Lang Jiuchuan locked Zhengyang Zi within the Soul-Suppressing Chamber of the Small Nine Pagoda and instructed the wooden fish to be struck once each day to make him repent. This was a grinding of the soul — it would not scatter him into oblivion, but the suffering it inflicted was relentless. It could be considered a form of atonement for the innocent lives that had died at his hands.
A’Piao watched Lang Jiuchuan sitting in silence, staring at nothing, and pushed a cup of tea toward her. “Are you alright?”
Lang Jiuchuan shook her head. “What would be wrong? This was all within what we had already guessed — we’ve only confirmed it now. It’s just that even when you’re mentally prepared, when you finally glimpse the whole truth, the heart still feels — stifled.”
She said it, then struck her own chest twice with a firm thud.
A’Piao was startled and immediately reached out to pull her hand away. “Goodness, have some mercy on yourself — this body of yours may not have needed the Nine Revolution Soul-Restoring Pill, but it still took several Revitalization Pills to nurse back to health. Don’t go squandering what’s been put into it.”
Lang Jiuchuan slumped onto the table with an irritated huff, resting her chin on the surface, and opened her mouth to speak. “It hurts. I’m troubled.”
“Is it the truth of how the original soul died that’s troubling you, or is it your origins?”
“All of it.”
Lang Jiuchuan’s eyes carried a dark undercurrent, like a storm condensing within them. “The true mastermind behind all of this — the one who set everything in motion — is the Rong family head. That Changshan Wanderer.”
Her voice carried ice-cold barbs.
A’Piao said, “Actually, from what Zhengyang Zi has told us — no matter who it was that arranged for Rong blood to be placed within the Lang Family, the Rong family head must have known from the very beginning. Otherwise, how would he have found this body so quickly after the young master’s accident, and arranged for the meridians and bones to be stripped and transplanted? He already knew of this body’s aptitude — so why would he choose this uncertain method rather than simply bringing her back to be cultivated?”
Lang Jiuchuan let out a wry, resigned laugh. “People have those they hold dear and those they hold at a distance. On one hand, a girl raised far away from home, who had never once practiced any Xuanzu Dao arts and was, in every practical sense, nothing but an ordinary young woman with hidden aptitude. On the other hand, an heir the clan had poured years of devoted cultivation into — a child who had grown up before their very eyes, perhaps even taught by the family head’s own hand. If it were you, which would you choose? Zhengyang Zi said it himself — the Rong Family had heaped countless resources onto Rong Huanxuan, pushing her all the way to the summit. Years of planning, and then it was all wasted. Would the Rong Family accept that? And starting fresh with someone new — the aptitude is there, perhaps, but A’Piao, in this world where spiritual energy has grown so thin, are there really that many heaven-defying geniuses who can simply shoot straight up to Foundation Establishment? The Rong Family cannot wait that long.”
A’Piao was silent.
“That’s one reason. The other is that choosing Rong Huanxuan over the original owner of this body — there must have been something behind that decision that the family head couldn’t avoid.” Lang Jiuchuan spoke evenly. “Whether it was the moment the original soul was born, or when she grew up — she was always the one who was cast away. That hasn’t changed.”
A distinguished family like the Rong Family — surely they could have raised one child — yet Rong blood was allowed to drift and scatter outside the family walls. Whatever lay behind that, only the family head and the Fourth Madam knew.
But no matter the reason, she had been abandoned.
A current of grief and resentment stirred in Lang Jiuchuan’s heart — and a faint, quiet defiance beneath it.
“Now that your identity in this body is essentially confirmed, that child Cui Shi gave birth to…” A’Piao suddenly stopped himself, and looked at Lang Jiuchuan with something close to pity.
Lang Jiuchuan bared her teeth in a hollow grin, spreading her hands wide. “You’re right. Going by the blood connection I’ve sensed — I am, in all probability, that unlucky child who was taken away. The true Lang Jiuchuan of the Lang Family. Only now, who knows where her body lies, and her soul is incomplete — to have died in such a shattered, wretched state, how desperate must those final moments have been?”
Only — who knows what kind soul had defied the heavens and fate on her behalf, sending what remained of her broken self through the hands of a Hell Judge back into the living world, to inhabit this equally wretched and cast-off shell, and find a chance at rebirth through the ashes.
