As for the title of “immortal lady” — a form of address so rustic it felt like dirt — every time Lang Jiuchuan heard it, her scalp went numb. She was privately thinking that she really needed to choose a Daoist title for herself, for the sake of moving through the world.

But for the moment, she still had to deal with Madam Song’s situation first. Her plea for help was not for herself, but for her daughter.

Lang Jiuchuan studied Madam Song’s face carefully. Her entire countenance was veiled in death aura — she would not survive two more days. Yet the palace of her children in her face had not collapsed; that meant her daughter would live, and even live longer than she did.

So then — the large willow-wood coffin she had ordered, was it for when her gravely ill daughter died first and they would leave together, or was it for herself to go first and then take the child with her?

Lang Jiuchuan followed Madam Song back to her home, with Fuyi accompanying them. As for why Fuyi insisted on coming along — in his own words, he would someday be the manager of the Know-It-All Shop, and he could hardly just sit in the shop waiting for customers to come to the door. Should anything of importance arise that Lang Jiuchuan could not attend to in time, he could at least exercise his judgment and handle it.

So in truth, he was simply tagging along to accumulate experience.

Madam Song’s dwelling was not far from Xunxiang Alley. On foot, cutting through several streets and neighborhood gates, it would take about half a quarter-hour. If one called for a mule-cart at the alley’s edge, it could be reached in a quarter of an hour.

During the cart ride, Lang Jiuchuan had already learned from Madam Song the details of her misfortunes over the past two years — consistent with what Proprietor Cheng had described, but Madam Song added several things more.

Madam Song’s family had originally been well-off, and her husband was a man of juren rank. After obtaining that status, it was common for landlords and tenant farmers to list some of their land under his name to benefit from tax exemptions — and that too provided a stream of income.

Madam Song herself possessed an extraordinary gift for embroidery; her double-sided embroidery work could fetch excellent prices. As a result, before disaster struck her household, they had employed a pair of mother and daughter servants to manage the household affairs, a young servant-boy to run errands and attend to the juren, and the small courtyard they lived in was one they owned outright.

Now, with one misfortune after another striking her family, the servants were long gone. A great many of their valuable possessions had been sold off to pay for physicians and medicinal herbs for her daughter Song Yuedie.

“Everything began after I completed that embroidered jade-faced Guanyin image,” Madam Song said, her face a map of self-reproach and sorrow. “From the moment that embroidered piece was sent away, it was as though I had been struck by a curse. First my husband died, then my in-laws, then the cats and dogs in the household — and now even my daughter is beginning to suffer. It is my fault. I should never have embroidered that Guanyin image. I was disrespectful to the divine; I defiled the image of Guanyin Bodhisattva, and that is why I have been punished and cursed. But why — why has it been everyone else who died, not me? Even if the curse must befall someone, it should be me who bears it…”

As she spoke, Madam Song’s composure suddenly broke entirely, and she wept — crying and pouring out her grief in a torrent.

Last year, before the New Year had even passed, her husband went to attend a literary gathering. At the gathering he drank two cups of wine, then fell into a lake. When he was pulled out, he was already without breath.

With the family’s pillar gone, her in-laws both fell ill in succession. Silver poured out like water during that time, yet she could only watch helplessly as they drew their last breaths before her eyes. Within less than half a year, she saw both in-laws pass away. The cats and dogs kept in the household were gone too.

In under a year, she had lost three of her closest kin. And now it was her daughter’s turn — and her own.

“I was the one who was disrespectful to the gods and Buddhas — it is I who deserve to die,” Madam Song wailed in anguish.

“Simply embroidering an image of Guanyin will not bring any divine punishment or curse,” Lang Jiuchuan said. “If it was done with a heart of sincere reverence and awe, it would be even less likely — it would only bring blessings. After all, to embroider a divine image such that it conveys compassion requires a great deal of heart and care; in other words, it is done with utmost sincerity. That is no different from copying out scriptures — it is the accumulation of merit and the cultivation of good fortune. How could it ever invite divine punishment? You need only look at some temples and sanctuaries — they too have embroidered images of gods and Buddhas hung within them.”

