It had all happened in the span of a lightning flash. With the immediate danger past, some people had gone completely limp where they stood, others were still covering their eyes, too afraid to witness what they had feared was coming, and some had fainted dead away. All around, the infant’s wails continued without pause.

The child in Lang Jiuchuan’s arms had been so badly frightened that she was crying herself breathless—her small face had turned a deep, congested purple, and she was convulsing, her eyes rolled white.

An infant seizure.

Lang Jiuchuan gathered a concentrated thread of spiritual energy at her fingertip and pressed it gently to the baby’s brow. Her voice softened to something like drifting cloud: “Shh. Be good.”

The spiritual energy carried with it a sense of deep calm. It flowed into the child’s spirit, then traveled through her meridians to her heart. Gradually, the infant’s desperate crying quieted to a soft, hiccupping whimper. Before long, she had drifted into exhausted sleep, tear tracks still drying on her small cheeks.

Wen Yue had become considerably more lucid. She stared at her own trembling hands, murmuring in a daze, “What was I doing—what have I done—I nearly dropped her, I nearly—I…”

It seemed she could not begin to come to terms with her own monstrous behavior. Her eyes turned bloodshot, and all at once she snatched the pearl-and-silver pin from her hair and turned it toward her own throat.

Everyone screamed again.

Lang Jiuchuan moved in an instant—she brought her hand down in a sharp strike against Wen Yue’s wrist, jolting it numb, and the pin clattered to the ground with a faint ring. Then she pressed two pressure points in quick succession.

Wen Yue’s body seemed to lose all its bones at once. She folded softly to the ground, her eyes wide and frightened as they found Lang Jiuchuan’s—they met a gaze of ice, sharp and severe, carrying the weight of absolute authority.

Her heart lurched as though it had been seized by that gaze itself, and for a moment she could not breathe.

“Xueduo—my baby—” Lang Cailing, her mind completely blank, scrambled toward Lang Jiuchuan on all fours, stumbling and lurching.

Her face was ashen, her hair in disarray, her clothes already stained with the dirt of the courtyard floor—none of it mattered. All that existed for her was the bundle in Lang Jiuchuan’s arms. Her hands would not stop shaking. She could not even bring herself to reach out and take the child—she could only repeat her daughter’s pet name over and over, incoherent with terror.

“She is unharmed. She was only frightened—she has fallen asleep.” Lang Jiuchuan, seeing that Lang Cailing’s hands were trembling too badly, kept the child in one arm and with her free hand gave Lang Cailing a light tap between the brows. “Calm down. Close your eyes. Breathe in—deep and slow. Xueduo is perfectly fine.”

Lang Cailing felt a warmth enter her at the touch, and for an instant her mind went quiet. Then the memory of what had just happened rushed back in full force, and the terror of it overwhelmed her anew. She dropped onto her knees beside Lang Jiuchuan and began to sob openly, as though she were expelling every last shred of fear and anguish from her body.

All around her, others quietly wept and pressed their sleeves to their eyes, shaken to the core in equal measure.

Lady Lu was still trembling, and she pinched hard at the pressure point between her thumb and forefinger to steady herself before calling out in a hoarse voice, “Someone go and fetch a physician!”

A servant bolted from the courtyard at a stumbling run.

Lady Lu turned at last to look at Lang Jiuchuan and the infant in her arms. The back of her robe was soaked through with cold sweat even in the deep of winter. If this young woman had not acted—the child might not have survived. And if she had survived, she would not have escaped unharmed.

Had the legitimate eldest granddaughter of a ducal household met with such a fate within the Lu Household—even with Lady Wen having been the one to bring the child here, even with Wen Yue having been the one to act—the Duke’s household would never have let it rest. The two families would have been sundered by the dispute.

The Lu Family was an old and respected house. For such a catastrophe to have unfolded within their walls—their reputation would have suffered enormously.

A narrow escape.

By this time, Lang Cailing had let out what she needed to let out, and the strength had begun to return to her limbs. She rose from the ground, took the swaddled bundle from Lang Jiuchuan’s arms, and looked down at the small face within it. “Xueduo—you are your mother’s very life—” She pressed the child close and wept again, quietly.

Perhaps stirred by her mother’s emotions—or simply because she was being held too tightly—the baby, who had been deeply asleep, began to stir and whimper again.

Lang Cailing tensed immediately. “Ninth Sister—what’s wrong with her?”

