Lang Jiuchuan brought Lang Zhengping out through the ghost gate, and they returned to the small rear garden of Shoukang Hall. The winter sun was high and warm overhead. She swayed slightly, her face as pale and bloodless as a ghost’s.

Lang Zhengping was still in a daze. Feeling the sunlight wash over him, he even raised a hand to shield his eyes, and muttered absently: “There’s sunlight — we won’t dissolve away into nothing, will we?”

He had heard that ghosts all feared sunlight.

Lang Jiuchuan’s mouth twitched. She took the inner garment from his arms and said: “By all means, take your time experiencing what it feels like to dissolve away. I’ll go return the Old Madam’s soul to her body first.”

She didn’t even wait for his response and headed off toward the main hall.

Lang Zhengping stood there blankly, then pinched the soft flesh at his waist — sharp pain. Well, he was still alive then.

Watching Lang Jiuchuan disappear from sight, he quickly hurried after her.

Although the excursion to the Road to the Underworld had not seemed long, in the living world only about two quarters of an hour had passed. When Lang Jiuchuan reappeared before everyone’s eyes, they all inevitably glanced at her face.

What on earth had she been doing? She carried a chill all over, and her face was pale — pale as a ghost.

Wu Shi even asked in concern: “Ninth Younger Sister, has the cold gotten to you? You ought to wear a proper cloak when you go in and out — dressing so lightly, how can you not feel cold?”

Lang Jiuchuan did not refuse this kindness, nodded, and entered the bedchamber.

Furen and a few of the other sisters-in-law, in a show of filial devotion, were still keeping watch in the room, since the Old Madam had yet to regain consciousness.

“All of you may leave. She will wake shortly.” Lang Jiuchuan stepped forward and said.

Everyone startled.

Lang Zhengping followed her in, heard these words, and instructed: “Go and have them prepare the medicine to be decocted.”

Furen exchanged a glance with the others. The two of you — uncle and niece — step out for a little while and come back with this kind of confidence? Claiming the Old Madam will wake just like that.

“Go ahead.”

Furen had no choice but to leave. Cui Shi frowned, shot a glance at the inner garment in Lang Jiuchuan’s arms, then fixed her gaze on her face for a long moment, and left with furrowed brows.

“What do we do now?” Lang Zhengping was very anxious.

Lang Jiuchuan drew the paper figure from the garment, summoned the Panguan brush, and guided the Old Madam’s soul out of the figure with the brush tip: “Go in.”

The Panguan brush in her hand led the soul toward the Old Madam’s spiritual core and tapped it lightly. She murmured the incantation under her breath: “May the spirit respond in accordance with Heaven’s will; may her life be long preserved. By the supreme mystery of the One, guard her true form. Let the three souls return to their vessel; let the seven spirits protect their host. May the living soul swiftly reclaim her place — by decree!”

A flash of golden light sparked from the tip of the brush. The Old Madam’s three souls and seven spirits entered her spiritual core.

Lang Jiuchuan formed a hand seal, then began pressing lightly downward from the crown of the head — the Baihui acupoint — all the way down the body, touching each acupoint in turn. At every point, an invisible breath of energy entered the body: this was the opening of the hundred meridians, the activation of living Qi.

Jiang Che drifted out from somewhere nearby, observing Lang Jiuchuan’s face growing ever more pallid, then looking at the Old Madam, whose complexion was gradually warming with returning color. He let out a quiet sigh.

Some people are simply born with good fortune.

Having activated the living acupoints, Lang Jiuchuan used the Panguan brush to draw a soul-anchoring talisman at the Old Madam’s spiritual core, so as to settle and secure the spirit — preventing it from separating from the body again so easily.

When all was done, her face was utterly drained of color. She exhaled slightly, sat down on the edge of the bed, and took the Old Madam’s hand, pressing two fingers against her pulse.

A quiet sigh of relief. The pulse was deep, steady, and strong. It was done.

The Old Madam Lang’s eyelids fluttered. She opened her eyes and was met with the sight of a small, bloodless face. Her hand moved instinctively, clasping that hand, and in a hoarse voice she said: “Child — you have suffered.”

“She’s awake, she’s awake!” Lang Zhengping pressed forward urgently: “Mother, you gave your son such a fright. How do you feel?”

The Old Madam Lang looked at him, blinked, and said: “Eldest son — why have you aged so much?”

