Hearing A’Piao’s words, Lang Jiuchuan’s expression went dark — but just as quickly, it cleared again like clouds parting to reveal the moon. The look on her face held something close to disdain.

A’Piao found it remarkable, and asked, “You’re not afraid?”

“What is the use of fear? Iron must be forged by oneself to grow strong. Rather than exhausting one’s mind in inner turmoil over how powerful the enemy is, how many powerful backers they have, it would be far better to cultivate and strengthen oneself.” Lang Jiuchuan said in a low, steady voice. “The Rong family has already been brought to this point — forced to lower their standards and forge a marriage alliance with a common imperial prince simply to find a powerful backer to protect their prestige. It shows that the root of the family has already begun to decay and rot. Without a new generation of particularly outstanding talent to show for themselves, why should I fear them? A family by marriage is only a good connection when they can lend real strength when it is needed. If they cannot, and only drag you backward instead, then such a connection is neither here nor there.”

Her words were coolly indifferent, yet they landed on truth. Looking across these great and powerful clans, how many in-laws, after the marriage was made, would truly pour their full strength into helping when the family faced trouble? Every clan head considered their own family’s interests first — nothing else, for that was simply the selfish nature of people.

“True as that may be, an alliance with the imperial clan is indeed a significant bolstering of the Rong family’s position. At the very least, they won’t be easily pushed out of the game entirely. And the imperial clan itself also needs great clans that are genuinely loyal to them — this alliance is mutually beneficial.”

Lang Jiuchuan glanced at him and said, “I notice you don’t look particularly afraid either.”

“Why should I be afraid? It’s not my vendetta.”

“We are all ghosts on the same boat…”

“That is what you believe.” A’Piao cut her off without mercy.

Lang Jiuchuan quietly produced a box of soul incense and slid it across the table. She sighed. “Very well. When my small life meets its end, consider this the last gift. Take care of yourself.”

A’Piao: “!”

Keep performing, then. Even a stage actor doesn’t have her flair for drama.

He remained resolutely unmoved.

Lang Jiuchuan made a show of pulling it back. A’Piao reached out and snatched it at once, tucking it swiftly into his sleeve. In recent days, his master’s incense had been burning through at a rapid pace — nearly depleted.

Meeting Lang Jiuchuan’s half-smiling, half-not gaze, A’Piao took on an air of complete self-assurance. “This material was provided by our Tongtian Pavilion. What we receive back is our rightful share.”

Not a trace of shame or guilt.

Lang Jiuchuan did not argue with him, and returned to the matter at hand. “Which imperial prince is the Rong young master set to wed?”

“The current Emperor’s third son. He is only sixteen this year.”

Tongtian Pavilion dealt in information, so A’Piao had naturally learned something of the several imperial children. Without waiting for Lang Jiuchuan to ask, he quite helpfully laid out everything he knew about the one called Tantai Cong.

This Tantai Cong was young, but when it came to the Dao, he possessed some measure of innate affinity. Even at his tender age, he could draw a protection talisman with a flicker of spiritual energy in it — though only that much, and moreover, it took dozens of attempts before one would carry any power, after which he would need a period of rest to recover.

And yet, even so, this was already enough for him to be regarded with great importance by the great clans. The current purpose behind arranging his marriage with the Rong young master was the singular hope that they might produce descendants with a true spiritual root.

“Has the imperial clan truly produced no exceptional heirs to carry on their legacy?”

“The only one who currently bears a spiritual root is the Imperial Princess Tantai, who has been invested with the title of Huguo Holy Maiden.” A’Piao said. “I have heard that she is an existence who stands as an equal to the Emperor himself. The Tantai imperial house holds her in extraordinary regard, and there has also been talk of arranging a Dao-bond alliance with the Gong young master — or more precisely, a Dao-companionship, purely for the purpose of producing Dao-children.”

Lang Jiuchuan felt her stomach turn. She said with a cold laugh, “They’ve cultivated the Dao into this — why have the Three Pure Ones of the Three Clarity Heavens not struck these people dead, or at the very least withdrawn the spiritual energy they’ve bestowed upon them?”

What manner of cultivation was this — scheming with all their might solely for the sake of breeding descendants with so-called spiritual roots, to consolidate the family’s standing? They had walked completely contrary to the Dao. It was enough to make one sick.

