Shenping Era, Thirteenth Year
Fifth day after the death of the Dark-Skinned Princess
Hour of Wei (未时)
The forest outside the capital stirred under the weight of pursuit.
Dry leaves crushed under hurried footsteps. Branches snapped as figures moved through the trees with trained precision, blades drawn, eyes sharp.
"Don't let them escape!"
The command cut through the air as imperial guards pressed forward, their formation tight despite the uneven ground. This was no ordinary chase.
They were hunting.
Ahead of them— a lone figure.
Moving fast.
Cloaked in dark fabric, slipping through the forest like a shadow that refused to be caught.
One guard surged ahead of the others, closing the distance in a burst of speed.
His blade came down—
Clang.
It was stopped.
Not perfectly.
But enough.
For a split second, the figure turned.
Not fully.
Just enough.
Then—
movement.
A sharp twist. A low strike.
The guard was knocked off balance and sent crashing to the ground.
"Surround them!"
But the order came too late.
The figure had already broken away, weaving through the trees with unnatural ease. The forest itself seemed to shift in their favor—branches bending, shadows swallowing movement.
And then— they were gone.
The guards slowed.
Weapons still raised. Eyes scanning.
But the trail had vanished completely.
Only silence remained.
One of the men clicked his tongue, irritation sharp and unhidden.
The forest had gone still again, as if nothing had happened.
One of the men stepped forward. "Sir… what are our orders?"
He didn't answer immediately.
His gaze swept the trees once more, calculating.
Then he reached into his sleeve.
From within, he drew a small object—no larger than a coin, etched with faint patterns that caught the light.
He pressed his thumb against its surface.
For a brief second— it warmed.
Then stilled.
Miles away—
inside the residence of the late Dark-Skinned Princess—
The mourning hall was heavy with incense.
White drapery hung from carved beams, flowing down like quiet grief frozen in place. The air was thick, not just with smoke, but with restraint—every voice lowered, every movement measured.
At the center— the coffin.
It rested on a raised platform, crafted from dark polished wood, its surface engraved with subtle patterns that spoke of status rather than display. White cloth and ceremonial ornaments framed it, untouched and precise.
Before it stood the Fifth Prince.
Incense burned steadily between his fingers, the thin line of smoke rising as he placed it into the burner without hesitation.
Behind him, the hall was not empty.
Members of the An household stood in arranged silence—relatives, attendants, and those bound by obligation rather than grief. Their expressions varied, but none dared break decorum.
A few officials lingered at the edges, watching more than mourning.
Among them stood the minister sent by the Emperor.
Then— a a faint pulse passed through the air.
Silent.
Unseen.
But not unfelt.
The prince's personal guard, positioned slightly behind him, stilled for a brief moment.
A flicker of awareness passed through his eyes.
The prince noticed. Without turning, his gaze shifted slightly.
The guard met it. A small nod.
The Fifth Prince finished placing the incense. Then he straightened.
For a moment he stands there, staring at the coffin lid before he finally turns away to go out. The minister behind him bows as he leaves.
His guard followed.
As he left, they all bowed.
Only the quiet echo of retreating steps were heard in the quiet space.
When the prince was gone— it grew heavier.
At the front, a monk stepped forward.
Robed in muted tones, prayer beads wrapped around his wrist, his presence calm but authoritative. He stood before the coffin, lowered his head slightly, and began the rites.
Low chants filled the hall.
Inside the coffin— there was movement.
At first—
barely noticeable.
A faint twitch at the corner of her brow.
Then stillness again.
Darkness pressed in from all sides.
Thick.
Suffocating.
…what is that sound…
The thought came slowly.
Distant.
Like her mind was waking up in pieces.
The chanting.
Her breathing sharpened.
Then— awareness.
Her eyes snapped open.
Pitch black.
She jerked upward instinctively—
THUD.
Pain shot through her forehead as it collided with something hard above her.
The sound echoed dully within the enclosed space.
Outside— a few heads turned.
But it seemed to not have been heard by the monk who was engrossed in the prayer.
"…Did you hear that?"
A whisper.
Tight. Uneasy.
"…I did."
They glanced toward the coffin. Then quickly away.
Like looking too long would invite something unwelcome.
