Cold. So cold!
His blood seemed to have been plunged into extreme, bitter cold—inch by inch it was turning to ice, bone-chilling and body-stiffening.
An He Emperor’s teeth chattered against each other, his body trembling from the cold, the breath he exhaled already frosting white. In moments, ice crystals had formed on his eyebrows.
The head eunuch was frightened out of his wits. When he reached out to touch the Emperor, the intense cold radiating from the imperial body made him flinch back sharply.
“Your Majesty…”
Lang Jiuchuan sent a lightning talisman flying toward An He Emperor.
He watched the talisman come streaking at him, his eyes going wide and round, terror dilating his pupils, his entire face filled with disbelief. Was she actually attempting regicide?
“Protect the Emperor!” His throat let out a piercing shriek—yet the sound refused to travel beyond his lips. Then, overhead, he heard a thunderous boom crash down. He squeezed his eyes shut and trembled. The muscles below his waist went slack.
An He Emperor’s body stiffened all over. He felt a stream of righteous, warm aura envelop him from all sides, driving back the yin chill inside his body. Unable to resist, he opened his eyes—and as soon as he shifted, he became aware of a warm wetness beneath him; a sour, acrid smell reached his nostrils, making his scalp prickle.
The head eunuch pressed himself flat to the ground, wishing he could die on the spot. Even as yellow liquid seeped through the gaps between his fingers, he did not dare move a single muscle.
Heavens above, I fear I am about to go wait upon You.
The chill had retreated from his body, but An He Emperor, now keenly aware of those soaked garments and the dampness between his thighs, wore a cold and grim expression. He glared at Lang Jiuchuan. “Lang Jiuchuan! How dare you!”
Lang Jiuchuan unhurriedly performed a Daoist bow. “In extraordinary times, one takes extraordinary measures. Your Majesty’s yin poison had flared up. Had it not been expelled, the poison would have reached your vital organs and become a grave threat. This humble Daoist used a talisman in the imperial presence only out of concern for Your Majesty’s health. I beg Your Majesty’s pardon!”
An He Emperor: !
His gaze turned dark and oppressive as he stared at her fixedly. He thought to himself: this illusion, this yin poison, this wave upon wave of afflictions—could any of it be anything other than her doing?
And now she played the innocent before him with this false show of sincerity. What a piece of work, this ninth daughter of the Lang line!
An He Emperor had meant to strike first and establish dominance, only to have her seize the initiative entirely—turning the tables and overawing him instead. The humiliation left him seething with indignation.
But what unnerved and frightened him more was this: the moment he harbored thoughts of killing her, his body was assailed by a bone-piercing yin cold. Was it truly yin poison that had entered his body—or had Lang Jiuchuan done something to him?
This Lang Jiuchuan commanded methods so bizarre and unfathomable. And she had accomplished it all without a sound, without a trace—dragging him, the Emperor of the mortal realm, the true Son of Heaven, into that horrifying dreamscape, while also being able to influence his emotions at will.
This was not merely a warning. It was naked, crushing subjugation.
She was openly defying the imperial clan—defying him, this Emperor. She was showing contempt for imperial authority!
In a surge of shock and fury, An He Emperor felt a sweet, metallic taste rise to his throat—which he forcibly swallowed back down. His fingers trembled as he pointed at Lang Jiuchuan. “You—you are quite something!”
Lang Jiuchuan’s face remained composed. The corner of her mouth tugged slightly. “Your Majesty flatters me. This humble Daoist only spoke the truth. As long as you do not hold it against me!”
An He Emperor drew a deep breath. “What exactly is the nature of this yin poison? The Prince of Jing—”
“The Prince of Jing also died from a flare-up of yin poison. As for him—he was forsaken by the Heavenly Dao. I suppose he truly was ruined by my fate.” Lang Jiuchuan spoke with a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. “A sworn marriage bond ordained by Heaven—to defy it invites backlash as a matter of course. What’s more, not long ago my name was inscribed in the Registry of Righteous Merit at the Surveillance Bureau for the demon I vanquished. I am recognized throughout the realm as one who has rendered service—yet to be treated in such a manner thereafter is a violation of Heaven’s harmony.”
Those words were like a venom-dipped blade—soft, yet cutting deep—and they stabbed straight into An He Emperor’s heart. The blood and vital energy within him surged and churned violently, and the mouthful of blood he had just forced down came rushing back up to his throat.
