Xue Shiyong stared at his own loathsome reflection in the water mirror, and for one moment his composure completely shattered.

In his youth, he had been a handsome young man — considered among the most distinguished of the scholarly circle, an elegant and graceful young gentleman of upright bearing. Even in middle age, he had been a refined and accomplished man of letters. How had he ever been such a petty and loathsome figure as this?

“Do you see it? This is the energy that currently surrounds Xue Shi — a tainted, murky malevolent energy. And this thread of crimson,” said Lang Jiuchuan, appearing at his side without his noticing, pointing at the thread of crimson above his head in the water mirror, “represents your fortune. Once this thread of crimson energy disperses completely, your good fortune will be entirely replaced by misfortune. With misfortune clinging to you, it cannot be guarded against. Not only will it affect those closest to you — it will cost you your own life.”

Xue Shiyong said: “Is it true that the people who spend the most time near me will be most affected?”

“Naturally. How else does the saying go — stay near cinnabar and you turn red, stay near ink and you turn black?”

Xue Shiyong’s complexion grew even more pallid. So his eldest grandson had fallen ill because of him?

A clear ring of the bell —

Xue Shiyong’s vision swam, and the water mirror before him vanished in an instant. He stood in brief bewilderment, and instinctively reached out to touch where it had been — and felt instead a rough, uneven face.

He focused his gaze and immediately stepped back two paces. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Zhao Kun had gone dark in the face. “Shouldn’t that be my question? What are you doing?”

He had been speaking to him perfectly normally, when the man had suddenly gone rigid and blank-eyed, his expressions shifting more rapidly than the face-changing performance art of Shu — and now he had reached out and grabbed at him.

Xue Shiyong snapped his gaze over to Lang Jiuchuan. She was playing idly with the ancient Dizhong bell, and he demanded in a low voice: “That was your doing?”

“Yes.”

Yes, I did it, and I’ll own it.

“You—!”

“Xue Shi,” Lang Jiuchuan said, “that was a technique from within the Dao arts — an illusion. But it was not a false illusion. I only made you see your own true appearance as it currently stands, along with the energy that mortal eyes cannot perceive.”

Not false?

Xue Shiyong blanched further. “But when I look in a mirror, I do not find my appearance to be what it was in there.”

“How would you be able to see yourself clearly? The observer standing outside sees most plainly.”

Xue Shiyong swayed slightly on his feet.

Zhao Kun had been following along in confusion. “What mirror? What riddle are the two of you speaking in?”

Xue Shiyong latched onto him like a drowning man seizing a rope. “Old Zhao, tell me honestly — what have you thought of my appearance lately?”

Zhao Kun paused, then asked carefully: “Do you truly want to know?”

“Tell me.”

“Truthfully, I’ve found you rather irritating lately.” Zhao Kun gripped his own hands together. “Looking at the way you talk, I’ve rather wanted to hit you.”

Xue Shiyong: “…”

So this was who Old Zhao truly was beneath the friendship. What closest friend — perhaps it was time to cut ties!

“What in the world is going on?” Zhao Kun looked at Lang Jiuchuan.

Lang Jiuchuan replied: “Nothing particular. Time is precious. I simply used a more straightforward method to let Xue Shi see his current state.”

Zhao Kun understood. Looking at his old friend’s dazed and shaken expression, the man had clearly been struck hard — what had he seen?

He gave a gentle cough, and with earnest gravity said: “Old Xue, we are old friends, and of course I wish you well. One must never refuse to treat an illness out of shame at seeing a physician—”

“Shut up!” Xue Shiyong pushed him away and turned to face Lang Jiuchuan. “What exactly is all of this — is what you said true? Does such a thing as stealing one’s fortune and swapping another’s fate truly exist in this world?”

“What one sees may not always reveal the full truth. But Xue Shi need only think about the things that have happened to you recently, and you will know for yourself whether what you saw just now was true or false.” Lang Jiuchuan said: “You were not without your misfortunes in the past — but were they ever as they have been this past stretch of time, one ill event following another without cease? Misfortune clings to you, and if it is not removed, it will never stop — not until you are dead.”