"Why are they even performing purification rites?" one muttered under his breath.
The other hesitated. Then leaned closer.
"…I heard something. I'm not sure if it's true but .... On the day she died… the body went missing."
The first man stiffened.
"…Missing?"
"They say it was taken."
Another glance at the coffin.
"…but it was found 3 days later."
Silence.
"…Then this is to cleanse it?" the first asked, quieter now.
"Probably. So her spirit doesn't go restless if there was any tampering of the body when it was missing."
Both fell silent after that. Neither dared look again.
Inside—
Yonghui sucked in a sharp breath.
Her hand went to her forehead, fingers pressing against the dull ache.
"…what—"
Her voice came out strained.
Unfamiliar.
Her other hand moved. Touched wood.
Close.
She froze.
Then both hands pushed outward. Meeting resistance immediately.
Solid. Unmoving.
"...what the? Is this a box?"
She slammed her hands against it.
Once. Twice. Again.
Her fists struck harder.
The coffin answered with dull, trapped echoes.
And outside—
this time, more people heard it.
The sound didn't stop.
it was impossible to ignore.
More heads turned.
Murmurs spread, low and uneasy.
"…it came from there."
"…the coffin—"
"Don't—just say it."
The monk's chanting wavered. Just slightly.
Then steadied again.
But now— even he had heard it.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
The coffin shifted.
Subtle. But real.
No one stepped forward.
Fear held them in place.
Inside, her hands slowed. She stopped.
Just for a second. Breathing shallow.
Thinking. Then she adjusted.
Yonghui drew her knees in, folding her body in the tight space with effort.
Positioning.
Preparing.
One breath.
Short. Controlled.
Then—
she drove her legs upward.
THUD.
The wood resisted.
Again.Stronger.
THUD.
A faint shift.
One more.
Everything she had left, focused into one clean strike.
BAM.
The lid broke loose.
A crack. A shift. Then air.
Her hand shot up first grabbing the rim of the coffin.
Outside, someone gasped.
A hand. From inside.
Before anyone could react, she pulled herself up.
The lid gave way. Yonghui sat up.
Breath hit her all at once.
Sharp. Fast. Real.
"Aah, that was close. " She sighed in relief.
Then, she stilled.
Awareness returned.
She looked around her.
People dressed as a monk, officials, even a court minister. Others too, dressed in traditional wear.
The strange thing was they were all in mourning white.
All staring at her.
Yonghui looked down at herself.
Layered robes. Traditional.
Her brows pulled slightly.
"…what am I wearing? Is this a cosplay? Or a set of some kind?"
Then her gaze lifted.
"…wait."
She glanced at the coffin she mistook for a box.
At the space she had just forced herself out of.
Then back at them. Her face paled.
"What?!" She screamed so loud that all of them trembled in fear.
"…is this a coffin?"
Her expression hardened.
"…are you all insane? No, normal people wouldn't lock a living person in a tight space with limited amount of air, a coffin for that matter. " then her face changed with realization. "Oh no, have I been kidnapped again? Is this some kind of cult?"
"...ost." she heard an unclear voice and turned to a maid crying. "You're a ghost. Ghost!!."
Yonghui snapped and tried to move. " Ghost? You....."
The maid screamed.
High. Sharp. Immediate.
Then collapsed.
Fainted where she stood.
Outside, someone walking past the courtyard paused at the sound.
Li Yanshu.
He stopped for only a moment.
His head turned slightly toward the direction of the disturbance.
A faint pause. Then he continued walking. No reaction beyond that.
The hall reacted instantly after that.
Gasps. Stiff movement. Fear spreading fast.
Some people began to kowtow to An Yonghui, begging for mercy. Others scrambled to a side, some tried to run away but fear make their legs weak.
Even the monk was on high alert. Hands still folded, lips moving in silent prayer, his eyes now open....watching.
Yonghui just sat there for a moment, watching the chaos unfold. It was funny and ironic. After all, shouldn't she be the one panicking since she woke in a strange place with no recollection of how she got there?
Something about it didn't make sense.
The architecture, the carvings, the weight of the air, the way the hall was built—it all felt too real. Too detailed. Like something reconstructed perfectly from another time.
Her brow tightened slightly.
