Lang Jiuchuan had laid bare before Lang Zhengping and the others the true situation she and the Lang Family now faced. Part of it was to give them fair warning. The other part was that she would be moving to live at the shop from now on. As for Canglang Monastery—she would go, in time. But when she went, and where she cultivated, would not be decided by An He Emperor.

She was making a preemptive separation.

Lang Zhengping felt somewhat deflated. In the end, the Lang Family was too weak and could not serve as her support—instead, it had become a fetter. Being a burden really was true. When she had first returned to the family for the funeral and berated her brothers as useless, she had not been wrong.

Lang Zhengping did not try to persuade Lang Jiuchuan or say anything rousing about standing together through thick and thin. He had no right to say such things. All he could do was act according to her instructions and do what he could to lower the Lang Family’s profile.

After such a rare return to the residence, she was already leaving again. Lang Jiuchuan went to her adoptive elder brother’s courtyard to visit little Yuange.

Since the formal adoption had been completed, the family had already moved into a different courtyard—adjacent to Lang Jiuchuan’s and Cui Shi’s quarters, so they could be close at hand to attend to Cui Shi.

In just over two months, little Yuange had grown remarkably well—nothing like a premature infant. When he saw Lang Jiuchuan, he burst into excitement and kicked his arms and legs vigorously with impressive strength.

Pan Shi could not help feeling a little envious. Her son was never this lively and animated in ordinary times—clearly he felt a stronger closeness to this aunt.

She glanced between the aunt and the nephew, noting the identical pair of phoenix eyes they shared, and marveled once again at the strange power of bloodlines. Lang Jiuchuan and her husband were only cousins by the second remove, and looked hardly alike at all—yet this son had ended up with the same brows and eyes as she had.

And though Lang Jiuchuan appeared cold and distant on the surface, her patience with children was remarkable.

Lang Jiuchuan took Yuange’s pulse and found it strong and vigorous—his constitution healthy and flourishing. She gave a satisfied smile, then said to Pan Shi, “Continue the herbal bath formula I left behind. And my small study in my quarters—have Madam bring him there to play for two hours each day from now on.”

Pan Shi was taken aback and asked carefully, “Will younger sister be traveling far?”

“Not exactly—I just won’t be living in the residence much from now on…” Before she could finish, the little one let out a sudden, plaintive sound. His eyes actually welled up with tears, and his small, chubby hands gripped her sleeve with a tight little fist.

“Little Yuange can’t bear to part with his auntie,” Pan Shi said fondly.

Lang Jiuchuan looked him eye to eye. “Be sensible. You and I are both destined to accomplish great things—there is no place for tears and sobbing.”

Yuange let out a little sound.

Lang Jiuchuan smiled, rare and soft, and tapped him lightly on the forehead, her eyes warm and gentle. “All right then—you may grow slowly.”

Later, when the world is washed clean and clear, and those foul, tainted people are gone—things will be freer and more carefree.

I only hope you live your days in sunlight—fine clothes and a spirited horse, everything going your way and not a sorrow in the world.

Yuange clutched her finger in his small hand, his pure and clear eyes fixed on her in a steady gaze, reflecting her own face.

Lang Jiuchuan played with him for a while longer, until he grew drowsy. She then handed him back to Pan Shi and turned to go to Cui Shi’s courtyard, where she said much the same thing—only adding one more line: “My small study has a formation laid in it. The spiritual energy is richer there. It will do you and the child good.”

But Cui Shi seemed not to register this. She asked, “After this—do you have no intention of coming back?”

Lang Jiuchuan was quiet for a moment. “Just treat it as though I never came back at all.”

Those words were like a soft blade—and they stabbed straight into Cui Shi’s heart. Tears welled in her eyes, and she let out a bitter smile.

The two sat in silence for a moment.

Lang Jiuchuan rose and took her leave. Only then did Cui Shi call after her from behind: “What is the truth of it all? May I know?”

