Lang Jiuchuan wrote out a prescription for Bai Shi to dispel external pathogenic factors and calm the spirit, and left her a protective talisman for good measure — since the curse could not be removed in any short span of time, the most that could be done for now was to guard her heart meridian.

With the prescription written, she followed Zuo Yan to the Bai estate. To untie the bell, one must find the person who tied it — if there was truly some hidden matter within the Bai estate, that was the only place to start, if Bai Shi’s life was to be saved.

Otherwise, she could bribe a ghost runner once, but she would not do so a second time. As for whether she managed to save the person — what concern was that of hers? All things were Heaven’s will. She was merely a Daoist practitioner — it wasn’t as though she could simply declare a person would not die and have it be so.

Of course, now there was still a thread of hope remaining, so she would go and take a look.

Zuo Yan was not as composed as Lang Jiuchuan, his face full of worry. Seated on horseback, he spoke to her through the carriage window: “If this curse cannot be resolved, will my wife die?”

Lang Jiuchuan replied without the slightest softening: “She already has one foot inside the gates of the underworld.”

Zuo Yan’s expression darkened. “Is there truly no other method to remove the curse?”

“There is. One can forcibly dispel the malevolent curse — but during the process of dispelling, the subject may be unable to withstand the clash between the magical technique and the curse, and die from the shattering of her meridians. Especially given how frail her body is, the likelihood of that outcome is nine chances in ten. Beyond that, the practitioner performing the dispelling must also have sufficient cultivation and spiritual energy — otherwise, one wrong move, and the practitioner’s own life will be the price paid. Most critically: curses of this kind are typically planted through the caster sacrificing their own blood and soul — forcibly removing it means contending with the will of Heaven itself. The practitioner would be subject to the three afflictions and five deficiencies, and the weight of that karmic retribution may well be unbearable. So the real question is: is there anyone willing to expend their own cultivation and spiritual energy to dispel the curse on your honored wife? That is the crux of the matter.”

Zuo Yan, upon hearing this, looked toward Lang Jiuchuan with imploring eyes.

Lang Jiuchuan said, “Don’t look at me like that. Whether or not the matter gets resolved, you still owe me the consultation fee for coming out — that is non-negotiable. As for whether this curse can be dispelled — I cannot say yet. I need to look further into what this thing actually is.”

“Why is that? This is a curse that harms people — ought it not simply be removed?”

Lang Jiuchuan said calmly, “Every effect has its cause.”

Zuo Yan fell silent.

As they spoke, the carriage had already arrived at the Bai estate. Lang Jiuchuan stepped down and followed Zuo Yan to the eastern side gate, where someone had already been waiting and led them inside.

Entering the Bai estate, Lang Jiuchuan caught the faint scent of blood carried on the wind. Following its direction, she looked and saw two servants carrying a bamboo stretcher toward the western side gate — on it, a person had been rolled up in a reed mat. With the swaying movement of the carriers, one arm fell out from beneath the mat, dripping blood.

Behind them came a faint, broken sobbing. It was an elderly woman — her white-coiffed hair somewhat disheveled, one shoe missing from her feet, her eyes vacant — stumbling after the carriers, calling out a name, Ying’er, over and over.

Lang Jiuchuan watched their figures disappear without expression.

Zuo Yan turned his head and followed her gaze, furrowed his brows, then quickly smoothed them out again.

Lang Jiuchuan looked away and, catching Zuo Yan’s expression, said, “The estate of the former Director of the Imperial Academy — a household of scholarly tradition and letters, no less. And yet they would beat a servant to death? The Young Lord finds this unremarkable?”

From the clothing on that arm, it was not so different from the garments of the maids in this household. And to be wrapped up so carelessly in a reed mat — it must have been a maid.

Zuo Yan was perceptive. Hearing her tone cool by several degrees, his heart gave a jolt.

“Let us go.” Lang Jiuchuan said nothing further, and walked on ahead.

Zuo Yan could not say why, but he felt as though the slight and slender young woman walking ahead of him had taken on an added edge of deadly coldness.

The household steward had no idea why the Young Lord-in-law had not brought Imperial Physician Zhang Tang but had instead brought a young woman. He glanced at her a few times but dared not ask further — because the expression on her face was extremely cold.

