News of the Canglan Hall within Canglan Temple being struck by heavenly lightning and set ablaze spread quickly, reaching all of Wu Jing. Many who were devoted followers of Canglan Temple stood there in stunned disbelief, their faces etched with doubt and unease.

Of all the places it could have struck, it struck only the Canglan Hall — and hit the National Preceptor’s life-sized effigy directly. Could heavenly lightning truly be that precise? Or was this divine discrimination?

Regardless, the event of being struck by lightning inevitably stirred awe toward the heavens within people’s hearts, causing the devoutness of the faithful to wane, their willpower as believers receding like an ebbing tide.

And it did not stop there. Following Canglan Temple, other shrines and temples housing the National Preceptor’s life-sized effigies began suffering varying degrees of damage and calamity. When similar events multiplied, people could not help but grow suspicious — was this man-made, deliberately targeting the National Preceptor?

Just as Fu Qi and the others had deliberated, when something unnatural occurs, there must be a sinister hand behind it. The growing wave of anti-National Preceptor incidents also provoked some fanatical believers to strike back in frenzied defense. Yet others brought up the corpse-plague epidemic, arguing that as the Protective National Preceptor, he had not stepped forward to shield the people — how could he deserve the faith and offerings of common folk?

Fanatic supporters and anti-National Preceptor factions split into two camps, as though rival sects. But no matter how fiercely they argued, the vast and overwhelming faith and willpower that had belonged to the National Preceptor for over a century wavered for the first time — gradually thinning, growing turbulent, even tinged with resentment and ill omen — causing the National Preceptor to feel discomfort for the first time.

It was as though he had long been immersed in clean, pure spirit-water, and suddenly something foul had fallen into the source, polluting it — leaving him unsettled from the inside out.

And these seemingly insignificant strategies, no more than small ripples, had yielded immediate results.

Unseen by any, the National Preceptor’s outer appearance grew increasingly haggard and aged.

“The bark of a lowly ant…” he murmured coldly once more, gazing at his own hands, yet deep within his eyes, an ever-intensifying agitation swept silently through him — he was beginning to find this troublesome.

He drew a long breath and raised his gaze again, staring into the distance. After a long while, the corner of his lips curved into a sinister arc as he made a decision.

Such petty and unimpressive tricks — and yet they could trap a dragon in shallow waters, forcing him to this point. Truly a pleasant surprise.

To allow everything to slip beyond his grasp would not do. It was time to meet with that little wolf cub.

Lang Jiuchuan stood before the window of Tongtian Tower and sneezed twice. He rubbed his nose. The time was nearly right.

Tantai, the Imperial Princess, emerged from the palace and raised her gaze to the sky. Her fair and flawless face had grown ever colder and more striking. She was not unaware of the recent events — the new Emperor had repeatedly summoned her into the palace to discuss countermeasures, claiming it was a conspiracy aimed at damaging the reputations of the National Preceptor and the imperial family.

She knew. She even knew who was behind it. But what could she do? From the very moment Lang Jiuchuan had met with her, her faith had already crumbled.

Watching the new Emperor’s furious outbursts and the dark circles under his eyes, she was moved, yet she had made no promises — only felt a deep, hollow sorrow.

If what Lang Jiuchuan had said was true, then she, the new Emperor, and every member of the Tantai clan were nothing more than players in a tragedy. So why fight to resolve it? All of this was nothing but karmic retribution.

Whatever the National Preceptor had taken, he would have to return in equal measure. She had no desire to stand against the will of Heaven.

“Sacred Lady, these various incidents — though they appear to be natural disasters — are in truth deliberately orchestrated, with the purpose of diminishing the National Preceptor and elevating Lang Jiuchuan. You ought not to turn a blind eye.” Elder Bafang turned his head and fixed his gaze on the Sacred Lady.

His pair of eyes were ash-gray, yet they could precisely capture every shift in her expression. His eyes did not rely on light — they dwelled in shadow, and were equally capable of seeing into a person’s heart.

Tantai, the Imperial Princess, glanced at him with an indifferent expression. “Water can carry a boat, and water can capsize it. To fight against the people is to lose their hearts. So Elder, you should have done everything in your power that day to persuade the National Preceptor to descend the mountain. Now that resentment has taken root among the people, can you or I truly stop it?”

Elder Bafang’s face darkened.

