The light flickered, and a candle wick burst with a pop. Dou Jing, Prefect of Henan Prefecture, knelt on the floor, his body shaking violently at the sound.
The last cicadas of autumn had all died, their bodies scattered across the ground. In this dim secret chamber, deathly silence shrouded everything; not even a single insect could be heard. Thick paper covered the windows. Dou Jing could not tell whether it was day or night, nor whether this was a nightmare or cruel reality.
That evening, as usual, he had changed and washed with his concubine's help, then retired to bed. The earth-shaking case of the Prince of Qi's assassination had left him utterly drained, and sleeplessness had plagued him for the past two days. Tonight, for some reason, he had fallen into a deep sleep the moment he lay down. Yet when he woke, he discovered to his horror that he was no longer in his own residence, but had somehow been imprisoned in this unfamiliar secret chamber.
Having served as an official for many years and seen much of the world, he would not normally have lost his composure over a strange dream. But the moment his gaze touched the woman in the seat of honor, terror shattered his nerve.
Behind the curtain, a face both familiar and unfamiliar was dimly visible. Princess Wanshou, who had died back in May of this year, sat expressionless behind the gauze curtain, silently watching him.
She wore gray monastic robes, and a thick layer of white lead powder covered her face, lending a bizarre rigidity to a youthful countenance that should have been radiant and lovely. The skin beneath the powder was uneven, as though she were deliberately concealing something. Her face looked like a mask, exuding an authority that sent