The Lang Family had always thought that someone who had been “exiled” outside for more than ten years and then returned home ought to tuck her tail between her legs and keep an extremely low profile. But their Ninth Young Miss — she had grown herself a body full of thorns, prickly as a hedgehog, biting at anyone who came near regardless of who they were.

First she had reprimanded the serving woman and taken an indirect jab at the whole household. Then she had turned on a female cousin. How did she dare? Who gave her that confidence?

Was she relying on being the sole bloodline of the Second Branch?

Whatever she was relying on — in short, their Lang Family was about to acquire a troublemaker.

Lang Jiuchuan’s internal response: Mm. I am the stick. You are all the filth.

She cast a mild glance at Lang Cailing, who did not dare make a sound under the weight of Lang Caimeng’s authority, yet was pouring every ounce of fury into the glare she aimed in Lang Jiuchuan’s direction. Lang Jiuchuan’s lips moved silently.

Go on, bite me if you dare.

Lang Cailing happened to read those lips perfectly and clenched her fists, slicing her with one last furious glare.

The other younger members noticed this silent battle of expressions, exchanged a quiet glance, and looked back at Lang Jiuchuan.

She’s awfully arrogant. Also… terribly uncouth.

She was in mourning attire, yes — a pair of ill-fitting black cloth shoes on her feet, not a single ornament on her person. Which was proper, given the full mourning period. But the others all wore their hair up with delicate silver accessories, while she? Her mass of black hair had simply been braided into a single plait hanging over her left shoulder, secured with a dull, grimy strip of black cloth.

The younger members of the Lang Family allowed a trace of disdain to show.

What a country bumpkin.

What they did not know was that when Lang Jiuchuan had picked herself up from the mass burial ground, her feet had long since lost their shoes. Those black cloth shoes had been peeled off a corpse on the spot. As for her hair — it was naturally tied up in whatever hasty fashion had been at hand.

And as soon as she had stepped clear of the forest, before she had even reached the Lang Family’s country estate, the people from the estate had already come looking for her. Without a word, they had bundled her into a carriage and sent her back to the capital to attend the funeral.

Lang Jiuchuan knelt on the straw mat without the slightest intention of conversing with anyone from the Lang Family. She had not even begun to process the information she had just gathered. Instead, she endured the aching hunger and pain spreading through her five organs.

This body was riddled with wounds. It needed not only mending but also merit to sustain it — merit to restore flesh to bare bone, to stabilize the soul, and to allow her to seek out the remaining fragments of her own soul and the lost pieces of her past.

For now, she was using only the art of divination to maintain the appearance of a “normal” Lang Jiuchuan before everyone’s eyes, which was draining her vital energy significantly. One moment of inattention, one slip of the veil, and she would likely frighten this entire household to death.

Truly surviving on merit alone.

Once more she mentally cursed the Panguan through all eighteen generations of his ancestry. If she had a sound and complete body, why would she be reduced to this?

Then, abruptly — Lang Jiuchuan lifted her head, her eyes lighting up faintly as she looked toward the gilded nanmu coffin.

Wisps and threads of merit and spiritual fortune drifted slowly toward her from the direction of the casket — faint, barely there, but better than nothing.

This was the blessing of the ancestors.

Merit accumulated by the old lord of the Lang Family and his forebears through years of defending the northern borders against the Xiongnu and protecting the common people — and now some portion of that spiritual fortune also belonged to her, as a daughter of the Lang Family.

Lang Jiuchuan felt the nourishment of that merit seeping into her and let out a quiet sigh.

A pity it was so faint. If it were richer, the restoration would be far more effective.

It was all the fault of the Lang Family descendants having so few promising heirs to carry on their ancestors’ legacy — the family was in steady decline, and even this spiritual fortune was nearly spent.

Lang Jiuchuan swept an dissatisfied glance at the people around her.

Useless.

The two younger members who had been whispering to each other felt their skin tighten. “?”

What was that look for?

Was she looking down on them?

Hey — this country bumpkin. If the setting weren’t so inappropriate and their eldest brother wasn’t here keeping things in check, they would have already had it out with her.

They exchanged a glance. No direct confrontation then — how about causing her a little trouble instead?

No sooner had the thought taken shape than a shadow fell across the doorway. They immediately pressed the idea back down.

Second Aunt-by-marriage was here. No matter how much she hated this cousin of theirs, this was still her only child. Who knew whether she might show maternal instincts and defend her own?

Cui Shi walked in, her footsteps faltering slightly. Her gaze swept past Lang Jiuchuan — and moved on as though she had not seen her, settling herself at a section of the mat a considerable distance away.

Everyone present noticed. Eyebrows rose.

Ten-odd years later, and this mother still felt the same way. There would certainly be interesting things to watch going forward.

Lang Cailing, who had just had an unpleasant exchange with Lang Jiuchuan, let out a contemptuous smile. Sole bloodline of the Second Branch — and yet she was still an unwelcome thing, wasn’t she?

She looked toward Lang Jiuchuan, expecting to catch a glimpse of hurt and dejection on her face. Instead, she saw Lang Jiuchuan rise from her seat and walk toward the coffin — and stared wide-eyed.

What was this country bumpkin about to do now?