Anchoring the imperial mausoleum. Nourishing the dragon vein. Enriching the national fortune.

Lang Jiuchuan said it in a tone of breezy nonchalance, yet it caused both Jiang Che and Fu Qi’s eyes to redden, their expressions etched with grief.

How old had she been then? Now, having shed her old self and been reborn, she was of age to be considered a young woman coming into her own — and two years ago, she would have been barely fourteen years old by nominal count, or thirteen by solid reckoning.

She had still been a child — yet she had endured something this terrifying. This was far, far worse than what the fake Lang Jiu had suffered. Her very flesh, her very soul, had been used to nourish the entire national fortune of Da Phan.

No wonder the merit of saving ten thousand lives had been seized for precisely this — with such merit and fortune concentrated upon her, then taking her to anchor the imperial mausoleum and nourish the dragon vein, the national fortune would naturally be rich and unceasing, stretching on endlessly.

“How can someone be so vicious!” Jiang Che hissed sharply, both furious and heartbroken, yet utterly helpless.

Fu Qi’s ghost face darkened: “That level of viciousness and perversity — the function of it is not unlike the formation that trapped our Fu family soldiers. It would not surprise me if they were both his doing, all in service of Da Phan’s perpetuity, a foundation of ten thousand years.”

“What does he want?!” Jiang Che raged: “For his own selfish desires, he committed such a heaven-forsaken act. What kind of National Preceptor is this? Why hasn’t heaven struck him down?”

“The title of National Preceptor — he has truly earned it. Setting aside his treatment of individuals, has he ever wronged the people at large? Everything he has done has been in service of Da Phan’s foundation, and he truly accomplished it — allowing Da Phan to endure for two hundred years. Compared to rulers of other kingdoms, the Tantai clan, as sovereigns, has lasted remarkably long. Most importantly, Da Phan has been a land of peace and prosperity. So on what grounds would he be punished?” Lang Jiuchuan said with cold scorn: “The only ones he has wronged are disciples like me, and the many individuals who shared my fate. But what he obtained in exchange was stability for countless people. What about that is said to be unworthy?”

She stood with her hands clasped behind her back. The wind stirred the ink-black strands of hair hanging at her ears, and her eyes were cool and remote: “Which brings us to that saying — those who accomplish great things need not be constrained by minor details. What he employed was an open and above-board stratagem. You cannot say he was entirely wrong, but neither can you say he was entirely right.”

It was like the philosophical problem of sacrificing one life to save ten — merely a matter of weighing which counted for more. And she was that one sacrificed life. She believed that over those two hundred years, she had not been the only one.

But it was still utterly repulsive.

If he had truly sacrificed one to save ten, that would have been one thing. If he had genuinely taken those carrying merit and fortune to enrich the national fortune, that too might have been defensible — provided that national fortune belonged to all people under heaven, and not solely to one person’s personal granary.

But Tantai Qing? All his scheming amounted to nothing more than using Da Phan’s national fortune as his own private granary, extending his lifespan, or perhaps reaching the perfect ascension to immortality.

So what great selflessness was there to speak of? He was nothing but a hypocrite beneath a veneer of righteousness — performing benevolence and propriety while rotten to the core. Utterly repulsive.

Fu Qi said: “All that painstaking scheming — was it truly all for Da Phan?”

Lang Jiuchuan shook her head: “He has been alive for no short time. Da Phan has existed for two hundred years, and he has lived for no less. Yet, those who achieve Foundation Establishment may live to one hundred and fifty, even two hundred years. Those who form a golden core may persist beyond five hundred and still not return to the earth — but does such a person exist in this world? Practitioners of the Daoist path can indeed cultivate longevity, and two hundred years of life is already extraordinary. But to surpass five hundred, to transcend the mortal and enter the sacred — with the spiritual energy available in this world, it is simply impossible. Otherwise, the ancient patriarchs of the Daoist lineage would not have fallen as they did.”

When all was said and done, the spiritual energy and power of heavenly laws in this era were not those of an age of immortal cultivation. Transcending mortality and attaining the Dao, ascending to immortalhood — it was harder than climbing to the heavens.

“In other words, his allotted lifespan is drawing to its end, and so…”

Lang Jiuchuan nodded: “When I was learning the Dao at his knee, the thing he spoke of most was longevity. His Dao — is the Dao of eternal life.”

