The Marquis of Zhenbei’s sudden fit of madness had terrified the assembled officials. The most outrageous of all was that he had actually dared to strike against the sovereign — yet fortunately the sovereign was a true son of heaven, bearing the Tantai bloodline, with the natural power of a dragon to suppress such things. Otherwise, he might truly have succeeded.

Needless to say, regardless of whether the rest of his crimes were investigated, for the act of attempted regicide alone, the Marquis of Zhenbei was finished — and his entire clan would be dragged down with him.

Shen Qinghe walked out of the great hall. The blinding sunlight poured down and he raised a hand to shade his brow over his eyes. “The sun has come out,” he said.

Vice Minister He of the Ministry of War came over, his complexion pale. “Director Shen, that fit of madness from the Marquis of Zhenbei — was it the workings of heaven, or…?”

Shen Qinghe looked at his ashen face, clapped a hand on his shoulder, and said with meaningful deliberation: “Whether it was the workings of heaven or the workings of man, Vice Minister He has also escaped a great calamity.”

He distinctly remembered that this man had nearly entered a marriage alliance with the Marquis of Zhenbei.

If that union had been completed, it would have been a greater injustice than anything imaginable.

Though now that the sovereign was conducting an investigation, Vice Minister He — as a man who had nearly become family with the accused — would inevitably have to go through the proper procedures of cooperating with the inquiry.

Vice Minister He asked again: “Have you ever seen a slip of paper that ignites without flame?”

Shen Qinghe raised an eyebrow. “Oh? You received such a paper? Vice Minister He, you are blessed indeed — some great figure is watching over you. When you return home, you ought to burn incense and offer proper reverence to that great figure.”

Vice Minister He met his gaze for a moment, then said nothing more. It seemed that working as a colleague alongside someone from the Xuan Clan truly had an influence — even a man of Shen Qinghe’s iron principles had become given to such mystical talk.

Tsk, tsk — truly, one takes on the character of those around them.

Still, paying proper reverence to that great figure did indeed seem very necessary.

Vice Minister He wiped the cold sweat from his brow and hurried out of the palace.

Shen Qinghe let out a quiet click of his tongue, turned his head, caught sight of Zuo Yan, and the two exchanged a small nod before each departed from the palace separately.

Meanwhile, in a tea house on the street facing the Marquis of Zhenbei’s estate, Lang Jiuchuan had watched the entire proceedings through the small paper figure she had quietly attached to Xie Zhenming’s robes. Now she set down her tea with deep satisfaction, then leaned forward at the second-floor window, watching as the palace guards surrounded the Marquis of Zhenbei’s estate, listening to the cries and screams drifting out from within — and the corner of her lips curved upward.

A household rises together and falls together. She felt not the slightest sympathy for anyone inside those walls.

Jiangche lazily licked at his newly grown white fur. “You are quietly devious,” he said. “You could have brought him to ruin with a single technique — yet you insisted on staging this entire spectacle.”

“Is this not far better than letting him die without a sound? Making him confess his own crimes with his own mouth — only that can console a loyal soul.” Lang Jiuchuan reached out and caught a wisp of willow catkin drifting in from somewhere. “Dying easily would be far too lenient. He should suffer thoroughly.”

It was the only thing she could do for Lang Zhengfan, who had been her father.

Jiangche yawned. “And now — are you satisfied?”

This play, from the raising of the curtain to its fall, had taken only a handful of days. Xie Zhenming had returned to the capital less than ten days ago, and already he had confessed everything and been cast into the secure prison.

Truly a farce — like child’s play.

The most swiftly fallen lord in all of history — however long he had held his noble title, it was already over.

“Not yet.” Lang Jiuchuan watched as the members of the Xie household were dragged out roughly, and lowered her gaze. “He should taste every ounce of suffering my father endured in his time.”

The nightmare should change.

Lang Jiuchuan toyed with the bone-bell at her waist. “Back to the shop of ten thousand matters — this bone-bell needs to be reforged.”

Lang Zhengping came out of the palace, stood at the palace gates, gathered every last ounce of energy in his body, and let out a single great howl. Then he crouched down at the palace gates and wept bitterly, weeping and cursing Xie Zhenming for not being human, drawing the fixed stares of the gate guards — yet when they understood why he was crying, each of them, by unspoken agreement, refrained from stepping forward to drive him away.

