Chapter Thirty-Four: The Scapegoat Princess Is Sentenced to Death (34)

Over the past three days, Zhai Hongxia, the Prefecture Governor, and Dong Huaide, the Chief Steward of the Prince’s Estate, had not ceased their efforts to uncover the truth. Yet, they had made no breakthrough. Instead, news of the incident leaked rapidly, spreading like wildfire throughout Zhao'an Prefecture.

Zhai Hongxia was so desperate he even considered Dong Huaide’s previous suggestion: to hang the maidservants up for flogging or even execute one periodically. Even if he were to be cursed by the culprit like Prince Lu and turned into some half-human, half-swine monstrosity, at least it could be classified as a work-related injury—which was still better than submitting a report with absolutely nothing to show for it.

Fortunately, an urgent dispatch from the capital, transmitted at eight hundred li per day, arrived just in time. Faced with the interrogations of the imperial envoy—who demanded to know if Prince Lu had suffered any misfortune or undergone any bizarre transformations—Zhai and Dong were both surprised by the capital’s swift awareness and subtly relieved. Regardless of the final outcome, at least the matter was now out in the open.

Naturally, they promptly relayed all the relevant details, including the evidence and clues they had gathered, as well as their current theories, to the envoy. They did not forget to escort him to see Prince Lu, who was still dazed and groggy from an overabundance of soothing decoctions.

It went without saying that the envoy was shocked. He harbored private suspicions that similar incidents might have occurred within the palace, perhaps even directly related to Prince Lu’s plight, which explained the sudden, high-priority investigation. However, he revealed nothing, stating only that he was to bring Prince Lu back to the capital.

He instructed Dong Huaide and others to accompany them—specifically, the staff of the Prince’s Estate, including the royal physician and the personal attendants. As for the Prefect, Zhai Hongxia, he clearly could not go, as there were too many local matters requiring his attention. As for the funeral rites of the Princess Consort, no one cared anymore; before leaving, they simply gave instructions for her to be interred in the side chamber of the royal mausoleum.

The envoy gave them only half an hour to prepare before demanding immediate departure. He himself required no preparation and set off on horseback, galloping toward the capital.

The Prince had to be brought back for treatment, and the news had to be delivered. However, given Prince Lu’s current state, it was impossible to transport him at the speed of an urgent dispatch. If they tried, it was uncertain whether they would be delivering a living man or a corpse by the time they arrived. Thus, the news was sent ahead at high speed, while the entourage followed at a more measured pace.

Once the envoy departed, the Prince’s Estate fell into a flurry of activity—preparing carriages and arranging funeral affairs—for this journey to the capital was fraught with uncertain fortune. Whatever the outcome, it looked far more ominous than auspicious.

***

They set off in haste, only to realize that, regardless of what awaited them in the capital, simply getting Prince Lu there safely was a monumental challenge. He was too fragile.

First, his tongue had swollen, blocking his throat and even spilling out of his mouth. This not only made breathing difficult but also rendered him unable to withstand any jolting. The slightest bump caused his teeth to strike his tongue; in more severe cases, he would bite through it. In this era, there were no shock-absorbing springs, no rubber, and no perfectly paved roads. It mattered not that he was a Prince; he was subject to the same bone-jarring travel as anyone else.

This led to two consequences: Prince Lu’s temper became increasingly volatile and irritable, his tongue became a mass of festering wounds, and they were forced to slow their pace significantly. It was estimated that reaching the capital would take weeks, if not a month—and by then, the state of his tongue would be anyone’s guess.

Though Ding Shui watched with a sense of urgency, she was in high spirits; after all, Prince Lu was currently suffering immensely. Since she had nothing but time, she decided, for the sake of their former marriage, not to leave his side. She stayed with him constantly. Whenever he fell asleep, she would enter his dreams to torment him, or strike directly at his soul within his spirit center.

She took everything he had ever done to others and replicated it upon his soul, a thousand times over. It was for his own good, lest he forget his craft from lack of practice—she was simply helping him refresh his memory. Even if she occasionally went too far and tore his soul apart, it mattered little.

The Super Synthesis System was quite useful in this regard. As long as she did not reassemble him incorrectly, he could be perfectly restored. If she made a mistake, he might suffer a mental breakdown, but by tearing him apart and putting him back together again, he would recover. Occasionally, if she were lucky, it would trigger a qualitative transformation. Although this would shrink his soul, it increased its quality, making his perceptions sharper and less prone to collapse, ensuring he wouldn't simply dissipate into nothingness from day after day of reliving his past.

Ding Shui truly felt she was being compassionate—to stay by his side even now, to be with him even unto death. Where else could one find such a devoted wife?

***

Under Ding Shui’s attentive companionship, Prince Lu’s journey to the capital would surely not be lonely, and Ding Shui finally had something to keep her from being bored.

By the third day of their journey, the Tianwu Emperor had already received the intelligence. He was well-informed of Prince Lu’s condition and found it a massive headache.

His own weight gain and the pig’s tail sprouting from his backside could be concealed with loose clothing. The pig’s head birthed by the Concubine Guang had also been dealt with, and she appeared to have no other issues. That was acceptable for now; if it ever became unbearable, a single command would end her.

But Prince Lu—the primary culprit, or perhaps the one most loathed by the mysterious entity—was in a state that could no longer be hidden. Anyone with eyes could see he was utterly abnormal.

The moment he received the news, the Tianwu Emperor felt the urge to kill. Naturally, this was not directed at the culprit—that desire had surfaced days ago—but at his own son, Prince Lu. He felt that such a grotesque sight entering the capital would be too shameful, a stain on the royal reputation. It would be better if he simply died in an "accident," or perhaps he could arrange for him to be assassinated and then use the pretext of hunting the killer to find the true mastermind.

Yet, the Emperor worried: if he failed to follow the mysterious voice’s instructions to proclaim his son’s crimes to the world and execute him by slow slicing, would the mysterious entity be displeased and stir up more trouble?

The mere thought of becoming like his son made the Tianwu Emperor shudder. He decided that until he found a way to counter or eliminate this mysterious force, he could not act rashly. He vented his fury on the Celestial Master’s Mansion and the Imperial Bureau of Astronomy, ordering them to produce a solution or summon the ancestors of their sects to resolve the matter once and for all.

At the same time, he summoned the Abbot of White Horse Temple. One could not afford to hang one's hopes on a single tree.