Even Jiang Che had not imagined that the “paying a visit” Lang Jiuchuan had in mind would look like this. He stared at the concealment talisman hanging on her, and his jaw twitched.

“You are committing this crime brazenly and against all headwinds!”

The Surveillance Bureau had been established — first, to handle cases of a supernatural nature; second, to constrain those with Daoist abilities from using such powers to harm ordinary people. How was what Lang Jiuchuan was doing not committing a crime in the teeth of the very authorities established to prevent it?

Lang Jiuchuan said evenly, “I am not of the Daoist lineage groups, nor am I harming anyone. It hardly counts as a crime against the wind. I am merely paying a visit, with a slightly unconventional method of travel.”

Jiang Che let out a scoff. “Keep rationalizing.”

“I need no Surveillance Bureau to oversee me. I have always held to the principle: do not provoke me, and I will not provoke you; but grievances are never left unaddressed.” Lang Jiuchuan passed through the Xie family’s courtyard. “Would I go out of my way to harm random people for no reason? That is as good as throwing away my accumulated merits.”

Jiang Che thought about it — that was true enough. Such deeds would destroy both karmic merit and moral virtue alike. So what were those who walked the dark paths even thinking?

The pair arrived at the Marquis of Zhenbei’s private quarters. Lang Jiuchuan surveyed certain shadowed corners of the courtyard and its buildings. “It seems our Marquis Xie is quite fond of his own life. These hidden guards are admirably devoted to their duties.”

Jiang Che’s tiger eyes sharpened, sweeping toward the directions where breathing was nearly indistinguishable from the wind itself — faint, shifting shapes in the dark — and he said, “Shen Qinghe’s proposal was in fact sound, and the concerns of the powerful are not unreasonable. Those who serve as hidden guards are already among the most highly skilled fighters, trained and honed through special methods. Yet before cultivators like us, they cannot conceal themselves. How could an ordinary person contend with that?”

Lang Jiuchuan did not argue. “Good and evil are merely a single person’s choice — to incline toward the good or toward the wicked, it all comes down to a single thought. To do as one pleases on the strength of cultivation ability or Daoist arts, with no reverence for the principles of heaven and the workings of cause and consequence, will inevitably lead to being weighed down by karmic debt. Let us both take that as a lesson to ourselves.”

“And if one day you have no choice but to take on such a burden of karmic debt yourself?” Jiang Che countered.

Lang Jiuchuan replied at once: “I would sooner owe the world than let the world owe me!”

Jiang Che: “!”

Understood. In short: those who offend her must be made to pay.

She stopped before the Marquis of Zhenbei’s door and stood still for a moment, quietly sensing the air. This hawk, long worn down by exhausting travel and relentless turmoil, had at last been unable to hold out — he had fallen asleep.

A cold smile curved Lang Jiuchuan’s lips.

She slipped inside without a sound, crossed through the outer room, rounded the folding screen — and sure enough, there lay the man, flat on his back in perfectly upright repose.

Lang Jiuchuan came to stand at the head of his bed and leaned slightly forward, her eyes fixed upon his face with an unblinking, unrelenting intensity — as if her gaze carried blades, passing over his features again and again.

The Marquis of Zhenbei had a strong, rugged build. He had a face shaped like the character for “nation,” with a square jaw. Perhaps from years of commanding authority on the battlefield, even now — eyes shut in sleep — not a trace of softness lay in that face.

A scar ran across his jaw, likely from the battlefield. It lent him a slightly ferocious quality that, combined with the cold severity of his bearing, gave him the presence of one whose authority needed no expression.

Her gaze dropped briefly to his left hand. This man’s vigilance was genuinely formidable. Under ordinary circumstances, if someone had been standing at his bedside staring at him like this, the blood would already have been spilled. After all, who kept a blade in hand even in sleep?

Perhaps the unseen pressure of her presence stirred something within him, even in slumber. The Marquis of Zhenbei shifted with a drumbeat-like unease in his chest, his brow creasing, his eyelids trembling faintly — as if on the verge of waking.

“Honestly, standing over him like this and staring down at him — if he woke suddenly, he’d probably be frightened right out of his soul,” Jiang Che murmured, then soundlessly leaped up and settled on the man’s chest, his presence compressing subtly. The Marquis of Zhenbei’s eyelids trembled faster.

