Whether the Daughters’ Village held sinister secrets, Lang Jiuchuan could not say with absolute certainty — she had not investigated the place herself, so she would not stake her word on there being something supernatural. But based on the information Jiangche had gathered, that place was almost certainly not innocent.

What she did not yet know was what sort of thing they had conjured as their mountain god.

“…The entire village, with the exception of the elderly who had one foot already in the grave and boys under the age of eleven, had not a single able-bodied man — only women, and even young males were rare.” Shen Qinghe’s expression was solemn and cold as he spoke. “According to the villagers, those able-bodied men had all been chosen to serve the mountain god. In my view, that village is likely so isolated, and the villagers so ignorant, that in order to secure so-called peace and prosperity, they slaughtered those men as sacrifices to the god.”

The idea of the mountain god taking a bride, of young men being selected to serve it — it was absurd. This was without question a murder case.

“Then you never actually encountered the mountain god of Wanfeng Forest yourself?” Lang Jiuchuan said.

Shen Qinghe let out a cold snort. “There are no gods in this world. That is nothing but the foolish fantasizing of ignorant people.”

Lang Jiuchuan lowered her head with a smile — a smile tinged with a fair amount of contempt. “There may be no gods in this world, but there are wicked entities. There are wandering souls, there are the spirits of all living things, and there are demons and monsters. Otherwise, how would you explain what has happened to your son? I’ve heard that your household has even been pulling strings trying to find someone from the Mystic Clan to help.”

Shen Qinghe’s face flushed faintly at her blunt words. He pressed his lips together. “If I could explain it, you would not be sitting in front of me right now.”

Lang Jiuchuan glanced up at him. “Whether there is a mountain god is beside the point for now. But wicked entities — those certainly exist. Otherwise, you would not have such a thick cloud of evil energy clinging to you.”

She looked with distaste at the evil energy swirling around him — it was gnashing its teeth and baring wicked fangs. As though irked by the upright and righteous aura emanating from Shen Qinghe’s body, it turned and lunged instead at Lang Jiuchuan.

This little woman is weak as water. Go for her.

Lang Jiuchuan’s eyes went cold. She tightened her grip on the Dizhong.

How dare it pick on the easy target?

“Ah, ah, ah — I’m contaminated, you filthy wretch, how dare you come near us — you’re looking for death!” Jiangche screeched in outrage.

“Strike,” Lang Jiuchuan said, releasing the Dizhong. “This thing is utterly foul.”

Disgraceful.

Jiangche suddenly let out a roar like that of a tiger — a sound that rumbled like thunder through the ears. The regal and domineering might unique to the White Tiger Clan, carrying with it the savage fighting spirit of ten thousand beasts, transformed into a torrent of killing intent that swept through the evil energy and shredded it without mercy.

The dark and filthy evil energy scattered. Inside the carriage, the very air seemed to clear.

Shen Qinghe went rigid, then dug a finger into his ear. “Did you just hear a tiger’s roar?”

Had a fierce tiger come down from the hills near the capital to hunt?

“You must have misheard.” Lang Jiuchuan did not even look up.

Shen Qinghe studied her utterly composed expression and began to wonder if he had simply been pushing himself too hard lately, to the point where even his hearing was failing him.

But then again — after that tiger’s roar, his mind had cleared considerably, as though something had washed over it, and the foggy, dragging exhaustion had lessened.

Was it really just an illusion?

The way Shen Qinghe looked at Lang Jiuchuan was now laced with an ever-deepening scrutiny.

The carriage arrived at Ci’en Temple.

Shen Qinghe had already sent a servant ahead to inform his wife, so Madam Shen was waiting in the Zen courtyard with her attendants and maids. Even so — though she had been mentally prepared — the moment she set eyes on Lang Jiuchuan, Madam Shen’s heart sank as though a great stone had been tied to it. She cast her husband a glance of unreadable meaning.

The young girl before her was sallow and pale, with ashen lips, and her slight frame looked pitifully fragile — compared to their son Peng, there was hardly a difference.

