Lang Jiuchuan first removed Cong Bian’s spirit tablet. The birth year written on it was not recorded in detail — only the year was noted — but the death year was recorded in full.

“The dead are not given spirit tablets while still living. How meticulous,” she said mockingly.

A’Piao stood to one side, flipping through the Cong Family’s genealogy, and said in a low voice, “This genealogy isn’t recorded in detail either. That’s going to be a problem.”

Lang Jiuchuan was undaunted. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way. Even if we truly don’t know his Four Pillars and Eight Characters, that doesn’t mean we can’t kill him — we can invoke divine punishment.”

A’Piao was somewhat surprised. “Invoke divine punishment?”

“It follows the same principle as summoning heavenly fire. Everything he has done carries its own karmic consequences. Man may not know, but Heaven and Earth know. If retribution hasn’t come, it simply means the time hasn’t arrived yet. Without his Eight Characters in hand, the ritual implements and techniques we use cannot directly execute him — but we can petition the gods to bring divine punishment down upon him.” Lang Jiuchuan said, “The only thing is, petitioning the gods doesn’t guarantee they’ll respond immediately.”

This was something she had heard Wooden Fish mention during the past few days while she was recovering and meditating on the Dao — that Master Luole had once petitioned the gods to smite evil. She had also looked up the incantation for petitioning the gods, though that method carried considerable danger.

If a god descended into one’s body and the body could not bear it, it would collapse entirely.

A’Piao looked at her sideways. “You know a great deal. Tell me — just who were you in your past life, some reclusive great master? How is it that I know nothing of you at all? Could it be that you’re an old relic even older than this old ghost of mine?”

“Ahem — you’d best start showing proper respect to your elders from now on, little A’Piao!”

A’Piao: “……”

I walked right into that one and handed her my face to slap myself.

He shot her an annoyed glance, and while continuing to flip through the genealogy, said, “You suffered divine punishment not long ago. You’ve only rested a few days — do you truly intend to go after that jiangshi?”

“If it can be done, then it shall be done.” Lang Jiuchuan swept her gaze down along the spirit tablets and said, “Is there anything wrong with that?”

A’Piao said, “If you act, you’ll expose yourself to the public eye. Are you not afraid the Xuan Clan will set their sights on you? Especially the Rong Family — the mortal enemy of this body you inhabit. Once they see your true capabilities, they’ll spare no effort to kill you, lest you become a future threat.”

Lang Jiuchuan said, “Haven’t I taken shelter under the Gong Family’s great tree? If I stir up discord between several of the other clans and the Gong Family — sowing division between them — it will be much easier to deal with the Xuan Clan afterward.”

Dismantle an alliance by dividing and conquering, breaking them one by one. Perfect!

“You couldn’t be a demoness reborn, could you.” Stirring up discord between factions — how vicious.

Lang Jiuchuan glanced at him with pointed meaning. “The Gong Family isn’t much of a backer anyway. Don’t I have Tongtian Pavilion watching over me?”

A’Piao’s hand paused mid-page-turn. He looked over, his ghost eyes flushing red, and forced out a single sentence: “We are not close.”

Lang Jiuchuan gave a short laugh. Her gaze settled on one of the spirit tablets and she said, “Fighting monsters doesn’t necessarily require showing one’s true face. I can wear a mask.”

She moved around to the left side of the shelf and retrieved a tablet from the sixth row. Written on it was: Cong Sanlang, born in the year of Guihai, on the day of Guihai, died in the year of Wuzi.

The year of death was not written in full, but the difference in years amounted to twenty-five — the same age as that jiangshi.

But that wasn’t the most important thing. The real significance was that this spirit tablet contained something hidden within.

Lang Jiuchuan picked up another spirit tablet and compared the two, her eyes narrowing slightly.

A’Piao noticed she wasn’t moving and walked over. “Found something?”

Lang Jiuchuan shook Cong Sanlang’s tablet and said, “It’s heavier than the others.”

She turned it over — no seams were visible. She thought for a moment, then raised one hand and formed a seal, running two fingers across the surface of the tablet in a single swift stroke. The tablet split in two, revealing a small black wooden plaque hidden inside.

She and A’Piao exchanged a glance. It was actually there.

She pried open the outer casing, exposing the hidden secret within entirely — but before she could retrieve the contents, a black worm, thin as a hemp thread, shot toward her with lightning speed.

“Watch out!” A’Piao’s face went white with alarm.