He gasped several labored breaths, his voice low and ominous. “So this is your way of threatening Us to rescind the decree?”
Lang Jiuchuan shook her head. “This humble Daoist would not dare. The Emperor’s grace is boundless—this would be a blessing I could never seek out on my own. To become part of the imperial family, to enjoy the protection of the imperial dragon vein’s fortune—for my path of cultivation, it would be like adding wings to a tiger.”
You dare not? I see you dare rather a great deal. Who but you would have the audacity to affront the imperial majesty?
An He Emperor gave a cold laugh. He had even caught another layer of meaning within her words: once she absorbed the power of the imperial dragon vein’s fortune, she would shake the known world.
His expression shifted as his mind raced. He did not dare contemplate what heights she might reach if she were truly sheltered by the dragon vein’s power. To bring her into the imperial family would be like inviting a mouse into the granary—sooner or later, everything would be pilfered clean.
An He Emperor forcibly suppressed the fury in his heart and feigned composure. “Very well. Since you are unwilling, and since the Prince of Jing has now departed this world, the decree of betrothal is hereby rescinded.” His tone shifted abruptly. “However—since you say the betrothal was meant to sever your Daoist path, and since you have dedicated yourself to the vanquishing of demons and the defense of the righteous way, you might as well enter Canglang Monastery to cultivate and pray for the welfare of the people of our great Dahan.”
Canglang Monastery was a Daoist abbey established by the imperial family, situated on Tiancang Mountain in the northern outskirts of Wu Jing. Its incense fires burned with great prosperity, and it was also the place of cultivation where the elders sponsored by the imperial household resided.
So when the betrothal fails, he turns to recruitment. No—he wants her to take religious vows while remaining in the secular world?
Lang Jiuchuan’s gaze deepened.
“What? You are still unwilling?” An He Emperor’s voice turned cold; his tone suddenly hardened. “We rescind the decree out of deference to your devotion to the righteous path and the welfare of the people—We shall not force you against your will. Entering Canglang Monastery to cultivate and pray is not at odds with your own aspirations. You have some ability—We witnessed it today. But you would do well to remember: this realm belongs to the Tantai clan. All lands under heaven are the Emperor’s lands. All people upon the shore are the Emperor’s subjects. The Lang Family behind you should understand this well.”
This warning, though spoken harshly, was hollow at its core—a display of imperial authority meant to intimidate Lang Jiuchuan, and also a reminder: you are not alone; do not drag your family into ruin with you.
Lang Jiuchuan listened in silence, her face expressionless, not so much as shifting her gaze. Only the fingers hidden within her sleeve curled, ever so slightly.
She lowered her eyes. The faintest arc curved at the corner of her lips. Her voice was clear and cool. “This humble Daoist will take Your Majesty’s words to heart. Canglang Monastery, is it? Once this humble Daoist has recovered her health, she will certainly make her way there.”
An He Emperor was momentarily taken aback. She agreed this readily?
He could not help but study Lang Jiuchuan with a suspicious eye, his gaze filled with probing scrutiny. This woman had defiance in every bone of her body. No matter how he looked at his proposal, it should have stepped on every one of her sore spots. How could she have agreed so swiftly?
Was there something amiss here?
But Lang Jiuchuan simply gave a slight bow. “If Your Majesty has no further instructions, this humble Daoist will take her leave.”
With that, she did not spare another glance at An He Emperor’s face. She turned and walked out of that nauseating, suffocating side hall.
Outside the hall, the Fifth Lunar Month sun blazed. Lang Jiuchuan raised a hand to shade her eyes at her brow, and suddenly let out a laugh—a laugh that never reached her eyes.
All lands under heaven are the Emperor’s lands? All people upon the shore are the Emperor’s subjects? Using imperial authority to press her down—using her kin as a threat against her?
What an imperial Tantai clan. What an An He Emperor.
Lang Jiuchuan descended the steps at a measured pace. The sunlight stretched her shadow long behind her. The guards stationed before the side hall watched that retreating silhouette and felt, inexplicably, that the slender figure was possessed of an absolute and desolate solitude—like a lethal blade about to be drawn from its scabbard, carrying the keen, cold edge of one who would sever every shackle, and set this magnificent imperial cage into a storm of blood and carnage from which there would be no return to calm.
A guard looked up at the dark clouds massing overhead and murmured, “Is the sky about to change?”