"…this is unreal. But first, I need to get out of this thing."
She shifted forward carefully, climbing out.
Her movement was unsteady at first. Her body didn't fully respond the way she expected—it felt stiff, cramped, like it had been confined for too long. Her leg wobbled slightly when she landed outside, but she steadied herself by gripping the edge of the coffin.
A few steps.
Just enough to stand properly.
That was when she noticed it.
They were moving away.
Actively. As if distance itself would protect them from her.
Yonghui's eyes narrowed.
"…definitely not normal."
She seemed to have gotten a sense of her legs now.
She adjusted the edge of her robes slightly so she could move better, then walked forward.
"Make way."
She walked straight through them. And they made space for her.
Outside the hall was a courtyard connected to long corridors and smaller passageways branching in different directions. It was structured enough to confuse someone who didn't belong there.
"I need to find a device or something."
She moved through it quickly.
Occasionally passing servants and attendants carrying trays or cleaning tools.
Every single one of them reacted the same way.
Fear first. Movement second.
"…corpse…"
She caught the word once. Then another person stumbled back as she passed.
She moved faster. Raising her robes slightly so she wouldn't trip.
Running now. Not carefully anymore.
The corridors opened into wider space, leading toward a main gate and several side entrances. Guards were stationed at intervals, though even they hesitated when she passed.
No one stopped her. No one dared.
And that was when she saw him.
From a distance.
At a side exit leading into the courtyard path.
A man's back.
Still. Tall. Familiar in a way that hit before thought did.
Her steps slowed slightly.
"…no way."
Even with the traditional clothing and the long hair. Even with the distance.
She knew that back.
She would never forget it.
"…Yanshu."
It was barely a sound. More thought than voice.
Before she could move closer, voices erupted behind her.
"Demon!"
The word cut through everything.
And then, the man in the distance stopped.
He turned.
And she saw him properly.
Li Yanshu.
But not the one she remembered. He looked older, at least in his middle twenties. Sharpened. More controlled.
Like time had carved something harder into him.
Yonghui froze for half a second.
Assessment.
"... is that really Yanshu?"
Yanshu's gaze settled on her without haste.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
She stood there. Alive.
Behind Yonghui, the shouting grew louder.
"Don't let it leave!"
"It's possessed—!"
"Stop her!"
No one actually moved to stop her.
They only shouted.
His gaze moved over her— quick, precise.
She stood there, unsteady but upright, strands of her disheveled hair falling across her face. The burial robes hung loosely on her frame, disturbed from the struggle, no longer carrying the stillness of the dead.
At a glance, she looked alive but her skin gave her away.
Even with her dark complexion, there was a faint pallor beneath it, a dullness that stripped away its natural wamth.
If not for that, he would not have believed she had ever died.
Then, his eyes flicked past her.
To the people behind her. The way their face spelt fear. He understood enough.
Behind him, Wen Suiyan also wore a shocked look.
But the shock was clear on his face.
"…Lady Yonghui? This..."
He didn't finish it before Li Yanshu gave him a look.
A look he fully understood, one that read "Why do you look surprised?"
At that moment, Yonghui in her confusion took a step toward Yanshu.
Wen Suiyan moved instantly, placing himself in front of him, hand near his weapon.
"Do not approach His Highness."
Yonghui stopped. Brows pulling together.
His Highness?
"Who are you? What is going on here?"
Her gaze shifted past him.
To Yanshu.
No reaction.
Just that same unreadable calm.
Something about it felt… wrong. Because Li Yanshu would never look at her with that kind of expression.
She opened her mouth to speak, needing answers to everything unfolding before her.
But before a word came out, guards rushed in.
Fast. Precise.
They surrounded her in seconds. Steel rang as spears were lowered. All pointed at her.
Yonghui froze.
Her eyes moved from one weapon to another.
"…all of you...what are you doing?"
No one answered. Not the guards. Not Wen Suiyan.
Not even Yanshu.
"Yanshu!! Do something about this." She screamed at him.
The circle tightened.
And the courtyard fell into a silence as everyone watched the scene unfolding.
"Do it." Li Yanshu finally spoke but not the words she expected.
And with his command, the guards that surrounded her, steadied their weapons and charged at the same time.