When Lang Jiuchuan’s tongue turned venomous, it could kill without shedding a single drop of blood.

A single sentence was enough to make every fellow Daoist present — those old enough to be her grandfather or even great-grandfather — turn purple in the face and wish the ground would swallow them whole.

She seemed entirely oblivious to their reaction, adding another remark: “I am a person of the Dao school — self-sacrifice is not something I have cultivated. Unlike you venerable seniors who have chanted so many sutras that you have cultivated the nature of Buddhahood. So the question you asked just now was not meant for me — you ought to step forward yourselves.”

Everyone: “…”

Elder Zhishang’s beard quivered, his mouth opening and closing without a single word coming out.

Kong Xu Zi thought to himself: She’s actually quite a lovely young woman, as long as she isn’t talking!

The atmosphere was as frozen as frost on a winter’s day.

On the imperial clan’s own grounds, Tantai Cong could not stand watching Lang Jiuchuan act with such brazen arrogance and said: “No matter what, the Prince is still your betrothed husband. How can you just stand by and watch him die?”

“Oh? How do you know that?” Lang Jiuchuan smiled. “Never mind that he is merely some so-called betrothed husband — even if he were my actual husband, I could still stand by and watch him die. He’s nothing to me, no kin and no connection. What grounds does he have for me to trade my life for his — because he’s cruel and vicious enough? Open your eyes and look at him properly. Does someone in his state even deserve to be saved?”

Everyone followed the direction of her gesture and looked again. This time, looking at him, they felt that Prince Jing was even closer to death than before.

Corpse spots had risen and were spreading across his face in a rotting, devouring decay; his complexion was the yellow of old paper, his breath the merest thread, each labored gasp like that of a man on the very threshold of death, carrying with it the faint stench of putrid blood. His entire body was shrouded in a layer of grey, nauseating death energy, fetid and foul.

Everyone present had cultivated for many years and possessed considerable cultivation — they all recognized this as the physical manifestation of karmic backlash, and one far more severe than usual at that. It was thick and viscous as oil, madly devouring the last scrap of vitality remaining in him.

Just how much evil must Prince Jing have committed to suffer such heavy karmic backlash?

Lang Jiuchuan’s aura suddenly turned frigid. She pointed at Prince Jing and said: “He tormented and killed two legitimate wives and countless innocent women. Now he suffers the backlash of his own karmic evil — this is nothing more than cause and effect, retribution as it should be. He dies, and he dies in debt. What of it? Do you think a person can cause harm to others and not be made to pay? The Panguan of the underworld keeps a ledger of every deed ever done. It is not that there is no reckoning — only that the time has not yet come. Sooner or later, every debt is repaid.”

As she said this, her gaze cut deliberately toward Rong Huanxuan, who had been standing behind Elder Liu all along.

Hearing the pointed implication in those words, Rong Huanxuan instinctively raised her head — and her eyes met the ice-cold gaze of Lang Jiuchuan.

That face — cool, clear, and devastatingly beautiful. Those dark eyes were bright and vivid, yet the depths within them were filled with glacial contempt and mockery, utterly unfathomable.

Not one word she spoke named what the Rong clan had done to her — yet every word pointed directly at it.

A chill crept over Rong Huanxuan. She hurriedly lowered her head, her hands clenching tight, and unbidden, a memory surfaced.

She had revered her father and longed for him since childhood. She had been two, perhaps three years old — she had encountered the man she was supposed to call father. What had his gaze looked like? It had been exactly like this — carrying that same glacial contempt and mockery, indifferent to her longing, not even deigning to respond to her before walking away.

Exactly the same.

No — no, that was wrong. The Lang Jiuchuan before her was merely a wandering spirit that had possessed a body. That real child who shared her bloodline had long since died. Even the soul…

Rong Huanxuan’s spirit wavered, her body nearly swaying, pain flickering across her face. Without thinking, she grabbed hold of Elder Liu’s robe.

Lang Jiuchuan narrowed her eyes, the corners of her mouth curling. She swept her gaze around and saw that many faces were unreadable, all suppressing their emotions and not giving them vent — the look of people holding themselves in check.

A mocking expression crossed her face.

As Guardian Elders, even with the most oblivious eyes imaginable, they all knew full well the state Prince Jing was in. How had they found the audacity to ask what they had asked — could she save him?

