The Tantai Imperial Princess was gone. Lang Jiuchuan remained sitting in silence for a long while, until the tea had gone completely cold — only then did she lift the cup and drink. The cold liquid slid down her throat and into her stomach, leaving her feeling all the more chilled.

“Are you planting a seed called ‘division’ in her heart?” Jiangche flicked his tail and said. “She is the Holy Maiden — a person even the Tantai Emperor must treat with reverence, precisely because the supreme glory she carries was given to her by the Grand Preceptor. Would she betray the Grand Preceptor for you?”

Lang Jiuchuan turned her teacup upside-down on the table and lightly tapped the bottom with her fingertip. “I don’t know. She has her own responsibilities and fate. But the person I know — cold and proud she may be — her heart is upright. She is someone who truly lives up to the name of Holy Maiden: pure and compassionate, without a drop of falsehood.”

Jiangche had heard of the Holy Maiden’s deeds. In times of great drought, she would perform a deeply devout ritual sacrifice that drained her own vital energy — all to pray to heaven for rain. She would willingly bear karmic weight for the sake of offering blessings to Da Zheng.

Everything she did was selfless and without personal agenda — all for the peace and prosperity of Da Zheng, and for the dynasty’s enduring fortune.

And yet — was this not its own kind of heavy shackle? No different from the jade statue of Lang Jiuchuan placed in a living shrine?

Perhaps some people truly delighted in standing high above all others, basking in glory, and being looked up to — people like Rong Huanxuan. But there were also those who yearned for an unrestrained and free life — like herself. And as for Tantai Imperial Princess — what she envied was a small bird that could spread its wings and soar, and what she longed for was freedom.

“Whether I can drive a wedge between her and Tantai Qing — I don’t know,” Lang Jiuchuan said, the corner of her mouth curving with unmistakable malice. “But the more people who know his true face, the better.”

Jiangche said, “You’re trampling on his face — and pushing yourself further and further toward recklessness. Aren’t you afraid of getting yourself killed?”

“I’m waiting for him.” Lang Jiuchuan lowered her eyes. “If I truly am an indispensable piece in his plan, then he will certainly come back for me — and I’ll be waiting.”

She had died once before, in utter devastation — and had fought her way back to a new life. Every ordeal was branded into her like a seal of her cultivation. Was she afraid of him?

Lang Jiuchuan added, “If she dares enter the imperial mausoleum — then my opportunity will have arrived.”

The imperial mausoleum was somewhere she could not currently enter on her own — but the Holy Maiden, who carried the blood of the imperial line, could.

“Let’s go. Back to the residence.”

The vermillion lacquered gates of Marquis Kaiping’s residence stood as imposing as ever. Stone lions flanked the entrance in solemn silence, and the grounds beyond were quiet and orderly. Yet when Lang Jiuchuan appeared, it caused quite a stir.

Someone who had stubbornly kept watch near the Lang residence stared blankly at the ethereal young woman standing before those great red gates — watched as the white cat on her shoulder nudged the door open, and then the gatekeeper hesitated before calling out “Ninth Young Lady” — and immediately ran off to spread the news.

The Lang Jiuchuan who had stirred the Rong household into chaos and caused a great uproar, then vanished for half a year — she was back.

Yet even Lang Jiuchuan, who could face the most formidable of foes with composure, felt a faint, unfamiliar shyness rising in her at the sight of her old home. This gate was the same as ever, she had passed through it countless times — yet now she found herself hesitating.

She truly was Lang Jiuchuan.

In this residence lived the blood kin bound to her by flesh and bone — and it also held certain regrets and unresolved knots. Once she stepped inside, once the truth was revealed, whatever came of it, certain things — certain bonds — would change irrevocably.

From within came the sound of hurried footsteps rushing closer and closer. She pressed her lips together slightly. The first person she saw was her eldest uncle sprinting toward the front — and behind him came the young men of the Lang household, and then, supported by Lang Caimeng, the thinner and more aged Cui Shi.

“Ninth Child? Is it really you!” The eldest uncle was the first to step outside. He drew close, then found himself afraid to look too directly — this was the child, undeniably, yet different from before. Before, there had always seemed to be a veil drawn over her, making her hard to see through; now it was no longer a veil but an entire layer of mist — and yet his heart still trembled wildly, recognizing her with certainty. It was Jiuchuan — their Lang family’s daughter.

