The iron-fisted blood decrees sent the court officials trembling with fear. As the hundred officials filed out of the golden throne hall where state affairs were deliberated, sunlight fell upon them, and yet every one of them felt as though ice pierced their very bones. They exchanged glances with one another, and in each pair of eyes they met, they saw reflected their own shock and terror.

The Son of Heaven had absented himself from court for many days, and the moment he returned, the dominance he displayed and the edicts he issued left every single one of them too terrified to utter a word.

A tyrannical emperor was fearsome enough. An emperor who also commanded spiritual techniques was more fearsome still.

The aura of authority that suffused Tantai Wuji was not merely the might of the Son of Heaven — there was something more in it, something extra. Yet no one dared name it aloud. Even as terrible thoughts rose within them, no one dared voice them plainly, for this was the Son of Heaven. Imperial authority was in his grasp, and spiritual arts adorned his person.

Zeng Guangchuan and several others stumbled toward Shen Qinghe, who by now had become a figure drenched in blood. Their whole bodies shook. With trembling hands, they checked his breath — it was faint, barely there, but it was there.

“Quickly — go.” Zeng Guangchuan said. “Not back to the Shen estate. Take him to the Wanshi Establishment. Have someone go and summon Daoist Gong Qi.”

Shen Qinghe’s eyelids trembled. With great effort, he pried them open. Seeing Zeng Guangchuan, his lips moved: “Demon fiend…”

He managed only those two words before falling completely unconscious.

Zeng Guangchuan’s eyes grew warm with feeling. He understood what Shen Qinghe meant — nothing more than this: that the Tantai Wuji before them now was a demon fiend inhabiting a stolen body. He himself harbored the same doubts. Enlightenment and the reception of a Dao inheritance — how could it cause a temperament to change so entirely and so completely?

Moreover, Tantai Wuji’s methods, though ruthless enough to intimidate petty troublemakers, embodied the very principle that oppression breeds rebellion. To govern as a tyrant in this manner would eventually rebound upon himself. To lose the hearts of the people was to lose the realm — surely he could see the critical point of this, unless he simply did not care?

Whatever the case, the sky had changed. Perhaps the divination images that the Imperial Astronomer had observed all along had been pointing to exactly this: that once a dynasty produced a tyrant and tyrannical governance, it would inevitably fall.

Tantai Wuji stood at the heights, watching the assembled officials disperse. A cold and pitiless arc curved at the corner of his mouth. Before, he had held himself in check and refrained from acting, fearing Lang Jiuchuan would come to confront him directly. But now he was not afraid.

He was the Son of Heaven. As long as he occupied the throne, this imperial court was his to do with as he pleased — whether to bring the people to the brink of misery and fill the air with grievance, or to fill the world with song and dance, all turned on a single thought.

What spiritual power could not accomplish, authority could.

He would use the fetters of this imperial court to drag at her footsteps and bog her down.

This was only the beginning.

He could no longer benefit from the nation’s fortune — so let him be a tyrannical emperor who inspired both awe and terror. Let him make the heavens themselves grow dark and cheerless.

What had transpired at morning court spread rapidly beyond the palace walls, reaching even the Lang Family compound. When Jiangche and those standing guard at the Lang estate heard the news, their hackles rose. Jiangche said to Fuqi: “That old monster has seized the emperor’s body, hasn’t he? Isn’t he afraid Xiao Jiu will come and kill him on his doorstep? How does he dare to act so blatantly and openly like this?”

Fuqi’s expression was grave. “This is an open stratagem — and an open declaration of war. If I may say something unpleasant: right now it’s a case of the man with nothing left to lose versus the man with everything to protect. He has completely lost his mind. He’s done pretending.”

Before, Tantai Wuji had been constrained by concern for his true body and had been willing to lie dormant and endure. But now that his true body had been seized by Lang Jiuchuan and Feng Ya working in concert, his vulnerability was gone — and with it, all restraint.

His identity now was the Son of Heaven. In his hands he held supreme authority and mighty armies. With a single opening and closing of his mouth, he could lay ten thousand corpses across the land. That was far more useful than spiritual power.

A’Piao frowned. “The open stratagem is one thing. By plunging all of Great Yan into disorder, he can also weigh down Xiao Jiu’s every step — that’s one benefit for him. If Great Yan truly descends into chaos and people begin to die, the energy of this land will turn dark and turbid, spawning more demons and malevolent spirits.”

