The betrothal decree bestowed upon the ninth daughter of Marquis Kaiping’s household set tongues wagging across the capital — but not because of who she was being matched to. What everyone couldn’t stop talking about was the declaration she had made at the very moment she received the imperial edict.

She bore the Lone Star of Heavenly Calamity — a husband-destroyer!

What a thoroughly unorthodox reception ceremony that was. Either she held her betrothed in utter contempt, or she was sending an advance signal to the imperial house: if anything went wrong in the future, no one could blame her for it.

But a greater number of people believed that Lang Jiuchuan was expressing her dissatisfaction with the imperial family — and worse, that she was cursing Jing Wang. They took it as a sign she wanted nothing to do with this match.

She was extraordinarily brazen.

Throughout the entire great nation of Da Dan, which noble daughter, upon receiving a betrothal decree — however unwilling she might be — would ever speak such inauspicious words?

And yet Lang Jiuchuan had said exactly that. If that wasn’t brazenness, what was?

Jing Wang and the Emperor both felt that Lang Jiuchuan’s conduct was a direct provocation against the imperial house. Furious, they abandoned their original intent to select an auspicious date for the wedding and simply picked one at random. As it happened, the date they chose fell on the same day as the grand wedding of Tantai Cong and the Young Master of the Rong family — less than a month away.

The haste was staggering, leaving no time for proper preparation. It was a deliberate act of disregard toward Lang Jiuchuan. Even the members of the Lang family, who themselves paid the betrothal decree not the slightest bit of mind, could not suppress the resentment and fury that rose in their chests.

And yet they were nothing more than a marquisate that had long since faded to the margins of power. They were utterly incapable of standing up for her or doing anything at all — because the family had no authority, no prosperity, and no outstanding men to be its pillars. Faced with imperial power, they could not even raise their voices.

This helpless, suffocating feeling filled Lang Zhengping with guilt and self-reproach. All he could do was throw himself into pushing the young men of the household harder. If he did not, what happened to Lang Jiuchuan today would become the fate of every Lang daughter in the future — and when others came to bully them, there would still be no one able to stand at their backs.

A flourishing family was a woman’s greatest backbone. He had been unable to protect Lang Jiuchuan here; he could only hope to protect the other Lang daughters in the future.

While everyone was privately enjoying the spectacle, Lang Jiuchuan used the pretext of preparing for the wedding to disappear entirely from public sight.

What was strange was this: three days after the imperial betrothal decree was issued, the estate of Jing Wang erupted into supernatural disturbances. Every night at the hour of Zi, Jing Wang’s inner bedchamber transformed into a passage straight to the gates of the underworld. Strange sounds constantly emanated from within — the clanging of chains, the wailing and sobbing of ghosts. Some people had even witnessed ox-headed and horse-faced underworld guards hauling strings of wandering souls through the ghost gate, and had been so frightened by the sight that they dropped dead on the spot.

Jing Wang initially assumed it was servants playing tricks on him. That was, until he himself saw the apparitions of his first two deceased consorts, their seven orifices streaming with blood, shrieking as they lunged toward him. Terrified, he drew the Azure Dragon Sword, which drove the two spirits fleeing.

One night was like this. Then the next, and the next.

Even when Jing Wang refused to sleep in his own bedchamber and moved elsewhere, he still saw the death-forms of those two consorts — clawing and biting at him with savage fury, their bone-deep hatred seeping into his body through their sharp, gnashing teeth. After several days of this, the skin beneath his eyes had turned a deep, bruised black, and when he looked down at his own body, he found dark patches spreading across his skin.

Corpse markings!

This was no ordinary haunting anymore.

Jing Wang, his nerves thoroughly frayed, summoned the venerable Elder Ruoxu — the imperial family’s resident cultivator — and stripped off his garments, saying: “Look carefully and tell this Prince exactly what this is.”

In truth, Jing Wang hadn’t even finished undressing when Ruoxu had already sensed the dense yin energy radiating from his body. Once the garments were removed, he beheld those spreading black patches, each one emanating a heavy, resentful, deathly energy — as though something had been gnawing at him.

Ruoxu’s expression shifted. He produced a jet-black talisman, murmuring an incantation beneath his breath, and swept it across Jing Wang’s arm. The talisman ignited in deep black flame, releasing a noxious, resentful, deadly energy — the kind that could only belong to a fierce ghost.

