Lang Jiuchuan had suddenly collapsed to the ground, and the sight so frightened Gong Qi that he came running over as fast as he could. One look at her — blood from all seven orifices, face white as snow, breath barely a thread — and his legs very nearly gave out beneath him.

With trembling hands, he fished a porcelain bottle from his robes, tipped out two medicinal pills and pressed them into her mouth, all while reciting the Soul-Pacifying Scripture under his breath.

Inside the small pagoda, Jiangche was frantic with worry, yet bound by Lang Jiuchuan’s earlier instruction not to move carelessly, for fear of disturbing the talisman formations inside the pagoda and making the situation impossible to salvage.

It could only peek at what Gong Qi was doing and listen to him recite the scripture. With a long exhale, it reflected to itself that Eight Trigrams City was simply poisonous to them all. The two of them and one ghost had come here, and trouble had found each of them in turn.

First there was Gong Qi, who had felt the suffering so deeply that he had nearly triggered his demon poison again — it was Lang Jiuchuan who recited the scripture to calm his soul.

Then there was Fuqi, who had been so thoroughly suppressed by the pillar monument that his soul had grown faint and diffuse, on the verge of scattering — requiring Lang Jiuchuan to rescue him and shelter him within the Small Nine Pagoda to recover.

And now it was Lang Jiuchuan herself — heaven only knew what she had seen — and her residual soul had been struck like thunder, leaving her collapsed and insensible, blood flowing from all seven orifices. Now it was Gong Qi’s turn to guard and tend to her.

Like a snake devouring its own tail — there was no escaping the cycle.

Truly, they had been caught off guard at every turn.

Little by little, Jiangche was committing every talisman engraving inside the pagoda to memory. Lang Jiu had said that these were no ordinary soul-suppressing talismans — they were the Nine Heavens Soul-Subduing Spiritual Talismans. Their power was far beyond ordinary, belonging to the category of divine talismans. Reproducing them required enormous spiritual power.

Lang Jiuchuan’s soul throbbed with agonizing pain, ringing and reverbrating as though struck by a great hammer — preventing thought, disallowing recovery.

All she could do was empty her mind, letting the pain and swelling recede, and silently recite the Daoist heart mantra, steadying her soul-essence.

After some time, she finally opened her eyes. The blood-reddened whites of those eyes gave Gong Qi such a fright that his face went greenish-white, and he reached for his handkerchief with shaking hands.

Lang Jiuchuan braced herself against the ground and sat up. Gong Qi hurried to support her — and the moment she moved, blood welled up from her nose in a steady stream that wouldn’t stop, soaking her robes.

Gong Qi let out a startled cry.

“Don’t howl. I’m not dying.” Lang Jiuchuan wiped the nosebleed away with her sleeve. She could feel her qi and blood in violent turmoil. She took out her medicine bottle from her pouch, downed half the bottle in one go, then settled her legs into a crossed position to regulate her breath.

Gong Qi didn’t dare disturb her, and could only stand watch at her side.

At that moment, someone walked up and looked the two of them over. “Who are you two? What are you doing here? Oh my — what’s happened to this young lady? You’d better not be about to have a fatality on your hands. You there, why aren’t you carrying her into the city to find a physician?”

A face full of blood, clothes stained with it too — and most striking of all, that face, white as a ghost. It was quite the horrifying sight.

Gong Qi stood beside Lang Jiuchuan, his expression dark. “My little sister sustained an internal injury from her cultivation practice. She just needs to regulate her breathing for a moment.”

“Ah, cultivation deviation then.”

Gong Qi’s expression grew even darker. You’re the one in cultivation deviation. Your whole family is in cultivation deviation.

“Unlucky omen. Be on your way and mind your own business.” To prevent Lang Jiuchuan from being disturbed, he put on the air of someone utterly insufferable — lofty, imperious, and not to be trifled with.

The man was just an ordinary farmer. Seeing Gong Qi’s manner shift so abruptly, and noting that his clothing was clearly no common material, he didn’t dare say another word and turned to leave, though a few scattered grumbles drifted back on the wind.

Gong Qi paid them no mind. His attention was on Lang Jiuchuan’s condition. He looked once more at the pillar monument, tracing the engravings stroke by stroke in his mind. He could already make out that two of them were soul-subduing talismans.

Soul-subduing talismans were most often used to suppress and contain ghostly spirits. But carved into a monument to heroic martyrs — was the intent to intimidate wandering wrongful spirits that might pass by? Or was it specifically to suppress the Fu Family soldiers?

