Bang!

When the head of the Rong Family received word that An He Emperor had rescinded the decree and merely commanded Lang Jiuchuan to enter Canglang Monastery for cultivation, his face went dark as iron. He hurled a jet-black jade chessboard to the ground and crushed the communication jade talisman in his grip until it crumbled to powder.

“Useless!” He snarled the curse through clenched teeth.

An Emperor above ten thousand—what imperial majesty that was—and he could not even subdue a single young girl. Instead, she had seized the upper hand and overawed him in turn. Truly useless.

His thoughts turned again to Lang Jiuchuan. He had struck at her again and again, only to have every move neutralized. How could her luck be so good? Exactly who or what was she? Why would she attach herself to such a ruined body, and fight to the death for it without retreat—was it truly all for the sake of karmic debt alone?

He had roamed freely for half a lifetime, born with extraordinary gifts, wielding the authority of a clan patriarch for several decades. When had he ever suffered such unrelenting, consecutive defeats and humiliations?

His daughter had her Daoist cultivation publicly crippled—her spiritual foundation utterly destroyed, her life and death uncertain. He himself had been forced to carry out punishment before a crowd, severing ties with his own kin in the name of righteousness, suffering a poison that gnawed at his heart and scraped at his bones. Even his most deeply buried secret had been exposed before the gathered great clans—he had lost all face before them and could no longer hold his head high.

And now the rumors circulating outside—about Rong Huanxuan’s unclear origins, about him, the Rong Family head, committing that unthinkable transgression—had grown louder and louder. Hundreds of years of the Rong Family’s spotless reputation had been destroyed in a single moment.

And all of this had been brought upon them by that woman, Lang Jiuchuan. She was the Rong Family’s destined calamity!

Had he only known—had he only known—he should never have harbored foolish hope and greed and spared her life, then handed her over to the Lang Family. He should never have allowed that wretched woman Xiyu to scheme with the petty tricks of an inner-courtyard schemer.

One misstep, and every step after was wrong.

Regret drove the Rong Family head’s hatred to its most extreme pitch.

Lang Jiuchuan had to die. She had to die in the most agonizing, most despairing way possible—only that could satisfy the hatred lodged in his heart.

A streak of frenzied and malicious light flashed through the Rong Family head’s murky eyes. He entered his inner chamber, took out a communication jade talisman he had kept in reserve for a long time, hesitated for a moment—but still channeled his intent into it and sent the message through.

This woman’s methods were beyond the reckoning of gods and ghosts. On his own, he estimated he would struggle to accomplish what he needed. Then let someone who feared her growth even more than he did handle it.

“Family Head, the Young Miss has awakened.” A Daoist acolyte relayed the news softly from outside the door.

The Rong Family head’s entire body gave a start. His figure flickered as he made his way to the Daoist courtyard where Rong Huanxuan resided. Sure enough, she lay quietly on the bed, like a shattered porcelain doll—her complexion gaunt and sallow, her eyes vacant, staring blankly at the roof beams above.

Even at the sound of his approach, she did not stir. It was not until the Rong Family head spoke her name—”Xuaner”—that she turned her neck stiffly in his direction.

Her gaze focused. When she saw him, both eyes blazed with fierce, poisonous hatred. It was this man who had destroyed her spiritual foundation.

Having raised and cultivated her for nearly twenty years, the Rong Family head knew her temperament well. One glance at her expression and he knew exactly what she was thinking. He set his face into stern lines. “As the Young Miss, you should know the weight of a Young Miss’s responsibility—and know that the interests of the family come before all else, including hundreds of years of our reputation. It surpasses any individual. You must understand the bitter intentions behind what I did. I had no choice but to act as I did.”

Rong Huanxuan said nothing. She clenched her jaw so tightly that blood seeped from her gums and dyed her pale lips red. Those phoenix eyes, so strikingly like the Rong Family head’s own, had turned a vivid, burning crimson—her hatred transmuted into rage, burning like a raging flame.

Family honor. She did not understand it. She only knew this man—who had declared time and again that he acted for her sake, that he would channel the family’s finest resources into her—had, instead of standing behind her when the righteous path came pressing down, allowed a handful of cultivators to coerce him into raising his own hand against her. He had personally crippled her spiritual foundation, shattered her golden core energy sea, buried her rising hopes, and crushed her entirely into the mud.