“Where has Your Highness been?” Ruoxu asked, his voice barely concealing his alarm. “How did you come to be gnawed upon by a resentful spirit?”

The man before him — even if he was not a true Son of Heaven — was still of Tantai bloodline, and should by rights be protected by the ancestral fortune and dragon energy of that lineage. No ordinary wandering spirit would dare approach him. Even a common resentful ghost would not dare contend against the power of dragon energy.

And yet this was unmistakably the work of a resentful spirit’s gnawing. Yin energy had entered his body, and the yin toxin had manifested as markings indistinguishable from corpse patches. If those toxic markings were not removed, the yin poison would spread across his entire body in short order, and he would perish, consumed by yin decay.

Jing Wang’s heart sank. He replied with undisguised irritation: “Where could this Prince have gone? I’ve been right here in Wu Jing the entire time.”

“But Your Highness has the protection of imperial fortune and blessings, so how could—”

“You ask me, and who do I ask? If I knew, would I have sent for you?” Jing Wang’s thick brows drew together sharply. “Find a solution for this Prince at once.”

Ruoxu flinched at the sharp tone, and a cold flash passed through his eyes.

He was a guest elder retained by the imperial family, but he was no man of empty reputation — he possessed genuine ability. It was precisely because of this that he commanded great respect, and everyone who met him would courteously address him as Elder, or Immortal Master, or Zhenren.

For Jing Wang to treat him like this was to treat him as a common servant.

Ruoxu’s displeasure deepened, and when he recalled Lang Jiuchuan’s words from before, his expression grew even more remote.

Jing Wang, apparently sensing that his tone had been too harsh, quickly cupped his hands and said: “Elder, this Prince has been tormented by this thing to the point of being unable to sleep, night or day. Even with the Azure Dragon Sword the late Emperor bestowed upon me lying at my pillow, I cannot rest — I can only manage to doze briefly in the full light of the sun. And even then, I feel a bone-deep, unbearable cold throughout my entire body. In my momentary agitation I gave offense to the Elder; please, Elder, do not take it to heart.”

He lowered himself and offered a respectful bow.

Elder Ruoxu received this gesture graciously. “Your Highness is too courteous. This old Daoist understands. The yin toxin has accumulated in your body and will not disperse — that is why it has formed as corpse markings, and why your entire body is suffused with cold. As long as it is removed, all will be well. This old Daoist is simply puzzled: how did Your Highness attract a resentful spirit capable of gnawing past the protection of dragon energy? What kind of resentful spirit would not fear being burned by it?”

Jing Wang’s gaze shifted away. “I am no cultivator. How would I know anything about such matters?”

Elder Ruoxu, seeing that he was concealing something, said: “It would be best for Your Highness to be honest. Otherwise, this old Daoist cannot prescribe the right remedy.”

Jing Wang’s eyes darted briefly, and he said: “My servants have told me that every night in my bedchamber, they see ox-headed and horse-faced underworld guards dragging ghosts that appear and then vanish. I don’t know whether that’s the cause of all this.”

Elder Ruoxu frowned deeply.

Jing Wang continued: “Elder, could someone have placed a dark curse upon this Prince? Come to think of it — could it be that Lang Jiu is playing at haunting? She doesn’t want to marry this Prince, doesn’t she, and she even said she would curse me as a husband-destroyer. Could she have cast some kind of evil art on this Prince? She’s said to have extraordinary abilities, after all.”

Ruoxu’s heart gave a small lurch. Would that woman be so foolish as to do something this obvious?

And yet — would Lang Jiuchuan do it? She certainly looked like the sort of person who went her own unbridled way. The more unlikely it seemed, the more possible it might be.

“Has Your Highness already exchanged birth charts with her? Has she been given your date of birth?”

“That has not yet occurred.”

Ruoxu considered carefully and said: “Lang Jiuchuan is a person who has attained the Golden Lotus to certify her path — her righteous energy is precisely what drew forth such anomalous manifestations. By rights, if she were to employ dark arts, she would invite heavenly retribution. Moreover, one would need to know your exact birth date and hour to perform such a working, so it is difficult to say whether it is her doing or not. Anything is possible, however. And if she has done this, once the working is broken, the backlash will fall upon her. This old Daoist will prepare some talismans and observe your bedchamber tonight. If it is truly her, I shall make her pay the price.”