Lang Jiuchuan then asked about the aftermath of the Qiong River sprite. She still remembered she had promised to guide the soul of that child’s corpse onward.

At this, Gong Qi’s expression turned serious. “The river sprite’s ghost realm was broken. Yice and I were swept into an undertow, and beneath that current we found a Formation of Resentful Bones. The entire riverbed was covered in blackened skeletal remains. It seems someone set up a Ghost-Killing Curse Formation in the Qiong River many years ago, performing live sacrifices year after year — that was what nurtured a river sprite sustained purely by resentment. It very nearly became a great catastrophe.”

Lang Jiuchuan rolled the prayer beads on her wrist and said: “A Ghost-Killing Curse Formation — that’s what gave birth to the river sprite. That’s also what let it cultivate the Ten Thousand Souls Baleful Energy. It just wasn’t fortunate enough — fell short at the last moment. Had it gathered a few more lives, it would have become something truly formidable.”

Gong Qi nodded, then said with a grim expression: “Two of our Daoist practitioners perished at the bottom of the river.”

Lang Jiuchuan was startled. “Because the ghost realm collapsed, or…?”

“They must have triggered inner demons within the ghost realm.” Gong Qi sighed. “Spiritual energy is so scarce — those of our kind who seek the great path of immortality have no real hope anymore. And yet if they can’t even pass through a ghost realm, it is because their understanding of the Dao is too shallow.”

Lang Jiuchuan couldn’t help but scoff: “They’ve spent their entire careers scheming and fighting over power and status within the Xuan Clan — how pure can their understanding of the Dao possibly be? The finest resources never reach their hands; those only serve to advance the people who are already at the top.”

Gong Qi pressed his lips together and said: “The original intent of the Xuan Clan was simply to pass down the specialized arts of each lineage from generation to generation — to become clans of the Xuan tradition. Some would exorcise and capture demons, others divine and read fortunes, others practice medicine and refine elixirs, others read feng shui and survey the land. That was how it truly was in the beginning. But later…”

Later, the nature of it all changed.

The Xuan Clan became lofty and untouchable, monopolizing and suppressing others, fixating on status and so-called bloodlines — while the most essential thing, the cultivation and tempering of the Dao and the heart, was neglected. Perhaps it was for this very reason that Heaven allowed the Xuan Clan to gradually wane, so that hardly anyone among them reached a truly high level of cultivation, and Foundation Establishment practitioners could be counted on one hand.

Not even a match for the person standing right in front of him.

Gong Qi looked at Lang Jiuchuan, his expression complex.

What he left unsaid was this: she had entered the field of vision of the Xuan Clan and of many powerful figures, and even as people marveled at how formidable the younger generation had become, they had developed enormous wariness toward her.

They feared her.

“Word has spread of how you alone slew both the river sprite and the half-demon. Your name, Lang Jiuchuan, has entered the sights of those who pay attention.” Gong Qi looked at her and said: “Fame has its dangers — you must be careful.”

Lang Jiuchuan raised an eyebrow and met his gaze: “What, is the Xuan Clan about to use their usual methods on me?”

Win them over, or if that fails, crush them.

“The Gong Family has the young master keeping things in check — they won’t act rashly. The Feng Family head is focused on forging implements, so he probably won’t dare make any careless moves. But the imperial family and the Rong Family — the Rong Family especially, since you and they are mortal enemies — I’m afraid…”

Lang Jiuchuan smiled. “Actually, what Zhishang said wasn’t entirely right. This so-called decline of national fortune — how could it be caused by demons and evil? It’s plainly that they themselves are destroying it, ruining it with their own hands. Toward a person of power, they always do the same thing: if recruitment fails, crush and eliminate them with full force. When calamity befalls the common people then, who will come to save them?”

She finished speaking and stood up. “I’ve noted your warning — thank you. But if they truly insist on courting destruction, I don’t mind using them to sharpen my blade. At least then I’ll have cause and justification.”

Gong Qi asked: “You’re leaving? Don’t you want to look at the Merit Record?”

“If you hadn’t done what you should have, I wouldn’t be sitting here talking with you calmly — I’d have come and kicked your door down.” Lang Jiuchuan waved her hand and left.

Whether meritorious virtue had accumulated or not — she had felt it during her time in closed cultivation. It was precisely because of that she had recovered so quickly.

In the Surveillance Division’s Record of Demon Slaying, in the chapter on the Qiong River sprite, Lang Jiuchuan’s name was written in premium vermillion pigment. Each month, this record was recited by storytellers throughout every prefecture. Though many meritorious Daoist practitioners were listed, somehow only one name stuck in people’s minds — Lang Jiuchuan.