This girl was going to save Peng?

“She’s looking down on you. She doesn’t believe in you,” Jiangche said, perching on Lang Jiuchuan’s shoulder and observing Madam Shen’s gaze with a huff.

Lang Jiuchuan’s emotions did not stir in the slightest. She gave Madam Shen only a small, quiet nod.

They had never met, and had no prior dealings. Expecting someone to see her once and immediately regard her as their saving grace — that was simply impossible. Especially since she was completely unknown, without a name or reputation to speak of in Wu Jing. And this body, frankly, really did look frail, the kind that inspired no confidence whatsoever.

But who cared?

Lang Jiuchuan was indifferent to the other woman’s attitude. If they could produce payment, she would do the work. It was a transaction, nothing more.

Trust, of course, would make things run more smoothly. But she was confident that even if it was absent now, it would come in time.

Madam Shen pulled Shen Qinghe aside with a look and whispered to him, “What did you say? You brought someone to save Peng — and it’s her?”

Shen Qinghe followed her gaze to Lang Jiuchuan, who was standing near the doorway, gazing at the bodhi tree in the courtyard, lost in thought.

Her frame really was slender.

Something uncommonly close to guilt stirred in Shen Qinghe. “I only met her yesterday, when she came forward herself. And yesterday evening, the head abbess said Peng’s last thread of life is nearly spent. He cannot wait any longer.”

Madam Shen’s throat tightened, as though something had lodged itself there. “But what if—”

“If things truly don’t go as we hope, then it is fate.” Shen Qinghe took her hand in his.

Madam Shen’s heart twisted at those words. Tears spilled down her face in an instant.

She parted her lips, about to say something — and then Lang Jiuchuan suddenly spun around and moved swiftly toward the inner sleeping chamber. The moment she moved, a shriek erupted from within.

“Young master, young master?! Heavens — someone, come quickly!”

The color drained from both Shen Qinghe’s and Madam Shen’s faces. They rushed inside at once.

Inside the bedchamber, Shen Peng — who had been sleeping soundly just moments ago — suddenly snapped his eyes open. He threw back the covers and, as though seized by madness, began ferociously pounding at his own lower body with a vicious, teeth-gritted fury that looked for all the world like demonic possession. The maids keeping watch inside the room were so terrified they nearly lost their souls on the spot.

The moment Madam Shen saw her son beating himself with those bloodshot eyes, her vision went black and she pitched forward — Shen Qinghe caught her with quick reflexes, then pushed her into the arms of the waiting attendant behind him. He himself strode to the bedside and bellowed sharply, “Peng! Stop at once!”

But someone reached Shen Peng before him — Lang Jiuchuan.

She stepped forward and seized both of Shen Peng’s wrists, pinning him completely so that he could not move.

Shen Qinghe was startled. With that slight, fragile frame of hers, she was able to hold down a man who stood a full head taller than her?

“Let go of me.” Shen Peng glared at Lang Jiuchuan. The crimson in the depths of his eyes churned with swirling evil energy. The corner of his mouth curled into a cold, cruel smile — it made his already gaunt, pale face look disturbingly sinister and malevolent.

Hideous — there was no other word for it.

Even Shen Qinghe felt a chill at the sight.

With her back to Shen Qinghe, Lang Jiuchuan stared Shen Peng down. Her hollow eyes blazed with a flood of golden light as the supreme and overpowering Dao power overflowed from her gaze, transforming into an invisible force of righteous might — and she bore down.

Shen Peng let out a sharp cry and crumpled back against the bed, too drained to harm himself any further.

Lang Jiuchuan released her grip. Her body swayed, and she exhaled lightly — she had just steadied herself when a rush of wind swept behind her.

“Peng!” Madam Shen came stumbling forward in a panic and shoved Lang Jiuchuan aside to throw herself onto the bed.

Thud.

A dull impact. Lang Jiuchuan hit the ground. Her hands instinctively shot out to brace herself, and her forehead collided with the leg of a nearby shelf. The pain drove tears straight from her eyes.