Cause and effect are not empty words. Retribution, unfailing.

This saying applied with perfect precision to Cong Bian. He had schemed for a hundred years toward a single goal. Through all that time, he had scraped and survived like a rat lurking in the gutters, hiding in shadow. To extend his life, he had not only stolen the life spans of his own descendants — he had also cultivated the most extreme and malevolent arts, refining his divine soul, all so that when the fruit of his labors finally ripened, he could seize it in a single decisive move.

He had kept himself hidden with extraordinary care, and he had made all his preparations. He had even seen the light of his ambition drawing close. As long as he could borrow that body of pure yin and be reborn through it, he would live forever, outside the cycle of reincarnation. To cultivate the Dao — wasn’t it all in pursuit of living like an immortal?

Less than two days remained before the fruit was ripe. And then — this.

Who? Who had ruined his plans?

Cong Bian felt the stolen karmic fortune receding from him like a tide, replaced by its backlash, which transformed into blazing crimson lava, sweeping toward him from all directions, boring into his limbs and bones, then surging inward along his meridians.

The lava raged like a fire dragon roaring through him — wherever it passed, meridians shattered and broke. When it reached the seat of the spirit, it suddenly twisted and churned, opening its great maw to devour the divine soul.

The fire dragon’s roar seemed to carry a voice from the farthest heavens: “Those who dare steal the energy of the dragon vein shall in the end be consumed by the backlash of the ground-marrow.”

Cong Bian screamed in agony.

The karmic energy of the dragon vein was also the nation’s karmic fortune. To dare steal it — once the backlash came, it was like rousing a slumbering earth dragon from its sleep. And a dragon has its reverse scale — touch it, and you die.

Pain engulfed and drowned Cong Bian utterly. The robes on his body had already been torn apart. His skin cracked like parched earth, splitting open inch by inch, blood seeping through. His bones let out sounds like snapping kindling. His physical body could no longer bear the strain.

The physical body was always something to be discarded eventually — but what truly alarmed Cong Bian was the state of his soul. His divine soul was taking damage. If the ground-marrow fully devoured it, there would be nothing left of him at all.

He made his decision in an instant.

Amid the tremendous agony, Cong Bian struck his own chest with a reverse palm-blow, shattering his heart, and tore himself free of his physical body.

But retribution, when it comes, does not only consume the body. What matters most is the soul.

The moment Cong Bian’s soul emerged, it found no footing anywhere, and only felt the divine soul being scorched by roaring flames from all sides. He had no choice but to mobilize the full power of his life’s cultivation, wrapping it around his divine soul like a protective shell, sealing it within.

His cultivation was retreating step by step. Amidst the shock and fury, Cong Bian dared not allow his focus to waver even for a moment.

While Cong Bian suffered in torment, the very person who had engineered his ruin — Lang Jiuchuan — was quietly rejoicing.

Watching the clay statue and stone-carved spirit-prayer tablet reduced to dust by the backlash energy, seeing the entire earth-god shrine swallowed in lightning and violet mist until it could no longer be discerned, she inwardly sighed and took it as a warning to herself. To covet the nation’s karmic fortune will always bring retribution. Even in pursuit of great ambitions, one must never reach for such things. Once one stretches out that hand, karmic backlash will follow without fail.

The sun sank low toward dusk.

The thunder ceased. The clouds dispersed.

The whirling storm of sand and stone stilled at last, and gradually, all was calm.

When she looked before her again, the earth-god shrine had already been reduced to dust together with its clay statue. A gust of wind swept through, carrying the powder across the open field.

A’Piao let out a short exhale, then looked over at Lang Jiuchuan. He saw her grinning, and felt a jolt. “You’re still smiling — do you want to take a look in a mirror? Your face right now — is your divine soul in pain?”

He shouldn’t have said it — because the moment he did, her frame listed sideways, and she sat down hard on the ground. Her hands and feet felt hollow and weightless, like noodles gone completely soft, and a piercing ache ran through her soul as though pricked by needles.

Laying this formation had also consumed the practitioner’s cultivation and spiritual power. She had barely recovered from a serious ordeal not many days ago, and had now spent her mental and spiritual energy again — it was naturally a heavy drain.

A’Piao sighed, drifted over, and produced another violet-gold elixir pill, holding it out to her. “This one counts toward what you owe me.”

