Chapter 18: The Scapegoat Princess Is Sentenced to Death (18)

Even though she was the Duchess, seemingly holding a highly esteemed status with a first-rank imperial edict, she was utterly powerless before the sovereign of the nation. She could only watch helplessly as her daughter was wrongfully sentenced to death by imperial decree, unable to utter a word in defense or hold a proper funeral. To the outside world, they had to claim it was due to their poor guidance. A surge of grievance and bitter tears had to be swallowed in silence.

Though Ding Shui felt a pang of emotion witnessing this scene—so much so that she wished she could reveal herself immediately and weep with her mother—she restrained herself for the sake of her forthcoming plans and to avoid implicating her own family. She simply sat beside her mother for a while until, an hour later, her mother fell into a drowsy sleep. Only then did she leave the room and visit others.

By then, everyone in the household was asleep.

Her father, the Duke Shu, lay alone in a side chamber of the Hall of Honor and Peace. On his desk lay several sheets of Tongcheng rice paper inscribed with the character "endure," alongside a bronze brazier containing ashes—likely remnants of burned paper offerings. After all, it was not winter; there was no practical need to burn charcoal or other fuel inside the room.

Later, Ding Shui visited her elder brother and sister-in-law’s quarters, where she saw her sister-in-law’s handwritten copy of the Supreme Deliverance Sutra. Her elder brother’s fist was bandaged with gauze but still seeped blood, and in their courtyard stood an osmanthus tree stained with blood. One could easily imagine the fury her brother felt upon learning the news, yet he dared not act rashly. His anger was vented upon the nearby tree, harming himself in an attempt to soothe his pain.

Next, Ding Shui went to her younger sister’s courtyard—her full sister. There, she discovered her locked inside with many onlookers. Most strikingly, her sister’s hair had been cut very short, as if in a rage she had nearly shaved her head to become a nun, only stopped before the final step. Though asleep, the redness around her eyes betrayed hours of tears. The room was a mess from her outburst; it was clear she was determined not to become the Crown Prince’s consort and would rather renounce the world as a nun.

The family seemed to have confined her to avoid provoking the Emperor Guangwu. After all, this was no longer the era hundreds of years past when emperors and noble clans governed the realm together, nor a time when noble houses stood above the throne. If the emperor found out that his daughter refused the Crown Prince’s marriage, even preferring to become a nun rather than obey the imperial edict, who knew what consequences would follow? At best, she would be forced into a lifelong monastic life, never to return to secular society, and the family would fall from favor, losing power and influence, left only with a hollow title. A powerless noble was but a paper tiger—grand in name yet vulnerable to all.

That was the best outcome, the worst was unimaginable. Hence, the family’s actions were understandable. They would likely continue to persuade her until she accepted reality.

Moreover, Ding Shui noticed a jade bracelet on her sister’s wrist, repaired with gold. It was a gift from the original owner before her wedding, a wish for safety and happiness and to find a suitable husband by her own will. The original owner had never liked the Crown Prince but was forced into marriage by the Emperor Guangwu’s decree.

Typically, a noble family would not have two princesses married into royalty simultaneously, so if all went as expected, her younger sister would have greater freedom—though not full autonomy in marriage, at least she would not be subject to an imperial match. She could attend noble gatherings and perhaps choose a suitor from the imperial examination’s top scholars.

This had been the case until the Crown Prince’s misdeeds led to the original owner’s wrongful death, an unexpected event that rendered the bracelet’s repair almost ironic.

Curious and seeking to understand her sister’s attitude towards her now, Ding Shui quickly glimpsed into her sister’s memories. The lingering resentment towards their family had completely vanished. When her sister first learned the truth, she was devastated, even smashing the bracelet in anger. The letter she wrote—sent to the original owner—came from that fury, and shortly after, she cut her hair with scissors, vowing to become a nun rather than marry the Crown Prince.

Later, the family restrained her, and she calmed down, realizing she had wrongly blamed her sister in her emotional turmoil. She even wished to retrieve the messenger who delivered the letter but was confined before she could.

The bracelet had been repaired by her sister herself. With nothing better to do and feeling remorseful for breaking the gift, she melted down another hollow gold bracelet she wore to mend the jade one. Though the craftsmanship was crude, the effort was sincere.

The original owner’s resentment toward her family had never been deep; now, it had naturally faded away.

“Since I’m here, I might as well visit the palace,” Ding Shui thought.

Her family had no reason to meet or communicate with her through dreams, so after visiting her maternal home and briefly seeing half-siblings from her father’s other marriages, Ding Shui decisively drifted toward the inner court of the palace.

She encountered no obstacles or dangers along the way, confirming that this was indeed an ordinary world without dragons, divine fate, imperial aura, or other mystical phenomena.

But where exactly was Emperor Tianwu? Ding Shui had no idea.

Before she could find him, however, she was greatly vexed by the Empress Dowager Guang, the Crown Prince’s biological mother—who, strictly speaking, should have been the original owner’s mother-in-law. Late at night, instead of sleeping, the Empress Dowager was in her private Buddhist shrine cursing the original owner. She accused her of bringing misfortune upon her son, calling her a barren hen, blaming her for corrupting the Crown Prince and causing him to lose imperial favor, and claiming that the death sentence was too lenient a punishment.

As if the fault truly lay with the original owner.

Did she not know the character of her own son?

The Empress Dowager went on to say she wished the original owner would never be reborn, hoping to exchange her eternal damnation for her son’s reversal of fortune:

“Those wronged and unjustly killed, be sure to find out the true culprit. Meng is the one the Emperor has decreed as the prime culprit. If you bear hatred or grievance, direct it at her. My son is pure and innocent. He should not have remained childless until now! The prime culprit is Meng, as appointed by the Emperor. All past sins and karmic retributions must be attributed to her. She has already gone to meet you all. May the Bodhisattva bless us, ensuring those wronged spirits find the right person, and do not mistake my son.”

Her superstition was heavily biased—believing in vengeful spirits yet assuming they did not know who caused their death, holding that the emperor’s words were law, and that spirits would obey, while the Bodhisattva only protected those who worshipped her. Her faith was tailored to her own desires.

If not for this, Ding Shui could hardly imagine what kind of person she was, or how shameless to utter such words. Most people’s moral views align with their senses; hers aligned solely with her self-interest.

Hearing these words, Ding Shui, as the one involved, felt a fierce urge to confront her, seething with anger.

What nonsense!

Truly, beasts beget beasts—a whole den of brutes.