Lang Jiuchuan, who had no idea she was considered a pitiable soul, opened her small bundle. There was very little inside — only a red lacquered box.

On the day she had crawled out of that pile of corpses and made her way out of the forest, the Lang household’s servants had already been searching for her everywhere. The moment they saw her, they bundled her into a carriage without a word, intent on returning to the capital immediately so she could fulfill her filial duties as a dutiful granddaughter. It was only because of the lingering attachments in this body’s soul that she had insisted on going back to her room to collect a few things — otherwise she would jump from the carriage — and the servant had had no choice but to comply.

Time was pressing. She hadn’t taken anything — just, drawn by some inexplicable compulsion, she had picked up this red box, grabbed a piece of coarse cloth at random, and wrapped it up.

The box was entirely plain — not even a carved flower to its name, just a coat of red lacquer. Lang Jiuchuan didn’t open it, since it belonged to the original occupant of this body. What she retrieved from the bundle was a delicate, exquisitely crafted ancient bronze bell — this was her own possession.

It was no larger than an infant’s palm, its handle broken into a shape like the character for “mountain.” The bronze was a gleaming, clear color, its body covered in densely etched talismanic script — and as it swayed, it seemed as though invisible currents of golden light and lethal energy flowed through it.

With a movement of her mind, she pinched the handle and gave it a gentle tap — a single, crystalline ring. The sound was pure and spirit-charged, and a golden wave of energy rippled outward. Da Man and Xiao Man, out in the courtyard, both felt a sudden tremor run through them, and looked at each other.

“Did you hear that?”

“I thought I heard a bell?”

The two sisters glanced at the bedroom, then bent their heads back to their work — but without quite meaning to, they both exhaled a breath of stale air in unison. Their bodies felt lighter, as though the exhaustion of the past days had vanished in an instant.

Lang Jiuchuan also felt the subtle effects of striking the bell — a pleasant ease spreading through her entire body.

This was the Divine Bell — a supreme Daoist instrument, said to possess the power to ring the spirit bell, and cause both gods and ghosts to revere it. Beyond subduing divine and ghostly beings, when wielded with precision, it could also settle wandering souls and concentrate the spirit.

This physical form of hers was far too damaged. Until it was repaired, she needed to protect it carefully — lest some blind demon or ghost try to claim it for their own.

A damaged body is still a body. It is her vessel, and must be carefully tended.

The trident at the top of the Divine Bell had a small aperture through which passed a single strand of white, hair-fine threads from a whisk — said to have been plucked from the Supreme Elder Lord’s own whisk. Not even the fires of the underworld could sever it. It was imbued with the supreme meaning of the Dao and was an object of extraordinary rarity and value.

Lang Jiuchuan tied the Divine Bell to the hemp rope at her waist, letting it hang down — barely the length of an adult’s palm, it looked rather like a decorative pendant. She smiled until her eyes curved into crescents.

The Divine Bell at her side — ten thousand ghosts dare not approach. Excellent!

Next, she retrieved the other object from the bundle — a jade-boned talisman brush, entirely violet in color, its body inscribed with seal script, and at the tail, a small broom-like sweeping frond.

The Panguan’s innate talisman brush — it marks the Book of Life and Death, judges cause and effect, rights injustice, and establishes fairness.

To put it in simpler terms: if someone used dark arts to defy the heavens and alter their fate, a single stroke of this brush would return even the most reversed scales back to their original position.

Truly a convenient treasure — and one that makes for excellent mischief!

Lang Jiuchuan pressed the tip without ceremony into her palm, drawing blood. With a movement of her mind, the brush flashed gold and vanished into her palm — and with another movement of her mind, it reappeared in her hand.

“Consider this compensation for saddling me with this broken-down body.” Lang Jiuchuan patted the brush with contentment, then pressed a hand against the Divine Bell hanging at her waist and finally lay down on the bed, closing her eyes with perfect tranquility.

What she did not know was that the underworld was in an uproar.

The Panguan was chasing several ghost officials, trying to track down the whereabouts of his talisman brush. Having turned up nothing, he had at last received a faint signal of it — but just as he moved to summon it back, the signal vanished entirely. And then his mind’s eye erupted in sudden sharp pain.

His brush. Someone had bonded it as their own!

Who — who had done this?