“You’re holding her too tightly. Find a room, unwrap the swaddling, and let me look at her.” Lang Jiuchuan said.

“Use the east wing room then—why are you all standing there? Get moving.” Lady Lu caught Lang Cailing addressing the other young woman as Ninth Sister and the gleam in her eyes sharpened. She stepped forward with notable warmth: “Is this the honored young lady from the family of our eldest young mistress’s mother-in-law? Then this must be the ninth young miss of the Marquis’s household?”

Lang Cailing’s voice was sharp with fury: “If it weren’t for my own ninth sister, I don’t know whether Xueduo would even be alive right now. There are so many servants in this courtyard and not a single one could restrain my eldest sister-in-law—it very nearly became an irreversible catastrophe.”

Lady Lu looked somewhat embarrassed, but she managed a sulky response: “The servants in this courtyard all belong to the Duke’s household—it is hardly my place to order about the people of my daughter-in-law’s household or the guests of another family.”

This was pure evasion of responsibility.

Lang Cailing trembled with indignation. Was this how a proper mistress of a household should speak? Even if the majority of the servants here belonged to the Duke’s household and to Wen Yue, shouldn’t she at least have the decency to soften her tone after what had just happened?

She was about to say more when Lang Jiuchuan stopped her. “Take the child inside first—she is what matters most.” She then swept a cold glance over Lady Lu.

That look was glacial. Lady Lu felt a shiver pass through her entire body and did not dare meet her eyes, nor did she dare open her mouth.

The courtyard came to life again—some led Lang Cailing and Lang Jiuchuan to the east wing, others helped the dazed and listless Wen Yue back to her room to be changed, and others moved to carry the still-unconscious Lady Wen away.

One of Lady Wen’s trusted maidservants called out tentatively, “Young Mistress—”

Lang Cailing glanced back at the collapsed Lady Wen. The look in her eyes was as cold as if it had been steeped in poison. She turned away without a word.

“Let her faint—it won’t kill her. Or use a sharp object to press her philtrum,” Lang Jiuchuan said, her voice utterly without warmth. The gaze she directed at Lady Wen was even colder than the one she had turned on Lady Lu.

The one who caused this cannot be forgiven.

As everyone dispersed, Lady Lu instructed her own servants: “Go and inform the Young Master at once—there’s been an incident.” She had managed to speak lightly just now, but Wen Yue was still the Lu Family’s daughter-in-law. For this to have happened, her husband Lu Ruitíng could not escape accountability. If he could not, his reputation would be tarnished.

The saving grace was that no real disaster had occurred—the child had been unharmed. If it had gone otherwise, there would have been no peaceful resolution.

In the east wing, Lang Cailing watched with a heart full of both anguish and rage as Lang Jiuchuan carefully examined her daughter’s limbs and pulse—the child’s face was still streaked with dried tears. She had nowhere to direct her fury, and in the end she tore her handkerchief to shreds.

The baby was barely three months old, and already she had been put through this. What had she ever done to deserve it?

“She has only been frightened—no lasting harm. But when small children are badly startled, they can be plagued by night terrors. Do you still have the protective amulet I gave you?” Lang Jiuchuan rewrapped the child and reached into her pouch. She looked at the baby. Too small.

She looked at Lang Cailing, her gaze dropping briefly to her chest. “Are you nursing her yourself?”

Lang Cailing blinked, then flushed and gave a small nod. “The wet nurse does most of it, but I didn’t want to stop nursing altogether—it felt important for closeness.”

Lang Jiuchuan picked up a teacup from the table, performed a cleansing incantation, and handed it to her. “Express some milk into this.”

Lang Cailing: ….

She did not dare ask why. She simply turned away in silence, cheeks burning, and loosened her collar.

Lang Jiuchuan detached the bone bell at her waist. When Lang Cailing passed her the cup a moment later, she called forth Shuijing to condense a single drop of spiritual essence into it, then fed it to the infant.

Catching Lang Cailing’s questioning look, she explained: “She is too young for medicine. This will be enough—give her the milk to drink and keep the protective amulet on her always.”

“Ninth Sister—thank goodness you were there. Without you, Xueduo would surely have—” Tears sprang again to Lang Cailing’s eyes. “You are truly her guardian star, this little aunt of hers.”

Lang Jiuchuan had not even finished responding before a commotion arose outside. Someone burst through the door without ceremony. Lang Jiuchuan turned her gaze toward them, eyes cold.