After the Lantern Festival, a great event that shook the world occurred in Wu Jing — the Cong Family, who had served in the Imperial Astronomical Bureau for a century, had exploited their authority and their ability to read the stars and divine omens to destabilize the foundations of the nation in service of cultivating dark and malevolent creatures. They had secretly harmed hundreds of innocent commoners and cruelly killed an imperial princess. Their crimes were too numerous to record on paper; heaven and earth would not tolerate them, and their entire nine clans were to be exterminated.

On the twentieth day of the first month, over a hundred members of the Cong Family were publicly beheaded as a warning to others — to settle the spirits of the dead and comfort the living. Blood stained the green stone paving tiles, and the stench of blood lingered long without dispersing. On the day the Cong Family members were beheaded, countless commoners came to watch. When the blades fell, the sky, which had been clear, suddenly released heavy snowflakes — as though the souls of the wronged had transformed into snow to voice their grievances.

That snowfall lasted a full day and became the hottest topic of conversation in every teahouse and tavern in the capital. Every wine shop and tea house began composing stories and performing them aloud, stirring unease among the populace. If those who had studied the Way used their abilities to act without restraint, practicing evil arts — how were ordinary commoners, even powerful noble families, to protect themselves?

In response, Shen Qinghe, the Chief Justice of the Court of Judicial Review, submitted a memorial at the morning court, earnestly requesting that the Emperor establish a Surveillance Bureau to regulate the Xuan Clan and Buddhist and Daoist practitioners alike. Should any monk or Daoist practice dark and wicked arts, or use their authority to oppress commoners, they were to be stripped of their powers and executed, so as to ease the hearts of the people.

Once Shen Qinghe’s memorial was submitted, it drew an enormous response. Some sighed that he truly lived up to his reputation as Shen the Incorruptible, daring to place a shackle around the Xuan Clan — this was clearly a direct confrontation with them, and he wasn’t afraid they might send him down to the underworld with a single technique to keep the Cong Family company.

Although privately people laughed that Shen Qinghe was a reckless bird sticking its neck out, his proposal gained the support of the vast majority of civil and military officials. After all, the Xuan Clan had long lorded over them — if things continued this way, they would keep grinding away at state affairs while all the glory went exclusively to the Xuan Clan. What was the point?

The reason they were called the Xuan Clan was that they were a clan that cultivated the mystic arts. Since they were practitioners of the Way, they ought to conduct themselves properly and seek immortality — not use their mystic abilities to stand above the nobility and even above imperial authority. Otherwise, in this nation of Da Dan, who would still exhaust themselves worrying about the country and working toward the welfare of the people?

Take the Cong Family’s sinister scheme — they had harmed so many people right under the noses of the Xuan Clan, and yet the Xuan Clan had not detected their conspiracy at all. Was that not a dereliction of duty?

The common people were willing to revere the Xuan Clan as a matter of faith, yet they had not been protected by them. That faith was like a tall building whose foundations had begun to destabilize — it was starting to crumble.

Shen Qinghe petitioned the throne to establish a Surveillance Bureau: first, to monitor whether monks and Daoists were practicing demonic and wicked arts; and second, so that in the future, similar cases could be referred to the Bureau’s jurisdiction — for after all, ordinary officials, even those of the Ministry of Justice, had no capability to deal with demonic forces, and one had to rely on those who knew such matters.

Of course, this Surveillance Bureau had to be independent, subject neither to the court nor to the Xuan Clan. Therefore, those serving within it had to be upright, and both sides would need to dispatch personnel, serving as a mutual check on each other.

And so Shen Qinghe’s proposal gained considerable support, especially from the nobility — it was finally time for them to be masters of their own affairs.

But there were also those who were skeptical. After all, members of the imperial family also studied the mystic arts. Though the Tantai bloodline had produced few with pure Dao-roots in the past twenty or thirty years, there were still those with some lineage, and they were imperial family members at that — would Shen Qinghe’s shackle not be clasped around their wrists too?

The memorial was set aside for the time being, and the Emperor did not immediately issue a response, leaving the hearts of many in a state of anxious uncertainty.

