After leaving the Ou estate, Lang Jiuchuan went to Huguo Temple. What she did not know was that no sooner had she left than quite a few people were quietly inquiring into the nature of her acquaintance with Senior Official Zeng and the others.

Lang Jiuchuan sat cross-legged on the carriage floor, turning over Director Ou’s words in her mind. Yes — had she told Director Ou earlier that the Marquis of Zhenbei had once used a heart-devouring gu to harm Lang Zhengfan, regardless of whether there was evidence, he could certainly have added heavier fuel to those poisoned words he planted with the Emperor.

But it did not matter now. Even without Director Ou knowing, she could still let the world know. The play just had to be staged well — and she would need to sound out the Emperor’s position as well.

Snap, snap, snap.

The clear sound of prayer beads sliding and clicking against each other rang out in the carriage.

Rumble.

A muffled thunderclap sounded overhead.

The storm was approaching.

Lang Jiuchuan lifted the curtain and looked outside. The sky had grown heavy and dark, black clouds churning overhead — a driving rain was imminent. It looked for all the world like someone was about to face their heavenly tribulation.

She let the curtain fall, pressed her hands together to form seals, channeled her spiritual power, and sent it flowing into her consciousness, her cultivation technique spinning faster and faster, forming her spiritual energy into a vortex that enveloped the thread of spiritual awareness that Jiangche had left behind.

Deep in the mountains far away, Jiangche looked at the little infant tiger, then looked up at the oppressive black cloud massing above its head, and cursed Lang Jiuchuan bitterly in its heart — she had pointed this situation out to it and then left without so much as a word of warning that great disaster was imminent. What kind of companion was that — born in the year of the pig?

Who could explain to it why a just-born little infant tiger had to face a heavenly tribulation the moment it came into the world? Did the will of Heaven nowadays not even have room for a single tiger?

Heavenly thunder rolled and rumbled.

Jiangche was terrified.

Memories of its former death surged back — it was truly panicking. It was the ill-fated tiger that had once failed to survive its tribulation. Facing this again — it was genuinely frightened. If it failed again, even this thread of spiritual awareness would likely scatter and disperse, would it not?

Jiangche looked at the barely-breathing little infant tiger, then looked in the direction of Wu Jing, hesitating and wavering.

The heaven-born White Tiger War God — it should be fearless, to live up to that name.

Jiangche did not know why it suddenly thought of those words of Lang Jiuchuan’s, and then thought of the countless times she had hovered at the edge of life and death, again and again walking through hells of blades and mountains of knives, blood-soaked and unafraid.

Those dark eyes of hers seemed to appear right before it now, cold and bright, their gaze imperious and sovereign.

As if to say: if you do not dare even this, what makes you worthy of being called a companion?

Jiangche ground its teeth. To hell with it — all in!

It glanced once more in the direction of Wu Jing, then sent its spiritual awareness rushing into the little infant tiger’s body, settling into its consciousness. The little tiger’s eyes, already glistening and wet, became suddenly alive with brightness.

But Jiangche dared not let its attention wander for even a moment. It felt the fur all over its body stand on end and its gaze sharpened.

Here it comes.

A purple bolt of lightning as thick as a rice bowl came crashing down. Jiangche summoned every bit of its ferocious ominous energy and surged forward to meet it.

It was Jiangche, heir to the White Tiger War God.

Lang Jiuchuan felt her entire consciousness go numb — as though a force of lightning and thunder had entered her mind out of nowhere, intent on completely destroying that thread of spiritual awareness within her mind-sea.

She would not allow it.

Lang Jiuchuan’s hands flew rapidly through seal after seal, lips pressed tight, intercepting that force of lightning, drawing it into her own meridians, and letting that supremely yang and supremely vigorous energy fill her body and spirit to the brim.

Pain — but the pain was hers to bear.

How difficult it is to survive.

Through each barrier, through them all.

The black clouds dispersed.

Jiangche lay sprawled exhausted on the ground, staring up at the patch of sky where blue was beginning to show again, and grinned. The fur that had been so smooth was burned away to bare patches of exposed pink flesh, some of it still scorched — a true sight of skin split and flesh torn open.

But it had made it through.

It heard the cries of its own kind howling from a hundred li away. It heard the wind keening. It heard the ten thousand living things resounding in chorus. It felt the vitality of life surging toward it in an endless stream, consolidating and fusing its spiritual awareness, its spirit, and its physical body together into one.

