Lang Jiuchuan had expended a massive amount of spiritual power in that wave of attacks. She lay on the ground for a long while before recovering, and she didn’t retreat into the Small Nine Pagoda to recuperate either — who knew whether that old monster had other “eyes” watching? She’d best not expose herself any further.

She simply drew on the bone bell’s spiritual energy, quietly regulating her breathing. As for entering closed-door cultivation to recover, that would have to wait until she left this place. Right now, she had more pressing matters to attend to.

Lang Jiuchuan looked at Dao Jicang, whose breath was more outgoing than incoming, his face bearing the pallor of a dying man. She propped herself up and told Jiangche to take the child and leave first.

Jiangche picked up the swaddled infant in his mouth and departed from the cave.

Lang Jiuchuan came before Dao Jicang and fixed her gaze on his eyes: “You served him for a hundred years. Do you know what great dao he holds firm to in his heart?”

Dao Jicang met her gaze, his lips moving, and he let out a cold laugh: “You… show no reverence, no loyalty, you stabbed your own master in the back. You are unworthy of being the Venerable One’s personal disciple…”

“In those years when I revered him and was loyal to him, what came of it? He was the one who suppressed me beneath the imperial mausoleum, leaving me to meet a wretched end — my soul scattered to the winds.” Lang Jiuchuan stared at him without blinking, the corner of her lips curling into a smile. “That honor of being a personal disciple — do you want it?”

She wasn’t someone who couldn’t die — what mattered was how she died, and whether her death was worth it. But how had she died? She had been personally destroyed by someone she both revered and was loyal to, someone who had been both father and teacher to her. So who, in the end, had stabbed whom in the back?

It was Tantai Qing himself who had first abandoned that bond between master and disciple, and it was he who had ended it!

Dao Jicang froze. A flicker of panic showed in his aged eyes. His mouth opened as though to say something, but blood came gushing forth instead. His eyes suddenly went wide and round, his entire body convulsing violently.

This was bad!

Lang Jiuchuan flash-stepped aside in an instant, just barely condensing a sliver of true qi as a shield around herself, and then she heard a low, agonized shriek rise up and vanish just as swiftly.

She turned her head to look — and saw Dao Jicang’s soul split into pieces, dissolving into a wisp of pale smoke that slowly dissipated within the cave.

Lang Jiuchuan watched with a blank expression. It seemed to be within her expectations, and yet there was a trace of regret — though what ran deeper in her eyes was cold mockery and grave solemnity.

A hundred years of devoted service, and all it amounted to was having his soul shattered by a forbidden seal the moment he touched upon it. He, the so-called most faithful disciple — and what had he gained from it?

When it came to the most closely guarded core secrets, he had been kept completely in the dark. There were even things he hadn’t been given the chance to speak of — the moment he tried, it was tantamount to betrayal, and his divine soul would detonate.

If living long was the reward, then having lived to the age of a hundred years, he had surely had enough.

One wondered whether those who followed Tantai Qing, upon witnessing this scene, would feel the sorrow of a fox mourning the death of a hare.

“You saw it all, didn’t you? That’s how ruthless he is. For him, people are divided only into useful and useless. Once you’re no longer useful, even your secrets must be carried into the grave.” Lang Jiuchuan spoke as she turned her gaze toward the figure hidden in the shadows.

Tantai Dijun stepped forward, glanced down at Dao Jicang on the ground, then looked back at her, her expression complex.

Lang Jiuchuan walked over slowly, smiling: “You’ve come — is it to avenge the Observer of Canglang Temple and exact retribution? Let’s make it a proper contest. It’s been quite some time since we’ve last crossed techniques.”

Tantai Dijun said lightly: “The Observer passed away at the end of his natural lifespan and returned to the void. A new Observer will be crowned on a chosen date.”

Lang Jiuchuan raised her brows upon hearing this, her laughter low: “I thought sending you here meant to apprehend me — to fight another round and teach me a lesson. It seems I was mistaken.”

She swept past her and walked toward the path she had come from.

“Master is letting you go this time…”

Lang Jiuchuan halted mid-step. She turned to look at her and said with a sneer: “Letting me go? Dao Jicang served him for a hundred years — he could be considered the most loyal hunting hound there was. Did he let him go? No. He didn’t even have the chance to betray him before his divine soul self-detonated — which means that old monster gave him absolutely no opportunity to betray him at all. And you still say he’s letting me go? Are you genuinely that naive, or do you think deceiving yourself will somehow make things easier?”