Xue Shiyong’s brow was deeply furrowed.

After a long pause, he said: “How would someone go about performing such a technique? Such a harmful technique — would anyone who studies the Dao know it?”

“Not just anyone. But with access to your birth characters, along with something personal to you — such as a tooth, hair, blood, or fingernail clippings — and if they could obtain your own unwitting consent, assembling such a formation would not be difficult for someone with even a modest degree of cultivation.”

“This is an outrage — such a person inflicts such harm on another, and there is no one to answer for it?” Xue Shiyong’s temples visibly pulsed, and he brought his fist down heavily on the table.

Lang Jiuchuan said: “When it comes to devious and crooked practices, once the technique is broken, the one who cast it will inevitably suffer the backlash. That is the retribution of cause and effect — it can be considered a form of justice. As for whether anyone oversees such individuals — both of you are high officials and men of renown, and you would know better than I how the world operates. The Xuan Clan exists in this realm. You surely know something of whether they intervene in such matters.”

Both men were taken aback. The Xuan Clan — that ancient and mysterious lineage, an existence neither of them could reach. Naturally they had little clarity on how such clans conducted their affairs, especially Xue Shiyong, who had always looked upon anything metaphysical and supernatural with contempt. He would never have actively sought to know anything about them, and knew only that they were elevated beings who kept themselves apart and were not to be trifled with.

But he had always believed that their elevated status came from how the world worshipped them — the more people put faith in such things, the more they elevated those practitioners.

“But do you know who did this? Birth characters are rarely circulated outside, let alone personal belongings — and you mentioned the matter of one’s own unwitting consent, which is even more baffling.” Zhao Kun said: “Who in their right mind would agree to something like this, exchanging their own good fortune for ill?”

Xue Shiyong deeply agreed — he was no fool.

“Even an unwitting agreement constitutes agreement. If you accepted something from another person, for example — that is equivalent to consenting to the exchange.”

Lang Jiuchuan surveyed his room. She didn’t spot anything that seemed out of place.

“Xue Shi should think carefully — starting from the day your misfortunes began, what did you receive? Something picked up off the ground would count as well.”

“That is a great many things — I celebrated my birthday last month and received quite a number of gifts.” Xue Shiyong’s brow furrowed deeply.

Zhao Kun frowned as well. “Searching through all of that is like looking for a needle in the ocean. Ninth Miss — can’t you do that thing, the reading of signs? You know, the pinching of fingers to divine the answer?”

Xue Shiyong also looked at her. Yes — the Daoist charlatan’s signature move, reading the heavens through fingers pinched together. Couldn’t this little charlatan manage even that?

“Xue Shi,” said Lang Jiuchuan, her cool and sharp eyes turning toward him, a gleam of clarity flickering in their depths: “I am not the sort of good person who does charity work for free. Can you afford the price?”

Xue Shiyong gave a start, and asked warily: “What do you want?”

“Have a longevity tablet carved for me, and place it in the Luning Academy to be worshipped day and night.”

Xue Shiyong and Zhao Kun both froze. What kind of price was this — a longevity tablet?

Not gold or jewels, not land or a generous stipend — a longevity tablet?

Jiangche was also somewhat surprised, and asked: “What is going on in that head of yours?”

“An academy is the place where literary aura is most concentrated. If my longevity tablet is placed within it and he worships it day and night, it is equivalent to offering up prayers and the power of vows on my behalf. And the sincere vows of a learned man — are they not a form of righteous energy?” Lang Jiuchuan’s eyes gleamed brilliantly. “If he worships it day and night, and someone happens to discover it — inspired by the Headmaster’s devotion, might they not also offer a stick of incense with their wishes on my behalf? And so the power of vows accumulates bit by bit — immensely auspicious!”

Jiangche: “!”

This was confirmation — she would never do anything without benefit. Once she did something, it was bound to be greatly to her advantage.