Lang Jiuchuan had collapsed to the ground. Blood seeped from all seven orifices on her face, and the ten fingers of both her hands looked as though they had been hacked by a blade — a mangled mess of blood and flesh. Whether she was alive or dead was unknown.

A’Piao rushed over, his hands hovering helplessly with nowhere to place them. She wasn’t really dead, was she? Then why did she have to be so reckless?

Jiangche was frantic in the spiritual court, leaping about like a flea. Using all of its willpower to envelop her scattering divine soul, it cried out desperately to the wooden fish, “Think of something — quickly bring her inside the Small Nine Pagoda to recuperate! Hurry! Her divine soul is about to disperse!”

The wooden fish said, “This is heavenly punishment. She must weather it on her own.”

“What kind of heavenly punishment would scatter someone’s soul to the winds? A Grand Divination — and the penalty is this severe?” Jiangche’s own spirit felt itself growing faint, because it had discovered that its willpower was having absolutely no effect on Lang Jiuchuan whatsoever.

The wooden fish said quietly, “If it truly were only a Grand Divination, the punishment would not be like this. Look at that paper — she glimpsed the future. She reversed the flow of time and space. Just now, something helped deflect a portion of the blow for her. If not for that, she would be in far worse condition.”

What force it was remained unknown — yet to possess such power was remarkable indeed.

What?

Jiangche burst out from the spiritual court and looked at the drawing Lang Jiuchuan had made just moments ago, its eyes wide with astonishment.

It was a sketch, yet it was vivid and true to life — as though someone had stood at the scene and witnessed everything as it unfolded.

“How could she…” Jiangche let out a low cry. Was this something a person whose soul was as incomplete as hers could accomplish? She was looking to get herself killed.

The wooden fish sighed. “She grasped the Venerable’s method. Back in those days, it was exactly this that the Venerable used to glimpse the secrets of heaven — drawing my spirit into the Vajra Pagoda to serve as its vessel spirit, then commanding me, upon his passing into stillness, to swallow his most precious relic within the pagoda and wait for a fated disciple to appear.”

“A disciple?”

The wooden fish gave a sound of acknowledgment. “The Venerable never took a single disciple in his entire life. His master’s teacher once told him that he would have only one distant, ethereal disciple in his lifetime — if the connection was made, everything he had comprehended and learned could be passed on; if not, it would simply be a case of the karmic thread never crossing. And so the Venerable used the technique of glimpsing the future to look ahead, and after ages turning to ages, he finally waited until Lang Jiu came to reforge the Vajra Pagoda.”

Who would have thought — truly the most distant and ethereal of disciples. The kind for whom even the ceremonial tea of discipleship initiation could never be shared.

Jiangche’s expression went blank. “Venerable Luo Le was also a madman.”

The wooden fish fell silent. The Buddha said that a thousand years of reincarnation may yield but a single meeting — who could say whether that was what they were?

It also hadn’t expected Lang Jiuchuan’s comprehension to be so exceptional — to have grasped that particular path so quickly, and to use it with such boldness on something like this.

She was recklessly impatient — but she was also genuinely audacious and unhinged.

Like the Venerable — the same untamed arrogance.

“Then what do we do now? If she can’t survive this heavenly punishment, then…” Jiangche’s voice trailed off as, without warning, it felt a chill run through its entire being. Something had arrived.

Its eyes blinked, and it saw someone pass straight through the wall and walk over. He was shrouded entirely in black mist, his features blurred and indistinct, and he walked directly to stand before Lang Jiuchuan.

Jiangche was frantic and tried to rush forward, but he glanced at it, and its entire body felt as though it had been rooted to the spot. He seemed to be saying something — though Jiangche could not hear it — and it seemed as though… he was scolding it?

Jiangche called out frantically to the wooden fish, but that dead fish was like a belly-up carp — not a single sound from it.

Damn it.

Jiangche watched helplessly as he lifted the blood-soaked figure of Lang Jiuchuan, uncertain what he intended to do. Desperately breaking free from the restraint, Jiangche rushed forward — and just as it drew near, the man’s sleeve swept outward.

A surge of force hit it head-on.

It was over.

Darkness fell over Jiangche’s eyes, and it knew nothing more.

Even Lang Jiu’s scolding wasn’t wrong — it really was useless!

