The north wind swept cold and bleak, and as the twelfth lunar month arrived, snow fell thick and heavy over Wu Jing.
Lang Jiuchuan kept to her small courtyard, enjoying a rare peace and quiet. This courtyard was nothing like the desolate, crumbling state in which she had first arrived.
With the fine gifts sent by the Shen Family, and with Lang Zhengping watching over her affairs, the good things delivered to her courtyard had increased considerably. She had first used the finest materials of the five elemental types to arrange a small study for herself — one that could gather spiritual energy and retain vital breath, a most excellent place for nourishing the body and anchoring the soul.
Beyond that, she had also adjusted the layout and arrangement of the courtyard, setting up a small formation to gather auspicious energy — so that the courtyard might better absorb sunlight and vital life force, enlivening the spiritual energy throughout the entire grounds.
This single adjustment made a palpable difference not only to her, but even to the servants working in the courtyard. They all felt a sense of refreshing clarity and ease, as though their spirits had smoothed out and they had grown calmer — though they simply attributed this to the influence of Lang Jiuchuan’s own character as their mistress. After all, as the saying goes, people take after their company — and with this thought in mind, they attended to their duties with notably greater care and dedication.
The household was in mourning, and it was winter besides, so outings were ill-suited. Lang Jiuchuan’s health was poor, and each day she did little beyond paying her respects to the Old Madam Lang in the morning, enduring whatever sharp remarks certain people in the household saw fit to make about her being petty and small-minded, then retreating dutifully to her study to rest and recuperate.
Yes — the lavish gifts from the Shen Family were known to everyone. When it was observed that Lang Jiuchuan had given only to the Old Madam, Lang Zhengping, and Cui Shi, and had not given away so much as a single thread to anyone else, there was no shortage of remarks that she lacked generosity and breadth of spirit.
These were said only when Lang Jiuchuan was not within earshot. Had they been said in her presence, one could be certain she would have erupted on the spot, unleashing the full venom of her tongue.
The ones who spoke of it most were Lang Cailing’s set — understandably so, having suffered such a resounding defeat at Lang Jiuchuan’s hands. Lang Cailing and her brother had previously been quite favored thanks to Chen Yiniang’s standing in the household, but they had made the mistake of trying to bully Lang Jiuchuan, and had been caught in the act by Lang Zhengping. Not only had they been made to kneel in the ancestral shrine in repentance, they were subsequently confined and made to study proper conduct. Even Chen Yiniang’s nearly breathless weeping had availed her nothing — and in the end, the entire group had taken to their beds, sick together.
Once her soul and spirit had recovered sufficiently, Lang Jiuchuan began preparing the Yang-Restoring Medicinal Talismans. She spread the talisman paper — which had already been treated and steeped in a decoction of the finest medicinal herbs — across the worktable, the rich medicinal fragrance filling the air.
Jiang Che crouched in the corner of the table, gave a sniff, and said: “Even just drinking this medicinal brew would be nourishing enough.”
The ginseng was two hundred years old, the fleece-flower root no less than a century, and alongside them were the finest tonifying and fortifying ingredients one could find. Even among the noble families and meritorious houses, such extravagance was rarely seen — yet she was using them to steep talisman paper.
Lang Jiuchuan said: “Which is precisely why we mustn’t waste a single sheet. I’ll steep as many as possible.”
Jiang Che glanced over at the talisman paper that had already been hung to dry — well over a dozen sheets, now resting in a jade box that could preserve their medicinal properties — and understood that she was not merely making Yang-Restoring Medicinal Talismans. These sheets would be used for other talismans as well.
Its gaze then moved to the fine-quality cinnabar set nearby in a bone-white porcelain dish. This too had been specially prepared — not simply dissolved in ordinary water, but mixed with the liquid pressed and simmered from golden-edged snow lotuses gathered from mountain peaks and crushed with dewdrops. Only after the ashes taken from before a Buddha statue had been fully steeped in this liquid, allowed to settle, and filtered through until it was perfectly clear was the resulting water used to mix with the cinnabar.
The cinnabar liquid thus carried the clean, sharp fragrance of snow lotuses.
Everything was ready, awaiting only the final step.
Lang Jiuchuan, with great solemnity, washed her hands, lit incense, and made an offering to the divine. She formed the proper ritual hand seal with both hands, then summoned the Panguan brush. She dipped it in the cinnabar liquid, steadied her mind and Qi, and set the brush to the talisman paper.
In talisman-drawing, the brush strokes matter — but imbuing them with spiritual activation matters even more. The talisman patterns must be executed in a single, unbroken movement; for one with a skilled hand, this is not difficult. But what is truly challenging is pouring the intention of the Dao into the brush and onto the paper. This requires not only formidable spiritual power, but also sufficient cultivation — only then can the brush follow where the heart leads.
