Lang Jiuchuan looked at the sleeping infant, at her serene little face — the kind that made one’s heart soften just looking at it. Had she herself been this small and milk-soft when she was little?

“For a mother and daughter to be separated is no good thing — especially for a mother who dearly loves her child. It is despair and anguish. Beyond that, she has now entered the path of cultivation, and yet is this path an easy one to walk? The road I walked may well not be a road strewn with flowers for her — it may be a road to death.” Lang Jiuchuan said quietly: “Especially since she is now a piece on that old monster’s board. She will inevitably be moved to wherever he needs her.”

If the Imperial Preceptor had schemed this precisely, then she was useful to him — and a piece of such great use would not simply be discarded.

“Though she is a piece, that doesn’t mean she cannot become a spent piece. I can baptize her root constitution and soul, and I can also strip away her fate, leaving this phoenix-fate vessel without its greatest power.” A’Piao saw resolution flash in Lang Jiuchuan’s eyes.

A phoenix-fate vessel? Altering a person’s fate was not difficult for a Master of Heaven.

A’Piao crossed his arms and said: “Altering one’s fate, if it is broken, will bring karmic backlash onto you. But if instead you imprint your soul mark onto this fate of hers, then should the Imperial Preceptor insist on using her, he would first need to strip away your soul mark — and at that moment, you could strike back and turn the tables on him.”

“What you say isn’t wrong. Imprinting my mark, protecting her divine soul, concealing her fate — if the old monster wants complete control, he’d first have to strip away my presence, and I could indeed use that moment to deliver a backlash against him. But this child would also endure extreme suffering, and in the end, it would still mean her death.” Lang Jiuchuan shook her head. The corner of her mouth curved into a cold arc: “If dealing with him requires exploiting an infant, then what difference is there between him and me?”

Her gaze settled back on the swaddled bundle. She murmured: “She’s only half a year old. How her road is walked — that’s still something we can decide for her.”

Even if this path wasn’t necessarily the right one, compared to not knowing when she might be sacrificed to the heavens or placed at some position on his board — being by her mother’s side and living as a carefree young girl should bring her more happiness, shouldn’t it?

A’Piao clasped his hands in a bow of apology for his suggestion, his expression abashed and ashamed, though a flash of admiration and appreciation showed in his eyes.

To have a moral limit, to be kind but within measure, to act with virtue in all things — this was the primary reason she was someone others were glad to draw close to.

“To alter her fate, I must also inform her mother and obtain her consent. Without it, no matter how good the intentions, altering it privately will only make me look like an evil cultivator — and I can’t afford to carry that name.” Lang Jiuchuan drew in a deep breath, suppressing the dull, aching backlash stirring in her dantian, and said: “The child cannot make her own decision, but her mother can. Mother and daughter share blood — if the mother consents, it can be attested before Heaven and Earth, and I won’t be subject to irreversible karmic backlash as a result.”

She had her moral limits, but she was no great saint or bodhisattva either, one who would bear every karmic consequence on her own. For something like altering one’s fate, they still needed to bear some portion of the cause and effect that followed from their own choices.

Whatever the future brought would be the result of karma — no one else’s fault.

“This child will remain with Madam Song for now. As for Wen Yue, I’ll first check on how she has recovered — and her husband is also a pit of fire. If she doesn’t leave him, it won’t be good for the child either. A’Piao, that old monster has been stealing the fortune of noble families, and now he’s also collecting children with special fates. Whatever he intends, it must be something that will shake the world. Help me look into whether any other children like her have gone missing.”

A’Piao nodded. “This can’t be rushed. Don’t push yourself too hard. Things have to be done one step at a time. Truth be told, everyone here combined is not equal to you alone — he cares most about you. So you must become stronger. Strong enough that even if you fall into his trap, you won’t be killed a second time.”

“Agreed!” Lang Jiuchuan nodded firmly. She knew it too — the contest of wits between her and that old monster had already escalated to a new level.

Now to speak of another thread of events.

The Gong Family compound, deep within the archives tower.

The air was suffused with a peculiar mingling of aged scroll parchment and dark sandalwood.

Gong Tinglan, who in the eyes of outsiders always appeared as ethereal and otherworldly as an immortal in exile, was now thoroughly disheveled — legs crossed amid a mountain-high accumulation of ancient jade slips and sheepskin scrolls. His fingertip brushed over a dim jade slip bearing records, in archaic seal script, of the secret history surrounding the founding of the Great Dhan Dynasty.

After parting ways with Lang Jiuchuan following the resolution of the Yang Family affair, he had returned to the Gong Family, quietly arranged certain matters, and then plunged into the depths of the archives tower — open to none outside the family, forbidden even to non-core members without an authorized entry token — to search through the occult clan records from two hundred years prior, the founding era of Great Dhan.

He had been in this archives tower for several days now, poring over countless secret histories he had read through once as a child. A weariness he could not conceal lay over his handsome, clear-featured face — and yet those bright, clear eyes never ceased to emit a fierce, blazing light.

The jade slip now in his hands documented Tantai Qing — the seventh son of Tantai Jing, the founding patriarch of the Tantai clan, who was now the Imperial Preceptor.

The slip recorded only a sparse few strokes. It seemed to have summarized his entire life in brief: the identity of his birth mother unknown; unremarkable in aptitude before the age of ten; timid and cowardly in temperament; all but invisible among the Tantai clan of that era, a generation filled with brilliant talents — there was nothing to distinguish him.

Yet shortly after his tenth birthday, it was as though he had suddenly awakened overnight. Not only did his cultivation advance by leaps and bounds, but he also revealed a near-monstrous depth of natural talent for the dao — a revelation that left his father regarding him with entirely new eyes and treasuring him greatly.

By all logic, a genius such as this should have had a long catalog of achievements and detailed records. Yet after his extraordinary talent was revealed, the records became scant to the point of near-nonexistence — as though someone had deliberately erased them. Only vague mentions of certain deeds remained, nothing more. This continued until after Tantai Jing’s death and the accession of the new emperor, Tantai Chao, who suddenly conferred upon him the title of Protective Divine Preceptor of the Nation, with the honorific title of…

Hm.

No honorific title?

Gong Tinglan paused, then it slowly registered. The Imperial Preceptor was addressed as Imperial Preceptor — but he had never heard mention of an honorific title. Only a Daoist name. That shouldn’t be right. For someone conferred by the sovereign as a divine preceptor, how could there be no supreme honorific?

He opened another jade slip — this one recorded the major events of Great Dhan across the thirty years following the second emperor’s accession. The entry conferring the role of Imperial Preceptor was likewise only a few sparse lines, and similarly made no mention of any honorific title.

Strange.

Gong Tinglan’s gaze returned thoughtfully to the jade slip. Before the age of ten, utterly unremarkable — then, the moment his birthday passed, a sudden meteoric rise. This jarring transformation produced in him a strong sense of wrongness. Could a person truly shed their entire nature and be reborn to such a degree overnight?

He thought of Lang Jiuchuan.

She too was different. Now he understood — Lang Jiuchuan had returned to life in a borrowed body, reborn through the fire. And the Imperial Preceptor, then? Was it truly the awakening that came with reaching a certain age, or was it something else — something like her return to life, or perhaps… a soul seizure?

Whichever it was — if the current Imperial Preceptor had always been the same Tantai Qing who awakened at age ten, then by now his age long surpassed two hundred years. If his cultivation had made no further advancement into a higher realm, he would likely have little time left.

Gong Tinglan took out his message jade talisman and was just about to send a transmission to Lang Jiuchuan when a powerful presence appeared behind him. He rose at once and turned to bow with clasped hands: “Family Head!”