The Panguan hastily retrieved his spare brush — a smaller version of the jade-boned talisman brush — and with a single stroke, a mirror of water appeared before him, and he witnessed the truth of how his brush had gone missing.

It turned out that when he had left that wretched Lang Jiuchuan at the burial mound and was fleeing the scene, she had grabbed the hem of his robes with a great show of reluctance, claiming she couldn’t bear to part with him — while in truth, that hand of hers had already slipped his brush right out from his waist. She had even picked up a finger bone from the ground, transformed it into a convincing counterfeit, and tucked it back into his belt for him.

Infuriating beyond measure.

There existed in this world such a shameless, quick-fingered pickpocket.

“That thieving woman!” The Panguan was furious enough to charge straight out of the Ghost Gate and demand justice, but a crowd of ghost officials blocked his way, talking over each other in an effort to dissuade him. Even the Elder Xie and Elder Fan, who had caught wind of the situation, came to join the effort.

Inviting a divine being is easy; sending one away is difficult. It is better to endure a moment’s anger and keep the underworld peaceful. This troublemaker who had finally been returned to the world of the living — it would be best not to provoke her again.

The Panguan fumed: “Easy for you all to say — it’s not your treasure that was lifted. You’re standing there perfectly comfortable telling me to let it go.”

“Old Cui, never mind anything else — just consider how she used to come and flip through your Book of Life and Death whenever she pleased, pointing and directing and even scribbling all over it. And who had to clean up the mess afterward with enormous painstaking effort? Was that not you, Old Cui?” Elder Xie gazed at his colleague’s hairline — which had retreated noticeably further and grown considerably thinner — and his expression was one of sincere sympathy: “Your hair is still hair. Do take better care of what little of it remains.”

“Sacrifice the smaller self, preserve the greater whole. The King of Hell has said your contribution will be noted.” Elder Fan added: “Never mind that your brush is gone — even the Divine Bell has disappeared, and not a word of complaint has been said about it. Mind your place and be grateful.”

The Panguan was startled: “Has she grown enough courage to even do that?”

Whether she had or hadn’t — their superior didn’t dare touch her. Knowing one’s place was wisdom. A mere innate talisman brush — the small spare would have to do.

The Panguan frowned deeply. Just what kind of background did this troublemaker actually have?

Lang Jiuchuan woke from her sleep to find a full day and night had passed. She stared at the canopy overhead, her mind still a little hazy — what was it she was forgetting?

There was some noise outside — the voices of Da Man and Xiao Man. A head peered around the folding screen inside the room.

Lang Jiuchuan turned her head, and Xiao Man let out a startled yelp, then came rushing over: “Young Miss — you’re awake.”

Da Man heard the commotion and followed her in, her expression easing slightly. This young miss had slept for an entire day and night without stirring — her sleeping posture hadn’t even shifted. She had been as quiet and still as someone who had stopped breathing. If not for the faint, shallow rise and fall of her chest, they would have truly thought she was gone.

“What hour is it?” Lang Jiuchuan sat up.

Da Man replied: “It is already the third quarter of the Mao hour. If Young Miss had not woken soon, we would have had to rouse you.”

“Young Miss must hurry and rise,” Xiao Man added: “Today is the day of the Elder Master’s coffin sealing — all the household’s family members must be present. The First Young Madam’s side sent word — the sealing is at the second quarter of the Chen hour.”

In the kingdom of Dan, the standard mourning period was seven days of lying in state, with the coffin sealed on the third day of the funeral rites — this was to prevent anyone in a state of suspended animation from being sealed inside by mistake. Now that the Elder Master had been gone for three days, the time for sealing had come.

After seven days, the funeral procession would begin, with the household’s male members escorting the spirit back to the ancestral home for burial. Once the burial rites were complete, the household would enter the formal mourning period.

As Lang Jiuchuan thought through this sequence of events, she felt her situation growing increasingly dire. If she had to observe the mourning period, she could not leave the house. And if she could not leave the house, where would she find the opportunities to gather the merit energy and repairs her damaged body needed? Was this not even more restrictive than living on the estate?

She was done for. So she hadn’t entered the gilded cage of a golden canary — she had entered a sparrow’s cage, all show and no substance.

Lang Jiuchuan slammed her fist onto the bed in frustration: “That scoundrel Cui Jue has wronged me!”