She was not of the Xuan Clan — she was a daughter of a noble household, barely past the age of maturity, young in years yet great in ability. She had personally slain the river sprite, then single-handedly destroyed a half-demon that had appeared from thin air.

She had been virtually unknown — as if she had emerged from nowhere — yet after the Merit Record appeared, her name shook Wu Jing and reverberated across all four directions.

Some speculated that her “banishment” to the rural estate had only been a facade, and that she had in truth been studying under some reclusive great master, and had descended from the mountains to fulfill her mission in the mortal world.

Whatever the outside world said, whenever the name Lang Jiuchuan was spoken, it was accompanied by admiration, or awe, or jealousy and wariness — always carrying a thread of reverence.

This great renown brought Lang Jiuchuan an unceasing flow of merit and virtue — but it also brought dangers impossible to evade.

Just as Gong Qi had said: she was powerful, and naturally she would be courted from all sides. What Lang Jiuchuan hadn’t expected was that the first to extend an invitation would be the imperial family — the same family whose representative, Tantai Cong, she had so thoroughly humiliated — and yet they still stretched out an olive branch toward her.

And the form that invitation took was the most ordinary thing imaginable for a woman — marriage.

After Lang Jiuchuan helped guide the child’s soul at Qiong River, she made another trip to the Nine River Bridge to engrave certain things and bury others, then visited the Celestial Tower to inquire about the young Rong heir’s upcoming wedding. When she returned to the Lang Family residence, she walked straight into a piece of news that disgusted her to her core.

The Emperor intended to bestow a marriage decree upon her — to wed her to an imperial prince.

Lang Jiuchuan wanted to vomit. And she actually did.

Lang Zhengping and Cui Shi looked at her with worry. A royal marriage decree — how could they refuse the Emperor?

“To try and make His Majesty abandon the idea, I even said your constitution was frail and your lifespan short, that we feared you wouldn’t survive long enough — and we haven’t even held your coming-of-age ceremony yet!” Lang Zhengping said with anxious depression. “And you know what he said in reply? He said the imperial family’s fortune is great, with the dragon’s aura as its blessing, and that once you marry into the imperial house, your lifespan will certainly be long and full.”

Jiangche, who was pinned in Lang Jiuchuan’s arms, exploded in fury, let out a roar, and spoke aloud in human speech: “Disgusting! They call it a marriage decree, but it’s really just forced buying and forced selling — grabbing a person and stuffing her into their nest to breed offspring!”

Lang Zhengping: “?”

Cui Shi: “!”

Both of them stared in horror at the white-furred creature, their faces drained of color. Wasn’t it just a cat? How could it speak in a human voice? And was that — a tiger’s roar just now?

“You’ve frightened them.” Lang Jiuchuan pinched the tiger’s head.

Jiangche belatedly looked at the two of them, feeling a little guilty. It shrank its neck slightly and said: “I was overwhelmed with fury — I forgot to keep up the act.”

It raised a paw somewhat sheepishly toward the two of them. “I am not an ordinary cat. I am the White Tiger King — Lord Jiangche.”

To spare them from fainting from fright, Lang Jiuchuan brought out the bone bell, circulated spiritual energy around them, and explained Jiangche’s origins. Then she asked: “Did Tantai Ming specify which prince?”

She called the current Son of Heaven by his given name directly, her tone carrying open contempt.

Lang Zhengping couldn’t take his eyes off Jiangche. “Any one she likes. He said you may choose whoever you favor — even if they’re already married, it doesn’t matter.”

Lang Jiuchuan raised her brow. “Any one I like? He really does think highly of me.”

“You’re willing?” Cui Shi asked her. “I could have your maternal grandfather petition to decline on our behalf — along with Xue Shi and Lord Shen and the others together. Would that be enough force?”

“It won’t work.” Lang Jiuchuan shook her head. “The imperial family is also of the Xuan Clan — they are accustomed to taking what they want by force. Let’s not drag Xue Shi and the others into this.”

“Then what do we do? Why don’t you just run?” Lang Zhengping sighed. This child — truly a life full of hardship. First she had been smeared with a disgraceful name; now, just when she had become famous throughout Wu Jing, a marriage decree arrived. It was plainly a pit of fire, and they were trying to drag her headfirst into it.

He’d rather she were still living under that bad reputation — at least then no one would dare set their sights on her.