Shen Qinghe still had to handle the case of Qisi’s death. Lang Jiuchuan parted ways with him and brought Jian Lan along, taking a detour away from the Wangsheng Hall to return to the meditation courtyard — only to be stopped by a guard.

“The princess’s procession is passing through. Bystanders must not approach — step aside at once.” The armored guard gripped the hilt of his sword and drew it out partway with a sharp rasp, glaring at Lang Jiuchuan with a ferocious expression.

Jian Lan supported Lang Jiuchuan and stepped back two paces, saying, “We are only returning to the meditation courtyard. We have no intention of offending the princess’s procession.”

The guard’s face remained expressionless as he stared coldly at the two of them. “Go around.”

Lang Jiuchuan thought to herself: having power and authority certainly comes in handy — even walking down a road, they can stop you whenever they please.

“Let’s go.” Lang Jiuchuan turned around. If this path was blocked, she would simply take another route.

Eggs don’t butt heads with stones — she wasn’t about to do that, especially not in the midst of so much trouble.

She had only walked a few steps when a commotion arose behind her. Lang Jiuchuan glanced back and saw a dense swarm of eunuchs and palace maids flanking a palanquin, completely sealed and impenetrable, being carried toward a large carriage.

Lang Jiuchuan stopped and looked at the palanquin, borne steadily by eight sturdy eunuchs. Whoever was inside must have been quite heavy — the weight pressed the litter downward, and the carriers’ faces flushed red, the veins on their necks bulging visibly. It was clear they were straining enormously.

But her attention was not on them. It was on the palanquin itself.

Such oppressive Yin energy.

It had already nearly smothered the entire palanquin in its embrace.

Was this Princess Zhao’an’s palanquin? A pregnant woman, nearly at term — with Yin energy this heavy, could she give birth safely?

She watched as the palanquin was carried to the front of the grand, elaborate carriage. She expected to catch a glimpse of the person inside, but instead, the carriers simply removed the carrying poles and slid the entire litter compartment into the carriage. Once the occupant was inside the carriage, the compartment was taken back out, sealed so tightly not even a breath of air could slip through.

Lang Jiuchuan narrowed her eyes. “A noble traveling in style — truly blinding to these humble eyes of mine.”

“Those are human eyes now,” Jiangche remarked coolly.

Lang Jiuchuan paused for a beat, then said, “The Yin energy surrounding Princess Zhao’an’s palanquin is extremely heavy. Go take a look at what’s going on.”

“You glanced at her for all of a second and now you’re sticking your nose in other people’s business,” Jiangche said flatly.

“In a spring full of troubles, whenever something unusual appears — if I don’t encounter it, so be it. But if I do, there’s no harm in paying it a little attention. You should know that some things are ordained by Heaven itself.” Lang Jiuchuan said, “Take this Princess Zhao’an, for instance. We haven’t heard a word about her being here these past two days, and today we just happen to run into her leaving the temple. That’s a kind of karmic connection. Go on — be careful. That Yin energy is rather unusual.”

Jiangche had no choice but to drift after the procession, which had already begun to move.

Lang Jiuchuan took the long way around and arrived at the Scripture Repository Hall. She thought for a moment, then stepped inside.

Regarding this matter of the demonic entity, she wanted to see if there were any records of strange occurrences and unusual accounts. She approached the monk in charge of the scriptures and asked — and indeed, there were some collections of strange tales and unofficial records, though all gathered from among the common folk, of uncertain authenticity.

Lang Jiuchuan followed the direction he pointed and quickly found a volume titled Records of the Strange and Uncanny. Looking at the cover, the author had given himself the pen name: “Ask Not My Daoist Title.”

The corner of her mouth twitched. Ask Not My Daoist Title — was he too lazy to come up with a proper name, or just trying to be eccentric?

People have a natural curiosity for the strange and novel. With a name like that, it only made others more curious — practically begging them to see what nonsense he’d written inside.

Lang Jiuchuan was exactly that sort of curious reader.

She found a spot with good lighting and opened the volume. The very first page bore a rather blunt preface: “All written herein is the product of unbridled imagination and fanciful dreaming. It cannot withstand scrutiny. Believe it or not as you will. Do not claim any of it is my personal experience — and even if you do, I will deny it.”

