The envy in Dao Jicang’s eyes was on the verge of overflowing. He coughed up two mouthfuls of dark blood, glaring fiercely at Lang Jiuchuan.

“Impossible. You are nothing more than a soul returned through a borrowed body. Even counting your previous life, you had barely a decade or so of cultivation — how could you possibly possess such power?!” His voice was hoarse, filled with indignant fury. “What secret arts did our Venerable Master teach you? On what grounds? I followed him in cultivating the Dao from childhood, served him for a hundred years, diligently and conscientiously, managing this Canglang Temple for him, keeping its incense fires burning and flourishing, making the world revere him as they would a divine Buddha. Yet I never even qualified to become his personally-taught disciple. On what grounds did you enter the gate and immediately receive direct transmission — the most core, authentic teachings? On what grounds? Simply because my talent is inferior to yours?”

He shrieked like a man possessed, the jealousy in his eyes nearly solidifying into something tangible, coiling toward Lang Jiuchuan like a venomous snake. His expression, his tone — all of it vividly rendered the image of a defeated man whose psychological balance had shattered under the weight of being outmatched in talent and treated unequally.

Lang Jiuchuan watched his manic display, an eyebrow arching slightly. He had mentioned her previous life and her soul returning through a borrowed body — meaning he had long since deduced who she truly was.

No wonder something had felt off. The temple master of Canglang Temple was already a hundred years old, a man of vast experience and discernment. Yet here he was, behaving like a witless fool who had lost his mind — entirely inconsistent with who and what he was.

Most critically: Canglang Temple had been founded by that old fox, the Imperial Preceptor. Even if the temple was not of paramount importance to him, it still housed his gilded Dharmic statue and provided him with a constant, unending stream of faith and spiritual power. The temple master who presided over such a place could afford to be somewhat lacking in cultivation — but he could not afford to lack intelligence.

Dao Jicang had been entrusted by the Imperial Preceptor with this vital responsibility, stationed here as a guardian. How could such a man truly be the kind of shallow-hearted fool who was so easily swayed by his emotions? A hundred years of cultivation — even if his aptitude fell short of hers, his mental fortitude should not have been so laughably fragile.

And that jealousy of his — it looked genuine, yet it was displayed far too deliberately, far too surface-level.

The jealousy and resentment he was showing felt more like a child throwing a sulk for not getting candy and not receiving praise.

Far too fractured!

This was clearly an attempt to guide her into following the script they had arranged. How amusing.

Lang Jiuchuan suddenly thought of the layer of grey shadow that had appeared passively in Wen Yue’s Children Palace reading. Setting aside the initial misread at first glance — if one were to truly calculate the child’s birth date and the Eight Characters, the process might have complications, but it should not have been completely impossible to deduce the child’s life or death, should it?

And then there was the way she had first read Wen Yue’s Eight Characters and then discovered the child’s existence — it had all gone a little too smoothly. Even more suspiciously smooth was the way that, by following that layer of divinatory technique, she had been led directly here.

Canglang Temple was the old fox’s important territory. Were its defenses truly only this? Impossible. And then there was Dao Jicang’s timely appearance just now — it all felt more like a carefully pre-scripted performance.

A terrifying thought crashed over her like ice water. From beginning to end, this could all be a trap.

A trap designed specifically for her — Lang Jiuchuan!

What a magnificent performance indeed.

So Dao Jicang’s performance had been meant to lull her into complacency, to mislead her, to make her underestimate her opponents and lower her guard against them. Or perhaps she had been played for a fool from the very start?

Lang Jiuchuan laughed — but the smile never reached her eyes. Worthy of him, indeed.

Her gaze instantly sharpened to a knife’s edge, as though she intended to scrape away his false skin and look straight into the depths of his soul. “Truly worthy of a disciple who has followed Tantai Qing since childhood in cultivating the Dao. Everything else you may not have learned well — but you’ve certainly mastered how to wear a mask. Your performance was not bad. A pity the timing was slightly off.”