Naturally, this news spread to the various major Xuan Clan factions as well. Most reacted with fury and contempt, secretly plotting to show that reckless Shen Qinghe what the seventy-two transformations of mystic arts could do to someone looking for death. But before they could act, they received another piece of news.

That insufferable Shen Qinghe had publicly let it be known that if he were to suddenly die, and die in an inexplicable manner, it would certainly be because he had been “disposed of” on account of this very proposal.

Well played — now who would dare move against him? If anything happened to him, would people not immediately assume the Xuan Clan was responsible?

The Xuan Clan, which had already lost considerable credibility due to the Cong Family’s corpse-zombie affair, suddenly felt a hand gripping their throat, and dared not act rashly.

When Lang Jiuchuan emerged from her seclusion and learned of this news, several days had already passed since the Cong Family’s execution. She received a message delivered by Zhuang Quanhai’s son and learned the details from A’Piao.

A’Piao sighed: “Someone willing to stand directly against the Xuan Clan — this Shen Qinghe can truly be called the first of his kind.”

“He’s someone who grew a backbone of righteousness and integrity.” Though that backbone had already been given to her, the man’s blood still ran hot.

A’Piao passed over the items retrieved from the Cong Family’s ancestral hall, saying: “As you instructed, I brought the ghosts and searched the place inside and out — only these were hidden at the bottom of the incense cauldron. I never would have imagined that Cong Bian’s master was actually the demonic practitioner Kong Jin. No wonder he was so unhinged.”

Lang Jiuchuan had received word from Cong Gui and had given A’Piao a paper effigy to go retrieve the items from the Cong Family’s ancestral hall.

“How did this Kong Jin come to walk the demonic path?”

“He was originally of the righteous path — it seems he fell into darkness out of fury after being betrayed by his own sect.” A’Piao frowned: “I don’t know if a demonic scripture truly exists, but if it does, there are probably still many more ‘Cong Bians’ hiding out there.”

Lang Jiuchuan flipped through the manuals, reading the techniques Cong Bian had recorded, and her brow furrowed slightly: “The techniques of his lineage all tend toward unorthodox, treacherous methods. If cultivated well, they are effective — but they easily lead one to succumb to inner demons.”

A’Piao said: “I’m a layman in this area; I don’t understand.”

“If techniques like these were to spread, they would cause upheaval as well. There will always be those who seek shortcuts, taking unorthodox and treacherous paths in pursuit of greater power.”

“Harmful?”

“Naturally. Look at this — advancement is aided by medicinal pills, and the herbs required for those pills inflict harm upon the natural order in their preparation. Use them, and karmic consequences will surely follow.” Lang Jiuchuan pointed at one of the techniques: “Advancing through pills, with no solid foundation beneath you — no matter how high you build a tower on such a base, it will easily collapse.”

She quickly flipped through the rest, snapped the manual shut, glanced at the remaining items, then handed everything back.

“None of this is anything good. Destroy it all.”

A’Piao raised an eyebrow: “I thought you might take an interest in one or two of the techniques or talisman scriptures — after all, you said yourself that when cultivated properly, the power they yield is useful.”

“No need. I find them filthy.” Lang Jiuchuan’s expression showed undisguised contempt. She dropped the subject and turned instead to speaking of Rong Family’s Fourth Madam, Xi Yun: “Gong Qi was able to identify her, so there should be no mistake. She is also the mother of the Rong Family’s young lord — with such an esteemed identity, she should have no groundless reason to come after me, a military official’s daughter. So rather than investigating who that woman is, investigate everything about this Xi Yun, and about the Rong Family’s young lord as well. It may be that it was because of her that this body of mine was subjected to murderous abuse.”

Just as A’Piao was about to say something, Lang Jiuchuan slid over a case of soul incense: “There is payment, of course — I won’t have you working for nothing. This batch is of even better quality.”

A’Piao opened the case; his ghost eyes turned crimson with desire. The scent was exquisite.

With a snap, he closed it shut and gave a light, haughty sniff: “These are still made from the fine medicinal herbs our Pavilion supplies.”

“Yes, yes, indeed.” Lang Jiuchuan’s eyes gleamed brightly: “In that case, may I ask — has your Pavilion Master come out of seclusion today?”

A’Piao: “!”

So that was what she had been waiting for all along — coveting his Pavilion Master’s looks!