This was a refusal. She did not care.

“You are the National Preceptor’s disciple — it is your duty to uphold your master’s honor. And as Dahan’s Sacred Lady of national protection, you must also safeguard the imperial family’s reputation.” Elder Bafang strongly disagreed with her words. “To do nothing is to allow one side to grow while the other diminishes. By the time things become irretrievable, it will be too late to remedy.”

While there was still a chance to salvage the situation, they must use the force of authority to suppress these rumors and make the might of the imperial family plainly known — not simply give up.

She was the Sacred Lady. This was her responsibility!

“What kind of Sacred Lady am I? Nothing but an empty title. When the nation faced crisis, I could not even produce a single antidote formula — I had to rely on those of my generation instead. The devastation of the plague has left countless subjects of Dahan dead or wounded, with innumerable families shattered and destroyed. This is Heaven’s punishment. The new Emperor is young — he must study and govern at the same time. So I have already informed him that I intend to go to the imperial mausoleums to pray for the nation’s blessings and observe a month of fasting and abstinence. Elder Bafang need not attend to me any further. Return to Cangshan Mountain, attend to the National Preceptor, and serve in my stead as a show of filial devotion.”

Elder Bafang was momentarily startled, yet remained unmoved. “If the Sacred Lady is to pray for the nation’s blessings, she cannot travel without a guardian elder at her side. Should the National Preceptor learn that this poor Daoist had failed to attend the Sacred Lady properly, he would surely be displeased. This poor Daoist shall accompany the Sacred Lady to pray for the nation.”

He had expected Tantai, the Imperial Princess, to be angered — but to his surprise, she showed not the slightest trace of fury. Her tone was utterly flat. “That is very kind of you, Elder. As you wish.”

She turned and boarded the carriage, a picture of complete indifference.

Elder Bafang’s brows knitted deeper. Something was not right about the Sacred Lady. Yet he said nothing.

The carriage wheels rolled and rumbled over the bluestone bricks of Wu Jing as pedestrians made way on all sides, lest they disturb the Sacred Lady. As the carriage passed Tongtian Tower, Tantai, the Imperial Princess, seemed to sense something and lifted the carriage curtain, glancing upward.

Lang Jiuchuan looked at the person inside the carriage. Their gazes met — those glass-clear eyes of hers — and his eyelid gave an involuntary twitch.

The eyes of Tantai, the Imperial Princess, were filled entirely with compassionate sorrow.

Lang Jiuchuan’s lips parted slightly, and she sent a single message into the other woman’s ear through a transmitted whisper — yet Tantai, the Imperial Princess, only let the curtain fall, her brow furrowing involuntarily.

Tantai, the Imperial Princess, closed her eyes. In her ears remained the words Lang Jiuchuan had just sent across: “There is no need to go to the imperial mausoleums.”

As perceptive as she was, had Lang Jiuchuan already devised some countermeasure?

Tantai, the Imperial Princess, furrowed her brows, her fingertip lightly tapping the jade talisman at her waist — only a few taps before she stilled her hand. This habit, too, had come from Lang Jiuchuan; she had adopted it herself.

She gave a small, self-mocking laugh, then pressed her lips together again, turning Lang Jiuchuan’s words over in her mind — what was her countermeasure?

Tantai, the Imperial Princess, thought over the events of recent days. Shrines housing the National Preceptor’s effigies in various places had all been damaged. And then there was Canglan Temple, struck at its peak by heavenly fire, with the life-sized effigy burned to ash…

Something flashed through her mind without warning — and she seized upon it with precision.

Tantai, the Imperial Princess’s expression changed in an instant, her breathing becoming slightly unsteady.

Surely not. Surely she would not be so bold?

Terror flashed in the eyes of Tantai, the Imperial Princess, as her fingertips dug sharply into the flesh between her thumb and forefinger. She would. Lang Jiuchuan had always dared to defy all under heaven — she was simply reckless!

Tantai, the Imperial Princess, bit her lip and drew several deep breaths. “Return to Cangshan Mountain. I must see Master.”

Elder Bafang’s brows creased even tighter. That sense of wrongness grew heavier still, yet he asked nothing.

Lang Jiuchuan watched the carriage disappear into the distance and suppressed the sour ache that had risen in her chest. “The time has come,” she said. “Let us go.”