Stepping into the shrine, Lang Jiuchuan looked at the white jade statue, her expression a blend of grief and something faintly like irritation. A subtle motion of her thoughts opened her Heavenly Eye, and she saw the power of the wishes held by these devoted believers transform into strands of tenacious golden thread, piercing through the void and winding around the jade statue before extending further outward.

But this extension did not scatter across heaven and earth, returning itself to all living beings in this realm — rather, it fell away in one particular direction.

A cold light rose in Lang Jiuchuan’s eyes. She withdrew her gaze, extending a fingertip to sense those thread upon thread of golden wish-power.

The golden wish-power surged — warm, sincere, carrying within it an immense force. It was the power born of faith. It fell clearly upon “her” — yet “she” could not feel even a trace of joy from it, because those threads had already become heavy yet tender shackles, silently binding her fortune to the Da Phan dynasty by force, nourishing and replenishing it.

This was the true brilliance of the Imprisoned Dragon Formation.

The imperial mausoleum served as the cage, imprisoning her within it. Her divine soul and fortune were used to nourish the dragon vein. Then the merit and wish-power she had accumulated were channeled to enrich the national fortune. The thicker the merit, the greater her contribution — and the more unbreakable the shackles became, impossible to escape.

Tantai Qing had not merely used her death to draw upon her energy — he had also used her presence in the hearts of these hundred thousand living souls to provide a continuous, unceasing transfusion of vitality to the national fortune of Da Phan.

What a ruthless method. What a brilliant scheme.

When Lang Jiuchuan drew near the jade statue, the frenzied worshippers around her seemed unable to see her, continuing their devout kowtowing, wholly unaware that the “divine woman” in their hearts stood right beside them.

And when she came to stand directly before the jade statue, the golden wish-power seemed to falter — hesitating — before surging toward her in a rushing tide, as though confirming something, slowly seeping into her five senses and her divine soul.

Jiang Che looked at the jade statue of the previous life’s Lang Jiuchuan and murmured: “She was still a child…”

Yes, still a child — and yet she had been schemed against to this extent.

Lang Jiuchuan met the sorrowful and compassionate gaze of the jade statue. A trace of pity and indignation flickered through her eyes. The corner of her mouth lifted into an icy curve, and she spoke in a low, quiet voice: “What an exquisite shrine. I am worthy of it — but you are not worthy of my replenishment.”

She slowly raised her hand, her ten fingers flying through hand seals. In an instant, a thread of her most essential and refined primordial energy — belonging entirely to her own origin — welled up at her fingertip. She looked at those threads upon threads of golden wish-power. Her fingertip swept through them, and a surging breath of her primordial essence cut through the wish-power, causing a subtle transformation.

The wish-power within the entire shrine paused momentarily, growing more aimless and disoriented — hesitating over whether to flow toward the jade statue, yet also hesitating before this true and living essence before it.

Who, in the end, was their true object of faith?

Was it the phantom human image atop the stone platform, or the real and living breath before them?

The wish-power, with nowhere to alight, began to stir with a faint restlessness.

Jiang Che’s tiger eyes went wide and round. He leapt from Lang Jiuchuan’s shoulder up to the rafters above, drawing upon his spiritual power to hook that wish-power toward himself. If Lang Jiuchuan did not want it, and Da Phan was unworthy of it, then it was ownerless — what was the harm in him taking a little?

Lang Jiuchuan made no move to stop Jiang Che. Her hands formed seals and pressed to the place of the divine soul at her forehead, and she silently recited inwardly: I, Lang Jiuchuan, am not the deity worshipped by all living beings. That I once saved this city was an act of personal compassion, not undertaken for incense offerings, not for Da Phan — only to follow my own heart. The cause and effect of heaven and earth, the cycle of reincarnation is unceasing, and all things return to the void…

Abruptly, a thunderous, resonant boom.