She, Rong Huanxuan, had become a true cripple.

And the one who had reduced her to this mud was the self-righteous, hypocritical man standing before her. He was selfish. He was cold-blooded. He deserved to die.

Seeing that she was unmoved—and that the look in her eyes was only becoming more like that of someone on the verge of falling into a demonic deviation—the Rong Family head’s expression grew colder and harder. “The family cultivated you; you should sacrifice for the family in return. You had yet to contribute anything to the family, yet you brought endless troubles upon us. I have not held you accountable for that. Now you have fallen into demonic deviation and been cast out by the righteous path. Crippling your cultivation was also an unavoidable measure.”

Rong Huanxuan’s lips curved. A gurgling sound rose from her throat, her expression brimming with contempt. Too laughable.

“The last person you should resent is me. From the day you were born to this day, how much painstaking effort have I and this family poured into you—guiding you, step by step, to a position of prominence? It was you who were impatient, who sabotaged yourself. I once warned you: the great deed is not yet done—keep your composure. Do not go provoking that fiend Lang Jiuchuan. Again and again you refused to heed the counsel. And what was the outcome?”

Rong Huanxuan’s throat let out a gurgling sound as she tried to say something—but the surging tumult of her blood and vital energy made her vomit up a mouthful of black blood instead, leaving her more listless and weak, her life force growing fainter still.

She was, after all, the child he had personally raised and guided. The Rong Family head reached out and channeled a stream of pure Daoist resonance into her to sustain her vitality. “From here on,” he said, “rest and recover. As long as you keep your life, there will always come a day when you see great vengeance fulfilled.”

He paused, then added, “Remember: your enemy is Lang Jiuchuan. Carry that hatred and live.”

Rong Huanxuan’s eyes went wide. She tried to raise her hand but could not—her meridians had collapsed and there was no strength left in her. Shock and fury surged through her together, and tears rolled down her face.

The Rong Family head did not comfort her. He turned and left.

A crippled heir—to let her live was the last kindness the family could offer. Just like that other one, she could stop dreaming of anything more.

Rong Huanxuan stared at his retreating back, her eyes filled with boundless regret—but even more with venomous hatred. Was it she who had wanted to provoke the conflict? Was it not because he feared imperial authority that he had sent her to go instead?

He could have gone himself. The Emperor would not have said a word. But because he feared the karmic backlash and wanted to protect his own standing, he had sent her to the Prince of Jing’s residence.

If it had been him who went, Lang Jiuchuan would never have let him off lightly.

She had taken the punishment in his place. The Family Head. Lang Jiuchuan. They both deserved to descend to the Nine Abysses.

In a remote clifftop Daoist courtyard, nearly forgotten by the world, Rong the Fourth sat in his wheelchair. Listening as the Daoist acolyte relayed the news, he slapped his knee and burst into uproarious laughter. “The more you try to control, the less you can hold—Family Head, ah, what are you to do now? Heaven has finally opened its eyes and sent divine punishment raining down upon the Rong Family!”

He laughed so hard he bent forward and back, tears streaming down his face. His voice was slightly hoarse, yet his eyes were filled with pure, gleeful schadenfreude. “Today is a fine day! Go and fetch the wine—I intend to drink a whole jug!”

He despised this foul, decaying, treachery- and conspiracy-ridden Rong Family with every fiber of his being.

The Daoist acolyte looked at the thoroughly dejected Rong the Fourth. “Young Miss has been crippled. Fourth Master, perhaps it is time to reclaim what is rightfully yours.”

“Less of your prattle—I told you to fetch wine, now go!” What is rightfully mine. He had never cared about that position—it meant nothing to him. The title of Young Lord of a great clan—it was nothing but a shackle, a cage.

He loathed it from the very bottom of his heart, and found it tiresome beyond measure.

The Daoist acolyte left with a helpless sigh.

Rong the Fourth sat on a flat, broad stone at the edge of the cliff, pouring his own wine and drinking alone—until the Daoist acolyte returned bearing a communication jade talisman. Hearing the message carried within it, he sat upright, his brow furrowing.

What did Gong Tinglan mean by those words?