Lang Jiuchuan idly smoothed her trimmed, rounded nails. “If I slit his throat right now — would that not put an end to everything cleanly?”

“It would, certainly. At least your father’s murder would be avenged.”

“But dying in his sleep like this, dying so easily — he doesn’t deserve it. How could he?” Lang Jiuchuan’s voice went cold as an ice spike, pressing toward the sleeping man’s very soul.

When Lang Zhengfan died, it had not been so easy a death. He died wrongly, and he died in agony. And the one who had struck from the shadows had gone on calmly playing the loyal hero, playing the virtuous man.

A good death? Xie Zhenming did not deserve one.

Lang Jiuchuan’s fingers flew through a rapid series of seals, and a curse of mountains of swords and seas of flame launched toward the figure on the bed. As it left her fingertips, it blazed with the force of roaring flames, aimed directly at his soul.

He had caused Lang Zhengfan to die in the gnawing torment of a heart eaten alive. So let him taste what it felt like to be burned by living fire.

But in that very instant, something changed.

A golden-yellow shadow shot violently from the Marquis of Zhenbei’s nostrils, flying straight toward Lang Jiuchuan with sharp, imposing force.

Lang Jiuchuan’s shock was instant. She reacted with equal speed, twisting the direction of her curse to strike the shadow instead.

Two golden lights collided. A flash blazed through the room and was gone.

Crack — hiss.

A fine, sibilant shrieking rang out. The shadow retreated back onto the Marquis of Zhenbei, and a transparent golden-yellow dome of light encased him entirely, staring toward Lang Jiuchuan’s direction with fierce, predatory vigilance, radiating a cold, murderous pressure.

Jiang Che had already leaped onto Lang Jiuchuan’s shoulder. “What on earth is that?”

Lang Jiuchuan narrowed her eyes to study it. The thing was no larger than a fingernail; its head was shaped like a dragon’s — yet it bore no horns or mane. Its shell was golden-yellow, smooth and densely interlocking, like impenetrable golden armor plates. Its mouthparts resembled a pair of open shears, and between the blades of those shears were countless sharp barbs. As the mouth opened and closed, a sharp, resonant sound like wind and thunder rang out, sending chills up the spine.

“A Golden Armor Guardian Gu?” She was surprised.

“A Golden Armor Guardian Gu?” Jiang Che was startled. “Wait — a military commander has something like this? Don’t tell me the spirit witch gave it to him? What has he done to deserve that? This thing — once it shields someone, they are impervious to blades and lances. It’s like giving him an extra life.”

“The spirit witch’s memories held no record of this Gu’s existence. He must have obtained it through another channel. But whoever refined something like this for him to use as a guardian — the relationship runs deep.” Lang Jiuchuan let out a short, cold laugh. “Zuo Yan said his fortunes were running dry — and truly, how right he was. This man is walking straight toward his own ruin. Having a Gu like this on his person is handing the Emperor a ready-made piece of evidence.”

Jiang Che felt somewhat less optimistic about the situation. “But now you truly cannot draw this out. With the Golden Armor Guardian protecting him, even if he’s sentenced to beheading, that thing would shield him and let him escape with his life.”

“He will not escape.” Lang Jiuchuan gave a cold snort. “What does it matter if he has the Golden Armor Guardian Gu? I have lured it.”

Jiang Che: “?”

You said what? You lured it?

Are you out here fishing?

Lang Jiuchuan privately thought how fortunate it had been to search through the spirit witch’s soul back then — she had learned what she needed to know, including some of the witch’s accumulated knowledge on Gu-rearing and Gu curses. Every Gu had its weakness — something it craved and coveted. Use that thing to bait it, and it could be lured, tamed, or destroyed. This was what practitioners called Gu-fishing.

Even the Gu has a weakness. Even the Gu has what it desires.

Lang Jiuchuan looked at the Marquis of Zhenbei’s face and said, “Besides — do you truly think the Golden Armor Gu’s protection comes without cost? To be guarded by it, the host must give in return. And what an ordinary person can offer is only one thing: essence blood. For the Gu to unleash its full power, the cost is greater still. An ordinary person with no cultivation — how can they truly command it? Every time it manifests to protect him, his essence blood is consumed. And if he drives it to its fullest force — for someone with no cultivation, that could very well be the death of him.”