Crack!

When Shen Qinghe heard Lang Jiuchuan deliver that casual line — have you considered buying your own life — he was so startled his hand went slack, the teacup slipped, and shattered on the floor.

He stared at Lang Jiuchuan. She showed not the slightest sign of having been joking, her expression entirely serious. His heart clenched without warning, as though gripped by an iron fist, making it difficult to breathe.

Buying his life. That meant his life was hanging by a thread.

“What buying of life?” Madam Shen murmured as she groggily came to, catching that single alarming phrase.

Shen Qinghe stiffened and immediately shot Lang Jiuchuan a look, signaling her to drop it. He quickly went to his wife’s side, fussing over her with concern.

Jiang Che drifted out from the spiritual core and crouched on her shoulder. “You still want to go and eliminate the source of that village altogether?”

“The merit you speak of — it is in letting Shen Qinghe live that the merit lies,” Lang Jiuchuan said, watching the man speaking so gently to his wife. “He is a good official. If there were more such officials in this world, it would be a cleaner and brighter place.”

“Well, well — didn’t expect you to harbor such grand ambitions for the common good.”

Lang Jiuchuan cast it a sidelong glance. “Precisely because I don’t, more people like him means less filth and darkness in the world. That’s a fine thing. And get away from me.”

She flicked her hand and sent Jiang Che tumbling a good distance. “You’ll eat anything — are you truly that starved?!”

Jiang Che righted itself, and when the meaning of her words sank in, its fur bristled. “Are you even human? Burning bridges, are we? I did my share just now — I helped get rid of that thing, and now you’re looking down on me for it?”

“Doing your share is right and proper. Since when has there been so much for nothing in this world? You and I — two swords united, shared victory. A fine outcome!”

Jiang Che: “!”

They were perfectly reasonable words. So why, coming out of her mouth, did they make its blood boil so?

Jiang Che was so furious its tiger face puffed out round, making it look like an adorable white cat — the kind that made one want to give it a squeeze.

While Lang Jiuchuan and Jiang Che traded barbs, Shen Qinghe had finished settling his wife and left her in the care of the servants. He then led Lang Jiuchuan out to a side hall to speak privately.

Shen Peng’s matter was resolved, yet his wife had suffered greatly for it. He didn’t want her to hear that he himself was at death’s door and worry herself into a worse state — that would be bad for her recovery.

The side hall also housed a Buddha statue. Lang Jiuchuan was somewhat uneasy at first, since she was a spirit occupying a borrowed body, and feared the Buddha might see her as an abomination and drive her out.

But thinking carefully — she had been in the temple for some time now. That initial faint discomfort at the entrance had passed without further incident. Now that she had received Madam Shen’s lifespan, her soul felt more settled still. There was nothing to fear.

Fear what? She hadn’t possessed someone against their will. The divine official of the Underworld had arranged for her to be reborn — she held legitimate authorization. Heaven and earth had recognized it.

With that reasoning firmly in mind, Lang Jiuchuan walked into the side hall.

Jiang Che nearly burst out laughing. With that swagger — go on, then, let go of the Dizhong bell you’re gripping so tightly at your waist. Holding it that hard, and you call yourself unafraid?

Lang Jiuchuan stepped through the door, raised her head, and was met by the glares of several fierce guardian statues baring their teeth at her. She paused, then carefully took stock of herself.

Hmm. Nothing.

She walked in with perfect composure, meeting the gazes of those Bodhisattva statues with a calm, level stare. The tension in her heart eased.

They came to a halt in the main hall. A young novice monk brought incense, lit it, handed it to Shen Qinghe, then stepped to the side.

Shen Qinghe offered the incense with solemn reverence. When he glanced at Lang Jiuchuan, she was staring intently at the fierce guardian statues — as though engaged in a silent contest to see who could outstare whom. The child-like quality of it, so completely at odds with the gravity she had carried while performing the ritual earlier, almost made him want to smile.

