When Madam Cui awoke again, it was as though she had become a different person. The light in her eyes was dimmer than before, yet in its place was a kind of quiet, almost ascetic steadiness. She no longer sought death, and she took her medicines on schedule — but she could no longer return to the pampered, comfortable life of a grand noblewoman as she had once lived it.
She had most of the lavish furnishings removed from her room, keeping only the simple necessities for daily living. From then on, she ate a vegetarian diet and recited Buddhist sutras every day without fail.
And in her small personal shrine, there appeared one more carefully crafted yet immeasurably solemn memorial tablet of purple sandalwood. It was carved by Lang Jiuchuan’s own hand, and the name written upon it was: the Spirit of Ren Xi.
Xi carried the meaning of sunlight. It was the name that Wu Youzi had given her in life — even though father and daughter were destined never to meet in life or in death, he had prayed for a divine miracle to come someday, prayed that this pitiful child might one day emerge like the morning sun, like the dawn breaking across the horizon.
Every morning, Cui Shi would sit before the memorial tablet, burning incense and sitting in stillness for several hours, chanting sutras and praying for blessings. All the guilt she had owed Lang Jiuchuan, all the longing — and the boundless remorse she felt toward that innocent girl who had taken her daughter’s place and yet had never received a single drop of maternal love before dying such a wretched death — she poured all of it into these daily prayers and acts of penitence, seeking atonement.
Was she pitiful? Without a doubt, she was pitiable. Not yet forty years of age, yet half her life had been spent deceived. Having learned the truth, she had nearly not wished to go on. For the rest of her days, she would never be able to forgive herself, and would pass those long remaining years in pain and self-reproach.
But was she to be condemned? That too was fair. Condemned for having displaced her resentment onto an innocent infant because of her own private grievance. Condemned for years of cold indifference and inaction. It was precisely because of her contempt and her aversion that the child who had lived as “Lang Jiuchuan” for more than a decade never experienced a single day, not even a single moment, of a mother’s love. She had never felt the warmth of a family. On that manor estate, she had grown like a weed — left to survive on her own, or not — until she had withered away in fear and helplessness, dying a death of terrible cruelty.
Her inaction was the invisible force that had pushed this tragedy along.
Perhaps Lang Jiuchuan was right — the tribulation that was meant for that child would have found her regardless, even had she been raised in the household with love and tenderness. But how could it have been the same? If she had grown up cherished and loved within the household walls, even when that tribulation came for her, she would not have faced it in such desolation and regret.
Cui Shi had no intention of defending herself. Perhaps from an outsider’s perspective, what she was doing now was only to ease her own conscience. But she knew — as long as she lived to see that wicked person brought to justice, she could close her eyes in peace.
Lang Jiuchuan offered no further persuasion. If this was the only faith that could keep Cui Shi alive, then so be it. Each person had their own cause and consequence to reckon with. She had already done more than enough.
As for filial tenderness and closeness — she could not manufacture what she had never felt. She had never experienced such a bond, and she certainly could not feign one. A quiet, distant coexistence was perhaps the most natural way for them to be.
The day of the Minor New Year.
Lang Jiuchuan brought Cui Shi to the Ren residence. After Fu Yi had the deed to the property reissued in a new name, craftsmen had been called to make it presentable — no great construction or rebuilding of the structure, only a simple restoration. There were not many people living there, only an elderly couple of servants and a mute girl who kept the place in order, yet on the whole, the residence no longer carried that former oppressive atmosphere of ghostly dread.
The Ren residence still bore its original name plaque at the gate, but the deed was now held under Lang Jiuchuan’s name. Fu Yi had specially sought out a location with favorable geomantic energy, and had set aside a dedicated plot to be developed into a small burial ground, to serve as the memorial tomb site for Wu Youzi and the others.
A memorial tomb it was called, yet of the three members of the family — Ren Yao most of all — there was little in the way of personal belongings left behind. But Cui Shi had made a set of garments for Ren Yao, in the role of a childhood companion from her girlhood days.
Fate was truly absurd. When they were young, the two had been close friends, their appearances somewhat similar. Yet in the end, a wicked schemer had used this against them, and as a result, both of their daughters had died before their time. Heaven was truly unjust.