Zuo Yan asked the steward, “Steward Zheng, why did young Bai Song suddenly fall gravely ill? What happened?”

Steward Zheng’s body stiffened slightly. He glanced at Lang Jiuchuan and hemmed and hawed: “The Young Lord will see when he arrives.”

Zuo Yan saw that he was hiding something, and his heart sank abruptly. Let it not be some unpleasant business.

When they arrived at Bai Jingsong’s courtyard, sharp wailing could be heard — shrill and anguished — with a voice simultaneously cursing some wretched maid while demanding someone go fetch yet another physician. The noise shook the very rafters.

Zuo Yan recognized the voice — this was Bai Ning’s Second Aunt, Madam Ma. And quickly after, he heard the Bai Family’s elder Madam scolding her in a sharp rebuke.

Something was very wrong.

A servant spotted him, called inside to announce his arrival, and held up the door curtain for them. Someone came out to greet them — an old man, his hair white, his beard white, his eyes brightening at the sight of Zuo Yan, then furrowing with concern when he saw no one behind him.

“Old Teacher.” Zuo Yan bowed respectfully to the elder. This was the former Director of the Imperial Academy, Bai Kuanglin — and also his own teacher. Though Zuo Yan had married into the Bai family’s line, he still habitually called him Old Teacher.

Old Master Bai gave no thought to the form of address, and said, “Imperial Physician Zhang could not be invited to come?”

After Chief Physician Ou’s passing, this Zhang Tang had become the new Chief Imperial Physician.

When one falls from favor, the world grows cold — as a former Director of the Imperial Academy, he no longer had the face to summon an Imperial Physician Chief just like that.

“I have already sent people to request him — he should be on his way. Do not worry. What happened to young Bai Song?” Zuo Yan stepped forward to support the elder.

Old Master Bai’s expression fell into one of deep shame. “What a disgrace to the family — what a disgrace!” He seemed loath to say it aloud. He asked instead: “How is Ning’er? She is also gravely ill herself — I should not have called you here at this moment, but…” He sighed heavily.

His spirit seemed diminished, as though weighed down by some unfortunate thought. His eyes held some deep sorrow and regret — but quickly, he seemed to collect himself, and noticed Lang Jiuchuan standing nearby: “And this is?”

Zuo Yan hastily explained: “This is the physician I have engaged for Ning’er — well, in truth she is a practitioner of the Xuan Sect arts. Her Daoist name is Qingyi the Wanderer, and she is also versed in the art of medicine. Why not let her take a look at young Bai Song’s condition as well?”

Lang Jiuchuan withdrew her gaze from the direction of the inner bedchamber and looked at Old Master Bai, her expression rather cool, giving only a slight nod.

Old Master Bai’s expression, however, changed: “That — that is perhaps not quite appropriate.”

Zuo Yan was thrown. What did that mean?

From inside came a sudden torrent of furious cursing. Old Master Bai’s face tightened with displeasure, and he was compelled to walk over, saying: “Madam Ma, stop making a scene. Imperial Physician Zhang will be here shortly.”

“Father, Bai Song is convulsing.”

What?

Old Master Bai rushed inside in alarm. Zuo Yan followed immediately. Lang Jiuchuan, thinking of the yin aura she had sensed coming from inside, also followed — stopping just at the doorway of the inner bedchamber to look in.

Inside was a scene of chaos. A man who appeared to be a physician was fumbling about in a panic, driving silver needles in at random. And on the bed, the person was convulsing.

A woman was weeping with red-rimmed eyes. At the head of the bed, another woman whose hair was equally white clutched a strand of prayer beads and was pressing it down onto the head of the person on the bed, calling out his name frantically.

Lang Jiuchuan looked at the dazed, hazy figure hovering at the foot of the bed, then looked at the state of the man on the bed, and averted her eyes. Her expression turned cold as ice. What foul luck.

Zuo Yan also took in his brother-in-law’s condition, his face going dark. He walked over, pressed the man’s unconscious acupoint, pulled a quilt over him, then came to stand before Lang Jiuchuan and opened his mouth.

Lang Jiuchuan stepped back two paces and said with palpable disdain: “Young Lord, I may be cultivating in the secular world, but I am still a maiden of unblemished virtue. This thing — you expect me to save this too?”