Lang Jiuchuan had no intention of revealing the true cause of Lang Zhengfan’s death to Cui Shi for the time being. All the suffering she had endured over the years had stemmed from the Marquis Zhenbei killing her husband, yet she had known nothing of it and had placed her trust in the wrong person — she would go mad if she learned the truth now.

Moreover, dealing with the Marquis Zhenbei would have to wait until the right person returned. Exposing the matter prematurely would only startle the snake in the grass, and that would not do.

She also had yet to fully understand the Marquis Zhenbei’s character, so she had no intention of stirring up unnecessary complications. As for Lang Eldest Uncle, she could let him in on just a little — enough to keep him from being utterly blindsided when the truth finally came to light, and to gauge what he made of the whole affair.

If he turned out to be useless and too afraid to act, then there was nothing more to be said. She could unseat the Marquis Zhenbei first and speak to them afterward — it would amount to the same thing.

Lang Jiuchuan let out a long sigh. She carried so much on her shoulders!

Her father’s vengeance, the blood debt owed to the original body, and the grudges from her own past life — how she had been taken away as an infant, how she had died so young, and why even her soul was incomplete — all of it remained a tangle of unresolved mysteries waiting for her.

Was it hardship? No, it was misfortune — the kind written into one’s very fate.

Could it be that those turbulent days she had spent in the underworld had earned her such a tremendous bitter trial in return? That Panguan had decided to put her through the wringer?

She would pay him a visit tonight, invite him for tea, and have a proper reunion.

Lang Eldest Uncle cradled his teacup, seeming to drift into memory, and said to Lang Jiuchuan, “Every commander had his own personal troops, and your father was no exception. The one he trusted most was a manservant who had enlisted alongside him — River Puffer, though he should be called He Zhongbai by now. He’s serving as a Lieutenant Commander over in Gui City. Beyond him, there was the Marquis Zhenbei — he wasn’t among the personal troops back then, he was already a deputy general. Then there were several others: Liao Fangquan, Chen Dajun, Zhang Yong — all men who had risen from common soldiers alongside your father.”

“Are they all still alive?”

Lang Eldest Uncle shook his head. “Not all of them. He Zhongbai is still in Gui City. Zhang Yong followed the Marquis Zhenbei and became one of his subordinates. The rest died in battle.”

Lang Jiuchuan dragged her fingernail along the rim of her teacup and said, “So when Father fell in battle, He Zhongbai and the others were all present.”

“They were,” Lang Eldest Uncle said. “He Zhongbai, to protect your father, even lost the use of his left hand. It was he who escorted your father’s coffin back to the capital.”

“Since he was a close personal manservant they had grown up together, and also a member of the personal troops — did he say anything about how Father died? What did the army physician say?” Lang Jiuchuan was asking these questions to see whether Lang Zhengfan’s personal troops had noticed anything amiss about his death — or whether any of them had been complicit in it.

The Soul-Devouring Parasite had been planted by the Marquis Zhenbei. But the cold arrow used to conceal the parasite’s effects, the one that had struck him in the back — who had loosed it? All of it needed to be investigated.

Whoever had played a part in it, she would settle accounts with them all.

Lang Eldest Uncle felt a chill crawl up his spine. By this point, he could already sense that something was off. Asking how someone had died — did she not know he had fallen in battle? That was common knowledge.

And yet she had asked. Lang Jiuchuan had been back at the manor for quite some time now, and she had never once brought up Lang Zhengfan. Some might take that as coldness, though others might simply assume she could not bear to — after all, she was a posthumous child, and not asking about such a grief-laden matter was perfectly understandable.

But now here she was, asking about Lang Zhengfan’s past, and not about his youth either — about his death in battle.

How did he die?

Lang Eldest Uncle’s face had gone slightly pale. “Do you know something?”

He was no scholar and no warrior — even the old patriarch had said as much: that he was suited to preserving what existed, that he must not make grave errors in matters of right and wrong, that keeping hold of the title and living out his days as a comfortable, idle noble should be enough to keep the family on a steady course. But he was not entirely without wits. His mind was still capable of turning things over.

