Thud.

The young Daoist, struck on the forearm by the mourning staff, let out a pained wail. The coffin lid slipped from his grasp and crashed to the ground with a thunderous boom.

As the heavy lid fell, a small corner of the wood was knocked loose and flew through the air — striking Lang Zhengping squarely in the corner of his eye.

Lang Zhengping stared at the splinter of wood. His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground, his face drained of all color.

The gold-thread nanmu wood coffin had been prepared long in advance, carved from a single solid piece of gold-thread nanmu. Now that a corner of the lid had been chipped, the coffin was no longer perfect — and as a son, this made him supremely unfilial.

And his failure of filial piety had been caused by that cursed wretch, Lang Jiuchuan.

Everyone in the hall was struck dumb by the scene, their pupils trembling with shock.

They had known Lang Jiu was unhinged — but they hadn’t known just how unhinged she was. She was utterly outrageous!

Madam Fan looked toward her second sister-in-law and bit down hard on her lip. “Second sister-in-law, forgive me.” She then turned and instructed her son: “Dalang, you and your brothers — quickly take your Ninth Sister away. Wu Shi, bring people to keep watch.”

Cui Shi, a woman who had prized her reputation her entire life, wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole.

This wretched disgrace — she couldn’t have given birth to someone like this, she simply couldn’t. How had she dared?!

The sudden turmoil in the mourning hall had not only shocked the Lang family — even the relatives and guests assembled in the courtyard were craning their necks and peering inside, curious as to what had happened.

Lang Caimeng and the other male cousins heard Madam Fan’s instructions and rushed forward, but while they were fast, Lang Jiuchuan was faster. In one swift bound, she darted to the front of the coffin and seized the mustachioed Daoist by the hand.

“What are you doing? What do you think you’re doing? Patriarch Lang, what is the meaning of this?!” The mustachioed man was in a complete panic. The hand she had clamped down on was shooting with pain, cold sweat pouring from him.

He was seeing things he couldn’t explain. This young girl looked like someone on the verge of an early death, yet he hadn’t imagined she’d have such crushing strength — his hand was locked in her grip and he couldn’t move it at all.

“Ninth Sister, don’t be rude to the Master.” Lang Caimeng felt as though his head had doubled in size. Why was this cousin of his so impossibly stubborn? She had exactly the same headache-inducing temperament as his late Second Uncle.

But Lang Jiuchuan said, “Perfect timing, the lot of you — help me hold this charlatan. You — yes, you, little ghost — go outside and call in a couple of monks and Daoists.”

This body is truly useless. Even restraining one charlatan was exhausting. Restoring this broken body had to be her top priority.

The “little ghost” — Lang Cazhao — pointed at himself. “Who are you calling a village girl and barking orders at? I, Lang Cazhao, stand by my name wherever I go.”

“Understood, stop talking nonsense. Go. Now.” Lang Jiuchuan shot him a glare.

“Oh.”

Lang Cazhao turned and took two steps, then suddenly felt something was off. Who does she think she is? Why am I listening to her?

He thought about turning back to argue the point, but one look at the chaos in the mourning hall — and at his father, eyes bulging, looking like he was about to explode and start hitting people at any moment — made him shrink his neck down. Best not to linger. Keep a low profile.

Though Lang Caimeng and the others hadn’t followed Lang Jiuchuan’s instructions to restrain the man, there were enough of them that their positioning had naturally surrounded both her and the mustachioed Daoist.

A flicker of malice flashed through the Daoist’s eyes. I was supposed to finish this job and be done with it. Now this ill-fated girl has interfered and ruined things. The most important part had already been accomplished. Then don’t blame me for being ruthless.

His other hand, concealed in his sleeve, shifted — reaching toward the wrist of the hand Lang Jiuchuan had clamped around his left hand. He said with feigned indignation, “Patriarch Lang, is this how the Lang Family conducts itself— Ah!”

He never finished his sentence. A cry tore from him; he lurched backward and toppled to the ground, clutching his chest. He stared up at Lang Jiuchuan in horror, trembling violently.

