Chapter 28: The Scapegoat Princess Sentenced to Death (28)

The arrival of the Prince’s steward at the Prefecture Governor’s office to lodge a formal complaint was nothing short of earth-shattering and unprecedented. Naturally, those with idle time on their hands—the non-laboring class—flocked to the scene, eager to witness the spectacle and uncover the cause of the commotion.

Unfortunately, the Governor’s office was not a local magistrate’s court. It was not easily accessible, nor was it a place where one could simply loiter and watch. Most people could only linger outside, gathering scraps of information or waiting for some kind soul to share the details.

Dong Huaide, the Prince’s steward, was proceeding exactly as he had conspired with the Governor’s trusted aides the previous day. He was there to lodge the complaint and relay the situation, requesting that the Governor’s office help track down the culprit. Of course, he did not speak too bluntly; at the very least, he did not openly declare that Prince Lu’s hands and feet had turned into pig trotters. He merely stated that the Prince was "afflicted by an evil spirit." As for the specific nature of this affliction, he left that to the imagination. As a steward, there were certain things he simply could not divulge; some secrets had to be kept.

With the steward’s official complaint in hand, the Governor, Zhai Hongxia, finally felt empowered to assemble his trusted men and head to the Prince’s residence for an investigation. There was no other way; the restrictions between a local governor—or any high-ranking local official—and a Prince’s household were manifold. Private contact was an incredibly sensitive matter, and they could only meet under the guise of official business. Even though Zhai Hongxia knew the Prince was in trouble, he could not intervene without a formal request for help. It was against protocol and would leave him vulnerable to impeachment.

Once Dong Huaide departed with Governor Zhai, those outside who were desperate to know what had transpired within the Prince’s estate quickly deployed their "monetary power," successfully extracting a rough account from those in the Governor’s office who were in the know. Soon, the news of Prince Lu being possessed by an evil spirit spread. For a time, it even overshadowed the buzz surrounding the execution of the Princess Consort. Countless people whispered among themselves, debating whether this was divine retribution or the work of human hands. Many others secretly rejoiced, feeling it was well-deserved. Had they not been afraid of arrest, some would have set off firecrackers in celebration or knelt down to thank the heavens for finally opening their eyes.

In the face of injustice, most people are helpless. Seeking redress is often futile, and truth is frequently twisted. To resist stubbornly usually results in the destruction of one's family. True justice—especially justice against the powerful—is an extreme rarity, usually only achieved when a powerful figure falls, their patron loses favor, or they are targeted by a rival faction. To rely on the law alone to secure justice is a fantasy. If not for this, why would "upright officials" hold such a high place in the hearts of the common folk, revered even more than some emperors, with people hoping they would serve as judges in the afterlife?

Laozi once said, "When everyone knows beauty is beautiful, then ugliness exists; when everyone knows goodness is good, then evil exists." Goodness is only recognized because evil exists in the world; without evil, if everyone were good, the concept of goodness would cease to exist. Justice is the same. Many commoners, facing the oppression of the gentry, dare not even hope for help from the local courts, pinning their only hopes on prayers and divine intervention. How much more hopeless, then, is it to expect the officials or the Emperor to stand up for them when the perpetrator is the Emperor’s own son? They knew this well. Thus, upon learning that Prince Lu was allegedly cursed, even without knowing the symptoms, they were filled with excitement, believing the heavens were finally looking down upon them.

Many began eagerly inquiring about the specific symptoms of the Prince’s "possession." Some families of victims, or their friends and relatives, offered silent prayers: if this was divine retribution, they hoped the heavens would show no mercy to the Prince. If it was a curse cast by a human, they prayed for the caster to live a long and healthy life, and never be caught.

However, this was only the situation within Zhao'an Prefecture. Once one left the area, particularly in places where Prince Lu was not well-known, the public opinion Ding Shui heard was quite different. In nearby regions, there was some discussion, with some believing the Princess Consort was merely a scapegoat, while others argued that the Emperor could not possibly lie, and that the Princess was indeed the mastermind—though they acknowledged the Prince was not entirely innocent either. Yet, he was a Prince, the Emperor’s own flesh and blood; it was only natural that his punishment would be lighter. Indeed, the majority felt that it was natural for someone of his status to receive leniency even when breaking the law.

Further away, there was even less discussion. People either didn't care or were entirely unaware of the matter. For those in distant lands, places they would never visit in their lifetimes, the story of a wicked Prince and his scapegoat Princess was nothing more than a remote legend. Only the scholar-official class might privately exchange a few words, but they had been terrorized into submission by the Emperor Tianwu; they dared not speak openly, let alone voice opposition or criticism. At most, they might grumble in private, not even daring to commit their thoughts to paper.

This was understandable; if even his own parents did not submit memorials in protest, why should an outsider bother?

"The original owner seems to have overthought things," Ding Shui mused. "How could this matter possibly shake the entire world and leave behind a thousand-year curse? In two years, it’s questionable if anyone will even remember it. I’ll put the revenge on hold for now and see how Emperor Tianwu reacts. But I can't just sit idle during the process. I might as well visit the other Princes' estates."

Since she was already here and had taken action against both a Prince and the Emperor, one more was no different than two; she might as well finish the job. She decided to investigate the other Princes as well. If they were cut from the same cloth, she would deal with them all at once.

As it was nearing noon and the sun was at its most blinding, Ding Shui chose not to struggle through the discomfort of traveling in the midday heat. Instead, she found a nearby forest to rest, planning to resume her journey once the sun began to set.

Meanwhile, an hour and a half earlier, Governor Zhai Hongxia had arrived at the Prince’s estate. After personally seeing and touching the Prince, and questioning numerous staff members, imperial physicians, and Buddhist and Taoist monks, he was left utterly stunned. Apart from a missing pig and some scattered bones, there were no abnormalities in the estate. No one knew who had stolen the pig or the bones; everything remained bizarre and inexplicable. It was as if someone possessed the power to move objects through the void or wielded some magical, hidden capability.

The only relatively plausible theory was that the missing pig was the object of the curse. It was likely that the Prince’s hands and feet had transformed into the pig’s trotters, and perhaps even his swollen tongue was a pig’s tongue. After a careful examination, the imperial physician had noted that the Prince’s tongue no longer resembled a human’s; it bore many characteristics of a pig’s tongue, though it was not an exact match.