Soul searching was the act of using one’s cultivation and spiritual power to probe another person’s divine soul, tracing back through their past. This technique was extremely taxing on the mind — one moment of carelessness could result in a backlash. If the target’s divine soul was sufficiently strong, a backlash was even more likely, and one could even end up being seized in turn.

In truth, given that Lang Jiuchuan’s divine soul was currently incomplete, and that she had only just finished a battle of techniques with the Shaman not long ago, she should not have risked a soul search.

Had the Shaman not brought up Lang Zhengfan’s death, Lang Jiuchuan would never have thought to search her soul. But she had brought it up.

There is no smoke without fire.

She did not fully believe the Shaman’s words, but Lang Zhengfan’s death surely concealed something. Given that, she had no choice but to search the soul.

For this was the father of this body she inhabited by name — and very possibly her own true father as well.

Lang Jiuchuan could not bring herself to look away.

Taking advantage of the Shaman’s inattention, she slipped effortlessly into the woman’s divine soul. The Shaman was startled and instinctively fought back.

A parasite worm, thin as a strand of hair, shot out from the tangled heap of the Shaman’s hair toward Lang Jiuchuan’s hand. It moved like a blade of fierce energy, gleaming with a cold and ominous light.

Lang Jiuchuan’s expression did not change. Her powerful Dao intent transformed into a sharp blade, and she bore down hard upon the Shaman’s divine soul.

The Dao intent crashed into her soul like a heavy hammer, and at the same time, a surge of fierce energy spread from Lang Jiuchuan’s entire body, slicing toward the parasite worm that was about to sever her hand.

A sizzle.

The fierce energy burned like fire, scorching the parasite worm to ash. A rank, pungent odor drifted through the air.

The Shaman, dealt a devastating blow, went rigid. Her already murky eyes instantly glazed over, white foam seeped from the corner of her lips, and her entire body went limp.

Lang Jiuchuan herself was hardly better off. She had exerted tremendous force while simultaneously conducting a soul search, and her small face, already lacking color, turned instantly ashen — translucent, almost — so that even the faint threads of blood vessels beneath her skin were visible.

With her eyes shut, Lang Jiuchuan traced back through the Shaman’s past. When she reached the point where the two-headed serpent parasite reached full maturity, she paused slightly, a wave of revulsion rising within her.

To perfect her own life-bound parasite, the woman had actually sacrificed her own master. Truly ruthless.

She pressed further, sweeping through scene after scene, and soon saw a soldier — a young Xie Zhenming with a stern, hard-set face — who had rescued the Shaman from the jaws of death. From that point on, the two had become entangled with each other.

Lang Jiuchuan’s spiritual power was draining away continuously, her divine soul wracked with intense pain, yet she did not withdraw.

Jiangche was frantic, darting around the woodshed like a fly trapped in a jar, yet he dared not disturb her in the slightest — afraid that a sudden interruption would cause her divine soul to suffer a backlash and leave her severely damaged. Especially since her divine soul was already incomplete; another injury, and it would truly become difficult to restore.

Lang Jiuchuan cleared her mind of all else and concentrated her full attention, watching through to the end — until she saw the parasite worm that the Shaman had given to Xie Zhenming, and her heart sank.

It truly was the Soul-Devouring Heart Parasite.

Through the Shaman’s divine soul, she even witnessed Lang Zhengfan’s death. An arrow had struck him in the back of his left shoulder — perfectly placed, directly behind the heart.

With that in position, once the Soul-Devouring Heart Parasite activated, everything would be seamless. It could easily be taken as an arrow wound that had penetrated so deep as to reach the heart and lungs, leaving no room for suspicion. And indeed, that was how Lang Zhengfan had “died in battle” — struck by an arrow, the wound reaching his vital organs, declared untreatable.

No one had known his true cause of death. Not an arrow wound. Not death in battle. But murder.

A tide of bitter hatred surged up in Lang Jiuchuan’s chest. Her emotions rose violently, and blood seeped from the corner of her lips.

How dare Xie Zhenming!

She continued watching. After a long moment, she let out a cold laugh despite herself. Those who seek to exploit the tiger often end up in its jaws.

The Shaman could not abide betrayal.