Lang Caimeng and the others: “?”

He — they hadn’t touched him at all.

“Look at his hand.” Lang Caiguang, the tenth child of the third branch, had sharp eyes. He spotted the Daoist’s exposed right hand, his face flooding with dread.

The others followed his gaze.

The man’s entire right hand had gone black. A thin line of blood seeped from the corner of his mouth; his complexion had turned ghostly pale. And before everyone’s eyes, the hair at his temples was visibly turning silver-white.

In the blink of an eye — how had he come to look like this?

Instinctively, the crowd looked toward Lang Jiuchuan and stepped back two paces. What had she done?

One moment she had been gripping the Daoist’s hand, and the next, the man had collapsed and turned into this grotesque sight. Had she used some poison that caused instant aging at the slightest touch?

Lang Zhengping pushed through the younger members and got a clear look at the Daoist’s condition. His face changed dramatically. He noticed the other two young Daoists trying to slip away and immediately gave an order: “Third Brother — stop them.”

Lang Zhengwen at once summoned the steward.

Lang Jiuchuan raised her own wrist to look. In everyone else’s eyes, the back of her hand — so pale the faint blue veins beneath were clearly visible — bore a small wound, as though a sharp instrument had scraped and pierced her. But in her own eyes, that short cut, no longer than a fingernail, was already tinged with dark blue-black. A vile energy was seeping in through the wound and spreading rapidly up her wrist, flooding through her body. She shuddered.

This charlatan had deliberately tried to harm her.

Lang Jiuchuan appeared to be a fragile girl on the edge of an early death. By using an object of dark yin energy to break her skin, he could allow the yin aura to corrode her body from within. If she had been an ordinary girl, she wouldn’t even have needed to wait for the Lang Family’s geomantic fortune to be fully ruined — she would have fallen ill and died of yin-venom poisoning.

“Are you trying to make me die faster?!” She looked at the mustachioed Daoist and smiled.

Her smile was gentle and harmless-looking — yet to the Daoist’s eyes, it was deeply unsettling. The tearing agony spreading through his chest only made his terror worse.

He had meant to harm her. He had even succeeded — the coffin nail had broken her skin, and the yin energy would naturally seep in. She would eventually be finished. But he had paid a devastating price in the process.

Backlash.

And not a slow backlash — a fast, violent one.

He could feel his cultivation receding and vanishing. Bad enough on its own. But he also felt his body deteriorating — while the girl opposite him…

“You — how are you…” Completely unaffected?

Lang Jiuchuan pressed the pad of her finger against the wound on the back of her hand. Completely unaffected? Hardly. This body had already been broken to begin with, and now it had a new wound with yin energy seeping in. Someone had deliberately come looking to make trouble for her, and she was furious.

“What is going on?” Lang Zhengping noticed the fresh wound on Lang Jiuchuan’s hand and said, “Dalang, take some men and search Master Huang’s body.”

Even with his limited knowledge of such things, he could tell now that something was deeply wrong. For a person to visibly age so rapidly right before his eyes without any apparent cause — it was impossible to say there was nothing supernatural at work.

That, combined with the earlier incident of the paper figure’s eyes being drawn in — he increasingly felt that someone was targeting the Lang Family.

Madam Fan heard this and hurried to intervene: “Better to send servants.”

This Master had transformed into this state in the blink of an eye — who knew what affliction he had suffered? What if it was contagious? That would harm her own son.

Wu Shi also nodded anxiously. A wise man does not place himself in needless danger — it was better to be cautious.

The others agreed. They glanced toward Lang Jiuchuan, their looks carrying a measure of wariness and scrutiny.

This Daoist had been going about his work perfectly well — until Lang Jiuchuan had disrupted everything. Never mind the matter of sealing the coffin; the way he had grotesquely aged made it impossible not to wonder. Had Lang Jiuchuan done something to him?

“No need — I’ll handle it.” Lang Jiuchuan pressed her tongue against her cheek, curved her lips, and walked over.