The twisted, jealous expression on Dao Jicang’s face froze instantly. A flash of extremely faint shock passed through his eyes, but he quickly collected himself. “What nonsense are you spouting? The victor is king and the loser is the villain — if you want to kill me, then kill me. Do not insult me!”

“Kill you? You lured me into your trap — was the whole point to have me kill you? None of us are fools here. Keep performing and it’ll just be a waste of everyone’s energy.” Lang Jiuchuan asked coldly, “Where is the child born with the Phoenix Destiny?”

Dao Jicang’s pupils contracted. After a long pause, he pressed his hand against his chest and stood up, letting out a dry chuckle. “Truly worthy of being the Venerable Master’s personally-taught disciple — this keenness of mind is truly extraordinary. To possess such power at this age is likewise unmatched in the world.”

His final words were all but squeezed out through clenched teeth, his tone unable to conceal the envy. Who wouldn’t want such talent?

If he had possessed such talent back then, would he not have long since become the Venerable Master’s personal disciple, at his side in constant attendance, rather than merely overseeing one small temple?

Just as she had suspected.

The chill in Lang Jiuchuan’s heart deepened further. That old monster Tantai Qing had indeed deliberately laid a trap for her. Had it begun from the moment they spirited away that child, or had the tampering with Wen Yue come later — to lead her to this discovery?

Regardless of when the trap was first set, she had still walked into it step by step, exactly as he had arranged.

“Truly,” she murmured, eyes downcast, a mocking note in her voice, “one really cannot underestimate you even slightly.”

Lang Jiuchuan looked at Dao Jicang, taunting him: “Look at you gnashing your teeth — your jealousy isn’t entirely an act, is it? It’s genuine. Are you jealous of my status as a personally-taught disciple, or jealous of my talent — of the authentic transmission I received in my learning? Both, I expect. How pitiful. Even if your heart is full of unwillingness, all you can do is use this performance as an excuse to vent a hundred years’ worth of pent-up resentment in a manner that feels justified — isn’t that right?”

Dao Jicang’s expression shifted. His breathing grew ragged, a flustered air rising around him as though a secret had been laid bare. His eyes went dark and clouded, yet he refused to be baited by her provocation. Instead, he denounced her: “To be personally established as a disciple by the Venerable Master is your great fortune. How dare you disregard the bond between master and disciple? Now that you have returned to the living, why have you not gone to pay your respects to the Venerable Master — urk, urk—”

What a devoted follower indeed!

Lang Jiuchuan’s form flickered — in a single flash she was before him, her hand clamping around his throat, squeezing his windpipe until it crackled. Her eyes blazed crimson as she said, “Pay respects to him? He deserves that? Do not worry — I will meet him. And when I do, I will kill him. Just as he killed me.”

Dao Jicang’s pupils contracted sharply. He tried to channel his spiritual power to resist, but he had forgotten — the Profound Dark True Energy she had used on him earlier had sealed his spiritual power in ice. He had entirely failed to anticipate the extent of her power, and that was why he had suffered such a catastrophic loss. Most likely even the Venerable Master was unaware of how greatly her power had grown.

Now, the hand around his throat was squeezing tighter and tighter. She intended to kill him.

But Dao Jicang bared his teeth in a grin, and a flash of cold sharpness ignited in his eyes. Both hands grabbing at her hand, he said in broken gasps: “Kill… me, and she… dies too!”

What did that mean?

Lang Jiuchuan immediately looked toward the door of the Meditation Hermitage. A faint, barely-audible cry seemed to drift from within — and she could not tell when Jiangche had slipped inside, but now he shouted in her sea of consciousness: “Found the child! Something’s wrong — she’s nearly out of breath!”

Something flashed through her mind. She immediately released the hand choking his throat and said, “What did you do?”

Dao Jicang coughed violently, his throat raw and rasping from the injury. A sinister leer spread across his face. “You are so clever — guess!”