What had she done to deserve such fortune?
A’Piao sighed softly. “The karmic workings of the heavenly path are truly mysterious. It seems that to find your remains, you’d first need to take down that Rong family head to learn anything — or else you’d have to recover your own divine soul, and only then would you be able to remember everything from your former life.”
Something flashed through Lang Jiuchuan’s mind — quick and fleeting, gone before she could grasp it.
“What do you plan to do with Zhengyang Zi?” A’Piao asked. “Keep him? Turn him over to the Surveillance Division?”
Lang Jiuchuan shook her head. “The Surveillance Division was only just established — it doesn’t yet have any real power. The imperial family and the Xuanzu are already squaring off against each other, and I don’t trust either side. Handing Zhengyang Zi over would let him reveal the full truth — but what would be the point? At most, it would amount to some sensational scandal about a false and true heiress being switched — and perhaps proof that the Rong young master truly did lose her Dao heart. But what then? The deed is done, and they have covert allies who would shield them. In the end, that fire would only burn back onto me — standing alone against all of them.”
A’Piao raised a brow.
Lang Jiuchuan rose from the body she inhabited, letting her soul drift out as a faint, hovering presence. She pointed at the physical form slumped against the table, then pointed at herself, and said, “A’Piao — whatever else is true, she is genuinely dead. And I am borrowing this body to return to the living. If I were to deny it, then everything about what was done to transplant the meridians and bones for the Rong young master would fall apart as a lie. So if Zhengyang Zi is put forward as a witness, it would only harm me, not help me — and it could bring further complications.”
She returned to the physical body and opened her eyes. “My divine soul is still incomplete, and I still haven’t found what I’m missing from my past life. I cannot afford to take risks. And besides — I have no intention of seeking justice through any proper channel. They are like rats lurking in the filth of a gutter, having done every manner of heaven-defying evil. Using justice to judge them is pointless. I want them to pay blood for blood, to reap exactly what they have sown. When they die, the underworld will judge their sins. The living world cannot do it — and this mortal realm, ruled by a human emperor while the Xuanzu pull the strings behind him, least of all.”
No matter how wary the imperial family might be of the other clans, in the end they would still shield and protect their own kind — because judging the rest of the Xuanzu would mean judging themselves.
The imperial family didn’t mind continuing to press the other clans beneath their feet — but they would not tolerate the stain on their own name.
A’Piao looked at the contempt and cold mockery playing at the corner of her mouth, and let out a quiet sigh. “I don’t know what you lived through before all of this — to see things so clearly.”
Lang Jiuchuan gave a faint smile. Perhaps it was precisely because she saw too clearly that she had ended up dead with an incomplete soul.
“Let’s keep him for now. Not as a witness — but to slowly draw out the Rong Family’s vulnerabilities. He’ll make a useful ghost for the task.”
A’Piao broke into a smile. He felt one second of sympathy for Zhengyang Zi, then caught a glimpse of the Red Maiden flickering outside and beckoned her over.
The Red Maiden came to report: someone from the Lang Family had come, asking whether she had woken up yet — and also saying that the Marquis had fallen ill.
Lang Jiuchuan’s brow furrowed slightly. She asked A’Piao, “What day is it today?”
“The twenty-first.”
Lang Jiuchuan did the calculation in her head. The Marquis of Zhenbei was likely returning soon to preside over his son’s wedding ceremony, and the Lang Family’s eldest uncle had fallen suddenly ill. She said, “I’ll go back to the estate to check on things.”
A’Piao nodded, then returned to the matter he had already raised before. “The Rong Family just lost a half-step Foundation Establishment cultivator — they’re sitting on a belly full of pent-up fury. I have a feeling it won’t be long before that anger gets directed right at you. Be careful in everything.”
Lang Jiuchuan let out a cold, low laugh, her gaze dropping downward. “Let them come. I’ll break them one by one — strip away their foundations — and then taking down that Rong family head will be a great deal simpler.”
“Don’t forget — they’re about to form a marriage alliance with the Tantai imperial family.”
Lang Jiuchuan’s expression grew perfectly still and cold. “Whoever they are — those who stand in my way die.”