“That may also be exactly what he wants.” A flash of insight struck Fuqi’s mind. “He has lost his true body. Either he finds a way to reclaim it, or he carves out another path altogether. Whichever he chooses, he needs to strengthen himself. He feeds on the nation’s fortune to restore his physical body and divine soul — could he perhaps also feed on this turbid, ominous energy for his own use?”

Dark and inauspicious energy was not without its uses — the spiritual techniques it powered were simply of the sinister and wicked variety.

Jiangche said: “Xiao Jiu hasn’t come back yet, so talking about all this accomplishes nothing. What’s urgently pressing right now is how to protect the Lang Family — the threat has come right to our doorstep. Do we resist head-on? That’s defying the imperial edict!”

“At this point, defying the edict is defying the edict. He’s already decided to stop playing games — tearing everything wide open in the open was inevitable.” A’Piao said coldly. “Everyone get moving. By the way — that young fellow, has he been hidden safely?”

“Don’t worry.”

Jiangche leaped up onto the rooftop and saw that great expanse of black-armored guards galloping toward them on horseback. His tiger-yellow eyes grew ever more brilliantly golden. “They’re here.”

Rumble, rumble, rumble.

The vibration of ten thousand horses charging through the broad streets sent the residents of Wu Jing city scrambling into corners, terrified of becoming collateral damage — none knowing what was happening, unable to fathom why the imperial guards had been mobilized.

“I heard the Immortal Lang is actually a demon cultivator — the real ninth daughter of the Lang Family died long ago, and the current one is a demon spirit that has seized the body. She also colluded with malevolent spirits to kill the National Preceptor and the Holy Maiden. Director Shen Qinghe of the Surveillance Bureau only spoke a word or two in her defense and was given fifty strokes of the rod, had his household seized, and was banished in exile. Now it’s the Lang Family’s turn to suffer.”

“Impossible. It was the Immortal Lang who developed the antidote for the corpse-poison plague — calling her a living Bodhisattva would not even be an overstatement. How could she be a demon cultivator?”

“The emperor says she is — so she is!”

Inside the Marquis Kaiping compound, faced with this catastrophe arriving without warning, every soul present had turned white as paper.

They had never for a moment anticipated that the Jian’an Emperor would suddenly move against the household — or rather, to be precise, against Lang Jiuchuan.

How had it come to this? Just recently, Lang Jiuchuan had been the living Bodhisattva praised and beloved by everyone. She had saved so many lives; even when members of their household stepped outside the estate gates, commoners would offer them fruits and even eggs in gratitude. How had she suddenly, in the emperor’s mouth, become a demon cultivator?

The accusation of demon cultivator was sheer nonsense!

The Marquis Kaiping compound was in an uproar. Lang Zhengping gathered everyone together and declared furiously: “None of you are to lose your composure, and none of you are to weep. Swallow those tears back. If one wishes to condemn someone, one can always find a pretext — this is a trap set against my Lang Family. Everyone keep your mouths shut and don’t say anything foolish or inappropriate.”

Though everyone’s face was ashen as gray earth, no one dared suggest that Lang Jiuchuan alone had brought this calamity upon herself and that they should not be dragged down with her. They were all surnamed Lang; they all came from the same bloodline. They had accepted the benefits and glory she had brought — could they really turn to distance themselves from her now that great misfortune was upon them?

And even if they tried to distance themselves, could they actually escape this disaster? In glory all together, in ruin all together — everyone understood this principle.

Even the most selfish among them, Lang Cailing, did not dare say anything unpleasant. Though she was petty and foolish, she understood perfectly clearly that betraying her family at this moment would bring her no benefit whatsoever — only infamy.

Though Lang Zhengping had steadied everyone’s hearts, the sounds filtering in from outside still caused the women of the household to go weak in the knees.

“Eldest son, come with me. You other men — watch over the women. If the imperial guards come charging in, don’t confront them directly. But if anyone within the compound dares to cause disorder, kill them on the spot!” Lang Zhengping swept a warning gaze over the servants.

“Yes, sir.”

Outside the gates, the imperial guard commander had not dared to let his men storm in recklessly. He stood looking at the several people of great reputation and standing who were blocking the main entrance, and felt a great headache coming on.

“Whoever dares to enter and lay a hand on the Lang Family shall do so only by stepping over this old man’s dead body!” Xue Shi, clutching a sacred image of Confucius, sat planted before the entrance to the marquis’s compound with the composed and immovable bearing of a man entirely at ease.