Just moments ago, sensing Lang Jiuchuan’s threat, the Golden Armor Gu had manifested to protect its host, and the Marquis Zhenbei’s complexion immediately drained to an ashen pallor, his breathing rapid and labored.

It was plain to see that this type of Gu was nothing like the Sentiment Gu, which posed little real threat — when it moved to protect its host, it had to exert its power, and in doing so, the host was inevitably made to pay a price.

But he was a man who had never cultivated Gu arts, and having such a Gu planted within his body was nothing short of a waste. Not only did he lack a Gu master’s ability to draw out its full strength, but the Gu would also devour his vital essence and blood, and he had no spiritual energy whatsoever to shield that essence from being consumed.

So this Gu, beyond preserving his miserable life, served little practical purpose. Once it encountered a Xuanmen cultivator of formidable power, the Gu would strain to manifest its strength, and the host would all too easily suffer a devastating backlash in return.

But this was not the moment to deliberate on the merits of the Golden Armor Body-Guarding Gu. The Marquis Zhenbei was on the verge of waking.

Lang Jiuchuan’s slender fingers wove a rapid succession of hand seals, and a thread of golden light charged with spiritual energy pierced straight toward the golden light barrier.

She held the Dizhong in hand, her heart and intent moving as one. The Dizhong trembled faintly with a resonant hum, and a sacred, merit-laden aura of Buddhist nature pulsed outward with a soothing quality.

The Golden Armor Body-Guarding Gu seemed to be drawn by its temptation, stirring with restless desire. It crept slowly along the strand of pure spiritual light emanating from the holy energy, greedily drinking in the power contained within.

The golden light barrier grew increasingly solid. Lang Jiuchuan and the others all watched as the Golden Armor Gu inched forward, ravenous in its desire to swallow that merit-laden Buddhist aura whole into its belly.

Whether human, ghost, or Gu creature, there was none who did not hunger to grow stronger — the Golden Armor Gu was no exception. Dwelling within the Marquis Zhenbei’s body, it could only draw upon his vital essence and blood, which was far less nourishing than the spiritual energy of a cultivator.

Just as it was now.

It wallowed in that Buddhist aura, ravenous with longing.

Lang Jiuchuan’s lips curved into a faint smile. Abruptly, she shifted her intent, pouring her Dao resonance into the Dizhong. A Gu curse she had gleaned from the spirit shaman’s techniques spilled from her lips — like a binding incantation — falling heavily upon the Gu’s golden armor, as her vast Dao intent launched a fierce assault upon its most vulnerable point: the insect’s head.

Yiing, yiing.

The Golden Armor Gu actually let out a cry like an infant’s wail, accompanied by the clicking and clattering of its mouthparts — a sharp, grating sound that set eardrums aching.

Thud.

The golden light barrier shattered in an instant. The Golden Armor Gu burrowed back into the Marquis Zhenbei’s body at speed, hiding itself in the deepest recesses, and dared not show itself again.

Lang Jiuchuan let out a derisive snort. She looked at the Marquis Zhenbei once more and could see with the naked eye how his appearance was aging — his temples turning white — the result of his vital essence hemorrhaging away at a terrifying pace.

“You see? Where in this world is there anything that comes without a price? Everything demands its cost. This Golden Armor Gu — either some Gu master swindled him into it, or he brought the calamity upon himself and is now suffering the consequences.”

Jiangche nodded in wholehearted agreement.

Only then did Lang Jiuchuan begin to cast the nightmare technique. Murmuring incantations under her breath, she drew in a thread of sinister Yin energy and pressed it into the vital spiritual space at the center of his awareness.

This was the very same method she had used against the former Madam Lu. He would suffer within a nightmare so vivid it was indistinguishable from despair, wishing he had never been born.

The Golden Armor Gu remained utterly still, as though dead.

So much for the so-called body-guarding Gu.

But if it truly stirred again, the Marquis Zhenbei likely would not live much longer.

The moment Lang Jiuchuan cast her nightmare technique, the expression on the Marquis Zhenbei’s face began to shift. She watched him with cold detachment for a moment, then said: “Let’s go.”

He must suffer every torment her father had ever been made to endure — again and again!

She came and went without a trace.

Within the nightmare, the Marquis Zhenbei found himself transported back to those early days — the years when he and Lang Zhengping had enlisted together, surviving life and death on the battlefield side by side.