He no longer knew what to make of this girl.

Shen Qinghe said, “What you said earlier — could it be related to the strange affairs at the village?”

Lang Jiuchuan came back to herself. “As I mentioned, that your son would be targeted by a malevolent spirit came about through a medium. That medium was something you brought back. That set of eighteen prayer beads — it was likely stained with your blood at some point. Father and son share a bloodline. Using that as the connecting cause to infiltrate through — simple enough.”

Shen Qinghe frowned, thinking carefully. He recalled losing that string of eighteen beads because he had stumbled on the mountain path near the village and scraped his hand, leaving a thin line of blood. He must have inadvertently brushed against the trinket at that moment before losing it.

“You carry a righteous energy about you, my lord — a firm and upright force that can ward off and protect against evil. The spirit cannot confront you directly. But given time, that could well change.” Lang Jiuchuan looked toward the fierce guardian statues. “They always say that righteous energy overcomes evil — but not every form of evil is necessarily overcome by righteousness. Just as some good officials cannot prevail against corrupt ones.”

Shen Qinghe’s eyes narrowed slightly. He thought of certain officials at court — men who made his stomach turn — and his expression went cold.

“No matter how strong your righteous energy, you are still a mortal body of flesh and blood. Should you remain under the influence of malevolent energy, even if it does not kill you outright, illness and infirmity will dog your steps. And then, my lord — with all your aspirations, without your health, how will you ever act on them? How will you speak for the people?”

Shen Qinghe asked, “What exactly is this evil entity? Is it truly nurtured by that village?”

“Whatever misfortune exists here has its source in that village. Had you not gone to investigate, they would not have seen you as an obstruction. As for whether the evil entity is being controlled by a person or arose on its own — I would need to see for myself.”

“Controlled by a person?” Shen Qinghe seemed to think of something. “You mean someone might be orchestrating this?”

Lang Jiuchuan smiled. “Not someone pretending to be divine — someone directing a malevolent spirit. My lord, among court officials there are those of integrity and those of corruption. So too in the arts of the Dao — there is the righteous and the deviant. Those who practice it are likewise divided. Those who can control malevolent spirits or use harmful techniques to harm others — that is the path of the deviant.”

Shen Qinghe tensed.

“My lord, I have not been to that village, and know only what I have heard secondhand. I cannot say what the truth is. But the malevolent energy is real. Whether it is directed by a human hand or arose of its own — going there will reveal the answer. Regardless, you stand in their way, and that is why they have set their sights on you.”

“My lord need only consider what position you would be in if your political enemies had you in their sights — and you will understand your current situation.”

Did he even need to think about it? It would be a fight to the death. He was principled and upright, but that very nature had blocked many people’s paths. He had faced off against political enemies before. It was a war of words — no visible blades — yet just as fraught with danger.

And if that was the case in a war of words, how was he — a mere mortal body of flesh and blood — supposed to fight something unseen? Could he cast techniques? Chant spells?

Recalling what he had witnessed earlier, and thinking of his son in the grip of possession — Shen Qinghe, who had always claimed there were no such things as gods and ghosts, reached up to touch his own neck. He felt a sudden chill, a distinct sense that it might not remain attached much longer.

Lang Jiuchuan was asking him. She had already helped his son. That meant she was confident she could also save his life.

No — buy his life.

Shen Qinghe thought of the price his wife had paid for their son, and looked at Lang Jiuchuan. “What price must I pay to buy my life? What do you want?”

Under the unwavering glare of the fierce guardian statues, Lang Jiuchuan reached out with shamelessly audacious calm and plucked one of the sesame candies from the offering dish on the altar table. She unwrapped it, bit off a piece, held it in her mouth, turned to look at him, and revealed a smile that was somehow deeply unsettling.

Deal.

(Author’s note: Flu season is rampant — take care of yourselves, everyone. I’ve already caught a cold — head pounding and dizzy!)