How had they even managed to voice something so damaging to one’s vital energy and so destructive to one’s accumulated moral virtue? Were they not afraid their Dao hearts would shatter from it?

Even Tantai Cong was so stunned by Lang Jiuchuan’s cold, absolute detachment that he couldn’t close his mouth. Even if that was what she truly felt in her heart, how could she say it so lightly? And that tone of hers — she clearly did not regard Prince Jing as anything at all.

No — she had no regard for the imperial clan at all.

What gave this woman the right to be so arrogant? Had she forgotten — her Bai Family’s marquisate title was conferred by the imperial house, along with her late father’s posthumous honors and all the rest.

She was nothing more than a member of the nobility living at the pleasure of the imperial house. Even those of her standing dared not openly defy it — and yet here she was!

This was too arrogant!

Tantai Cong’s eyes blazed with fury, and he was on the verge of lashing out with a sharp rebuke, but the sight of Prince Jing barely clinging to life made his heart quail, and he dared not say more.

Lang Jiuchuan smiled again: “The man is beyond saving. If you insist that I try, I can bring myself to make a reluctant attempt — but he will probably die faster.”

“What do you mean?”

“I am a curse upon my husband!” Lang Jiuchuan’s smile was deeply unsettling. “I said it on the very day of the arranged marriage edict: my fate is that of a solitary star of disaster, a husband-dooming fate. The imperial house dared to bind him to me in a marriage pact — misfortune will follow, and it will touch every one of you who are his kin.”

The moment she finished speaking, without warning, a great blast of yin wind swept through the hall. Clink, clang.

The sound of chains clashing rang out beside everyone’s ears. Instinctively, they all looked toward the source of the sound — yet there was nothing to see. The thunderous pounding of their own heartbeats filled their entire chests.

Lang Jiuchuan glanced over. In the empty air, a crack split open in silence and slowly widened, forming a ghost gate. A dense, impenetrable aura of underworld death energy surged outward from it in great waves, the yin cold stabbing to the bone, flooding every corner of the bedchamber in an instant, turning what had once been a bright and well-lit room into something dim, eerie, and oppressive.

Gong Tinglan’s breath caught. He stared in stunned astonishment at the figure stepping out from that gaping, fathomless ghost gate, and immediately bent into a bow, making a distant obeisance.

His heart was churning with shock. If this truly was Lang Jiuchuan’s doing — she had colluded with the underworld? No — it went both ways, give and take?

The other Daoists saw Gong Tinglan’s gesture and felt a jolt run through them. It was common knowledge that the Gong clan’s young leader was born with the Heavenly Eye — he must have seen something to react this way. And his bow carried a note of reverence. Could it mean…?

Kong Xu Zi’s eyes flickered. He immediately bit his fingertip and drew a Heaven-Opening Eye talisman, reciting the incantation under his breath. The talisman ignited on its own, and a sharp sting passed through everyone’s eyes. In the next moment, they all witnessed a terrifying sight.

An enormous shroud of dark, eerie ghost energy enveloped a tall, thin figure black as a bamboo pole. His features were indistinct, yet atop his head sat the unmistakable tall hat bearing the four characters “All Under Heaven is at Peace,” and his robes were jet-black from collar to hem. Anyone who saw that iconic appearance knew exactly who this was.

In his hand, there trailed a heavy iron chain of dark metal, its links engraved with underworld spirit runes. It coiled and wound like a black serpent, rattling and clanging with a sound that made the heart shudder.

This was the Soul-Reaping Envoy — Black Impermanence.

“Lord Impermanence.” Kong Xu Zi clasped his hands in a respectful bow, his eyes filled with reverence.

The others likewise stumbled back in shock and trembled as they raised their hands in greeting.

Black Impermanence’s cold, eerie gaze swept across everyone present, then came to rest on the one person in the room who had not bowed — Lang Jiuchuan. A fleeting trace of helpless resignation passed through his eyes, vanishing just as quickly.

How had an errand like this one fallen to him? That cunning old Bai had slipped away fast enough.

Lang Jiuchuan gave him a smile, then looked toward Rong Huanxuan — who had been pulled by Elder Liu into a shadowed corner and was trembling from head to toe — and curved her lips. A gleam appeared in her eyes, playful and brimming with wicked satisfaction.

As though sensing it, Rong Huanxuan slowly raised her head. Their gazes met, and her pupils contracted sharply.