“Eldest Uncle has grown thinner,” Lang Jiuchuan said, giving a shallow bow.

“Where have you been all this time? Not a single word — do you know how worried we were? And your mother…” The eldest uncle turned to look at Cui Shi, who was standing just inside the gate, staring blankly at Lang Jiuchuan — and let out a long, heavy sigh.

“Father, let’s go inside first,” Lang Caimeng said gently. “We’re still at the front gate — everyone outside is watching.”

“Right, right, right.”

The eldest uncle quickly stepped aside. “Go and tell your wife to prepare a family dinner for tonight. Ninth Child — let us go inside and talk.”

Lang Jiuchuan followed along smoothly, walked up to Cui Shi, bent her knees in a bow, and parted her lips. “You have grown thinner as well.”

“You’ve come back.” Cui Shi gazed at her steadily, a strange unease stirring in her chest — an unfamiliar emotion surfacing from somewhere she couldn’t name. It felt like waking from a long dream, as if a world had passed them by.

The rest of the Lang household parted to make way, eyeing Lang Jiuchuan with curious scrutiny. Goodness — barely half a year apart, and this person had changed entirely, not in her face but in her whole bearing — something that made them feel inferior and small, a mix of awe and quiet trepidation, and something else they hadn’t noticed in themselves: admiration.

People are drawn to strength by nature — and they were no exception.

And Lang Jiuchuan had proven her abilities through a string of feats — subduing and punishing the wicked, upholding the righteous path, using the head of the Rong Family as the first sacrifice to mark her return — demonstrating her power to the world and making clear to everyone: she was not someone to be trifled with.

Now, even the most headstrong and domineering member of the Lang household — the Twelfth — didn’t dare meet her eyes directly, let alone mutter about her behind her back.

When Lang Jiuchuan’s gaze swept over, he instinctively stood straighter, the fists hanging at his sides clenching tightly with nerves.

Ninth Sister’s gaze fell on him — she looked at him, she’s looking at me?

Ah. Her eyes are so sharp — his knees went weak.

The Thirteenth’s knees were also weak — and Lang Jiuchuan hadn’t even looked her way. When Lang Jiuchuan’s gaze swept past, Lang Cailing’s two legs turned to noodles that had been soaking far too long — soft, nearly falling apart. Left with no choice, she leaned most of her weight against Lang Caiyao.

“N-Ninth Sister.” One of the younger sons of the Third Branch dropped to his knees on the spot with a thud, pressed his palms together, and bowed deeply.

Everyone: “…”

Twelfth: — that wretch Thirteenth, he took his move.

Even Lang Jiuchuan had to twitch the corner of her mouth. She looked at these brothers and sisters, gave a single nod, and walked past them all — as distant and indifferent as always.

The others were a little crestfallen, a little dejected.

They weren’t worthy, were they?

Watching her retreating figure, the Thirteenth scrambled up from the ground, eyes bright and shining. “Ninth Sister is so magnificent — even the white cat perched on her shoulder is magnificent.”

Twelfth flicked a chestnut against his forehead. “What cat — that’s Lord Tiger, the tiger who sometimes climbs the walls of Ninth Sister’s courtyard. Very impressive and dignified.”

“Oh.”

Jiangche: “!”

It had never climbed any walls — it simply liked to crouch in the sun there, and every time it ended up being spotted by this domineering little tyrant.

Lang Cailing pursed her lips and muttered, “She couldn’t even spare a glance for us older siblings and brothers.”

The Twelfth, who had just started to follow along, heard her with his sharp ears and stopped, looking sidelong at her. “What is there to look at? Who are you, exactly? You gave her no shortage of trouble in the past — and now, even the fine match you’ve made is thanks to her. Be grateful for that, and never mind expecting to be cradled in the palm of her hand. And that goes for the rest of us too — one direct look from her is already doing us a favor. The idea that we’d have some close, clinging sisterly bond — keep dreaming.”

When she had returned before, none of them had shown any real fraternal warmth — they had treated her with cold indifference. Now it was they themselves who were too far beneath her to reach.

(Author’s note: The thing I dread most in long stories — exhaustion of momentum and a sinking into listlessness — has arrived. I’ve been losing sleep over it, struggling to adjust the outline…)