Cui Shi looked at the dark, penetrating gleam in Lang Jiuchuan’s eyes, and something in her seemed to flicker in a moment of daze.

She had an impression of it — from many years ago, when she had been out and about and was set upon by some unruly profligate sons who sought to harass her. Lang Zhengping had stepped in front of them, those phoenix eyes blazing with a killing aura — that look had been just as terrifying.

Cui Shi felt her heart give a sudden lurch. She lowered her head and asked: “Did First Uncle also know of this long ago, yet not tell me alone?”

She did not ask how Lang Jiuchuan had come to know of such a terrifying truth. After watching this child’s abilities emerge gradually into view since her return to the manor, she understood that this child had some remarkable encounter in her past, and was nothing like the ordinary daughters of noble houses in the capital.

Cui Shi knew that Lang Jiuchuan was wrapped in mysteries, and she did not dare to ask — for even if she asked, there would be no answer. Seeing that the child bore no ill will toward those in the manor, and was even quite close to the Old Madam and her first uncle, she had chosen to simply accept her as the child she was.

Lang Jiuchuan felt no sense of belonging to the marquis manor, yet Cui Shi believed she would not, out of resentment toward her or toward the Lang family, deliberately stir up trouble or exploit the dead — especially a dead man who was her own father. From the way she had personally and reverently used those mysterious, devout methods to light a perpetual lamp for him, it was clear she held Lang Zhengping in deep respect.

And so there must have been something she had discovered — which was what had led to everything happening today. Only she had not let Cui Shi in on any of it.

Cui Shi felt a quiet sorrow. She was the one who by all rights should have been the first to know — and yet she had been kept entirely in the dark, unable to see the villain for who he was, mistaking the enemy for a man of virtue.

Lang Jiuchuan said: “Madam has long suffered from a heart ailment, and should not be subject to extremes of joy or sorrow. A matter like this — telling you would have risked alarming our prey before we were ready.”

She paused, then added: “Just as now — Madam, upon hearing this, has had her heart ailment flare up once more. In truth, this too was my failure to think things through properly — I should have given you some indication of what was coming in the days before.”

Cui Shi heard those words and felt a wave of desolation wash over her. She found she no longer had the energy to say anything at all. She had been unable to see clearly — what could she possibly say?

Her heart Qi was already damaged, and now with the fever and all that had been said, she had exhausted every last reserve of spirit and energy. She said: “Go and rest. Nanny and the others are here — that is enough.”

Lang Jiuchuan rose and said: “Your heart and spirit have been overtaxed this time. You must not allow yourself to fall into worry and brooding again. I am not one for words of comfort, nor do I know how to soothe anyone — I will say only this: karmic retribution has never once failed to arrive. Watch and see what becomes of that man.”

Cui Shi was silent.

Just as Lang Jiuchuan was nearly at the door of the inner chamber, Cui Shi spoke — her voice barely a murmur: “Just who are you, exactly?”

Lang Jiuchuan did not reply. She did not even break her stride.

Cheng Nanny stepped forward, her eyes red, and said: “Madam, you truly must listen to Miss’s words. She exhausted no small amount of her own spirit and energy to bring you back from the brink. At a time like this, more than ever, you must recover well. If you were to collapse now, would that not be letting Miss’s efforts go to waste — and letting those who care for you grieve while those who wish you harm rejoice?”

Yet Cui Shi seemed to have lost every last thread of will, and said: “Nanny — mine has been such a sorrowful life.”

She lay back against the bed and let the tears run freely.

Outside, the tale of the heroic general who had been betrayed and murdered spread ever more widely and with ever greater heat. A great many people in Wu Jing had already matched the original subjects to the story, and were all watching to see what would happen next. Some more bold young scholars even gathered outside the Marquis Zhenbei’s manor, demanding that the Marquis Zhenbei publicly defend himself.

And then, on the third day after the tale had spread, the Director of the Supervisory Bureau, Shen Qinghe, impeached the Marquis Zhenbei before the morning court — accusing him of flagrant disregard for the law of the nation, of harboring malicious intent, and of having used Gu sorcery to eliminate a rival and harm a loyal subject. He was further accused of keeping a Gu-brewing shamaness in his family shrine, and of using Qing Pin within the imperial palace as his instrument, through whom he had manipulated an imperial physician, with apparent ambitions of a treasonous nature. The Xie family, he argued, harbored the heart of a subject who would not remain loyal, and their intentions deserved the most severe punishment — he implored His Majesty to render judgment.