Madam Song’s weeping faltered. Tears blurring her eyes, she looked over at Lang Jiuchuan. “Then why…”

“Unless there was something wrong with your embroidery thread, or something wrong with the embroidered image itself. If neither of those was the issue, then it has nothing to do with the Guanyin image — the cause lies elsewhere.”

Madam Song said: “All the embroidery thread I used came from Yunrong Embroidery House. I have always sold my work there, and even the pattern for the Guanyin image was provided by them — because it was commissioned by a person of status, and Yunrong asked whether I would accept the commission. The fee offered was three hundred taels.”

“I heard it was sent into the Imperial Palace?”

Madam Song nodded. “That embroidery was also a substantial piece. I spent a full two years completing it and consider it one of my finest works. I even wanted to keep it for myself when it was finished, but since it had been pre-ordered, I could only let it go.”

Lang Jiuchuan asked a further question: “Who placed the order? And it was sent into the Palace?”

“It was said to be Zhenbei Marquis Manor placing the order, and it was apparently delivered to a lady of their family who resides in the Palace,” Madam Song replied. “The specifics I don’t know — only that it was their household.”

Lang Jiuchuan paused, somewhat surprised to hear mention of Zhenbei Marquis Manor from her. What a coincidence.

“Anything sent into the Palace is inspected layer by layer, and the Zhenbei Marquis commands military power as a military general — since he has a daughter who entered the Palace as a consort, their family would be more cautious than anyone. Don’t let yourself dwell too much on the Guanyin image being the source.” Lang Jiuchuan then said: “What is your birth date and the eight characters of your horoscope?”

Madam Song recited the year and date.

Lang Jiuchuan did not reach for a divinatory compass — she simply counted along the joints of her fingers and said: “Your eight-character horoscope is actually quite favorable. Wealth and official fortune both flourish. Though you were frail and prone to illness from childhood, you encountered a good physician, and you wed a good man — your life ought to have been smooth and without care, prosperous and free from worry.”

A cold sorrow crept into Madam Song’s heart. She managed a bitter smile. What prosperity and freedom from worry? Ruin and loss was closer to the truth. Still, Lang Jiuchuan had been right about one thing — she had indeed been weak and sickly as a child, and her father had invited a traveling renowned physician to treat and restore her health.

“However, your horoscope is being overpowered by the branch of the Year of the Snake’s fire element. This is what is known as a fortune marked by a cursed influence — it attracts malicious people and draws in afflictive stars. Last year was your birth-year alignment, and your beneficial element was struck and disrupted. Your prosperous fate — has been broken by someone!”

Lang Jiuchuan’s tone was calm, though there was a note of surprise in it. She had anticipated that the person’s fate-chart might have been swapped entirely, but instead it had simply been sabotaged.

Looking at the density of the malevolent energy in her fortune palace, this was the work of a rival who had sent a malicious person against her.

What a pity.

A good fate, struck down by misfortune like this.

Prosperous fate — broken by someone?

A buzzing roared through Madam Song’s mind. Who — what malicious person had she crossed, what sort of enmity warranted ruining her family and bringing them to ruin?

A violent surge of resentment rose from her. Grievance and obsession solidified into a concentrated force, causing the death aura around her to churn and roll in dark waves, cloaking her entire form in black as though she were on the verge of descending into demonic corruption.

Lang Jiuchuan was startled. “General — use your ferocious killing energy to break through her resentment.”

Fuyi immediately emerged from within the Xiaojiuta, and the moment that killing aura surged forth, it struck like a great battle-axe, cleaving apart the resentment that had erupted from Madam Song.

Madam Song’s vision went dark. She slumped limply against the side of the mule-cart, her face drained of color, her eyes staring toward where Fuyi stood with a look of terrified bewilderment.