If it truly was meant for the Fu Family soldiers — they were not the kind of malevolent ghosts that would harm people. Why suppress them?

Was it also because of this pillar monument that they were unable to pass on to the afterlife?

Gong Qi stared at the three characters Monument to the Heroic Martyrs, finding them unbearable to look at. Just what were they trying to do?

He felt as though he had stepped into a fog, unable to make out the truth.

Lang Jiuchuan completed one small circulation of her breath regulation and opened her eyes. She pressed a hand against her chest, feeling her mind settle back into calm, and finally exhaled a long breath.

When her soul had felt like it was being blasted apart earlier, she had also felt her heart within her chest threatening to burst along with it. She had been forced to make herself slow down by sheer will.

As for those Nine Heavens Soul-Subduing Spiritual Talismans — she didn’t dare let herself think too carefully about the images that had surfaced in her mind, for fear that this residual soul couldn’t bear it.

But one thing was certain: the backlash she had suffered just now had been triggered by those images — like an obsession, like a heart’s demon, pressing down on her with the force of a festering grievance.

Those images must be intimately connected to her previous life.

Don’t rush. Don’t be hasty.

Lang Jiuchuan silently recited another soul-steadying incantation to herself, anchoring her soul-essence firmly within this body.

“Are you all right?” Gong Qi noticed her stirring and immediately leaned over, reaching out to help her up.

“I’m fine.” Lang Jiuchuan reached back compliantly.

One pull — and a click.

Gong Qi stared at her wrist, dangling limply, his face cycling between white and red, his eyes round as saucers.

What on earth had she seen, that her soul had taken damage — and her body had become this fragile along with it?

Lang Jiuchuan also looked at her own wrist. She had forgotten — the tendons in this hand still hadn’t been reconnected. With all the composure in the world, she steadied that limp hand and reset the wrist bone back into place.

Another click.

“Done!”

Gong Qi watched with his mouth twitching at the corner. “…”

I thought she was a fragile, delicate little flower in need of protection. Look at her reconnecting her own hand without so much as blinking. What flower? She’s clearly an iron-plated, indestructible wolf of steel.

Lang Jiuchuan, her face still streaked with blood, cast a Filth-Cleansing Incantation over herself and was clean again — only that face of hers remained a washed-out, deathly pale.

“I think we can call ourselves fellow sufferers now,” Gong Qi said with a sigh.

Lang Jiuchuan had no patience for pleasantries. “What did you make of it?”

Gong Qi’s expression turned serious. “The pillar has soul-subduing talismans carved into it. And look here — are these the formation engravings of the Ten-Thousand-Year Burial Mound?”

“The Ten-Thousand-Year Burial Mound?”

“Yes, also called the Heaven-Deceiving Chaos Formation. The markings look somewhat similar — but can an entire formation be carved onto a single pillar?”

Lang Jiuchuan followed the direction of his pointing finger and reached out to touch the surface, sensing traces of Daoist spiritual energy — no longer overwhelming, but still functional. “It was carved by force of will alone,” she said.

Gong Qi’s expression grew grave.

To carve formation engravings by sheer force of will — that was beyond the ability of ordinary people. Even he couldn’t do it. Their young master had extraordinary natural gifts, yet could only craft small magical implements. Even he could not carve formation engravings into a pillar by force of will alone.

“If this was your Xuan Clan’s doing, then your forebears were vastly more capable than anyone today.” Lang Jiuchuan gave an impartial word of praise. Looking at the formation engravings on this pillar, she could understand why the Xuan Clan had been so arrogant — it was because their ancestors had genuinely produced remarkable people.

A pity they had been on a downward slope ever since.

Gong Qi couldn’t bring himself to smile.

The old ones had possessed real ability. The later generations, by and large, had only superficial appearances to show — the kind that would make their ancestors rise from their graves in a fury.

Truly disgracing the family name to an extraordinary degree.

Lang Jiuchuan said: “For a pillar to become a formation on its own is not impossible, but these engravings are incomplete — they look more like supplementary or misdirecting elements. I can see soul-subduing talismans on the shaft, and even more powerful divine talismans carved inside the pagoda at the top, along with the stone-dare tablets suppressing the white tigers — all of it without exception is talisman work designed to suppress and restrain souls. This pillar is not a formation unto itself. It looks more like a suppression pillar — a pillar that anchors and holds down a formation.”