The commotion came and went without stirring much of a verbal battle — or so it seemed from where A’Piao and the others stood. But for the whole of Wu Jing, and especially the circles of literary men, it was as if a thousand waves had crashed at once. The entire world was in an uproar.
This was the greatest scandal the literary world had ever seen.
A man hailed as a sage and great scholar had turned out to be a fraud. His top-ranked examination status had come through dubious means — the work of a ghostwriter, and not merely any ghostwriter, but one bound up in foul supernatural arts. Worse still, to make those arts possible, Sheng Huai’an had fed his own son to the beast. What manner of father could be so wicked?
A scandal this monstrous was horrifying enough on its own, but what made people even more uneasy was the reminder that there existed those who wielded the arts of the Mystic Way and would use them to harm others. Ordinary people had no defense against such things — there was no way to see it coming, no way to guard against it.
All at once, the special Surveillance Bureau that had been mentioned before once again became the talk of the town. A department like that — there was a real need for it.
Common folk felt unsafe everywhere they turned. Meanwhile, Daoist practitioners who cultivated the Mystic Way were furious beyond words — one rotten piece of grain spoils the whole pot. They, the righteous path, had done nothing wrong and still found themselves dragged into suspicion.
Throughout Wu Jing, Sheng Huai’an’s crimes were on every tongue. Countless men of letters raised their voices in condemnation of his offenses. As for the Sheng Family — they had become rats scurrying across the road, everyone ready to beat them on sight. Were it not for the soldiers standing guard at their residence awaiting the Emperor’s judgment, there would likely have been people forcing their way in to smash everything to pieces long ago.
Even so, the Sheng Family’s home had already been splattered with no small amount of filth, leaving it reeking to high heaven.
Were the members of the Sheng Family innocent? No, they were not. Everything they currently enjoyed had been brought to them by Sheng Huai’an. If glory came with it, so did disaster.
To rise together, to fall together — that had never been a hollow phrase.
A’Piao was still lamenting: “And here I had just cleared my throat, all ready to trade a proper verbal barrage with that man surnamed Sheng, and then Lang Jiu goes and has Master Ning take over his body and expose everything himself. My moment of glory — wasted! Truly, a hero with no battlefield to fight on.”
The corner of Ning Long’s mouth twitched.
Lang Jiuchuan said without much patience: “What a lot of idle energy you have. Rather than wasting it, go run some errands for me.”
A’Piao’s gaze drifted sidelong toward Ning Long and he said: “Sheng Huai’an is as good as dead. Master Ning is free at last. What are your plans going forward?”
Lang Jiuchuan gave a cold inward smile. Go ahead and change the subject all you like — you still won’t escape.
Ning Long heard A’Piao’s question and was briefly lost in thought. That was true — he was free now. What would come next? Where would he go?
A’Piao looked at Lang Jiuchuan: “Lang Jiu has a shop that handles all manner of matters. Right now there’s a military general serving as the shopkeeper. If Master Ning doesn’t mind, he could come work alongside her. Nothing else aside, soul incense would certainly be available in abundance.”
Ning Long heard this and looked toward Lang Jiuchuan, a trace of uncertainty in his eyes.
Lang Jiuchuan’s eyelid twitched. She glared at A’Piao: “I haven’t done anything to offend you, yet here you are trying to do me in!”
“What do you mean by that!” A’Piao protested indignantly: “Master Ning is a man of tremendous talent — you should feel fortunate he’d come work with you, not turn your nose up at the offer. With both a literary and a martial general under you, wouldn’t your shop flourish and grow?”
Lang Jiuchuan said: “Whether my shop flourishes or not is of no concern to me. And I have no need of any literary and martial generals — because to accumulate merit, I must do the heavy lifting myself. And as for him” — she paused — “have you already forgotten why the karmic backlash on Sheng Huai’an struck so heavily?”
A’Piao went rigid.
“I have no interest in seeking my own ruin by robbing the people of their good fortune.” Lang Jiuchuan sighed. “It is not that I look down on Master Ning. Rather, with his talent, he should not be confined to a small shop of mine — it would not be worth it. The place suited to him is the aspiration that guided his studies from the very beginning.”
Ning Long was briefly stunned, and then his lips moved quietly: “To establish the heart of Heaven and Earth. To provide for the lives of the people. To carry on the lost learning of the sages of the past. To usher in an age of lasting peace for all generations to come.”
That was his original purpose.
