General Jian Rongyi’s funeral was the most disappointing one a rich person ever had the misfortune to celebrate.

  In the few shichen of time after the princess gave Three a new collection of bruises, the general’s body was dressed, pced into a coffin, and buried in haste. As the general’s corpse was rejected by both the imperial mausoleum and the Jian family’s ancestral grave, Prince Qianzhong was forced to bury his wife in the pace’s plum garden.

  There wasn’t even a parade. Despite the prince’s abundant wealth, no bribery or favour could soften his fellow officials to allow his wife a good funerary ceremony. The emperor had been clear in her dislike; now, none dared to sympathise with the dead traitor and her family. No-one was present except for the prince and his two children — though the shadow guard was forbidden from entering.

  The Third Princess said that the only way for Three to see the general’s grave was if she was dead and buried as tribute.

  Anyway, it was only te at night that a few guests trickled in for the half-assed Seventh-Day mourning feast.

  This was Three’s favourite part of attending funerals.

  Servant girls spilled into the grand hall. Steam floated up into the air, bringing with it the scent of bitter pickles and vegetable dharma meals. Then it was followed by a wave of savoury, salty delight: a whole pig, chickens, ducks, and a syrup-like, mystery stewed meat. Vermillion red, the scent so tantalisingly savoury that Three swallowed back a mouthful of drool.

  The princess, looking for all the world that someone owed her a million silver taels, was remarkably easy to spot in the crowd.

  Seated near the head of an impossibly long, white table, she was at the forefront of countless stares. She wore a pin white mourning robe, but this one cked even the faintest hint of money — no embroidery, no silk, no cotton, no wool. It was just sad, cheap linen, perhaps to emphasize her grief and respect for her mother despite the emperor’s commands.

  Seated beside her was brother, a man of Three’s age. He had gone a step further than his sister in his mourning rites; though he too wore white, his was two yers thinner and the look on his face was four times more expressive than both his sister’s and father’s capabilities put together. His pink almond eyes, swollen from grief, his trembling hands and disbelieving manner painted a more filial picture than anything Three had ever seen before.

  But topped by them all was the husband of the deceased woman, Prince Qianzhong.

  Already thinner than fish bones, the man had discarded all non-essentials, leaving him with only the basic inner and outer garments, going as so far to switch his bck blindfold for a white one. He had, somehow, managed to wear robes even thinner than paper, looking for all the world wanting to die of pneumonia.

  Three held no doubt that he was wearing straw shoes under that table.

  Seated at the table in varying levels of dedicated facades was an emperor-sent eunuch, the twin princes, and a pair of brother and sister. No ministers came. Not even the minister of war.

  But the strangest emptiness was at the head of the table. The chair there was empty, but before it y a full set of shiny silver cutlery.

  It was the seat reserved for General Jian Rongyi — except she would never sit in it, for her soul would only return on the seventh day after death.

  Three looked down at this absurd scene. Her eyes flickered back to the Third Princess’s pte.

  Here was the problem.

  The Third Princess’s cutlery was poisoned.

  Even from the now-spotless ceiling beams, her eyes were good enough to spot the poison’s tell-tale signs. The silver chopsticks were wet at their tips, but dry at the ends, and once she tilted her head at the right angle, a soft, glitter-like sheen smouldered — some form of a dissolved powder. The rim and sides of the bowls were the same.

  Three’s eyes narrowed: this was most likely Five’s work.

  But… it wasn’t like she had to stop the Third Princess. She was even given orders this time, orders to stay invisible unless called upon.

  It would only be a happy coincidence if her troublesome master died because of it.

  Never before had she ever felt so much joy watching someone else eat. The excitement made her jittery — with each fsh of red tongue on silver, something bubbled up in her stomach and had her lightheaded, giddy with euphoria. If it weren’t for the emperor’s orders, she would have killed the princess the moment her head had been smmed into the floor.

  She could picture the future: with the princess dead, she would attend to the substantially more generous emperor, eat those almond biscuits and steal fruits from pace trees, kill the occasional fly or two and live a great, fulfilling life.

  If only that damned woman hadn’t broken her earring.

  The princess continued to eat. She clipped out a respectful amount of food from each pte, though she clearly didn’t have much of an appetite. Occasionally, she would pause, resting the tip of her chopsticks on the pale pink skin of her lips; it was then that eunuch or one of the other men would make some small talk.