Lang Zhengping touched his face, caught somewhere between tears and laughter.

News of the Old Madam Lang’s awakening spread instantly. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief and came forward one by one to ask after her. Lang Jiuchuan took the opportunity to slip away.

There was nothing further for her to do here.

The moment she returned to her own small courtyard, Lang Jiuchuan collapsed onto her bed and couldn’t even be bothered to lift an eyelid when Jian Lan came in to speak with her.

“Go and have someone make me a bowl of red sugar lotus seed porridge to settle my stomach. Put in plenty of sugar.” Lang Jiuchuan said in a voice barely above a breath.

Jian Lan asked with concern: “Miss, are you feeling unwell somewhere? Shall I fetch the household physician?”

“No need. I just need to rest.”

Jian Lan saw how listless and drained she looked, noticed she hadn’t pulled her blanket over herself, and stepped forward to draw the quilt all the way up and tuck it in snugly: “Then rest for a while, Miss. I’ll call for you when the lotus seed porridge is ready.”

“Mm.”

The room settled into quiet.

Jiang Che gave a short, derisive sound: “Just now you were throwing around your cultivation so grandly, spending your merit without a second thought, chest puffed up and full of energy — and now you’re lying there like a dead snake, limp and useless. Try to pull yourself together.”

“She is the only person in this body’s life who has treated her with genuine kindness.” Lang Jiuchuan said with her eyes closed: “Since her allotted years are not yet spent, I could hardly know she had wandered to that place and still not bring her back.”

“Admit it — you’re just attached to that little bit of warmth.” Jiang Che exposed her without the slightest mercy.

Lang Jiuchuan’s eyelids drooped halfway, and she let out a quiet sound — neither confirming nor denying. In a little while, she had sunk into a deep sleep.

This body of hers was simply too weak. Though she had gained considerable benefit from the matter at the Shen Family, she had overextended herself here with the Old Madam — beyond what this vessel could sustain.

Jiang Che crouched beside her and looked at her for a moment, then curled up and began to doze as well.

A little warmth is good for her — cold and remote as ice would only unsettle the heart.

Over at Shoukang Hall, calm had been restored. Unable to contain her curiosity any longer, Furen caught Lang Zhengping and pressed him with questions.

Lang Zhengping had only just barely recovered his wits. As soon as she asked, the memory of the Road to the Underworld crashed back over him, and the color drained from his face in an instant.

Furen was startled: “My Lord — what’s come over you?”

Lang Zhengping opened his mouth, his voice coming out in a rasp: “If I were to say that I walked the Road to the Underworld today — would you believe me?”

“Oh, hush, hush, hush!” Furen, thoroughly exasperated, reproached him: “Are you so frightened by your mother’s condition that you’re talking nonsense now?”

Walking the Road to the Underworld — in broad daylight, telling ghost stories like this?

Lang Zhengping gave a crooked smile and said no more. He had known she wouldn’t believe him. Truth be told, even recalling it himself, it felt dreamlike and unreal — yet he knew it had not been a dream.

Especially when he thought back to what Song Chengfu and his sister had said. His expression grew sharp and stern once more.

The person behind it all was deeply concealed. As Lang Jiuchuan had said: this scheme having failed, they would certainly come again. The Lu Family would need to be investigated from inside to out.

Furen noticed his expression shifting back to that cool, grave seriousness, and found it rather peculiar — how did this man’s moods swing so unpredictably?

“By the way — I heard Ninth Young Miss sent you an inkstone as a gift. Of all the gifts the Shen Family sent, that child only gave to the Old Madam, the younger brother’s wife, and you.” Furen remarked with an amused smile: “The other children are green with envy.”

“The child is filial.” Lang Zhengping said with a satisfied air, but then his expression cooled as he thought of Lang Cailing and her younger brother’s words: “As for Seventh Young Miss and Eleventh Young Master — have them kneel in the ancestral shrine for three days, then have the Nanny teach them proper conduct. They have no sense of what is appropriate. And that talk of an adoptive heir — tell the second brother’s wife that it is simply not going to happen. Don’t let her get ideas. I wouldn’t want her to grow resentful and think our First Branch is scheming against the Second Branch.”

Furen agreed with a smile. Very little happened in this household that escaped her notice, and she was naturally well aware of what that pair of siblings had done. To have raised such foolish children — the scheme Chen Yiniang had been plotting was destined to come to nothing.