Whether father killing son or son slaying father — both were cases of monstrous inhumanity. And this was worse still: the act of killing in order to refine a child into a malevolent corpse spirit.

“Are you certain?” Lang Jiuchuan’s gaze was heavy.

If this was truly what had happened, then to say the corpse fiend harbored no malice and no grievance would be a lie. What resentment could be deeper than having one’s own father be the one to take your life?

That old ancestor of the Cong Family — he really was a man who had plunged headlong into madness!

A’Piao nodded: “The Cong Family’s old patriarch is already a man who cannot recognize people and has one foot in the ghost realm. Entering his dreams to cast the nightmare spell is somewhat easier, and though it was buried extremely deep, it is undeniably there.”

The nightmare art forces the dreamer to lose the boundary between reality and dream. Casting it requires spiritual energy — and A’Piao, as a dead ghost entering dreams to perform the spell, made it sound simple, but it was anything but. No wonder his soul was so depleted.

Lang Jiuchuan watched the spirit incense burn down and lit another stick. She gave him a cupped-hand bow: “You’ve worked hard.”

A’Piao was just about to say she had good taste — but the moment she spoke those words, a chill ran through him from head to toe, every hair standing on end. He said: “You’re better off acting like your usual shameless self. When you’re all formal like this, it gives this old ghost a fright.”

Lang Jiuchuan gave a small smile and asked: “Do you know that person’s birth date and the eight characters of their birth?”

A’Piao shook his head: “I only know of his existence. Details as specific as a birth date and eight characters — those weren’t something I could extract from that old man’s nightmare. And since he was never entered into the clan register, and the old ancestor clearly planned this out with great care and waited many years to do it, I fear…”

Lang Jiuchuan showed no sign of disappointment. She pondered for a moment and said: “Not necessarily. They are all members and descendants of the Cong Family. Even if he is a malevolent corpse spirit, having incense offerings is all benefit and no harm.”

“You mean they have a memorial tablet for him?”

Lang Jiuchuan nodded: “If there is an offering, it means that person exists — not an ownerless wandering soul. The incense flame can keep a spirit stable and well-grounded.”

A’Piao froze. A look of faint desolation crossed his face.

He was precisely the kind of ownerless wandering soul she spoke of — he did not know his own name or surname, with no one to offer incense for him. For many years he had drifted and wandered, until the young miss saved him and he became her ghost retainer, no longer needing to compete with other nameless wandering spirits for the incense offerings left by the roadside. Later he had even been able to move in the mortal world through a paper body.

If he had not encountered the young miss — where would he be now? Still a nameless wandering soul? No — perhaps he would have faded away entirely, vanished from the world.

Lang Jiuchuan noticed the blank, bittersweet look on his face. She thought for a moment, then reached out two fingers and quietly pushed the lotus-shaped incense holder with the burning spirit incense toward him.

The steady thread of spirit smoke curled into his soul — soothing his spirit, and the low mood that had settled over him.

This little girl really was…

A’Piao felt a tingling warmth in his heart, but he arranged his face into his usual carefree expression and picked up from where she had left off: “You’re right. Before all this, the old ancestor spent most of his time hiding inside that shrine — he may well have stashed a memorial tablet there. Oh, and Shen Qinghe and Gong Qi are over there investigating right now.”

He described the surrounding of the two households and how overbearingly Gong Qi had handled things, then continued: “In addition, the Xuan Clan has issued their Black Xuan Order. They seem to have divined a general direction for where the corpse fiend is located, though they have not yet pinpointed the exact spot. The Black Xuan Order, in general terms, means that a great demonic evil has arisen in the world — it is a summons for both the Buddhist and Daoist paths to unite in driving it out. It is not restricted to Xuan Clan members alone; any person of discernment may participate.”

“What is the general direction?”

“Southwest — following the canal downstream, to where two mountains stand cut like curved blades, its trail can be found.” A’Piao watched her eyes light up and hurriedly added: “Ancestor — don’t you dare be thinking of doing another divination. No more courting death. It drains your spirit, it costs your energy, and you are not one of those yin-yang individuals who lives forever without dying. Cling to your own little life.”

