Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Scapegoat Princess Sentenced to Death (29)

“Could it possibly be the art of transforming humans into beasts?”

After much contemplation, Zhai Hongxia finally managed to ask this question, even though he had never witnessed such a technique firsthand nor solved a case like this before.

Yet, there were indeed many folk tales circulating among the common people.

Surely, such stories were not fabricated out of thin air.

The so-called art of transforming humans into beasts referred to an evil sorcerer’s practice, whereby children or women were turned into sheep or donkeys to facilitate their trafficking and passage through checkpoints. The remedy was said to be simple—just give them water.

At this moment, Zhai Hongxia was grasping at straws in desperation.

After all, the Duke of Lu’s feet had transformed into pig hooves, and his tongue had turned into that of a pig.

It seemed, albeit barely, that this might relate to the transformation art.

“It shouldn’t be,” a Taoist priest quickly replied. “We have already tried administering water to the Duke of Lu in accordance with the method to break the transformation. Previously, he drank broth, medicine, and ate food, yet there was no change whatsoever. This contradicts the legend of the transformation art, which usually turns people into sheep or donkeys.”

“I’ve never heard of anyone being turned into a pig,” another Taoist added hurriedly, recalling that he had also raised similar doubts and attempted to solve such a case once—only to fail utterly.

Upon hearing this, the imperial physician Wang sighed helplessly.

“The transformation art is a myth. Tracing back to its origins, it is both cruel and tragic. Do you know why the art supposedly only transforms people into sheep and donkeys? It’s because during times of famine, children and women were most vulnerable and more likely to fall prey to such horrors. Over time, through distortion and deliberate concealment, this cruel reality was warped into the legend of transformation. There is no true metamorphosis into beasts—only people closing their eyes and desperately hypnotizing themselves into believing it. Alas, some legends are far more terrifying and despicable beneath the surface than they appear.”

Some found this hard to accept, others could understand it, but no one questioned it. After all, peace had lasted less than twenty years, and many present had lived through the chaotic decades before. Those with experience knew the truth.

Moreover, the imperial physician’s family had a long tradition of medical knowledge; he would not speak nonsense on such a matter.

The crowd fell into a somber silence for some time, sighing deeply, before resuming the discussion under Dong Huaide’s urging—what should be done about the Duke of Lu’s condition?

“What can be done? Everyone in this mansion has been questioned, and every place that could be searched has been thoroughly examined. Not a single trace of the pig, let alone any bones, has been found. Concealed pigs might still be hidden somewhere, but how could hundreds of corpses buried beneath the garden be hidden so easily? Either there are many insiders secretly colluding in this mansion to cover it up, or it’s truly supernatural—some powerful heretical sorcery at work. In my years at the Court of Justice, I have handled countless cases, but I’ve never seen anything so strange. I have seen many victims mutilated in horrific ways through all sorts of methods of torture and dismemberment; a brief inspection reveals these were not natural deformities. Many only lived a few miserable years before dying. But now, there is not a single stitch or sign of artificial alteration on the Duke of Lu’s body—it looks as if he naturally grew that way, which we all know is impossible. This really surpasses my abilities.”

Just last night, Zhai Hongxia had been confident, believing the matter in the Duke’s mansion was merely a clever illusion or a sophisticated crime technique. With his intelligence and past experience, even if it couldn’t be solved easily, a little more effort would surely uncover some clues, which could then be followed to reveal the truth.

Yet now, the facts had proven otherwise.

Though it was clear the problem was connected to the missing pig and the hundreds of corpses buried underground, there were no leads or clues concerning the disappearance of either.

His nerves were beginning to fray.

At this moment, the imperial physician offered a new suggestion:

“Not every place has been searched. Has the Duke’s consort’s ancestral altar been examined? Also, the alchemy chamber where His Highness the Duke concocts pills has not been searched. Beyond that, there must be secret chambers or dungeons within the mansion.

After all, the Duke requires fresh live ingredients for his alchemy.

Though I don’t know the exact locations of these secret chambers or dungeons, I am certain they exist in the mansion.

Moreover, even curses and witchcraft cannot be cast without knowledge—at minimum, the caster must know the Duke’s birth details. This is another aspect worthy of investigation, because very few in the entire mansion—or even the realm—know the Duke’s exact birth date. Besides, did the one who cast the curse not use the pig and those bones?”

“I think another key point is to find remnants of that pig or determine where it went, or find those bones. Having any of these would at least give us a direction for investigation.”

The imperial physician was certainly more familiar with the mansion’s layout than Dong Huaide, who had only arrived less than half a month ago, having been sent back from the capital with the Duke after a year of seclusion. The household staff must still be getting acquainted with one another, let alone other matters.

Even though the imperial physician was not held in high regard by the Duke, he had been in the mansion for three or four years. He was responsible for procuring and preparing ordinary medicinal ingredients such as ginseng and bear bile, which could not be used fresh but required processing.

Therefore, while he might not know exactly where the secret chambers were, he knew they certainly existed and that the prefect had not searched them.

These were things that ideally should not have been mentioned, but if nothing could be found, the situation felt dangerous. At least having a lead might give the Tianwu Emperor, who might soon learn of this and become enraged, an outlet for his fury.

Otherwise, the anger would likely be vented on them.

“Why wasn’t this said earlier? Such an important matter!” Zhai Hongxia immediately grew excited, for to him, these unknown secret chambers were the perfect hiding places for evidence. Few murderers would dare to leave physical proof openly in the parlor or study.

Hidden, obscure places like these were ideal for concealment.

And those who knew these places well must be intimately familiar with the mansion’s layout—only they could have quietly moved so many things without a sound.