What Lang Jiuchuan had said to A’Piao was, in truth, partly in jest. She could accept outside help — but to rely on it forever, how would she ever grow?
When the mountain you lean on collapses, you fall with it. She was no clinging vine, living only by wrapping herself around another. The most important thing for a person was to stand on their own — and so, since the Rong Family head had gone to such disgusting lengths against her, she would return the favor in kind. And so a quiet rumor began to spread through the city.
Breaking news: the Young Lord of the Xuanzu Rong Family has fallen into demonic possession. The Rong Family head, in a supreme act of righteousness, personally crippled his own daughter’s spiritual foundation, severing her demonic root.
The news that Rong Young Lord had succumbed to demonic possession was no longer fresh to anyone — by now, everyone’s attention had shifted to the Rong Family head personally crippling his own daughter’s spiritual foundation. What was that supposed to mean? Wasn’t the Rong Young Lord supposed to be his granddaughter? How had she become his daughter?!
While the rumor was roiling and churning its way through the city, Lang Jiuchuan received an imperial summons from within the palace, calling her to present herself before the Holy One.
Lang Jiuchuan did not bring Fu Qi along. The imperial palace still carried the aura of its dynastic fortune, and was in particular a concentration of mundane dragon aura — for Fu Qi, who had no divine power to bolster him, it was not a hospitable place. She brought only Jiangche, disguised as a white cat, and made her way forward.
Passing through the palace gates, Lang Jiuchuan gazed at the sprawling golden-tiled palace buildings in the distance, and her brow furrowed.
“Why have you stopped?” Jiangche asked in a low voice.
Lang Jiuchuan’s expression was subtly strange. “This place — it makes me feel a deep aversion.”
Jiangche was startled. “Have you been inside the palace before?”
“I don’t know. I can’t remember. But I feel as though I have been here.” Lang Jiuchuan ran her fingers through its fur in an absent, repetitive motion.
Somewhere inside the palace, incense must have been burning — the fragrance drifted out, yet it could not cover the rotting, stifling air of imperial power that pervaded this place, turning her stomach.
Lang Jiuchuan followed the palace attendants through the halls and arrived at the side chamber of the Golden Phoenix Hall. An enormous three-legged dragon cauldron burned dragon’s saliva incense, making the air even more disagreeable.
The chamber held only two junior palace maids. There was no sign of the Emperor An’he. Lang Jiuchuan was unconcerned — in all likelihood, they wanted to give her a show of power meant to intimidate. She found herself a chair and sat down of her own accord, and even instructed one of the junior maids to bring tea. Her ease and familiarity were such that the eyes of those watching from the shadows twitched involuntarily.
Had this person eaten the heart of a leopard and the gall of a bear? This sort of boldness!
The Emperor An’he emerged from a side door, and the chief eunuch announced in a carrying voice: “His Majesty the Emperor arrives.”
Lang Jiuchuan rose to her feet with just a touch of reluctance — she hadn’t gotten to drink the tea yet. She fixed her gaze directly upon the Emperor An’he as he walked in dressed in his informal bright yellow imperial robe, and settled himself upon the brocade-draped divan. Her gaze swept briefly across his face. His features were somehow familiar to her.
She knit her brows, but didn’t dwell on the thought. The other party gave her no chance to — the chief eunuch at his side bellowed sharply: “Lang clan’s ninth daughter — why do you not kneel and bow in the presence of His Majesty?”
Lang Jiuchuan came back to herself and simply pressed her hands together in a Daoist salute: “Lang clan’s Jiuchuan — greetings to Your Majesty.”
Perfunctory beyond measure.
The chief eunuch’s eyelid twitched. Sure enough, exactly as the Rong Family head had said — rebellious to the core, wild and untameable.
The Emperor An’he reclined upon the divan. His somewhat clouded gaze fixed upon Lang Jiuchuan like the sharp eyes of a hawk, scrutinizing her as she met his stare without flinching from below. A flicker of probing interest passed through his eyes. “You are Lang Jiuchuan — the one whose presence caused the Golden Lotus to appear and bear witness to the Dao?”
She looked slender and delicate, but her posture was straight as a pillar. Her chin tilted up ever so slightly. Her small face was pallid, but her dark eyes were clear and luminous, with what seemed to be flowing light shimmering within them — as though capable of seeing through a person’s very heart.
The Emperor An’he looked into her eyes, and his chest gave an abrupt, involuntary lurch. Eyes like these — they felt somehow familiar. As though he had seen them somewhere before.
Lang Jiuchuan smiled. “It makes Your Majesty laugh — that would be this humble Daoist.”
The Emperor An’he’s thoughts were interrupted. He narrowed his eyes. “Your father is the Loyal and Martial Baron whom We posthumously ennobled — should you not address yourself as ‘your subject’s daughter’ instead? By calling yourself ‘this humble Daoist,’ are you highlighting your own identity, or are you provoking Our authority?”