A’Piao, who had been crouching before Lang Jiuchuan, was utterly astounded. He had not expected his master to appear. Watching him lift Lang Jiuchuan into his arms, A’Piao was struck speechless and wide-eyed, wanting to ask yet not daring to.

What was going on? His master knew her?

When had this happened? How did he know nothing about it — not even a hint?

Feng Ya carried the feather-light Lang Jiuchuan into the rear chamber, placed her on the bed, and snapped his fingers. A flash of violet-gold light swept through, and the filthy, blood-soaked clothing on her vanished — replaced by a fresh, clean set.

He pressed two fingers to her spiritual court, sending soul force from his fingertips into the spiritual court within her, gathering her scattering soul back together. When it was all done, his own body had been depleted by two parts.

A ghost attendant appeared soundlessly and presented a box. Feng Ya took from it a pellet of violet-gold medicinal elixir and placed it in her mouth.

He stood at the bedside, looking down at her from above. A flash of fury crossed his eyes, and both of his hands tightened slightly.

The ghost attendant, seeing the spiritual energy stirring around him, hastily urged, “My lord — this is the mortal realm.”

To act further would violate the rules of heaven and earth.

Once violated, everything he had done would be undone — it would not be worth it.

Feng Ya closed both eyes. Those violet-gold irises returned to black — becoming yet more deep and unfathomable. Whatever he was thinking, no one could know.

Lang Jiuchuan’s eyelids trembled. She forced her eyes open a thin crack and made out a mass of darkness before her. Her entire body tensed with wariness. Before she could do anything, that dark shadow seemed to press downward, and her consciousness plunged once more into darkness. Yet in the moment before awareness faded entirely, her lips moved, and a word of indignation escaped:

“Weak.”

Feng Ya nearly burst out laughing in exasperation. Truly — what else would one expect from her.

“My lord, the hour has come,” the ghost attendant had to remind him once more.

Feng Ya turned his head to look at him. “You’ve grown ever more long-winded.”

The ghost attendant kept a straight face. “And the one inside — are you leaving her unattended?”

Leaving her unattended would mean staying with her, then.

Feng Ya: “!”

He looked at Lang Jiuchuan again, let out a quiet sigh, and his fingers moved. Unable to stop himself, he extended his hand and flicked a finger against her forehead, and only when a bump rose on that smooth, unblemished brow did he look satisfied.

A’Piao was cautiously peering inside just in time to witness this scene, and his ghost eyes nearly fell from their sockets.

Was this still the same master of his — that composed and unsmiling, utterly serious man?

Feng Ya said, “Watch over her. Don’t tell her I was here. Whatever she wants — give it to her, but don’t make it too easy.”

Lest someone take an inch and want a mile.

A’Piao hurried inside and said, “My lord, are you speaking to me? Young Miss Lang Jiu has actually been asking me to introduce you to her, saying she has long admired you by reputation.”

Feng Ya let out a cold laugh. “You believe her? She merely wants to latch onto a powerful patron so she can shelter beneath a great tree and eke out her existence. Just say I’m still in seclusion.”

“That is precisely what I told her.”

“The intelligence on the Xuan Clan — don’t give it all to her at once. Release it little by little.” Feng Ya looked at Lang Jiuchuan, his gaze cold and piercing. “This trial — she has to break through it herself.”

A’Piao was taken aback.

Feng Ya finished speaking and turned to leave the way he had come. The ghost attendant followed behind him.

A’Piao hastily called out after him: “My lord — who exactly is she?”

Feng Ya’s steps faltered. He turned his head to look at the person in the bed, whose chest barely rose and fell, and was silent for a long moment before giving an answer: “A fool who lost a bet, nothing more.”

He stepped into the void.

That tone — resigned, yet furious. Laden with something like aggrieved sorrow and tender pity all at once.

A’Piao pondered it for a long time, then walked to Lang Jiuchuan’s bedside and looked at her steadily. After a lengthy silence, he finally pressed out a single sentence: “Could it be that you are my master’s sworn enemy?”

Only sworn enemies were entangled in a bond like this.

Back in the ancient tomb, Feng Ya stumbled as he stepped forward and nearly fell. His expression black, he settled once more before the seven-colored lotus lamp and closed his eyes.

The ghost attendant lit three sticks of soul incense and set them before him, took one look at the way Feng Ya’s soul force was dissipating in disarray, and muttered under his breath — well, wasn’t this exactly what sworn enemies were?