The so-called coffin sealing was simply a matter of lowering the lid — once it was lowered, it could not be opened again. Which meant that before the lid was sealed, a final viewing of the deceased was truly the last farewell.

But the sealing had its own rules. Those whose birth year and zodiac sign were in conflict with the deceased’s birth date and characters were required to absent themselves, as were women with child, lest they be harmed by the clash. Therefore, some of the Lang family were not present — at the very least, Lang Jiuchuan did not see the fourth daughter-in-law of the first branch, and the third branch’s aunt and one of her cousins were also missing.

In the mourning hall, a Daoist priest wearing a Daoist robe was already moving through the ritual proceedings. By the time Lang Jiuchuan arrived, most of the Lang family members were already assembled, and no small number of eyes turned toward her.

“Refusing to fulfill her duty when she ought to, hiding away for a full day and night without showing her face, and now the entire family is waiting for her alone.” Lang Cailing muttered under her breath.

Lang Caiyao said softly: “The elders are all here, Seventh Sister — please say a little less.”

Lang Cailing let out a harrumph, pressed her lips together, and shot a glare at Lang Jiuchuan — then her gaze dropped to Lang Jiuchuan’s waist. What was that thing hanging there? Dark and dull-looking — had it been dug out of some earthen pit? Was that a bell?

So rustic.

“Ninth Sister, come over here quickly.” Wu Shi beckoned to Lang Jiuchuan.

Lang Jiuchuan instinctively took her place in the row of the younger grandchildren generation and watched with genuine interest as the Daoist priest inside the mourning hall moved through the ritual, shaking his Daoist bell.

The chanting of sutras was unceasing.

But compared to that very first time she had heard scriptures being recited — when her soul had felt as though it was being hammered relentlessly, on the verge of fleeing her body in agony — now, with the sacred instrument at her waist, not a trace of that discomfort remained.

This object truly is beneficial to me.

Lang Jiuchuan let her hands rest at her sides, toying absently with the Divine Bell at her waist, inwardly satisfied.

Then the hand resting on the Divine Bell suddenly went still. Her eyes sharpened like blades, fixing on the hand of the mustachioed Daoist priest. Her gaze narrowed.

Interesting. A Daoist priest who made his living handling funeral rites, openly holding an object of dark yin malevolence in full view of everyone — was this an act of contempt for those present, or a practitioner so supremely skilled he felt no need to hide it?

Whatever the case, there was only one purpose behind it. That mustachioed man was looking to cause trouble.

But which faction of enemies had the Lang family managed to make — that someone couldn’t even let the funeral rites pass in peace and had to get their underhanded blow in?

This show was worth watching!

Lang Jiuchuan fixed her gaze on the Daoist priest’s movements, and then suddenly felt something was wrong. The moment she saw the Lang family’s thin and shallow merit energy and karmic fortune shrinking away from the yin malevolent energy, something detonated in her mind.

This was wrong. She was now a daughter of the Lang family. If this yin malevolent object was used to desecrate the Elder Master lying in his coffin — once the coffin was escorted to the ancestral burial ground and interred — in time, the Lang family’s feng shui would be devastated. What shelter or blessing could it then provide for the family’s descendants? The family would eventually collapse. When that day came, the worst cases would mean death and injury; the milder cases would mean ruin and misfortune. And yes, if she truly died, she could go back to the underworld and continue causing trouble there — but why go through death after death?

One prospers together, one falls together.

What this person was doing was cutting off her lifeline for freely harvesting the Lang family’s merit energy.

At this thought, Lang Jiuchuan’s face went cold. An aura of icy frost seemed to radiate from her entire being, chilling Wu Shi, standing beside her, who gave an involuntary shudder.

The weather was growing colder.

“Cleanse all impurities, receive the spirit through the nine apertures, escort the ancestor to transcendence, all shall ascend to immortality — mortals, step aside.” The Daoist priest shook his ritual bell, pressed a yellow talisman to the Elder Master’s forehead, and then directed the Lang family to turn their backs — the gesture symbolizing releasing their attachment, allowing the deceased to depart without worry, rather than lingering in the mortal realm because of loved ones’ grief.

No one raised a word of objection. Everyone turned around — everyone except Lang Jiuchuan, who did not move.

“Ninth Sister.” Wu Shi quickly tugged at her sleeve.