Lang Jiuchuan, dressed in plain white mourning clothes, arrived at the burial ground. Fu Yi had already sent people to dig three deep pits there. She took the personal effects belonging to each of the three — Wu Youzi, Ren Yao, and the child — wrapped them in oilpaper, placed them in lacquered boxes lined with moth-repelling materials, sealed them with soul-settling spirit talismans, and buried them in the pits.
Fu Yi arranged incense, candles, and offerings before the pits and lit them for the memorial rite. Cui Shi also stepped forward and paid her respects in silence.
Once the pits were filled and mounded into small earthen mounds, Lang Jiuchuan took up the three engraved memorial stones she had prepared in advance — carved with only a name each — and pressed them deeply into the ground before each mound. Then she took up a flask of clear wine — a chrysanthemum wine brewed from chrysanthemum blossoms and morning dew, with soul-soothing talismans specially added, clean and sweet in its fragrance — and slowly poured a libation before the mounds, letting it seep into the earth.
“Though this comes later than it should, Jiuchuan will guide you on this final journey.” Lang Jiuchuan took up the Dizhong bell, sat cross-legged, and rang the bell as she recited the Great Compassion Mantra.
The words of the sutra mingled with the sound of the bell and carried in all four directions, as though bearing some strange and otherworldly power. It stirred the currents of air around them, which circled and wound around the small burial ground. The newly planted pine tree within the garden swayed gently, as though lamenting the departed.
Cui Shi wept beyond consolation. She pressed both hands to her forehead and knelt before the mounds.
May you find your way into the cycle of reincarnation, and know peace at last.
Outside the walls of the residence, passersby happened to catch the resonance of the bell. The sound of the sutra too was full of compassion, and they could not help but stop and listen.
Was someone inside this haunted house conducting rites to guide a wronged soul on to the next world?
Lang Jiuchuan recited the Great Compassion Mantra three times in full. With each word of comfort she offered, the faint, barely perceptible remnant of a grudge-bearing soul’s resentment — still lingering in the air — seemed to be washed and cleansed by the sutras, and gradually became tranquil, dispersing into the heavens and the earth.
From this day, the debt of cause and effect was fully and completely repaid.
Lang Jiuchuan bowed down, and looking at the three small mounds, she murmured silently: “If you truly watch over us from beyond, you must protect me. When one day I have killed that old fox Tantai Qing and our great vengeance is fulfilled, I will certainly come to this grave and drink a hearty toast.”
The wind sighed and keened — as though offering wordless encouragement.
When the rites were finished and they returned to the household, Cui Shi collapsed. Lang Jiuchuan administered another round of acupuncture and said, “The cold of winter is severe. You are weak in constitution and deficient in vital energy — do not venture outdoors. If you catch a cold, it will be difficult to recover from properly.”
“You — are you leaving again?” Cui Shi started with alarm.
“The great vengeance is unsettled, and there are still many mysteries yet to be uncovered,” Lang Jiuchuan said. “I need to keep pressing forward.”
Cui Shi’s brow furrowed. Her voice was hoarse as she said, “I have no right to dissuade you. I will say only this — take care above all else.”
Lang Jiuchuan nodded.
“Madam, Third Young Mistress has returned to her family home and is on her way to Qixia Pavilion. She says she has come to visit you.” Cheng Nanny walked in and announced.
Cui Shi was briefly startled, and she gently declined: “My illness has not lifted. She gave birth not long ago and is still nursing — let her not come in, in case she catches something from me.” Seeing a look of puzzlement cross Lang Jiuchuan’s face, she explained: “She is your third elder sister. Her given name is Caining. She is the eldest legitimate daughter of the first branch. When your grandfather passed, she was pregnant. Her husband’s family had strict rules — to avoid a clash of auspices — so she was not able to return.”
As they were speaking, a maidservant came to relay that Lang Caining had already arrived. Cui Shi had no choice but to let her in.
Lang Jiuchuan turned her head and looked. She saw a young woman dressed in a pale violet brocade jacket and skirt — her figure slightly full-figured, though her brows and eyes carried a troubled expression — walk in accompanied by Wu Shi. The moment the young woman caught sight of Lang Jiuchuan, her eyes lit up with a flash of unmistakable eagerness.
Lang Jiuchuan’s eyes narrowed slightly. The wine was not what the guest truly came for. This elder sister, whom she had never met before, had come principally for her. Someone had brought work to her door.