When the Zeng Household sent over a cartload of medicinal herbs along with a quick-witted yet steady young manservant, Lang Jiuchuan had just finished guiding Fuqi through replacing his paper body. She looked over the cartload of herbs, did not stand on ceremony, and kept them all.

She started by writing out a prescription for a batch of Cassia Vision Pills, and had the herbs in Wanshi Shop prepared accordingly. For the ones the shop was short of, the young manservant — who went by the name Feisong — returned to the Zeng Household to fetch the remainder and fill the gaps, then stayed on to help with the preparation under her direction.

In the meantime, Lang Jiuchuan took out her geomancy compass and walked a full circuit of the entire property, recording the positions and orientations. She planned to lay a Five Elements Feng Shui Array across the whole estate, allowing the five elements to generate one another in harmony, fostering an environment conducive to health and well-being.

In the rear courtyard, she also selected a room and arranged a Five Elements Spirit-Gathering Array there — a quiet space for drawing talismans, meditating, and studying the Dao. The inner reception chamber at the back of the shop was likewise rearranged to better suit meeting and receiving guests.

With the blessing of favorable feng shui, these spaces would carry more spiritual energy than the ordinary world outside — though compared to the deep mountains, they still fell somewhat short.

In the mountains, the living energy of the ten thousand plants and the abundance of spiritual air far surpassed anything the city could offer. If she were to meditate and seek insight there, she would certainly be able to absorb more. Thinking of this, she briefly wondered how Jiangche, that ill-fated young tiger, was getting along.

Lang Jiuchuan gave the matter only a brief thought before letting it pass, not troubling herself in the slightest to look into the ill-fated young tiger’s welfare. At present, she was spreading out paper and pigment, painting a landscape in colored ink.

Jian Lan stood to one side attending to her, and when she saw Madam Song approaching, she raised a finger to her lips in a hushing gesture — the mistress was not to be disturbed.

Madam Song came carrying a tray holding a small pot of sweetened custard made with fresh cow’s milk, and a glass pot of chrysanthemum flower tea brewed with wolfberries and ophiopogon — prepared especially for Lang Jiuchuan.

She set the tray on the side table and craned her neck from a distance to sneak a look at the painting, eyes widening with admiration.

Lang Jiuchuan set down her brush and smiled. “If you want to look, just come closer. No need to stand so far away.”

Madam Song saw that she had stopped, and immediately poured a cup of the flower tea. Once Lang Jiuchuan had wiped her hands on a cloth, she passed it over. “I was afraid of disturbing you while you worked.”

“It is only a painting.” Lang Jiuchuan accepted the tea and took a sip, glancing toward the table. “What did you make? I can smell something sweet.”

“A cow’s milk egg custard. I spotted some fresh milk at the market today and bought some.” Madam Song knew her preference for sweets. “I added a little extra sugar. Try it.”

Lang Jiuchuan’s eyes lit up. She went over at once, lifted the lid, and the rich fragrance of milk and sweetness — along with a faint note of almond — wafted up to meet her. She took a spoonful. The custard dissolved on her tongue the moment it touched it. Her eyes curved into a smile.

Sweet. Delicious.

Seeing her delight, Madam Song smiled too. She thought of the painting she had just glimpsed, walked over, and looked at it properly, letting out a soft sound of admiration.

She was an embroiderer. She couldn’t assess a painting the way renowned artists and scholars could — but she could tell good from poor. This colored ink landscape, with its seemingly spare brushstrokes, was remarkably clever in its use of color. In her own words: it had spirit. Looking at it made one feel as though transported into the scene itself.

Yet the subject matter was entirely ordinary — mountains, rivers, flowing water — and yet gazing upon it brought a deep sense of ease.

Jian Lan also felt the painting had an unusual quality of spirit. She knew that Lang Jiuchuan was not the sort of young lady who painted idly in her leisure hours, and so she ventured: “Young mistress, does this painting have some particular purpose behind it?”