Lang Jiuchuan’s gaze glimmered briefly. She took the pill and swallowed it, formed seals with both hands to regulate her breath, and directed the pill’s medicinal energy through her meridians in a small circulation cycle. Only after completing that did she feel her strength flowing back.

A’Piao crouched beside her, staring blankly at the now-empty patch of ground where the earth-god shrine had stood. “Cong Bian — is he dead?”

Lang Jiuchuan drew out her divination coins, cast a small calculation based on the birth date and Eight Characters, and said, “His mortal fate has run out.”

“Is this the power of the dragon vein ground-marrow backlash?” A’Piao shuddered.

Lang Jiuchuan said, “The dragon vein is the karmic fortune of the nation. That fortune sustains the nation’s destiny — naturally its power is immense. Those who steal and siphon from it will face a proportionally immense backlash. All the more so given that he dared to pose as a false god, deceiving Heaven and concealing Earth.”

She paused, then added, “In truth, even he had his reservations. He only dared steal a small thread of that energy as protection — he hadn’t gone so far as to use it to harm the common people, cause chaos, or bring suffering to the masses. Otherwise, his soul would have been wholly devoured without remainder.”

As she spoke, she pressed her hand against the ground, as though she could feel the earth dragon’s wrathful and unwilling roar still reverberating beneath the surface.

A’Piao’s eyes went wide. “His fate has run out, yet his soul is still intact?”

Lang Jiuchuan looked at the divination reading. “Before the backlash could consume the last embers of his soul, he found a way to use his remaining cultivation as a shield around it. He’s now searching for a new physical body to possess — like a ghost taking over a host or attaching itself to a living person. In other words, his allotted fortune is not yet fully spent.”

“A centipede dies but never truly stiffens — this really is never-ending,” A’Piao muttered darkly.

“Cultivators who reach a certain level — even when the physical body is destroyed, preserving the primordial spirit can still provide a path to survival. In the way of the Dao, this isn’t unheard of.” Lang Jiuchuan said evenly. “But even if he manages to preserve his soul intact, he is nothing like what he was before. This backlash may not have shattered his soul entirely, but it will have thinned his power considerably.”

A’Piao still felt unsatisfied. “That’s still getting off far too lightly.”

“Which is why we must strike while he is ill and take his life.” Lang Jiuchuan looked at the hundred-family blessing garment. “Before he can find a body to inhabit, I need to summon and bind his soul first.”

A’Piao was taken aback. He followed her gaze, made several attempts to say something, and finally managed: “How does your mind work? This isn’t thinking one step ahead, or even ten steps ahead — you’d already charted a hundred steps from the start.”

“To Huguo Temple, immediately.” Lang Jiuchuan climbed onto his back and gave his shoulder a pat. “I just spent my spiritual energy — as a precaution, I need to find help.”

A’Piao: “……”

I would like to say — I have tolerated you for a very long time. I am not your personal beast of burden!

“Move quickly. Do you still want the merit or not? A good ghost doesn’t quit halfway through.” Lang Jiuchuan urged him on.

A’Piao: I’m still tolerating her!

They vanished from the spot.

Not long after, an ox-cart came trundling slowly down the road. On it rode a young couple. The man driving the ox turned to the woman behind him and said, “When we reach the earth-god shrine, let’s pay our proper respects to the earth-god. It’ll bless our home with peace and safety, and bless you with a safe delivery.”

The woman — bundled in a thick padded jacket, her head wrapped in a floral cloth kerchief — furrowed her brow. “Let’s just go home instead. I don’t know why, but every time I look at that earth-god, my heart goes cold with dread, and I have nightmares afterward.”

“Nonsense — that’s the earth-god deity. Everyone pays their respects there.” The man laughed and urged the ox to pick up its pace. But when they arrived at the spot where the earth-god shrine had always stood, he was briefly dumbstruck.

Where was the shrine?

He looked all around. The location was right — there was the big elm tree he had once relieved himself behind. But where was the shrine?

Another gust of wind swept past, carrying a layer of fine clay dust that covered them from head to toe. Both of them broke into coughing fits.

“What in the world — where did the earth-god shrine go?” the man muttered under his breath, then was herded along by his wife.

The woman sat on the ox-cart, looking back from a distance at the spot where the shrine had once stood. She rested a hand on her swollen belly, and for reasons she couldn’t explain, felt a quiet sense of relief settle over her heart.