The chain of evidence Shen Qinghe had attached began with the calamity that had befallen the Song family mother and daughter, and then the matter of the Song family’s daughter, Song Yuedie, having been afflicted with the Corpse Gu — from which point it led directly to the spirit shaman who was being kept and sheltered in the Marquis Zhenbei’s family shrine.

It was a complete and unbroken chain of evidence, thoroughly establishing that the spirit shaman had been kept by the Marquis Zhenbei, with the living witness already in custody at the Supervisory Bureau’s prison.

His Majesty was furious, and commanded the Marquis Zhenbei to appear at court and defend himself.

When the summons reached the Marquis Zhenbei’s manor, the Marquis Zhenbei felt a sensation that the catastrophe he had long dreaded had at last descended upon him.

In the days that had passed, there had not been a single moment when he was not gripped by dread. For ever since that nightmare, every time he shut his eyes and fell asleep, he would find himself back in the mountains of blades and the seas of fire, his spirit burning again and again in the searing flames, so that each time he came back to consciousness he was more aged and more depleted — all vitality gone.

He felt his own life ebbing away, yet he was completely powerless. Even when he had secretly summoned the Daoist priest kept at his family shrine to recite scriptures and draw talismans, it availed him nothing. The nightmare came whenever it would come.

And the body-guarding Gu inside him — he could barely feel its resonance anymore.

Someone wanted him dead — cutting away at him like a blunt blade through flesh, piece by piece!

And whoever it was must have some connection to the Lang family. Otherwise, how could affairs of more than a decade ago — affairs kept so deeply hidden — have been unearthed? And the tale spoke specifically of Gu creatures, with such precise and detailed accuracy.

But who exactly?

Could it be that posthumous daughter of Lang Zhengping?

The Marquis Zhenbei thought over what his men had uncovered in these past days. Every clue, every sign, pointed toward that girl — yet she was only fourteen years of age. Could she truly have managed all of this?

But was it truly impossible?

The world is vast, and extraordinary things are not rare. Rare talents appear in every generation. Lang Zhengping had himself been a son of heaven’s own choosing — how could the daughter he left behind be anything ordinary?

And to seek justice for a father, to pay the blood debt owed to a father — what was so extraordinary about that, so long as one had capable allies?

The Marquis Zhenbei walked out of the manor and turned to look back at it once more. Those crimson gates stood solid and steadfast; the gilded characters of the Marquis Zhenbei Manor’s plaque blazed painfully bright in the light. Yet why did he have this overpowering feeling — that he would never return?

The corners of his mouth curved into a cold smile. The panic in his expression was reined in and suppressed; he slowly straightened his spine, smoothed his robes, and the purple robe embroidered with soaring eagles swept out behind him in a graceful arc. A cold, domineering aura radiated outward from him.

He had not lost yet.

The Marquis Zhenbei was just about to board his carriage when he turned sharply and looked back — and there, standing in the shadowed mouth of a narrow side alley, was a young woman holding a white cat. Her gaze was fixed upon him, utterly still and unblinking.

Who was she?

The Marquis Zhenbei’s heart suddenly hammered with ferocious speed. He stared hard at that slender figure. She walked slowly out of the shadows, moving toward him step by step.

That face. Those phoenix eyes. That penetrating, soul-chilling gleam. It was familiar — strangely, unsettlingly familiar — and with each step she took, it overlapped more and more with the eyes of the man in his dreams.

This was a daughter of the Lang family — she must be Lang Zhengping’s daughter.

Every muscle in the Marquis Zhenbei’s body went taut. His breathing grew heavier by degrees, his hawk-like gaze locked fast upon her.

No more than a zhang between them. The girl stopped. One slender hand moved idly, stroking the white cat in her arms — its fur just beginning to grow in — as the corner of her mouth curved into a smile that struck cold terror into the heart. Her voice, glacial and clear, pierced straight into his ear: “Lang Jiuchuan, daughter of Lang Zhengping, comes to offer her regards to the Marquis on behalf of her deceased father. Certain debts — it is time to settle them.”

Her voice was not loud, yet it came on like an army of iron and steel rolling forward with a thunderous roar, driving straight through his eardrums, and grinding his pride — ruthlessly — into the dust beneath her feet.