Even though Lang Jiuchuan’s questions had been light and offhand, there was something that made a person feel there was something peculiar underneath — and she possessed the ability to divine by pinching her fingers. Could it be that she had discovered something amiss, something connected to her Second Uncle’s death?

Seeing that Lang Eldest Uncle’s expression had shifted, Lang Jiuchuan said, “There are certain matters I need to look into.” She paused, then added, “Matters that concern his death.”

In an instant, all color drained from Lang Eldest Uncle’s face, and the teacup slipped from his hand and shattered on the floor.

Lang Jiuchuan looked at the fragments on the ground. See? She had known it would be like this.

A manservant waiting outside heard the teacup smash and called out, “My lord?”

“The cup fell and broke. Clean it up and bring a new one.” Lang Eldest Uncle drew a deep breath and gave the order, feigning composure.

The manservant came quickly to sweep up the shards, and within moments, fresh tea had been brought.

Lang Eldest Uncle sent him to stand guard outside the study, instructing that no one was to come near. The manservant went at once.

“Your father’s death — there are circumstances that have not come to light?” Lang Eldest Uncle went straight to the point.

Lang Jiuchuan gave a nod.

Lang Eldest Uncle’s urgency broke through. “But he genuinely died in battle,” he said. “He Zhongbai and your father grew up together — calling them brothers wouldn’t be an overstatement — and he was the most loyal man there was. It was your father who helped him shed his bondservant status and rise in the world. He personally examined your father’s body at the time. An arrow had driven deep into his back, nearly piercing his heart clean through, and the arrowhead had barbed hooks — pulling it out was already extraordinarily dangerous. The army physician said the same, and that physician was one our Lang Family trusted. Your father’s wound was too severe; he developed a high fever and could not pull through.”

He paused, then continued, “There’s no reason to spare you from the truth at this point. In fact, your father’s body — your grandfather and I examined it ourselves, opening it up to look. We were afraid someone had laid a black hand on him. But there was no poison. The bones showed no darkening. There was only that single arrow wound, and it ran very deep.”

Lang Jiuchuan was rather taken aback. They had actually performed an autopsy?

Lang Eldest Uncle’s eyes had gone red. “Once a man is gone, he should be laid to rest in peace. The body should not be disturbed needlessly — it is better to let the departed soul rest easy. But your grandfather said he feared the possibility. Your father’s martial skill was considerable, and he was a sharp and vigilant man. Dying from an arrow was possible, but your grandfather feared it might have been someone’s hidden move against him. If that was the case, he could absolutely not be allowed to die bearing a false grievance. It was only a pity that…”

“Was his heart examined as well?”

Lang Eldest Uncle froze. He stared at her and asked in a trembling voice, “What do you mean by those words?”

“The agony of a heart-devouring affliction leaves no poison, but there should still be anomalies in the heart itself.” Could a heart gnawed upon by a Parasite still be whole? Impossible!

Heart-devouring affliction? What is that?

He thought of the matter that had been spreading wildly through the city these past couple of days — Sheng Huai’an colluding with heretical practitioners to work malicious arts against others — and then of Lang Jiuchuan’s own methods. “Are you saying your father did not die from the arrow wound, but from dark arts?”

Lang Jiuchuan was silent for a moment, then nodded.

Seeing her nod, Lang Eldest Uncle felt his vision darken, his throat growing tight. “What was it? Who did it?”

Lang Jiuchuan hesitated.

“Why aren’t you telling me at once!” Lang Eldest Uncle slammed the table, his voice carrying a sharp edge. “That was your father — my second brother. You know the truth, and you still intend to hide it from me?”

Lang Jiuchuan looked at him without speaking. In truth, she very much wanted to deliver a straight blow — but a straight blow that would wound one of her own still called for caution. The Marquis Zhenbei held real power. And what did Lang Eldest Uncle, this Marquis Kaiping, actually have?

He was no scholar and no warrior. He held a nominal post of no consequence. He was in mourning even now. His sons and grandsons had not produced a single person of ability. His children’s marriage alliances had not reached any particularly powerful families.

Lang Eldest Uncle: !

The way my elder niece is looking at me — it is exactly the look one gives a useless person. And this is probably not my imagination.