In the beginning, they had been on exceptionally close terms. Lang Zhengping came from a distinguished aristocratic family, and while he carried the proud temperament common to sons of great houses, he was not arrogant in the least. His martial skill was excellent, his generosity abundant, and most importantly, he was a man of integrity and loyalty — he quickly drew a devoted following.

Lang Zhengping was sharp-minded, and the stratagems he devised on the battlefield were brilliantly unpredictable, yet they regularly produced astonishing results, with fewer soldiers lost in the process. When military merits came his way, he did not hoard them for himself — rewards were distributed as deserved, credit was shared where it was due. Especially when those under his command earned distinction, he never falsely claimed or seized their glory. Such a commander — who would not follow him willingly?

In those days, Xie Zhengming had admired him too. And so he had followed alongside him, taking part in countless battles large and small, their bond deepening with each passing year.

Then — how had it all changed? It was jealousy, most likely. Jealousy that Lang Zhengping was born into privilege, that his mind was keen, his abilities formidable, and that even the wife he had taken came from a truly illustrious, noble family. His life unfolded with such effortless ease that he would likely carve out a marquessate through his own strength alone.

And what did he himself have?

Nothing. He had no marquis manor to be born into, no noble family wife as his principal consort — and yet he was no lesser a man. His martial ability was second to none; he was diligent, having pored through every military treatise until he had mastered them thoroughly; his military merits had accumulated steadily over the years, growing ever greater. Yet whenever anyone spoke of him, the words that first left their lips were “Deputy General Xie, under Lang Zhengping’s command” — as if they could not even be bothered to call him by his own name.

Every achievement he had ever earned, every commendation he had ever received — when people praised him for it, they invariably added a remark about how Lang Zhengping’s leadership had been the reason. And yet he had clearly done it all through his own efforts.

If only Lang Zhengping did not exist.

Once that thought took root, he found he could not suppress it. He even transformed that despicable impulse into reality.

The Soul-Devouring Gu — it made him die without a sound, without a single soul suspecting the truth behind his death. Everyone assumed it had been an untreatable battle wound.

With Lang Zhengping no longer looming before him, Xie Zhengming finally commanded the recognition he had long been denied. He was no longer Deputy General Xie — he became General Xie, and in time, the Marquis Zhenbei.

He had achieved fame and success, power and prestige. Only — why had this hollow dread never left him? And so every year he had held memorial rites for Lang Zhengping — ostensibly to honor a fallen comrade, but in truth to still his own conscience.

But then — why had Lang Zhengping come to him in his dream? That look in his eyes — was it accusation? Or contempt?

“Heaven strikes down those who do not act for themselves. Do not blame me.” The Marquis Zhenbei said calmly.

But Lang Zhengping said nothing. He walked slowly toward him, and the lips of that cool, detached face curved into an eerie smile.

The Marquis Zhenbei’s blood ran cold. In the blink of an eye, the man was already before him — hand outstretched, and then a sharp pull.

Boom.

Mountains of blades and seas of fire stretched endlessly in all directions, scorching as molten rock, burning his flesh without mercy, incinerating even his very soul.

Pain. Searing, unbearable pain.

No living being could endure the agony of being burned alive.

The Marquis Zhenbei screamed again and again, desperately willing himself to wake — this was a dream, it could not possibly be real.

Yet he opened his eyes — and still, crimson flames raged all around him.

How could this be?

The Marquis Zhenbei let out a harrowing screech. How could flames like these, which should have reduced him to ash in an instant, allow him to feel so piercingly, so vividly, the torment of his spirit and soul being obliterated?

“The Golden Armor Gu.” It was only now that the Marquis Zhenbei remembered the Gu creature dwelling within his body.

Just as he endured the agony and summoned the Golden Armor Gu, an invisible force suddenly seized him and yanked him free of the boundless sea of fire.

He jolted awake from the edge of death, as if startled from a dream.

The Marquis Zhenbei lurched upright in bed with a shudder, gasping in great heaving breaths. As his vision cleared and he made out the blanket sliding from his body, he realized with a start that he had truly been dreaming — yet the brutal, searing pain from within that dream remained vivid before him, a dull, twisting ache crushing his chest as though a blunt blade were being wrenched through it.

Puu.

The Marquis Zhenbei spat out a mouthful of dark blood and collapsed back limply onto the bed, as though every last ounce of vitality had been siphoned from his body.

“My lord, my lord — something terrible has happened!” His personal attendant rushed in and, catching sight of the Marquis Zhenbei on the bed, his face contorted with shock. “My lord?”