The firecrackers rang out, one after another. The New Year had arrived.

Lang Jiuchuan climbed up to the rooftop and looked out over Wu Jing — its lights refusing to dim — and at the distant bursts of fireworks erupting against the sky. She breathed in the sharp, gunpowder-laced smell of firecrackers drifting through the cold air, and the line of her lips curved upward.

“Happy New Year,” she murmured softly, “you poor unfortunate soul with no name.”

Being alive is really something.

Jiangche heard those words and came bounding out, offering a flat, perfunctory: “Lang Jiuchuan — Happy New Year.”

Lang Jiuchuan’s brow arched. She pulled it into her arms. “Is that who I am?”

“It will be, sooner or later.” Jiangche said with its characteristic haughty detachment: “No matter what came before, you are in this body now. Live through it — all of you, whole and intact — and you are Lang Jiuchuan. As for what’s past — from the looks of you, it wasn’t anything good. Why chase after it?”

If her past had been good, she wouldn’t have lost pieces of her own soul — wouldn’t be unable to recall even her own name. If it had been good, she wouldn’t be wandering without a place to rest.

So the past was not worth pursuing. Chasing it only brought suffering for no gain. Why torment yourself needlessly?

Heaven’s will had returned her to the living world and placed her in this body. That was enough — she was Lang Jiuchuan. And once the karmic debt between her and the original soul was settled, she would be complete. Fully, truly herself.

Lang Jiuchuan watched as a distant burst of fireworks lit up the sky, blazed, and then faded into nothing. “You’re right. The day before yesterday is dead — like those fireworks. No matter how brilliant, they’ve already gone dark. Look forward. That’s the only right path.”

Jiangche said, “Keep living, and you get to see more beautiful fireworks.”

Yes. And so anyone who tried to kill her, anyone who tried to obstruct her path forward, was her enemy.

Lang Jiuchuan tucked Jiangche back into the Spirit Platform and turned toward the sound of approaching footsteps. “Gong Daochang — are you sleepwalking?”

Gong Qi came to stand beside her, carrying a wine jug in one hand and two cups in the other. “You’re in quite the mood, Lang Jiu — sitting up here in this bitter cold, letting the north wind blow through you. Aren’t you worried this frail little body of yours won’t hold up?”

That fragile image he’s constructed for herself — about to shatter completely, wasn’t it.

Lang Jiuchuan said mildly, “A fire-ward talisman handles the problem. The Gong Clan carries a lineage of Daoist tradition — surely that much was covered in your training?”

Gong Qi choked slightly on his words, then looked at her sideways with an expression caught halfway between amusement and irony. “Covered, yes — though it falls far short of the ‘rudimentary’ standard that a certain Lang Jiu has reached. Your talismans are drawn in one fluid motion, and the quality is exceptional.”

As he spoke, he produced a talisman he had retrieved from the eaves of Kangshou Hall — it was the ward-against-malevolence talisman she had slipped to Lang Zhengping earlier that day. He turned it over in his hands. Even he had to admit this surpassed his own work.

“The technique behind this talisman is exceptional — remarkably profound. I would dearly love to meet the teacher who imparted this ‘rudimentary’ knowledge to the young lady. I’d like to learn from him myself.”

Lang Jiuchuan had just reached out to take it back when he pulled it away, tucking it swiftly into his robes. He grinned — teeth showing — and said: “A talisman this marvelous deserves to be studied up close, day and night.”

Lang Jiuchuan: “…”

Utterly shameless. A member of the Gong Clan — actually snatching a talisman from an ordinary household.

“The Gong Clan’s foundations are deep enough that they shouldn’t need to resort to snatching a single talisman.” Lang Jiuchuan’s smile was cool. “A humble person from the mortal world — this is about all we have for warding off misfortune.”

“Don’t worry — I won’t take it for free. I’ll have my senior brother draw up a health regimen for your household. He’ll also prepare a nourishing medicinal formula for your grandmother, your young lord, and the ladies of the house — nothing the Imperial Physicians could match.” Gong Qi added, “My senior brother has considerable attainment in the art of medicine.”

Lang Jiuchuan let out a soft, dismissive breath.

Gong Qi settled himself on the rooftop. “New Year’s Eve — share a cup? This is our Gong Clan’s Jade Marrow Brew — made from the spring water of Tianshan Snow Springs, fermented together with snow lotus fruit and other rare natural treasures. Exceptional for one’s wellbeing.”

Some distance away on the same rooftop, Gong Si rolled his eyes. You could drink anywhere — but you choose to sit on a rooftop in a north wind. What on earth is wrong with these two.

And yet Lang Jiuchuan, who had been about to climb back down, turned around and settled herself cross-legged. Good things should not go to waste.

As expected — the moment Gong Qi opened the jug, a crisp, pure fragrance of wine struck the nose, reaching into every recess and drawing out whatever craving had been lying dormant there. Even Jiangche, from within the Spirit Platform, felt a stirring of longing.

The Gong Clan actually had something this fine. It wanted to taste it too.