The worm moved with terrifying swiftness, hurtling straight toward Lang Jiuchuan — boring directly for her nostril.

Lang Jiuchuan was no slower. She immediately sealed her breath, closed off all five senses, and with blinding speed barely caught the tail end of the thread-worm, yanking it out by force.

The thread-worm, torn free, spun like a boomerang and twisted its head back to bite her hand.

Lang Jiuchuan’s intent moved. She channeled the energy of the Dao into protective steel-hard qi around her hand. The moment the thread-worm touched it, it convulsed and contorted.

Shiiiiiiiii—!

A piercing shriek, sharp as a steel nail dragged across a blade, split the air — a sound that made one’s eardrums ache and sent the soul reeling in pain.

“Ten thousand gods and saints, protect my true spirit.” Lang Jiuchuan spoke in a low, steady voice, two fingers held like a sword as she struck down at the thread-worm: “Five Heavenly Demons, let body and form be annihilated — Edict!“

Her steel qi condensed into a fire-sword tempered with thunder-fire, and swept down in a horizontal slash.

Hiss, hiss.

A section of the thread-worm fell to the ground, writhing as it tried to flee. Lang Jiuchuan drove another thunder-fire talisman strike downward. With a sizzling crack, fire erupted, and a scorched, rotting stench spread through the air — nauseating.

Meanwhile, the other half of the thread-worm was still thrashing and writhing in Lang Jiuchuan’s hand, emitting its wretched shrieking cry. She fixed her gaze on it and saw the creature’s head — no larger than a needle’s eye, yet shaped in a triangle, even flicking out a tiny tongue — radiating a deep, venomous malice.

It was not a worm. It was a shadow-thread serpent.

Lang Jiuchuan’s intent moved again. A flame kindled in her palm, and she burned the shrieking half of the shadow-thread serpent within it.

A’Piao stepped back two paces, eyeing the fire in her hand with some wariness.

Pure and fierce steel-righteous qi — such blazing flames were deeply unfriendly to anything of ghost and evil. Even though he and Lang Jiuchuan were allies of a sort, he was still a creature of the ghost realm, and he dared not face those flames head-on.

The shadow-thread serpent turned to ash. Throughout the ancestral hall, an indescribable stench of rot and decay spread in all directions.

Ugh.

Lang Jiuchuan gagged — she truly couldn’t hold it back — and once again invoked the Purification of Filth seal, dispersing the foul odor throughout. She didn’t forget to cast one on herself as well, given that she had just been holding that shadow-thread serpent while incinerating it.

Beyond that, she also used the Dispel Yin Malevolence seal, for the shadow-thread serpent had entered her nostril, and she had very nearly suffered a terrible fate.

“What was that creature?” A’Piao asked, his face still pale with lingering dread.

Lang Jiuchuan, her complexion still wan, replied, “A shadow-thread serpent. Its form resembles a fine thread, difficult to track. It feeds by drawing out the fluid and yin energy of corpses. Once it enters a living body, it bores into the bone marrow — extraordinarily difficult to expel. It then feeds on the body’s vital essence and blood, draining the person dry until they die, after which it exits and seeks a new host.”

A’Piao’s expression shifted once more. “It entered your nostril just now.”

If she had been a fraction of a second slower, wouldn’t it have entered her body?

“A fright with no harm done.” Lang Jiuchuan maintained a composed exterior, as though nothing had happened — though inwardly she formed another seal and ran her fingers along her nose, dispelling the unspeakable residue and yin malevolence.

A’Piao thought to himself: Was that truly a fright with no harm done? That was closer to a razor’s edge. And — do you think I can’t tell you’re forcing yourself to act calm?

Lang Jiuchuan subtly avoided A’Piao’s odd gaze and looked toward the pried-open spirit tablet. “This tablet had such a lethal yin creature hidden within to catch intruders unawares. The level of caution and deliberateness involved — what’s hidden inside must be exactly what we’re looking for.”

She pushed aside the wooden casing of the tablet and picked up the inner plaque. It was a pure black spirit-tablet carved from century-old yin wood, no larger than a palm, the inscriptions engraved in red lacquer mixed with gold. On its face were carved the words Spirit Seat of Cong Gui, flanked on either side by birth and death years.

“Cong Gui.” Lang Jiuchuan spoke the name softly, her fingertip lightly touching the characters. “So you are the jiangshi, are you?”

Truly, what you seek comes without effort.