Gong Qi had lived for seventeen years, yet this was the first time he had ever been treated like a common thief. Fury turned his handsome face black as the bottom of a wok as he fixed his glare on the man, his eyes blazing as though ready to spit fire.

You look like an honest, simple-minded fellow — who knew you’d have the patience to hold your tongue, wait until you’d walked away, and only then go report us? I’ve truly underestimated you!

The man felt the weight of Gong Qi’s stare and his neck tightened, a chill crawling up the back of it. But when he spotted the soldiers of the Eight Trigrams City, he straightened his spine again. What was there to fear? He had people above him — why should he be afraid of some outsider with a pretty face?

And indeed, Gong Qi had precisely that sort of pretty-faced look about him, clearly not someone from Eight Trigrams City. He was obviously from outside. And that fragile-looking girl beside him, too — where in Eight Trigrams City did you ever see a girl like that, thin as a sheet of paper? One good sandstorm and her slight frame would be sent tumbling.

The two of them had been lingering out here for so long without entering the city, just standing in the wind and dust. Acting shifty like that — they were almost certainly spies.

Gong Qi was the little tyrant of the Xuan Clan. The phrase “utterly shameless and unruly” could have been coined for him. Never mind that he behaved like a docile and well-mannered person in front of Lang Jiuchuan — deep down, he was arrogant, overbearing, and rebellious to the bone.

Watching the soldiers close in around them, he let out a cold laugh and immediately flared up: “Spies? On what basis do you call us spies? By that logic, I could just as well say you came over here and pissed on the Heroes’ Monument just a moment ago — that you committed an act of grave disrespect.”

The man exploded with rage: “You — you’re talking nonsense!”

“I’m talking nonsense? And you aren’t? Besides, this is still outside the city walls. My senior martial sister and I have yet to even enter the city — how are we spies?” Gong Qi fixed the man with a stare and raised his fist, his face radiating menace: “Keep running your mouth, and I’ll beat you senseless.”

“Some nerve on this kid. If you weren’t entering the city, what were you doing loitering here? What were you planning to do to the Heroes’ Monument?” The soldier mounted on horseback looked down at them from above, scrutinizing them without pause.

Gong Qi was about to retort, but Lang Jiuchuan stepped forward first and spoke: “We simply noticed the Heroes’ Monument standing here, and assumed it must have been erected in honor of the spirits of fallen soldiers. That is why we stopped to pay our respects and offer a prayer in their memory.”

As she spoke, she stepped slightly to one side, revealing the incense stick that had been planted there by earlier passersby.

Everyone looked — sure enough, a stick of incense was nearly burned down to nothing. The soldiers’ expressions softened somewhat.

“Nonsense!” the man shouted. “You clearly said she had injured herself in cultivation and was recovering her breath — that she was bleeding from all seven orifices. They were obviously trying to enter the city to steal a map of the defenses, or else to destroy the Heroes’ Monument!”

Lang Jiuchuan adopted a helpless expression, her voice cool and even: “Are you certain you didn’t see wrong? Gentlemen, look for yourselves — where exactly am I bleeding from seven orifices?”

Nowhere. She was perfectly clean. Her complexion was just pale — pale as a ghost.

The man was dumbstruck. How could that be? Just a moment ago, her face had been covered in blood, terrifying to behold.

“We are standing before the Heroes’ Monument, after all,” Lang Jiuchuan murmured, gazing at the monument with a faraway look. “Perhaps your eyes were playing tricks on you. Or perhaps one of the younger soldiers is being a little mischievous.”

A gust of wind swept through, stirring up a swirl of dust.

Soldiers being mischievous — what kind of mischief exactly? The kind where a ghost covers your eyes?

Everyone’s blood ran cold.

The dark-skinned man’s face went white.

“Ridiculous. If your eyes can’t even be trusted, what business do you have filing a report? Get lost, the lot of you.” Someone cuffed the man on the head.

The man retracted his neck. “What about the reward money?”

“You saw wrong with your cloudy old eyes and you still want a reward? Get out of here!”

The man deflated, not daring to push back, and with an ingratiating smile, he retreated and ran off into the city.

Watching him go, the lead soldier said: “Since this was all a misunderstanding, once you’ve finished paying your respects, move along. Don’t linger before the Heroes’ Monument and disturb the peace of the fallen spirits.”