Or rather, she had also grown wary of Xie Zhenming. After all, here was a man who could arrange the death of a colleague as close to him as a brother without a shred of remorse — so what would he do to someone like her, who held a secret that could destroy him?

Would he kill her to silence her? This secret was the kind that could bring his entire clan to ruin. A man of his cunning and calculation would not be careless about such things — he was surely plotting night and day.

The Shaman, as a precaution, had quietly placed a parasite on him in return — the Bone-Eroding Parasite. If Xie Zhenming ever dared betray her, he would suffer the torment of ten thousand worms consuming his bones from within, a sensation like being flayed and stripped to the marrow, pain beyond endurance.

This Bone-Eroding Parasite worked on the same principle as the love parasite — betrayal would trigger an excruciating, heart-gouging agony. The difference was that the love parasite made one devoted solely to its master, while the Bone-Eroding Parasite was simply a festering sore clinging to the bone.

What was laughable was that Xie Zhenming seemed completely unaware — or perhaps he knew but pretended otherwise, biding his time and laying low, which was why he had done nothing to the Shaman. Instead, he had kept her sheltered under his wing, providing every convenience.

He had been quite cautious, too, never again resorting to such underhanded means to eliminate political enemies. Even when the Shaman had deliberately tried to tempt him, he had not relented. He had reasoned that the more one climbed a mountain, the greater the chance of encountering a tiger — using the same trick again and again would only dig up secrets long buried in the grave, and at that point, he would be utterly damned.

He could not gamble on that one chance in ten thousand.

Then came the love parasite. Xie Zhenming had asked the Shaman for one, and had even sent her to his family’s temple in Wu Jing.

Lang Jiuchuan’s spiritual power had reached its absolute limit. At the very edge of collapse, she abruptly withdrew, staggered back two steps, and crumpled to the ground, her entire body trembling uncontrollably.

Jiangche rushed over and cushioned her fall: “Are you alright?”

Lang Jiuchuan could not utter a single word. Her whole body was limp as overcooked noodles, her divine soul faint and wracked with intense pain.

She let her primordial spirit slip free of her body and dove into the Small Nine Pagoda.

Everything could wait until she had recovered.

Jiangche looked on, both furious and anxious. Even all the monster-fighting they had done before had never left her like this — not a single word could get through.

Fuqi said, “What do we do?”

“Carry her physical body to a room to rest,” said Jiangche. “I’ll make a quick trip to the Marquis’s residence to let them know what’s happening. Also, keep watch over that witch — if the Xuan Clan sends people, we’ll need to be able to hand her over.”

Fuqi frowned. “She looks like she’s lost her mind. Can we really hand her over in this state?”

This Shaman had already suffered a backlash. Now that her soul had been searched, she looked both dim-witted and broken. She might draw her last breath at any moment.

Jiangche said coldly, “Why couldn’t we? She has committed great evil and caused the deaths of many. Who is there to blame? Those who do wrong will bring ruin upon themselves. The fact that she’s still breathing at all is a sign that Lang Jiu showed mercy.”

“Isn’t it more accurate to say she just didn’t want to dirty her own hands?”

Jiangche snapped, “What have you been learning from that ghost innkeeper? Picking up nothing but how to talk back? Hurry up — the floor is cold, don’t let her freeze.”

Fuqi had no choice but to summon his power of slaughter to lift Lang Jiuchuan and carry her out of the woodshed. Just then, Zhuang Quanhai happened to be heading in their direction. Seeing Lang Jiuchuan floating through the air, his legs went weak and he yelped in fright, sitting down hard on the ground and clutching his aching back with a groan.

He scrambled to his feet, stumbling after them, calling out in rapid succession, “What happened? She was perfectly fine this morning — how did she end up like this?”

“Go and fetch Mistress Song to come tend to her,” Fuqi’s voice sounded almost at his ear.

Zhuang Quanhai startled violently, slapped his thigh, and hurried off to call for help.

Jiangche returned to the Marquis’s residence, said a word to Nanny Gu, then took Jian Lan and left once more.

Over on Cui Shi’s side, when she heard that Lang Jiuchuan had come back only to leave again with Jian Lan in tow, she stared at the open page of her book for a long time without turning it.

This residence could hold no one — and could hold no heart.