And once the Dao-intent has been poured in, every stroke carries the weight of a thousand measures. A single error and the talisman is ruined.
Jiang Che made itself small as a quail and did not dare to make a sound, terrified of disturbing the process and wasting a sheet of talisman paper. In truth the paper itself was the lesser concern — what mattered was that drawing talismans poured out one’s entire mental and spiritual energy. If it were interrupted, there was a risk of a harmful rebound, and that would be a far graver problem.
It genuinely wished well for this unhinged person.
Lang Jiuchuan did not disappoint it. The moment the brush touched the paper, the intricate talisman patterns fell into place — the brush moving in her hand with the fluid, alive motion of a dragon or serpent in flight.
A single flash of spiritual light — and the talisman is complete.
That was perhaps the only way to describe it — provided one disregarded the deathly pallor of her face.
Lang Jiuchuan’s mind was utterly undistracted.
Every trace of her spiritual power was focused on the brush and the talisman paper. The elaborate talisman script surged through her mind, and the brush in her hand inscribed it all onto the paper, filled with forceful Dao-intent.
A Yang-Restoring Medicinal Talisman was, in essence, a contest with Heaven over life — something that carried a trace of defying the natural order. It was never going to be as simple as an ordinary talisman.
She was drawing this talisman to save herself. She could hardly afford to damage this body further in the process.
When the final stroke of the talisman script was laid down, she set the brush aside, and once again formed a hand seal, pressing it onto the talisman paper.
A faint golden light swept across the talisman’s surface. Abundant spiritual energy and life force surged and bloomed upon it.
Lang Jiuchuan was overjoyed. It had succeeded.
Jiang Che was equally elated: “Are you going to use it right now?”
Lang Jiuchuan shook her head: “Once I use the talisman, I’ll need to enter seclusion for three days. I still have some capacity remaining — let me draw a few more first.”
She set the Yang-Restoring Medicinal Talisman aside, steadied herself, and picked up the brush again, beginning to draw Soul-Anchoring and Body-Fortifying Talismans on the remaining sheets of medicinal paper. These were considerably simpler than the Yang-Restoring Medicinal Talisman — yet even so, after only four sheets, her face was completely devoid of color, her spirit felt hollow and insubstantial, both hands were trembling, and she had been drained of all strength.
It all came back to the fact that both her spirit and her body were incomplete, leaving her abilities severely constrained.
Jiang Che sensed that she had exhausted every last trace of her spiritual power, and fell into thoughtful contemplation.
Was this a strategy of breaking down to build anew?
Like what the old masters used to speak of — some cultivators, just before advancing to a higher level, would instead drain themselves of all their power entirely, going through a process of destruction before renewal. Once they successfully crossed their tribulation, their meridians and everything else would be all the more full and robust for it.
Could this be what she was planning?
Lang Jiuchuan lay slumped in her chair, gazing at the row of spirit talismans lined up before her, and said: “If I were fully intact, just how formidable would I be?”
She was still missing one soul and two spirits, and her body was incomplete at that — yet even in this state, she could produce talismans of this quality. If she were whole, at her peak — what heights might she have reached?
Lang Jiuchuan’s gaze drifted to Jiang Che, who had gone distant with his own thoughts, and said: “They all say the spiritual energy of this world is scarce — that not everyone can walk the path of cultivation, and only those of the Xuan clan with innate spiritual roots can comprehend the Great Dao. Yet someone as formidable as me — have you truly never heard of anyone like that?”
Jiang Che’s mouth twitched several times: “Whether you truly have ability or not is one question — but that thick skin of yours is beyond doubt. You’re more shameless than Wang Po herself, and she was already shameless! Utterly without shame!”
“Stop wasting words. In all your years of cultivation, have you truly never heard of any remarkable individuals?”
Jiang Che said: “I cultivated deep in the mountains of Changbai. I only came to the mortal city of Wu Jing a little over a year ago. But back when I was in the Chenghuang temple, I did hear mention of a few — though they were all alive and well. So whether there are any legends about you in the world of wanderers, I genuinely can’t say. Though as for your situation — missing one soul and two spirits — that couldn’t be the result of someone harming you, could it? A cultivator of true ability, if known to the world and drawing attention, would almost certainly have been recruited by someone. Given that cutting tongue of yours and that unhinged nature — and the fact that you are clearly not one to live under another’s thumb — perhaps someone simply decided to strike at you from the shadows for exactly that reason?”
Lang Jiuchuan’s eyes narrowed: “By your reckoning then — it’s possible someone from the Xuan clan was behind what happened to me?”