His voice carried a hint of languid ease, along with the absolute, unquestionable authority of one who had held power for many years.
Lang Jiuchuan replied in an unhurried tone: “This humble Daoist has spent her years at Zhuang Zi living in seclusion, learning the Dao under her Master. She is unfamiliar with the rules of well-bred young ladies in the capital, and begs Your Majesty’s pardon. Moreover, this humble Daoist believes that the extraordinary sign of the Golden Lotus bearing witness to the Dao has already made clear what identity this humble Daoist ought properly to hold. Does Your Majesty not agree?”
“Insolence!” The Emperor An’he slapped the divan hard and sat upright. “By Our investigation, you have been living at Zhuang Zi this entire time, with no record of any period of wandering cultivation. You claim to have studied the Dao under a Master — why does no one know of it? In Our presence, you still compound your brazenness with falsehoods. This is outrageous!”
“Therein lies the very greatness of my Master’s Daoist arts — he never appears before others. He transmitted the Dao to me within dreams, or by coming in concealed form. As for why? Naturally, my Master’s heart is set on reclusive cultivation, free from the disturbances of worldly affairs. The halls of the Xuanzu are magnificent — but they are not to my Master’s taste.”
The mockery. The pointed insinuation. The veins at the Emperor An’he’s temple throbbed visibly. He gave a cold laugh. “And yet We have heard it said that your Master has already passed from this world?”
Lang Jiuchuan’s eyes flickered. An expression of grief passed across her face. “Mortal flesh and blood — all must inevitably pass. My Master will. Your Majesty will. So will I — what is strange about that? Look at Prince Jing: did he not die just like that, in a single moment? It is only ever a matter of timing.”
“Outrageous! You dare to speak a curse upon His Majesty!” the chief eunuch bellowed furiously.
The Emperor An’he’s expression darkened.
Lang Jiuchuan said: “This humble Daoist is merely stating a fact. Mortal life is governed by a predetermined number of years — we who cultivate the Dao simply understand somewhat more than ordinary people about the art of preserving the body. With cultivation comes a somewhat longer life — but ultimately, true immortality is beyond our reach.”
The Emperor An’he seemed to think of something, and for a brief moment, an expression of blankness and disbelief crossed his features.
Was it truly impossible to achieve immortality? And yet the National Preceptor had lived so long — long enough to outlast so many successive emperors and still walk among the living.
“Your Majesty?” the chief eunuch called softly.
The Emperor An’he came back to himself. The direction of the conversation shifted as he said: “Prince Jing’s passing was entirely unexpected. We gave you and Prince Jing the imperial marriage decree — and yet it became a bond left unfulfilled. If you are willing to observe a period of mourning and prayer on his behalf, We shall have a Daoist sanctuary built for you, confer upon you the title of Celestial Preceptress, raise a Daoist tower in your honor, and allow you to cultivate in peace and security. What do you think?”
The chief eunuch added promptly: “This is an immense bestowing of imperial grace. Lang Miss, should you not kneel and express your gratitude?”
Lang Jiuchuan gave a contemptuous smile: “Imperial grace is immense — and so it severs my ties with the Dao, issues a forced marriage decree to bind me to another, and that other is a person condemned by the Way of Heaven, their own misdeeds turned back upon them as punishment? This sort of immensity — this humble Daoist is of frail constitution, and cannot bear it.”
“You — how dare—”
“Your Majesty has been deceived by others. Does Your Majesty not know that one upon whom misdeeds are turned back against is a person of openly wicked conduct? And now Your Majesty wishes to have me — one who has devoted herself to cleansing the world of demonic filth and guarding the righteous path of the Xuandao — keep a mourning vigil for such a person? Are you not afraid of becoming the next one condemned by the Way of Heaven?”
The Emperor An’he rose in fury, one hand leveling a finger at her: “You — do you truly believe We would not dare to move against you?”
“Your Majesty, your health has not been well — does that not give you cause for reflection? Yin-natured poison seeps into the organs. Why not apply a little more force — and see whether you crack the skin of that hand, and whether black blood comes seeping out?” Lang Jiuchuan met the Emperor An’he’s gaze directly, a reckless smile spreading across her face, and said: “This humble Daoist will not conceal it from Your Majesty: before my Master left this world, he established a marriage pact for me, witnessed by the Way of Heaven. Any who violate it shall be condemned by the Way of Heaven. Prince Jing is dead — and so be it. But Your Majesty now wishes me to keep a widow’s vigil on his behalf — the one who gave Your Majesty that suggestion intends to use the hand of the Way of Heaven to turn against you, does he not?”
What?
The Emperor An’he suddenly felt a sharp itch spread across the back of his hand. Without thinking, he scratched at it with force — and a thick, dark stream of black blood came spurting forth.