Lang Jiuchuan and Gong Qi exchanged a glance. She asked: “Is this monument truly erected for the spirits of fallen heroes?”

“Of course it is — why else would they be called heroes?” The man shot them a look. “Who are you people, that you don’t even know about Eight Trigrams City’s Heroes’ Monument?”

“We follow our sect’s tradition of traveling and wandering beyond the mountain,” Lang Jiuchuan replied. “We were passing through this area and noticed a stone pillar with a monument here. Assuming it to be a memorial monument, we came over and recited a Wangsheng sutra. It seems that was not out of place.”

Gong Qi’s gaze drifted over, his expression that of someone who had just seen a ghost.

You tell lies without even needing to draft them first!

“A Wangsheng sutra… you’re Daoist practitioners? From which temple?” The lead soldier studied the two of them. Dressed like this, without even Daoist robes, they didn’t look like Daoists at all — they looked more like children of a noble family who had eloped and run away from home.

And furthermore, neither of them was carrying so much as a single bag. They had appeared out of nowhere. They were probably lying. Hmph.

“We are merely from a small sect — we found a remote mountain for our cultivation and it is not worth mentioning.” Lang Jiuchuan noticed the skepticism in his eyes and, having observed his features, clasped her hands together in a Daoist salute: “May all be boundless and without measure. Congratulations, young commander — your household is about to welcome the birth of a son. Truly, joyous occasions lend a man a lifted spirit.”

Gong Qi was startled. He looked at the man and saw that the area around his eyes — the zone associated with offspring — was radiating a flush of red so vibrant it was nearly turning purple. It was unmistakably the look of a man whose household would soon welcome a child.

Her eyes really are sharp.

The lead city guard, Ma Qiao, stared back with wide, bell-like eyes. Welcome the birth of a son — what was that about?

Wait — his wife was heavily pregnant, ready to give birth any day now. The midwife had already been arranged. The child hadn’t arrived yet, but who didn’t like hearing good words spoken in advance?

But that wasn’t the most important thing. Clearly, the other party didn’t recognize him — yet she had said his household would welcome a son. If she hadn’t asked around beforehand, then she must have divined it on the spot.

Ma Qiao looked at Lang Jiuchuan. Her eyes were dark and clear, as though she could see straight through a person, making it difficult to hold her gaze.

He was just about to say something when a rapid drumming of hoofbeats came clattering toward them. In moments, someone leaped from a horse and came sprinting over, face lit with elation, shouting the good news at the top of his lungs: “My lord! The mistress has just given birth — a big, healthy boy weighing seven jin! You have an heir, my lord!”

Silence fell.

The servant’s jubilant expression froze ever so slightly. What’s happening? This isn’t the reaction the master should have — shouldn’t he be overjoyed and hand over a fat red envelope as a reward? And here he had fought tooth and nail to be the one to deliver this happy news.

But all these people were standing there as if stunned, without a trace of joy, staring at that young woman with the strangest of looks.

Ma Qiao’s heart lurched wildly. He swallowed, and at last dismounted from his horse. He let out three great bellowing laughs and bowed to Lang Jiuchuan: “Ha ha ha! The Daoist nun is truly a divine prophet! Come, come — today I have welcomed the birth of my son. Both of you, please follow me into the city and share a cup of wine!”

Daoist nun…

Lang Jiuchuan turned to stone, her lips twitching.

Pfft.

Gong Qi burst out laughing, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

Serves you right. You were putting on such an act — lying, telling fortunes, playing the oracle — and you ended up being addressed as a Daoist nun. A fitting reward for your performance.

Lang Jiuchuan feigned an air of profound depth, nodded in acceptance, and before setting off, brought her hands together in a seal and released a burst of her cultivation power — forcibly pulling Jiangche out of the soul-suppressing spirit tower where he had been confined.

No one else could detect what had happened, but Gong Qi, standing right beside her, sensed the invisible Daoist intent — and that familiar aura. He glanced sideways without meaning to, noticed that her face had gone a shade paler, and pretended he had seen nothing.

Lang Jiuchuan, unaware of his gaze, looked toward the small tower atop the stone pillar. A cold light flickered through her eyes. Frost settled over her expression.

One day, I will destroy it.