“I know.” Lang Jiuchuan said: “Since you say the corpse fiend is indeed the old ancestor’s biological son, we need to find its birth date and eight characters as quickly as possible.”

A’Piao found this somewhat puzzling: “Why are you so fixated on finding its birth date and eight characters?”

“It is a corpse fiend — and a fully mature one at that, not an easy thing to deal with like some ordinary lesser fiend. To eliminate it completely, one must combine the individual’s birth date and name to draw a demon-slaying spirit talisman and call down celestial fire to burn both its body and its soul — only then can everything be resolved cleanly.” Lang Jiuchuan said: “When the physical body dies but the soul persists, there is still the possibility of returning from death. Look at me.”

A’Piao’s mouth twitched: “What kind of person uses themselves as an example like that? Aren’t you worried about bringing bad luck?”

Lang Jiuchuan was unbothered.

What she did not say aloud was that her Panguan talisman brush would also set the life-and-death ledger completely to rights — erasing the existence of that entity from the record altogether. Dust to dust, earth to earth.

“And if things don’t go according to plan and the birth date and eight characters cannot be found?”

Lang Jiuchuan licked her lips and said: “Then we’d have no choice but to borrow a flame from an old adversary.”

A’Piao: “?”

Borrow a flame — borrow what flame? Could celestial fire actually be borrowed?

Lang Jiuchuan smiled — a smile that sent a chill down the spine: “Do you know of a fire that can burn away all sin and transgression? That raging blaze, like a lotus — bearing karmic energy of the purest yang and most scorching intensity.”

That blazing crimson sea of soul-devouring fire — she had once waded through it herself, and only through that had she been purified and reborn.

A’Piao stared at her unnerving smile and hastily inhaled several breaths of spirit incense. Cold to the marrow. Terrified.

“You said Gong Qi and the others are over at the Cong Family investigating evidence? Let’s go have a look.” Lang Jiuchuan rose to her feet.

A’Piao: “……”

At that moment, Gong Qi and Shen Qinghe had entered the hidden room through the concealed passage in the ancestral shrine. Both of them frowned. It was completely bare — if not for the lingering yin energy in this space, he would have thought it was just an ordinary hidden room.

With nothing but a bare room like this, there was nothing to find. Hidden rooms and secret passages like this — Wu Jing probably had ten or more of them scattered across the city. It all depended on where they led.

Gong Qi’s eyes landed on the meditation cushion on the floor. Moved by some inexplicable impulse, he walked over and sat down cross-legged, closing his eyes slightly, his hands forming a seal.

Shen Qinghe glanced at him and stepped aside, his sharp eyes scanning the hidden room — tapping here, knocking there, finding nothing of note.

The Cong Family had laid everything out very carefully.

If nothing could be found, this case would be very difficult to close.

Just thinking about writing the closing report gave him a headache.

The hidden room was silent enough that a falling needle could have been heard.

Then came the sound of gasping breath. Shen Qinghe looked over and saw that Gong Qi was drenched in sweat, his face ashen, his whole body trembling — as though he had been caught in a demonic snare. Shen Qinghe moved quickly toward him.

“Do not touch him.”

A familiar voice suddenly rang out from behind him.

Shen Qinghe’s heart leapt with relief. He turned around and indeed saw Lang Jiuchuan standing behind him: “Ninth Miss, how did you come to be here?”

“I heard about the matter with the Cong Family and came to see what I could find.” Lang Jiuchuan crossed quickly to Gong Qi, crouched down before him, and saw the anguish on his face. She reached down to the Dizhong bell at his waist and set her intention into motion.

Dong.

A deep, resonant bell tone rang out like an echo crossing a thousand years, surging into Gong Qi’s mind and striking his spirit with a jolt. He emerged from the bloodstained and darkened vision within — his eyelids fluttered, and he opened his eyes.

Before him was a pale, cold little face. Gong Qi opened his mouth — and tears rolled down first. His voice came out low and hoarse: “I saw it. The moment that person died — he was killed by his own father.”