Lang Jiuchuan stared at that dense, searingly vivid thread of blood-line karmic connection, feeling as though her eyes might split open.
Gong Tinglan knocked against her hand. His violet bone flute spun through the air, and the steel-edged energy summoned a small but powerful gust of wind, cutting through the oppressive pressure and breaking off her hand seal. He turned to the head of the Rong Family: “To demonstrate the Rong Family’s resolve to cleanse its household and show no leniency, we ask that the head of the Rong Family personally abolish Rong Huanxuan’s entire cultivation, shattering her Dao foundation, lest a great disaster be left to fester and bring ruin to all living beings.”
Lang Jiuchuan quietly withdrew her hand seal, her eyes filled with cold mockery.
Zhishang spoke up as well: “What Young Patriarch Gong says is sound. Only in this way can it be proclaimed to the world that the Rong Family’s determination to uphold the righteous path is unshakeable as bedrock, and that they will never keep company with wicked and demonic ways.”
Kong Xu Zi flicked his fly-whisk and said: “Head of the Rong Family — however solemn an oath, however loudly sworn to the heavens, it does not equal the weight of a swift and decisive act to discipline the wayward, as a warning to all under your house.”
“Indeed, indeed.”
“The various cultivators here speak truthfully — this is also a fine opportunity to wash away the stain.”
“For such a creature to drag the family into the vortex of public condemnation — it is simply not worth it.”
“With this emissary of the underworld as witness, and with all fellow cultivators of the Daoist tradition present — personally cleansing your own household, would that not carry far greater weight?”
The crowd spoke one by one, and every word was like a dagger dipped in deadly poison, driving itself into the very core of the head of the Rong Family’s chest and twisting — the pain so severe he bent involuntarily at the back, overtaken by a strange, suffocating sensation.
Hateful — how dared they drive him this way!
Their relentless pressure left him no choice but to take up the blade himself, to plunge that edge into Rong Huanxuan’s spirit-soul with his own hand, to act as an executioner before all the cultivators, before this envoy of the underworld who came to claim souls. To kill the person — and to kill the heart.
Not one person stood on his side. When had the Rong Family ever fallen to such a state — even the lowest among the Daoist lineages had never before found themselves so utterly without allies, so alone.
Lang. Jiu. Chuan.
The head of the Rong Family squeezed those three words through clenched teeth, his voice hoarse, like a dying predator releasing the final, ultimate roar. Had it not been for her, none of these people would ever have thought of this.
It was she who had ground him, Rong Huanxuan, and the entire Rong Family’s dignity and honor down into the dirt and crushed them beneath her feet.
She deserves to die.
The head of the Rong Family stared fixedly at Lang Jiuchuan. Never in his life had he hated someone like this — never so fiercely that he longed to devour her flesh raw, drink her blood, grind her bones to dust and scatter them to the winds, rip out her soul and refine it, leaving her unable to cross over for all eternity. But one day he would — he most certainly would.
The churning, boiling hatred, resentment, and killing intent in his eyes poured toward Lang Jiuchuan without the slightest concealment, causing Gong Tinglan to frown. He glanced instinctively at Lang Jiuchuan, saw her spine straight and not a trace of fear in her stance, and let out a quiet sigh. She truly was made of something extraordinary.
The atmosphere froze — a standoff between two forces, the tension heavy enough to press the breath from a person’s lungs.
Every gaze in the hall was fixed upon the head of the Rong Family, even the Black Impermanence watching him with keen interest, eyes full of relish.
The dramas of the mortal world truly are a fine spectacle.
And besides — that woman is indeed not someone to be trifled with.
The head of the Rong Family’s gaze swept over pair after pair of scrutinizing, expectant eyes, and his chest convulsed with pain. He suddenly lowered his head and let out a low laugh, his voice rough as he said: “That my fellow cultivators show such concern for the Rong Family’s name — if this old one were to refuse, that would truly be failing to recognize one’s blessings.”
His tone carried boundless murderous intent.
Lang Jiuchuan looked toward Rong Huanxuan. Such a spectacle — a father destroying his own daughter, sacrificing righteousness over kinship — how could one go through it without an ounce of awareness of what was happening?
Yes — Rong Huanxuan was actually the head of the Rong Family’s daughter. The thread of blood karmic connection had been wound tightly between them. Both of their life-force palaces were clearly linked. The Rong Family was truly something — truly repugnant.