Tantai Dijun’s cold, striking face went pale.

“The reason he’s keeping me around is only because the timing hasn’t ripened yet — the day to sacrifice me to the heavens hasn’t arrived. Once it does, do you think he’ll allow me to come and go as I please?” Lang Jiuchuan laughed coldly. “I’ve already died once. I simply managed by luck to escape suppression and control. But knowing his temperament — do you think he’ll be wrathful? Do you think he’ll try to kill me a second time?”

Tantai Dijun pressed her lips tightly together.

“He’s lived far too long. All those years he has lived, ultimately, are for the sake of the great dao he holds in his heart. Until that dao is fulfilled, he will never stop. You actually understand this very well, don’t you?” Lang Jiuchuan glanced once more at Dao Jicang’s remains on the ground and said: “Who lies on the ground there — it doesn’t matter to him. The only thing that matters is useful or useless. The one who fell this time is Dao Jicang. Next time, it may be you — or perhaps me.”

As she was almost out of the cave, Tantai Dijun’s voice drifted lightly into her ears: “I do not know what great dao lies in his heart. He once said to have me guard the foundations of the Great Dhan Dynasty, to help him perfect his great dao, to establish the faith of all living beings. Anyone who threatens the national fate of Great Dhan and the Tantai Dynasty’s legacy is to be killed without mercy — and that includes you. If you are of benefit to the people, so be it. If you bring chaos to the mortal world and incite upheaval in Great Dhan, you are to be eliminated.”

Lang Jiuchuan’s eyes deepened. She didn’t stop walking. Her words carried back on the wind into Tantai Dijun’s ears: “A’Qing — do nothing. You cannot defeat him.”

Cannot defeat him?

Until the very last moment, who wins and who loses — that remains to be seen.

Lang Jiuchuan left the cave and strolled at leisure into the most grand and magnificent hall of the temple — the Canglang Hall. Standing within it, she slowly raised her head.

At the center stood a golden ceremonial statue nearly two zhang tall, imposing and immovable. Its face had been sculpted to project an otherworldly transcendence — solemn and august, its gaze directed slightly downward, as though looking upon all the living souls below, receiving the worship and veneration of ten thousand devotees.

Wisps of incense smoke curled around the statue, enshrouding it completely, making it appear all the more sacred and inviolable, brimming with spiritual energy.

Yet to Lang Jiuchuan’s heavenly eye, what swirled around that statue was plainly a dense and fervent accumulation of incense offering-power and the votive wishes of the faithful — strand upon shimmering strand of golden light, flowing into the statue, drawn out ceaselessly, channeled into the void.

You dare accept this kind of worship?

Looking up at that gold-cast statue, built high and mighty upon a foundation of countless lies and sacrifices, Lang Jiuchuan felt a rush of indescribable disgust and fury surge straight to the crown of her head.

You disgust me? Then I’ll disgust you right back.

She turned and walked out. Not long after, she slipped back into the hall with her form concealed — and in each hand she now carried a pitch-black wooden bucket, each one filled to the brim with filth and stench. Taking advantage of the empty hall, she leaped lightly onto the statue’s head, chiseled a hole in the crown, then climbed up above it. She tossed two foulness talismans into each bucket, making the contents even more putrid and difficult to cleanse, and then she poured both buckets downward.

The filth entered through the statue’s crown acupoint, seeping down through the ceremonial robes, soaking every inch of the golden figure. A tremendous stench spread through the hall. The incense offering-power recoiled as though encountering its natural nemesis, scattering and dispersing in all directions to find another route.

Only then did Lang Jiuchuan leave with satisfied, unhurried strides.

She had barely stepped out of the Canglang Hall when she heard a sharp, piercing scream of horror.

Tantai Dijun had only just ordered an acolyte to collect Dao Jicang’s remains when word came that the hall’s golden statue had been desecrated with excrement. The icy, stunning face cracked.

And far away in some distant place, the Imperial Preceptor was forced to interrupt his closed-door cultivation. He laughed in sheer fury: “You truly… deserve a lesson.”