The wish-power seemed to be crushed by the power of the laws of heaven and earth, beginning to roil and churn, surging wildly toward Lang Jiuchuan — yet being refused at the door. With no recourse, the power of faith gradually faded and dispersed, dissolving into pure energy that spread outward, returning to heaven and earth.

Fu Qi, seeing this, also began rapidly chanting ghost cultivation techniques, drawing that energy into himself.

Lang Jiuchuan’s urgency and resolution in severing this root of karmic connection drove some of the faith-power to rebound and bite back at her — surging restlessly, laced with resentment, coiling frantically around her, intent on binding these shackles ever more tightly.

If not for the faith and wish-power, how had she obtained the strength to survive, how had she been able to channel the national fortune to Da Phan? Now she no longer wanted it — was it truly so simple to refuse?

“Cease this entanglement.” She spoke in a quiet, composed command, her expression blank as she shifted her seals, drawing upon the vestiges of violent power remaining from her just-completed rebirth. Those gentle wish-powers seemed to recoil in shock and terror, as though meeting their natural nemesis — and in an instant, were purged entirely into nothingness.

At that moment, within the shrine, the white jade divine statue emitted a faint, subtle crack. Upon the face that had been flawlessly smooth, a hairline fracture appeared.

The wish-power that had been winding around the jade statue receded like a tide, causing the once-luminous jade statue to gradually grow dim and lifeless.

A sharp-eyed devotee caught the change in the statue and cried out in an instant, hand trembling as she pointed: “The jade statue — it’s cracked!”

“Have you a death wish, daring to point at the divine woman?” The person beside her slapped her hand down, then looked over themselves and drew in a sharp breath, face going pale: “How could this be?”

When they had entered just now, it had been white and flawless, translucent and lustrous. But now it had turned a dull, lifeless grey — without a trace of radiance.

What had happened?

“Could it be… we have not been devout enough?”

“Quickly — go buy another set of incense and candles.”

More and more people caught sight of this scene, all overcome with dread, burning ever more incense and candles. But to no avail — the jade statue only grew more bereft of luster, and the web of hairline cracks upon it multiplied without cease.

Lang Jiuchuan watched the jade statue in silence, sensing how the constraint that had bound her divine soul, thread by thread, with the dissipation of the wish-power that could no longer cling and coil — that tender shackle snapped in response.

She felt her divine soul grow lighter, as though a nail that had been pressed down upon her for a long, long time had been flicked free, and even her new Dao body felt an accompanying ease.

Lang Jiuchuan looked at the jade statue, its fractures multiplying, and the corners of her lips rose. The forced binding between herself and Da Phan — one thread of it had at last been severed. As long as she could fully liberate the physical body from her previous life, it would be severed completely. And if she could not — it did not matter either.

So long as her divine soul now had a new vessel, the dried and withered bones imprisoned within the imperial mausoleum were nothing more than dried and withered bones.

Lang Jiuchuan withdrew her fingertips, took one final look at the cracked jade statue and the somewhat bewildered devotees, then turned, stepped out of the shrine — and her figure had already vanished without a trace.

The people of Pan City continued their tranquil days as before. The only disturbance was that the Goddess Jiuchuan they worshipped — even after a new jade statue was installed — never again glowed with that former luminous sheen. The incense smoke of the shrine continued, the faith did not disperse — but that wish-power could no longer pass through the jade statue to travel to another place.

Deep within the imperial mausoleum, the National Preceptor entered once more. He looked at the dark iron soul-suppression chains inscribed with carved symbols — one had snapped and broken — and the restraint upon her had grown weaker and weaker still. His eyes finally turned cold.

He had invested such enormous effort, had expended so much of his original essence, only to glimpse a sliver of heaven’s secrets and determine his own lifespan’s limit. For this, he had schemed tirelessly for over a decade, always waiting for this turning point to emerge. How could he allow her to escape?

“Qingyi,” the National Preceptor’s voice reverberated through the imperial mausoleum. The only reply was the faint, swaying clank of chains.

“So long as your master does not permit it — you cannot escape.”