Lang Jiuchuan cast a glance toward the Black Impermanence — wake her up.
If she used a technique herself, she might be discovered. But the Black Impermanence was different — if he made a move, no one would suspect a thing.
The Black Impermanence’s expressionless eyes caught that glance. A rare flicker of resignation passed across them. He shifted his wrist, and the mourning staff he cradled sent out an invisible ripple of force, striking toward Rong Huanxuan.
The head of the Rong Family turned. He lifted Rong Huanxuan up and channeled the full force of his cultivation, driving his intent into his palm. Into that hand gathered a surge of steel-edged, pure, and thick violet-gold light imbued with annihilating power.
He looked at Rong Huanxuan’s ashen face. A flicker of reluctance and anguish crossed his eyes. This was his child — raised by his own hands, led onto the Dao path by himself — an heir who had once filled him with pride. How had things come to this?
The head of the Rong Family’s fingers trembled. He turned his head to look at the assembled crowd, and finally fixed his gaze upon Lang Jiuchuan’s face: “Then today — this old one shall do as you all wish. Watch closely.”
The violet-gold light in his palm blazed with dazzling, searing radiance and swept down toward Rong Huanxuan’s core energy center. Suddenly, the person in his arms opened her eyes. They were filled with confusion — but the moment she saw the annihilating violet-gold light, understanding broke over her face, and terror flooded her eyes. She began to struggle violently.
No — it cannot be!
“For the Rong Family’s legacy, do not blame me for this.” The head of the Rong Family’s gaze hardened with absolute resolution. The words had barely fallen before his palm drove into Rong Huanxuan’s core energy sea, and the violet-gold light transformed into blades of steel-edged energy, tearing into where her Dao foundation lay.
Rong Huanxuan’s body went rigid. Her eyes flew wide open — and in those eyes, disbelief and venomous hatred blazed, shooting with vicious force toward the head of the Rong Family.
Boom.
A dull sound, like shattering glass, rose from within her body.
“Aah!” Rong Huanxuan’s body curved violently upward. She let out a piercing, wretched shriek, her whole body shuddering violently as she twisted and screamed in agony, held tight within the head of the Rong Family’s arms.
Some could not bear to watch and turned away — and in turning, caught sight of Lang Jiuchuan, a slight shiver of wariness moving through them.
Gong Tinglan’s expression was complicated. He glanced at her, saw her watching the execution with a face devoid of all emotion, still as water, and pressed his lips together slightly, a trace of worry in his eyes.
Such relentless, heedless provocation — even with him here, with the assembled cultivators to share the burden — the head of the Rong Family was a man who held every grudge to his dying breath. From the moment she had opened her mouth, they had become enemies who would not rest until one was dead. From this point forward, he would likely come at her without restraint.
As the head of the Rong Family struck, something within Rong Huanxuan seemed to break free like a flood bursting through a dam. The spiritual energy all around her body began pouring outward in wild torrents — her Dao foundation had completely collapsed and crumbled, the spiritual energy bleeding away, her meridians shattering inch by inch. With visible speed, her whole person withered away, vitality draining from her at a racing pace.
The head of the Rong Family’s arms tightened around her until his knuckles went white. The veins at his temples bulged. He bit down on his teeth until blood seeped from the corner of his mouth, forcing himself to hold it all in.
Rong Huanxuan’s trembling ceased. Her eyes rolled back, and she fell unconscious once more, her entire person gone gray and haggard.
The head of the Rong Family channeled a thread of pure Dao essence into her, settling it into her spirit-soul to preserve her vital energy and essential life force. He then gathered her in his arms and turned to the assembled crowd: “This wretched creature has been personally punished by this old one. I trust my fellow cultivators are satisfied?”
Lang Jiuchuan smiled: “The head of the Rong Family is truly worthy of being the descendant of the True Immortal Miaorong — decisive and resolute indeed. Such integrity and upright character — this junior is full of admiration.”
“Heh heh.” The head of the Rong Family let out a few hollow sounds from his throat, his voice calm to a chilling degree: “Today’s events — this old one, will remember them all to heart.”
He held Rong Huanxuan, whose Dao foundation had been completely shattered, and tore open the shadow road, about to step through.
“A moment.” Lang Jiuchuan’s clear voice, cool as spring water, rang out at his back without warning.