Jiangche forced back the enormous physical agony, gave a great carp-flip to right itself, let out a thunderous roar that shook the ears, and then, following its own kind’s methods of cultivation, drew on its technique to begin tempering itself.

A physical body did not come easily. To grow stronger, one had to cultivate.

Lang Jiuchuan opened her eyes and looked at her own porcelain-white hands, the corner of her mouth curving slightly. Without paying the cost, how could strength ever be gained?

She licked at the thin trace of blood that had seeped from the corner of her lips. The salty-sweet taste brought her a peculiar sense of satisfaction.

The carriage came to a stop at the mountain gate of Huguo Temple, where Jian Lan and Old Nanny were waiting at the gate.

Lang Jiuchuan descended from the carriage and walked inside under their escort.

Cui Shi’s group had long since settled themselves in the Quiet Meditation Courtyard where they had stayed before — this time, no one had the poor judgment to block their courtyard from them.

But the eyesores, as always, had not disappeared.

Lang Jiuchuan saw that woman — the woman people called Madam Lu. Though, as they had separated by mutual consent, she could no longer be called Madam Lu. She should now be called by her own family name: Fang. She was dressed in a gray lay Buddhist robe, her old maidservant walking beside her carrying a basket covered with a piece of white gauze, inside which appeared to be some steamed buns. She looked to be on her way to distribute alms.

Lang Jiuchuan had heard that after the separation, this Fang woman had gone to live in a separate residence. So what was she doing walking around Huguo Temple dressed like this?

Though she wore the garb of a lay practitioner now, whether it was because life had not gone as smoothly as before, or for some other reason, those eyes and brows that had once appeared gentle and kind had changed considerably. A quality of bitterness and resentment had crept into her features. Even dressed as a lay devotee, it could not conceal the wicked energy that had seeped through.

Great-uncle had been far too soft-hearted — he had actually let this woman remain alive, still letting her wander around in front of the Lang family. Hmph. Did men truly not know that a false Bodhisattva was the most wicked of all?

When the Fang woman spotted Lang Jiuchuan, her expression shifted. The two of them were walking directly toward each other, and to step aside now would be too deliberate.

Lang Jiuchuan neither stepped aside nor avoided her. She simply stopped where she was, her pair of dark, fathomless eyes fixing steadily on the Fang woman.

When the Fang woman met those eyes, her heart gave a violent lurch and a chill seeped down her back — she had the feeling of a venomous serpent having locked its gaze on her.

To be suppressed by the mere gaze of this young Lang girl — she who had always been proud and composed — felt both infuriating and frightening. She forced out a smile and said, “This must be the ninth young miss of the Lang family?”

“Madam has a very good memory. It seems I have made quite an impression on you.” Lang Jiuchuan took two steps forward, her voice cool and measured. “Do you have nightmares, Madam?”

“What?”

Lang Jiuchuan stepped closer, and with a meaningful glance at the jade protective talisman at the woman’s waist, said, “Madam is dressed as a lay devotee — perhaps she has taken refuge with the Buddha? Some say that what truly allows a person to be at peace is never the carrying of protective talismans or the recitation of countless sutras. It is, rather — whether one walks a straight path and sits with an upright conscience. Would the resident lay devotee not agree?”

The Fang woman’s face tightened imperceptibly. She looked at Lang Jiuchuan and said, “Indeed. Certain demons and monsters, after all, are always rendered powerless in the presence of the Buddha.”

Lang Jiuchuan raised her hand, and the Fang woman startled and stumbled back two steps in alarm — only to see her simply lift her hand and touch her own braid. The prayer beads on her wrist were lustrous and bright, their radiance sharp enough to make the Fang woman’s eyes sting, and she had to look away, unable to hold that gaze.

Lang Jiuchuan let out a cold laugh and walked away unhurriedly.

The Fang woman watched her recede into the distance, her eyes going cold and flat. She gripped the prayer beads in her hand until her knuckles whitened, and she thought of the reading her youngest son had cast for her — that this year’s fortune would be unfavorable and a petty adversary would work against her.

For the past half year, nothing had gone right for her. She had suffered one humiliation after another and had been forced to lie low and endure. When had all of this begun?

It seemed to have started from the moment she had failed to carry out the task the Madam had given her.

A petty adversary — the ninth daughter of the Lang family. Just what manner of person was she, really?