More than two thousand years ago, in the arid expanse of China’s Turpan Basin, a young woman was laid to rest with a mystery sealed into her smile—a vivid red pigment that stained her teeth. Now, researchers from Jilin University and Texas A&M University have uncovered the astonishing truth behind that crimson trace. In a study that has captured the attention of archaeologists and anthropologists alike, scientists have documented the first known case of cinnabar-stained teeth in the ancient world—a discovery as rare as it is illuminating.
This finding comes from the Shengjindian Cemetery, a burial ground dating to the late Iron Age and associated with the Subeixi culture. Nestled in the harsh but strategically located landscape of the eastern Silk Road corridor, the cemetery has revealed more than just bones. It holds clues to a world where identity, trade, belief, and ritual bled together in hues of red and gold.
The pigment on the woman’s teeth wasn’t just any red substance—it was cinnabar, a strikingly bright mineral composed of mercury sulfide. Known for its toxic properties and its cultural potency, cinnabar has a deep historical footprint. Civilizations across time and continents—from the Mesoamericans to the Romans, the Chinese to the Sumerians—used it in funerary rites, cosmetics, medicines, and mystical ceremonies. But never before had it been found purposefully applied to a person’s teeth. This makes the young woman, identified in the burial as M11:B, a singular case in the global archaeological record.
Her grave, designated M11, held four individuals, but she stood out not only because of the cinnabar but also because of her grave goods: gold earrings, a bone comb, leather boots, ceramics, string ornaments, and an elaborately crafted wooden artifact. These objects tell a story of status, perhaps wealth, but the cinnabar elevates her to something more enigmatic—perhaps a ritual practitioner, or someone revered for a specific role in her community.
To determine the nature and origin of the pigment, researchers employed a multi-pronged scientific analysis. Raman spectroscopy revealed the unmistakable signature of cinnabar. X-ray fluorescence (XRF) ruled out the possibility of environmental contamination, confirming that the substance was not the result of soil leaching or geological coincidence. Meanwhile, Fourier transform infrared spectroscopy (FTIR) detected protein-based binders—organic compounds likely used to affix the pigment to the teeth intentionally.
In other words, this was no accident. Someone, at some point before burial—possibly in life, possibly in death—deliberately painted the woman’s teeth with mercury-red cinnabar, using an organic glue to ensure it stayed fixed. But why?
The researchers propose several plausible interpretations, each echoing ancient whispers of culture and spirituality. In many shamanic traditions, especially across Central and East Asia, red pigments held immense symbolic power. Cinnabar, in particular, was believed to possess protective properties, warding off evil spirits or guiding the soul in the afterlife. Its luminous hue was thought to embody vitality and immortality, making it a frequent feature in rituals that sought to connect the physical and spiritual worlds.
But there’s another layer. The young woman may have worn the cinnabar not for the dead, but for the living. Applied during life, cinnabar could have served as a cosmetic enhancement, a sign of beauty or status. Alternatively, it might have played a medicinal role, as ancient Chinese texts describe the use of mercury compounds in alchemy and healing—albeit often with fatal consequences. In any scenario, the deliberate decoration of her teeth suggests she occupied a distinctive place in her society.
This brings us to the question of supply. Cinnabar is not found naturally in the Turpan Basin. That means it had to be imported—likely from distant sources in central China, the Near East, or even the fringes of Europe. The presence of cinnabar here is therefore a quiet but powerful testament to the long-distance trade networks that once pulsed through the Silk Road, centuries before its name was coined. Turpan, positioned at the crossroads of East and West, was already a node in a web of cultural and commercial exchange.
Supporting this are other findings from the Shengjindian Cemetery: imitation turquoise beads made of glass, lacquerware belt buckles with Chinese design elements, fragments of silk, and aromatic resins such as coal essence. These artifacts suggest an active dialogue with both the Chinese Central Plains and the Mediterranean world, hinting that the Subeixi people were far from isolated—they were participants in a broader conversation of goods, ideas, and rituals.
But the woman’s stained teeth remain unique. Despite the widespread use of cinnabar throughout the ancient world, no other case has been found where it was deliberately painted onto the teeth of the deceased. The absence of similar examples across archaeological sites adds weight to the theory that this was a custom rooted in highly specific cultural or spiritual practices, possibly even reserved for a select few.
Could she have been a spiritual intermediary—a shamaness or priestess? Was she a symbolic sacrifice, her red teeth marking her as a chosen figure for some communal rite? Or did the cinnabar signify beauty, fertility, or authority in a now-lost cultural lexicon?
The mystery deepens as researchers push for further investigation. Plans are underway for genetic analysis of the woman’s remains, which could reveal her ancestry, health, and potentially even her social origins. Was she local to Turpan, or did she or her ancestors migrate from another region? Could her DNA link her to broader populations across Eurasia? Such data could provide vital context about the exchange of not just goods, but people and ideas along the early Silk Road.
What this singular case makes clear is that the ancient world was deeply interconnected. A pigment mined in one part of the world could find its way, through many hands, to the teeth of a young woman buried in a desert cemetery thousands of miles away. Her red-stained smile speaks to a shared human impulse—to adorn, to symbolize, to transcend the mortal moment in death or in ritual.
This remarkable discovery is not just about one woman or one burial. It opens a window into a forgotten world, rich in complexity and connection. And while we may never know exactly who she was or why cinnabar adorned her teeth, her story reminds us that even the smallest archaeological traces can unravel profound narratives—of belief, of identity, of the globalized currents that flowed long before the modern era.
As science continues to peel back the layers of this mystery, one thing remains certain: the Red Princess of the Silk Road has given us a new reason to marvel at the ingenuity, spirituality, and interconnectedness of our ancient ancestors. Her crimson legacy endures—not just in pigment, but in the questions it raises and the connections it reveals.
More information: Sen You et al, Red princess of the Silk Road – the first-and-only known case of cinnabar-stained teeth in antiquity from the Iron Age Western Regions (202BCE − 8CE), Archaeological and Anthropological Sciences (2025). DOI: 10.1007/s12520-025-02188-5