Lang Jiuchuan’s footsteps paused. “The truth is often brutal. Being too fixated on it will do you no good, Madam.”

“At most, it means death. I only ask for the truth.”

Lang Jiuchuan turned her head and looked at her for a long while. “You were probably not wrong back then,” she said at last.

What?

Cui Shi froze.

Lang Jiuchuan said nothing more—the time was not yet right. Once she had hauled the Rong Family head’s soul before her, that would likely be the day the truth came fully to light. She would speak with Cui Shi in full then.

Cui Shi watched her silhouette disappear through the doorway, her hands trembling. What did her words mean? You were not wrong back then— could that be pointing to the mystery surrounding her daughter’s true origins?

Cui Shi wanted to go after her and demand a clear answer—yet for some reason, she found herself unable to move. Lang Jiuchuan had said she had not been wrong. That meant she was someone else entirely. This pair of mother and daughter who had never seemed quite like mother and daughter—what were they now to each other?

Jiangche, perched on Lang Jiuchuan’s shoulder, looked back at Cui Shi weeping softly with her face buried in her arms against the small table. “When the day the truth is revealed finally comes—will she be able to bear it?”

Neither the original occupant of this body—that false daughter—nor Lang Jiuchuan herself had survived. Both were dead.

This rebirth was nothing but Heaven’s fleeting mercy—no, someone had reached up and held the moment aloft—and that was the only reason truth had a chance to see the light of day again.

Lang Jiuchuan said, “She sought and she shall receive. This is her own choice.”

Jiangche gave a light snort. “Cold-hearted woman.”

“Now isn’t the time for this. All the effort spent tangling with these thoughts—better spent on cultivation. Accumulate more great merits, make a name that shakes the world—that is what matters.” Lang Jiuchuan raised her eyes, her gaze directed toward the imperial city: “The more merits, the more vow-power—and for cultivation, the returns are double. I have no one behind me. Then let the common people of this great Dahan become my backing.”

Before absolute strength, all schemes and plots were paper tigers. External support must be sought, yes—but her own power must be strengthened above all. Only when she was strong enough would her opponents not dare move rashly. Once her power far surpassed theirs, who would be the one crushed underfoot—that remained to be seen.

“I have already seated myself at this table. Whether to flip it—that will be decided by me.” Lang Jiuchuan looked at her own hands and let out a cold, contemptuous sound.

Jiangche said nothing. He flickered and retreated inside the Small Nine Pagoda, and said to the instrument-spirit Wood Fish, “This woman has bared her fangs at last.”

Wood Fish, at its own unhurried pace, struck the bell against the soul of Zhengyang Zi and said, “The strong devour the weak—stand still and fall behind. Better to bare your fangs at others than to fall beneath another’s fangs.”

“I thought you’d say ‘Buddha is merciful, lay down the blade and become a Buddha on the spot,'” Jiangche sneered.

Clang clang clang went Wood Fish. “Do you not know that a slaughter-Buddha exists?”

Jiangche: !

Whether it exists or not I don’t know—I only know you are a first-rate contrarian.

He couldn’t be bothered to argue with this instrument-spirit Wood Fish. He went to the top of the pagoda to contemplate the dual resonance of Buddhism and Daoism left behind by Master Luole. He wanted to grow stronger—far harder to achieve than human cultivation.

As for what was happening inside the small pagoda, Lang Jiuchuan gave a faint shake of her head. She returned to the study—only to find the communication jade talisman stirring. She picked it up and channeled her Daoist energy. Gong Tinglan’s voice came through.

Rong the Fourth was coming to Wu Jing. He had given Rong the Fourth the address of the Myriad Affairs Shop.

Lang Jiuchuan’s heart gave a subtle jolt. She channeled her Daoist energy into the talisman and replied: “The Myriad Affairs Shop is not suitable—change the meeting place.”

She had somewhere far more fitting in mind: the haunted residence—the Ren family house.

She was curious—when this man finally laid eyes on her, what would his reaction be? And would he know what the truth was?