In the front, Lang Zhengping caught sight of this, and his eyelid twitched. At this critical moment of the coffin sealing, was this girl about to pull another outrageous stunt?

Cui Shi’s brow rose sharply, and she moved her lips in a silent warning toward Lang Jiuchuan.

Don’t.

Lang Jiuchuan seemed not to see it, and under everyone’s stunned and wide-eyed stares, she stepped out of the row.

Lang Cailing was alarmed, and whispered: “What are you doing? Get back here — this is not the time to be making a scene.” She even reached out to grab Lang Jiuchuan’s arm. This lunatic — even when she decided to act up, she should know what occasion she was dealing with. In a situation like this, if she caused trouble, even if she was the only child of the second branch, Father would have her kneeling in the ancestral hall for seven days and seven nights.

No, Father wouldn’t even need to step in — her second aunt would deal with her severely herself.

Lang Jiuchuan sidestepped Lang Cailing’s reaching hand and walked directly toward the Daoist priest — but as she passed the elders, Cui Shi reached out and seized her hand.

Cui Shi gripped her wrist and pulled sharply: “Where do you think you’re going? Behave yourself.”

Lang Jiuchuan looked down at that hand for a moment, gave a slight rotation of her wrist, and broke free. She looked at Lang Zhengping, who was glaring at her, and said: “That Daoist priest — something is wrong with him.”

Her voice was cold, yet it cut like a blade through Lang Zhengping’s eardrums.

What did she mean — something was wrong with the Daoist priest?

Lang Zhengping instantly turned around. The Daoist priest was bent over the coffin, pressing a yellow talisman to the interior. Sensing something, he turned his head — a flash of panic crossed his face before it was smoothed back to its usual composure. He straightened up and frowned.

“Did I not say that one should not disturb the departed? The filially devout should not look back — lest the deceased feel unable to let go of this world and linger rather than passing on in peace.” The Daoist priest said with a stern expression.

Seeing the man’s manner, Lang Zhengping instinctively prepared to bow his head in apology — but Lang Jiuchuan had already walked forward.

The mustachioed man’s eyelid flickered several times.

Cui Shi stepped quickly to block her: “Whatever strange and crooked things you’ve picked up on that estate — this is no place for you to show them off. If you don’t want to be here, go back to your room.”

She was just a child. What did she know about funeral rites?

Hearing these cold, indifferent words, Lang Jiuchuan felt an inexplicable surge of anger. Her tone was equally icy: “Now I believe it — you are truly not my mother.”

Cui Shi’s hand stiffened. Her pupils contracted sharply, and emotions churned behind her eyes.

Lang Jiuchuan continued: “Even if I am not the daughter you care to acknowledge, I have done nothing to you that could be called unforgivable. Even after more than a decade of separation, to have such baseless revulsion and coldness toward a young girl — is that not going too far, Madam Cui?”

Whatever the origins of the original soul — Cui Shi’s reaction was far too cold, far too severe. Had the original soul done something to deserve this? Had she killed Cui Shi’s entire family? Or had she unwillingly usurped the place in Cui Shi’s heart that belonged to her true-born daughter? Even if it was the latter — what privilege or coddling had this so-called “abandoned child” ever received? And were more than a decade of exile, not receiving a single shred of care from this woman, not sufficient punishment?

Cui Shi’s face went stark white, and her already frail body seemed on the verge of swaying and collapsing.

Lang Jiuchuan paid her no further attention. If it were not for the fact that this broken-down body of hers still needed the Lang family’s paltry merit energy to patch itself together piece by piece, she wouldn’t have bothered with any of this.

Besides — if she could already draw a share of this merit energy, how could Cui Shi claim she was not a member of the Lang family?

Blinded by a single leaf before one’s eyes.

No, she couldn’t let this anger fester. Her body was weak — too much anger would harm her.

Whether it was because the Daoist priest’s nerve had broken at the sight of Lang Jiuchuan approaching, or for some other reason, his hand made a sudden movement. He gave a sharp sweep of his whisk and called out loudly: “Filial children and descendants — kneel, three bows of the head, seal the coffin!”

The two young Daoist boys with their hair bound in cloth knots immediately took hold of the coffin lid on either side, preparing to lower it into place.

“Moving so fast — is that not as good as confessing?” Lang Jiuchuan reached out and grabbed a mourning staff, spun on her heel, and brought it down with full force toward the nearest young Daoist boy — the one standing at the foot of the coffin.