“You noticed?” Lang Jiuchuan set down the now-empty custard pot. “This is a Five Elements Colored Ink Painting. It draws upon the essence of the five elements and embeds the principles of the Five Elements within the image. When hung in the correct location, it can be used as a foundation for a feng shui spirit array. The ease and contentment you feel looking at it comes from the harmonious generation of the five elements — that subtle living energy settles into you, and you feel lighter and more at peace.”

Madam Song sighed softly. “If this were embroidered on cloth, would it not last indefinitely?”

“There is truth in that — but embroidering a Five Elements Colored Ink design demands an immense expenditure of one’s mental and spiritual energy. It truly is the work of one’s heart and blood, extraordinarily draining. It is the same as those master jade carvers — works that carry spirit always require that the artisan has poured a lifetime’s devotion into them.” Lang Jiuchuan looked at Madam Song directly. “If you had been at the height of your powers in the past, I would not say a word against it. But now — it is not possible. Your body cannot bear something that drains vital essence and spiritual focus so severely.”

Madam Song replied quickly: “You are worrying too much. What I embroidered in the past often lacked true heart — the only piece that had any of that was the Guanyin image, but that…” She thought of those painful events and shook her head. “All I hope for now is that Diedie recovers. I would not dare to dream of anything beyond that.”

She spoke modestly, but Lang Jiuchuan did not share the sentiment.

Whether a work carries spirit or only craft was for others to judge — not the maker. But the mention of the Guanyin image made Lang Jiuchuan think of Marquis Zhenbei Xie Zhenming.

The second month was already more than half gone. He ought to be making preparations for the return to the capital by now.

A faint smile touched the corner of Lang Jiuchuan’s lips.

Jian Lan and Madam Song both sensed the shift in Lang Jiuchuan’s atmosphere and glanced at one another. Neither dared make a sound. For some reason, an inexplicable chill suddenly seemed to settle over them.

“Young mistress.” Fuqi appeared at the entrance to the rear courtyard, his expression not entirely settled.

Lang Jiuchuan was mildly curious. “What has given you that face?”

“Someone is stealing our business.”

Lang Jiuchuan’s eyes went wide. Had she heard correctly? Someone was stealing their business?

“Who?” She dropped the brush she had just picked back up into the brush washer. “Which fool with no eyes for self-preservation?”

“They are right there in the front shop.”

Lang Jiuchuan strode out. If the thief of their business had come all the way into the shop itself — that was some remarkable nerve.

Madam Song frowned and looked at Jian Lan, who was composedly tidying things up. “Jian Lan, are you not worried?”

“Worried about what?” Jian Lan blinked. “Worried that the one stealing our business is about to get thoroughly and publicly humiliated by our young mistress?”

Madam Song: “!”

That did seem hard to argue with. The young mistress was so formidable — she would certainly not be pushed around.

Lang Jiuchuan reached the connecting door between the back hall and the shop, and through it she heard a voice dispensing cold commentary on everything around him.

“Look at this shop — how does it look anything like a proper establishment? These few medicine cabinets — is this a physician’s practice or a ghost-catching operation? It doesn’t look the least bit reliable. Claiming to be ‘Wanshi Shop,’ that it ‘resolves all matters’ — a gimmick like that is obviously not to be trusted. Now, I am different. I am trained at Maoshan School, and catching ghosts and fighting spirits is all in a day’s work for me. Oh, and I have also joined a mystical clan — the Feng Family. You know the Feng Family, surely? Go and ask around — I, Yice the Daoist, have quite a reputation there.”

“But, Daoist, my mistress specifically instructed me to come here…”

“Just look at the dark energy clinging to you — your mistress has surely been befuddled by that malevolent spirit. Let me come back with you and take a look. Once I make my move, no evil or ghost can hide from me. Why waste your mistress’s good money here?”

Lang Jiuchuan had heard enough and was laughing out of indignation. She swept the curtain aside and stepped through, a cold smile on her face. “I would very much like to see which mystical clan is so thoroughly shameless — stealing business by coming right into someone else’s shop.”