A’Piao scratched the back of his neck awkwardly: “So — he should be reincarnated?”
Lang Jiuchuan asked Ning Long for his birth date and hour, then calculated and considered, her expression carrying a trace of helplessness: “Master Ning’s fate has not yet fully run its course. Reincarnation, I’m afraid, will have to wait for a while.”
“But even as a living soul — it’s been so many years. Shouldn’t he have long since become a wronged wandering spirit? How is his fate not yet spent?” A’Piao frowned.
Lang Jiuchuan explained: “When a living soul leaves the body and more than forty-nine days pass without returning, it becomes a wronged wandering spirit. But Master Ning’s living soul was imprisoned within the Linglong Pagoda, and that pagoda was forged from his own bones. So he has not fully left his body in the truest sense — and this is part of the reason why his fortune could be steadily drawn upon all these years.”
“Master Ning’s allotted lifespan still holds thirty years. One path would be to end his own life — but going to the underworld that way still means queuing for reincarnation.” She looked at Ning Long: “And though you have recovered somewhat, the years of being suppressed and having your life’s fortune continuously siphoned away have left your soul essence diminished. It would not be good to enter the underworld just yet. Even if you were reincarnated, an unstable soul would lead to physical frailty and illness — more harmful than helpful. So your soul still needs time to recover and strengthen.”
Ning Long smiled: “That’s perfectly fine. I’m in no rush.”
Lang Jiuchuan nodded: “Letting it recuperate for a time is for the best. Perhaps something will come of it.”
“And what of Sheng Huai’an?” A’Piao asked. “His blood and essence are fused into this Linglong Pagoda. As long as Master Ning has not died, wouldn’t he keep lingering on alongside him? Isn’t that letting him off too easily?”
Lang Jiuchuan shook her head: “He is subject to the karmic backlash — that is the law of heavenly cause and effect. He is nothing but the soul of an ordinary mortal. How could he withstand it? And once this crime of deceiving the Emperor is confirmed, he will be beheaded. When the Emperor of men kills him, what will he have left to draw breath with? Even his soul entering the underworld will face punishment and torment. And even if none of that were the case — do you think what he is enduring right now is a good thing? It is worse than death.”
She looked at the Linglong Pagoda: “Master Ning, just wait. Once Sheng Huai’an is dead, even though this pagoda carries his blood and essence, all the bonds between you will be completely severed — cleanly and without remainder. At that point, your soul will become far more stable and solid.”
Everything that needed to be said had been said. Ning Long bowed to her in gratitude.
With his situation resolved, Ning Long returned to the Linglong Pagoda. The pagoda remained in A’Piao’s care, but the soul incense was provided by Lang Jiuchuan.
A’Piao saw that she was not leaving and said: “This matter is settled. Is there something else?”
“The Marquis Zhenbei is the enemy who killed my father. He has a love gu in his possession — help me look into him.” Lang Jiuchuan’s expression was ice-cold.
A’Piao was stunned. How had another enemy who killed her father just appeared?
Lang Jiuchuan recounted the matter of having the spirit witch search the soul, then said: “Regardless of whether he was truly my father in my previous life, he is nominally the father of this body. The bond of cause and effect between us cannot be severed by me. Moreover — he died a wrongful death.”
Death in battle was nothing more than a cover concealing a wrongful death. Yet the person who had harmed him was enjoying the glory that should rightfully have been his — and still had the audacity to hold ritual ceremonies for him each year.
Was that supposed to be a memorial rite to guide the departed soul to peace? Or simply a way to soothe one’s own guilty conscience?
She was even beginning to wonder whether Lang Zhengfan had been reincarnated yet. And if he had not — could his soul be like Ning Long’s, suppressed and trapped in some forgotten corner somewhere?
The moment that thought took hold, a piercing ache spread through Lang Jiuchuan’s chest. Her grievous energy could not be contained and began to seep outward in cold, sharp bursts.
A’Piao let out a long sigh: “We’ve just righted Master Ning Long’s grievance, and already there’s another — Lang Zhengfan. The same kind of insidious, vile scheme. Truly — the wickedness in human nature is more terrifying than any ghost.”
Lang Jiuchuan was silent. It really was so. Lang Zhengfan’s situation — how was it any different from Ning Long’s?
“I was able to drag Sheng Huai’an down from the literary world’s pedestal, and I can equally overturn that Marquis Zhenbei.” Lang Jiuchuan’s voice was glacial, her expression colder still. “Evil doers — death is too merciful for them.”