Lang Jiuchuan pressed down firmly on it. No body, no cup. Smell it and be content. Someday, when you have a real form, come as a guest to the Gong Clan and you can drink your fill — stealing would be beneath you, but surely getting enough to satisfy yourself would be possible.

And there it was again — that faint, distinctive trace of an aura.

Gong Qi’s eyes shifted subtly. Without a word, he extended a cup of wine to Lang Jiuchuan, poured one for himself, and said: “Raise the golden cup.”

Lang Jiuchuan touched her cup to his. “May the New Year bring good fortune.”

Both of them tilted back their cups in one long swallow.

Lang Jiuchuan refilled both cups, set hers down at her side, and turned to look out at the distant fireworks. “Is the Gong Clan’s New Year this lively as well?”

“Not at all.” Gong Qi shook his head. “Even without formal precepts, we still hold to cultivation above all else. Seated in meditation, entering stillness, seeking to comprehend the Dao — that holds even on New Year’s Eve. Look at my senior brother for proof. Most of our clan’s disciples are the same. Tedious in the extreme.”

Lang Jiuchuan turned her head and looked. Sure enough, Gong Si sat on the rooftop with his hands sealed into a cultivation mudra, already deep in meditation.

“I see. So the Xuan Clan’s elevated standing truly isn’t just reputation. Are the other major families like the Gong Clan in this?”

Gong Qi turned to look at her. “Lang Jiu — is this you probing for information about the Xuan Clans?”

“Yes.” Lang Jiuchuan acknowledged it openly, without hesitation. “They’re the Xuan Clans, after all. To those of us in the mortal world, they’re something that stands far above and apart. Surely a great many people are curious about them. And that’s before considering how climbing into connection with any one of you means a person can walk sideways through the world — look at the young lady of the Qi Family as a prime example. Simply because the Qi Family is a marriage-relative of the Xuan Clans, how many people in Wu Jing have to step carefully around them, not daring to provoke them? And I — all I did was stand in someone’s way, and it brought a disaster of extermination down upon my household. Truly terrifying.”

“You don’t look particularly terrified from where I’m standing. Without us here today, you would have found a way to resolve this yourself.”

Lang Jiuchuan drained her cup in one swallow, refilled it, and said: “You think too highly of me. With this frail body of mine — what could I possibly manage?”

Gong Qi raised a brow. “Whether I think too highly of you or not — you and I both know the answer. I am genuinely curious, though, what Lang Jiu could possibly have done to draw the Rong Family’s killing intent.”

Lang Jiuchuan set her cup down without hurry and looked at him. “That’s precisely what I’d like to know. If Gong Daochang could tell me, that would be the best possible outcome.”

She filled her cup to the brim and tipped it back in one long swallow. Then, with deliberate weight behind the words, she said: “A girl who was exiled to a farm estate since childhood — I wonder which petty enemy I could possibly have made, to warrant someone striking against me this savagely.”

Gong Qi narrowed his eyes. A long moment passed before he said: “The Rong Family made their move, yet the Lang household came through unharmed, and you’re still alive. What do you intend to do about that, Lang Jiu?”

What does she intend to do?

Since she wouldn’t die — naturally, it was a fight to the death.

Lang Jiuchuan didn’t answer that directly. Instead she tipped her last cup of wine back, and said: “This wine is excellent. Thank you for the hospitality, Daochang.”

She gave a casual wave of her hand, spun on her heel, and dropped off the edge of the rooftop.

Gong Qi’s eye twitched. He reached for the wine jug — and found it light as a feather. He gave it a shake. Empty. A shout tore out of him: “You have absolutely no shame at all.”

Not a single drop left for him. All because he took one talisman from her?

Meanwhile, at the Rong Family residence, a finely dressed noblewoman was knocked sideways by a sharp strike of a palm and went sprawling — yet she didn’t dare make a sound. She just knelt on the floor, one hand pressed against her face.

“Look at the mess you’ve made of this. Utterly useless. You bungle more than you accomplish.” The figure seated on a cushion — a Daoist in dark robes, a fly-whisk cradled in their arms — said with cold contempt: “A mere wandering spirit took over a broken, incomplete body. Even if she settled in, she settled in — yet you’ve lost several capable disciples over her one by one. Waste.”

The noblewoman prostrated herself on the ground. “This concubine has sinned.”

“Huanxuan and the Gong Clan are in the early stages of discussing a marriage. If you draw the Gong Clan’s suspicion now, do you think this match can still proceed?” The Daoist in dark robes kept a cold expression. “Do not make any further moves against that wandering spirit. Wait until Huanxuan emerges from closed-door cultivation and the marriage is settled — that is what matters. If you ruin the clan’s affairs for your own selfish purposes, I will not spare you.”

“Yes.”

(Author’s note: My phone keeps pushing me videos of that ultra sports car — as if this old person of mine has the money to buy one, let alone race it. Don’t you know I’m online every day begging readers to vote once for my Ah Jiu?)