Fu Qi and Jiang Che fell into silence once more. After a long moment: “Then all his scheming, taking you away and raising you — could it have been solely for your birth chart?”

“A pure dragon formation in the four pillars and eight characters, a birth chart of exceptional nobility — and with the added weight of fortune upon her, if carefully cultivated, what a ‘spiritual artifact’ that would make, far surpassing any ordinary one.” Lang Jiuchuan gave a self-deprecating smile. To be cultivated as one, so be it. But to have all those years of seemingly parental, seemingly masterful guidance be utterly false — that was what was truly repulsive.

Strictness would have been preferable. Instead he had presented himself as a kindly father, smiling warmly to your face while holding a blade dipped in lethal poison at your back.

Jiang Che’s eyes grew heavy with gravity: “If the National Preceptor has been scheming to this degree, then everything is calculated without leaving room for error. If what you say is true — that this is all for the sake of longevity — and his lifespan is now at its limit, he will not allow his plans to deviate even a hair’s breadth. But you have already been exposed. In other words, both sides have now shown their hands. What comes next is a contest of strength. Xiao Jiu — he is not easy to deal with.”

The Rong family head and the others had been at Foundation Establishment — she had still managed to handle them. But the National Preceptor was in no way comparable to an ordinary Foundation Establishment cultivator. No one knew just how long he had truly lived, but it was rumored that he had long since grasped the edge of the Great Dao, his Daoist arts boundless and immeasurable. To say nothing of the added protection of the national fortune he carried.

Most critically — the National Preceptor was the cornerstone of Da Phan. Not just throughout the land, but in every prefecture and province within Da Phan, there were shrines erected in his name. He was the faith of countless common people.

Because of his presence, Da Phan knew peace, and the nation prospered. He was, in the minds of many, a figure no different from a deity.

Such a person — what could be used to fight him?

Knowing Lang Jiuchuan’s temperament: you kill me, and I will absolutely not let it go with a smile — I will take a blade and cut back.

If she were to seek vengeance against the National Preceptor, would she not be going against all the common people, standing in opposition to the entirety of Da Phan?

Jiang Che’s tiger head spun with dizziness. What in the world was to be done about this?

“I know. But no matter how difficult he is to deal with, it must be attempted.” Lang Jiuchuan lowered her gaze: “To persist in something knowing it cannot be done — so long as the outcome is worthy of the effort, that is enough.”

To watch with her own eyes as he stole from the nation for his own enrichment, as he attained the Great Dao — she could not do it.

The path he yearned for had been paved with the blood and soul force of countless fortune-bearers. On what grounds should they all become stepping stones for him, allowing him to ascend toward heaven step by step?

It was unacceptable.

She refused.

A mayfly trying to shake a great tree was, by all reason, overestimating its own strength. But there was also the saying: a thousand-mile levee crumbles from the work of ants.

She, this tiny little creature — was not incapable of moving a mountain, one grain of earth at a time.

Start from Pan City.

Lang Jiuchuan took one step forward, and in an instant entered the city. She did not conceal her presence, but the breath of her being was the difference between clouds and mud compared to an ordinary person. Before most people could even perceive her existence, she had already passed through like a gentle breeze.

She walked toward the central axis of Pan City, arriving before a shrine temple. Its incense smoke rose thick and prosperous, the structure having been restored to an imposing grandeur. The plaque above the shrine’s entrance was inscribed in gold paint with the characters: Shrine of Jiuchuan, Goddess of the Nine Rivers.

At that moment, before the shrine’s gates, people came and went in a steady stream. Men of faith and women of devotion held incense and candles, their faces filled with sincerity as they filed in to kowtow and pray — for favorable weather, for peace and safety in their households. Within the shrine, at the center, a jade statue carved from white jade stood atop a stone platform. Its features bore seven to eight parts resemblance to her appearance in her previous life, its eyes carrying a sorrowful, heavenly compassion — accepting the incense offerings of the multitudes.

Fu Qi and Jiang Che exchanged a glance, shock clear in their eyes: “This shrine is…”

“A merit shrine.” Lang Jiuchuan’s gaze grew complex: “This shrine was built for me.”

But it was also her shackle.

Her divine soul is whole again — so a stock clearance is entirely in order! Dearest Holmes-believers, are you satisfied?