  The eunuch asked, ‘Is the hound meat to your liking?’ That familiar gentle voice reminded Three who he was — the head eunuch of the Imperial City, Eunuch Meng.

  ‘Of course, Head Eunuch.’ The princess’s chopsticks pressed into a piece of tofu. It crumbled into little pieces, the poison smearing itself around her bowl. ‘I appreciate your attendance today.’

  One of the twins said, ‘Indeed. Third Sister, shouldn’t you thank Fourth and Fifth? They even cut short a meeting with the empress to attend aunt’s funeral today.’

  The princess turned to the other pair. ‘Fourth Sister, Fifth Brother. Your efforts to join us today —’

  The youth snorted. ‘Hardly worth it. For this trashy food? Heavens.’ Then, he leaned forward onto the table, his elbows pressing into the wood, curly hair swinging. His bowl toppled to the ground, untouched hound’s meat in it. ‘Hey, Third. You’re rather uneducated, aren’t you? Off with that general all year round. Are you even literate?’

  ‘Brother,’ the woman compined, her floppy head of horse-brown hair swaying, ‘just be direct. “Once all the rabbits are caught, the hounds are stewed” — Elder Sister, do you recognise that idiom?’

  The chair scraped against the floor, the princess standing up. She nodded to her father, though the man could not see it, and nodded again to the eunuch. To her cousins, she said, ‘I feel unwell from grief. I apologise for the inconvenience.’

  ‘We’re all part of the same family, the same generation,’ said the orange-cd prince. ‘None of us, San-mei, will take offence.’

  And amid the low chuckles of her same-blood kin, she left the dining hall to slip into her bedroom, Three following her all the while.

  The princess shut the door and stumbled towards the bed, kneeling by its foot. She vomited into the chamber pot, heaving, her body trembling incessantly. Then, she colpsed.

  Crossing her arms, Three watched the dying woman with a huge smile on her face.

  Now, she only had to wait.

  And wait.

  And wait.

  And then the cursed woman’s fever broke at midnight.

  Really?

  Really?

  Three massaged the point between her brows.

  Was Five losing her touch? Or was it someone else? Surely, surely the one in charge of the assassination was better than that. Please. Or was it that the princess had a poison tolerance on the level of a shadow guard’s?

  She was experimentally poking the furrow between the princess’s brows when the woman awoke with a sweaty, hot gasp.

  Red eyes, a little fuzzy from fever, fixed onto Three’s smiling kingfisher irises. ‘You knew,’ the princess said. Her voice was hoarse, rough like muddy sand. ‘You want me dead.’

  She patted the other’s head, glee written all over her features. ‘Naturally,’ she said. ‘You’re a horrible master, you know. Worse than a rat’s turd, hahaha.’

  The princess gently raised her arm, her long fingers wrapping around Three’s neck. Her grip tightened, but it was still too weak — at most, the shadow guard’s heartbeat pounded a little louder in her ears.

  ‘You think,’ the princess rasped, ‘that you can turn to a better master after my death. You think that by passively lying around, I will die to make way for the next emperor. And you think that I won’t dare kill you, my only straw to survival.’

  ‘Yup.’ Three rubbed her hand up and down the princess’s wrist. The woman’s bones were hidden only by a thin yer of white skin; if she pressed down any harder, it would snap like cartige. ‘That sounds about right.’

  The princess ughed. The great heaving of her chest sent sweat pouring down her skin, the bitterness and saltiness of it stinging Three’s nose. ‘You’re wrong,’ the princess snarled. Her other hand seized the guard’s robes, tightening her grasp into a weak throttle. ‘Heed my words, girl, we are in the same boat.’

  Those red eyes grew wider and wider. Dark like the abyss, the throat of a tiger, it sent panic down Three’s skin. She lurched away, stumbling a little on her fall to the ground, as that woman in her bed heaved herself up. Crawling, snarling like a demon ghost, the princess’s strewn hair and crazed grin seared itself into her mind —

  ‘My next order,’ the princess chuckled, ‘if I die, kill yourself.’

  Then she vomited onto the floor and fainted again.

  Three cursed.

  Then she immediately pced the princess on her side and spped the murky mess out of her throat.