A true cultivator practiced in pure and unalloyed sincerity, their heart turned wholly toward the Dao — not in pursuit of so-called clan glory.

No wonder the Xuan lineage had fallen so far from its former heights, to the point of being called outright decadent. Given the nature of their ambitions, it would be extraordinary if they managed to cultivate even a fraction of genuine attainment.

That there were so few spiritually gifted disciples among them now was itself a heaven-sent warning — and they still didn’t know to heed it. Instead, they continued banking on breeding children with spiritual roots. They had the root and branches exactly reversed. Truly foolish.

But the more they indulged in such behavior, the better — the more they indulged, the faster they would fall. And the less she would need to fear them.

Lang Jiuchuan’s expression lightened, and she said with easy satisfaction, “Decline and fall. Let them spend every last shred of the foundation and heritage their ancestors built, until nothing remains. When the world holds no more of the Xuan lineage, the path of cultivation will finally return to its original heart and its original purity.”

She was delighted to see it happen.

A’Piao watched her shift expressions like a three-year-old child, and shook his head. He said, “The person the Rong young master is set to wed is precisely this Tantai Cong. And to further break that rumor, she will be coming to the capital in the fourth month. On the day of the Qingming Festival, she will assist at Qingyang Temple with escorting wandering souls and wild ghosts through the ghost gate — appearing publicly to demonstrate her abilities, to prove before all that she has suffered no spiritual root collapse and no cultivation deviation.”

“This counts as a demonstration of ability?” Lang Jiuchuan’s eyes went wide.

A’Piao’s mouth twitched. “Did you think the ghost gate is something you own, to be opened whenever you please, stuffing ghosts through it without any regard for the Court of the Underworld’s dignity?”

“But I do!” Lang Jiuchuan was entirely guileless. “Isn’t that just how it’s done?”

A’Piao: “…”

He was not going to lose his temper. This one was simply a freak of nature.

A’Piao ground his teeth and said, “Other people don’t do it that way. They gather up whatever ghosts they’ve caught in their ordinary days and save them up — waiting until Qingming and Ghost Festival to formally request the opening of the ghost gate and escort them through. Who else is like you — opening it whenever they feel like it, sending ghosts through, and then strolling in themselves. No wonder people call you the Ghost’s Bane behind your back.”

Lang Jiuchuan tugged at the corner of her mouth in mild chagrin and said, “All right — since the Rong young master is coming, I’ll see what she’s about when the time comes. But the most critical matter is her mother. That is the one who killed me.”

“Xi Yun’s mother’s family also had roots in the Xuan lineage in their time, but that family has since declined and is now nothing more than an ordinary clan — living out comfortable and idle lives under the Rong family’s protection. They are not worth much concern.” A’Piao said. “What has been heard, though, is that she and her husband are estranged. Her husband, Rong Qingcang, was originally a man with a spiritual root, though for reasons unknown, it shattered, and he has been in secluded cultivation ever since. This Xi Yun lives effectively as a widow tending a living husband. This detail, however, is forbidden from discussion within the Rong family, and so the information I’ve obtained is incomplete.”

“Oh?”

Lang Jiuchuan tapped her fingers lightly on the table. How coincidental — could there be another story hidden within?

A’Piao said, “The network of relationships and connections within the Rong family — everything I could investigate, I’ve already compiled into a small booklet. You can take it with you when you leave and read through it yourself.”

Lang Jiuchuan immediately poured out several layers of flattery that had A’Piao’s entire ghostly being floating with self-satisfaction. But as he drifted along, something began to feel off. He turned a guarded eye toward her. “You never pay compliments for no reason. What are you after now?”

“Is it not because my father’s killer is almost back? I want to send him a grand gift — so be a good soul and give me a list of the Marquis of Zhenbei’s political enemies at court, along with the names of the consort families who are at odds with his family’s palace consort, won’t you?”

A’Piao shot to his feet. He knew it — this person never came without bringing trouble. She was going to be the death of him!

Lang Jiuchuan slid another jade talisman across to him. “This is a yin-gathering jade talisman. Your temper seems a little too hot lately — wear it on your person, gather a bit more yin energy, and cool down.”

A’Piao: “…”

This move — could she please stop using it so often? The trick is so old that he almost can’t find it in himself to refuse anymore!