What a pitiable fate for the Lang Family. That General Anbei had been the hope of the Lang Family’s resurgence in those years, yet he had perished by a wicked art. What an injustice.

There was nothing wrong with a military man dying on the battlefield. But to die at the hands of a comrade-in-arms, by such an underhanded and insidious method — no soldier could endure it without fury and contempt.

That Marquis of Zhenbei — truly, dying ten thousand deaths would not be enough!

Lang Zhengping wailed and wailed until his eyes rolled back and he fainted, startling the household servants of the Lang Family into rushing over, while the gate guards also ran to help carry him onto the carriage.

What a sorry state for the Lang Family!

Once Lang Zhengping was in the carriage and the curtain dropped, shielding him from outside eyes, he opened his eyes again. He had been feigning the faint, of course — the more pitiable and wronged his family appeared, the greater Xie Zhenming’s crimes would seem, the more furious the sovereign would be, and the harsher the punishment would be.

But even as his eyes were open, the tears kept falling without stop. Though he had long known what that villain had done, now that the man had confessed it with his own mouth, Lang Zhengping felt his heart being torn apart.

His second brother had been such a fine man — and he had died by such an insidious and wicked art. What injustice.

When the news from court reached the Lang household, the air became heavy and oppressive once more, filled with cursing and ranting — and above all, fury.

Who could have imagined it? The man who had, for more than ten years, faithfully held memorial rites for the second master — he was the very one who had murdered him, and by such a terrifying and vile art as the mind-devouring gu. Truly, you may know a person’s face without knowing their heart.

Thank heaven that divine justice prevails, that the evil one had done would ultimately be brought to light — that a wronged soul would eventually find redress, rather than the truth buried in darkness with no one to know it.

In Qichi Pavilion, Nanny Cheng spoke softly, urging Cui Shi to drink down the rice broth.

“Heaven has not closed its eyes — the second master has not died in vain. You should take comfort in that. How can you afflict yourself like this?”

Cui Shi sat like a wooden figure, as though she heard nothing. Every last trace of her spirit had drained away, and overnight she had become gaunt as withered wood.

“You must at least make arrangements for the second master’s incense offerings,” Nanny Cheng said, wiping away her own tears. “He died wrongfully — in the centuries to come, his spirit surely cannot be left without descendants to make offerings. And there is the young miss — she has already done more than enough. If you destroy your own body, will you not exhaust her again by making her tend to you? She uses her inner energy when she performs acupuncture — that is an enormous drain on her spiritual strength. Could you not show her at least some compassion?”

Cui Shi turned her head stiffly, struggled upright, and Molan hurriedly helped support her. She took the rice broth and began feeding it to her. Nanny Cheng immediately went to prepare the medicinal decoction and bring it over.

At that moment, a maidservant came to report that Old Master Cui had arrived and was being led by Lang Caimeng toward Qichi Pavilion.

Nanny Cheng looked at Cui Shi. Seeing her nod, she fetched the outer garments and helped her change. There was no time to arrange her hair, so it was simply braided into a single long plait that hung across her chest. By the time she was presentable, Old Master Cui had entered.

Father and daughter had not seen each other for more than ten years. Meeting again, the unfamiliarity was inevitable. Old Master Cui looked at his daughter, and in his eyes there was both heartache and an unmistakable undercurrent of reproach. How had she let herself come to such a state?

“Don’t worry about the matter of Zhengfan — the justice that belongs to him will not be lacking. I will discuss with the Marquis how best to handle this. You must rest and take care of your health.”

Cui Shi extended a hand toward Nanny Cheng, then unsteadily climbed down from the bed. Old Master Cui’s aged face darkened when he saw this. “What are you getting out of bed for? Lie back down. Are you going to argue with me even now?”

Cui Shi did not speak in return. She descended from the bed and then knelt before him. “Father,” she said, “this is the first time I have ever asked anything of you. If something should happen to me in the future — I ask you, respected elder, to look after Jiuchuan, even if only a little.”

She bowed deeply, her forehead touching the ground.