Lang Jiuchuan flipped further in. It did speak of various ghostly affairs among the common people — but believable? Not necessarily. At the very least, it contained strange accounts of those who defied the heavens to alter their fate and subsequently suffered divine retribution. Hadn’t she encountered something exactly like that herself?

There were also accounts of demonic creatures — beings who had chanced upon extraordinary opportunities and transformed into demons. Of course, demons themselves ranged from good to evil. The author had not painted them all with the same brush; instead, he had written about the nature of humanity within them.

She flipped toward the back and suddenly stopped, her brow furrowing slightly as she tilted her head — perceiving through Jiangche’s consciousness the interior of Princess Zhao’an’s carriage.

Jiangche had slipped in stealthily through the gap in the carriage door, and the moment it entered, it was startled.

What met its eyes was a woman dressed in splendid palace robes, her belly enormously swollen, her cheeks sunken and her complexion pallid and wan. She lay propped against two plump, soft bolsters. Her frame was so slight that her belly seemed as large as a drum in comparison.

Beside the woman sat a man with delicate, androgynous features — this was Princess Zhao’an’s husband, Cong Bingling, the prince consort. He was lifting a cup of tea toward the princess’s lips.

Princess Zhao’an seemed to resist slightly, turning her head away just a little. Cong Bingling called out softly, “Your Highness…”

He had barely spoken when — whether he sensed something amiss or not — he glanced in Jiangche’s direction, a flicker of doubt crossing his face.

Jiangche’s spiritual consciousness went utterly still, feeling deeply unsettled.

Cong Bingling saw nothing and turned back to Princess Zhao’an. She parted her lips reluctantly and took a small sip — and the moment it went down, she nearly retched.

Cong Bingling set down the teacup and gently rubbed her back, drawing her into his arms. One hand rested lightly on her belly, soothing it with gentle strokes. His voice was soft as dripping water: “Soon now. Once the child is born, Your Highness will no longer have to suffer through this pregnancy. After this, we won’t have any more children — all right?”

Princess Zhao’an leaned against his chest, her body slightly rigid, trembling faintly. In her eyes was a glint of fear and dread, not a trace of the joy one would expect from a mother-to-be.

Jiangche stared fixedly at the two of them, overcome by a bone-deep sense of unease. It wanted desperately to flee this ornate carriage and began crying out to Lang Jiuchuan incessantly through their shared spiritual link.

There were clearly only two people before it — and yet why did the atmosphere feel so sinister and frightening, even more unsettling than when they had faced the malevolent god Honglian? It was as though something lurked in the shadows, watching it with hungry, predatory eyes.

“I cannot stay here any longer,” Jiangche said to Lang Jiuchuan.

Lang Jiuchuan’s brow knitted. “If you leave now, the disturbance will be even greater. That prince consort has an unnaturally sharp vigilance.”

And more importantly — the Yin energy was emanating from Princess Zhao’an’s belly. Something was wrong with the fetus.

Jiangche grew agitated.

A surge of malevolent energy leaked out — and immediately spooked the horse pulling the moving carriage. The vehicle jolted and shuddered.

In an instant, Cong Bingling was on high alert. His hand flipped over and produced a ritual banner. His voice dropped low and sharp: “What manner of demonic creature dares spy upon this place?”

The banner flared with golden light, and within its radiance, Jiangche’s spiritual consciousness was exposed. On instinct, it let out a fierce, resounding tiger’s roar.

Princess Zhao’an was so startled she screamed. Cong Bingling’s expression darkened. The banner swept toward Jiangche — and Jiangche instantly felt its spiritual consciousness go numb with searing pain. The golden light from the banner descended like a heavenly net, enveloping it completely.

This is bad. Capsized in a ditch — what kind of magical artifact is this, that it can act against spiritual consciousness?!

Was it, the great White Tiger King, really going to meet its end here?

Lang Jiuchuan’s expression went cold and sharp. Her hands flew through a rapid sequence of hand seals, and she pressed them against her own spiritual platform — activating the Heaven-Earth Covenant Seal. She wrenched Jiangche free just before it could be fully bound, hauling it back at the speed of light and pulling it into her spiritual platform with a swift swoosh.

Boom.

A tremendous impact crashed into her spiritual platform. Her soul shuddered with the blow, a sharp ache radiating through it. Lang Jiuchuan crumpled to the ground, her face drained of color.

Listen — go get your cervical spine checked by a doctor!