Chapter 21: You Think I’m Not Dying Fast Enough?

 Chapter 21: You Think I’m Not Dying Fast Enough?

With a loud bang, the younger Daoist struck on the arm with the mourning staff let out a pained cry. The coffin lid slipped from his grasp, crashing heavily to the ground with a resounding echo.

A small piece of wood splintered off from the golden-thread nanmu coffin, flying straight into Lang Zhengping’s eye corner.

At the sight of the chipped coffin lid, Lang Zhengping’s knees gave out. He dropped to the ground, face ashen.

That coffin had long been prepared, crafted from a single block of rare golden-thread nanmu. Now that a corner was broken, it was no longer perfect. As the son, this was his great unfilial failing.

And that failing had been caused by Lang Jiuchuan, this ill-starred child.

Everyone was struck dumb, eyes wide in shock.

They had known Lang Jiuchuan was eccentric, but they never thought she was this reckless. Too audacious!

Fan Shi bit her lip hard, turning to her second sister-in-law. “Second Sister-in-law, forgive me.” She then called to her sons: “Eldest Son, you and your brothers, quickly take your Ninth Younger Sister down. Wu Shi, you keep watch here.”

Cui Shi, who had always valued propriety, only wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole.

This disgraceful child—she could not possibly be her daughter. No, never. How dare she!

The commotion inside the mourning hall shocked not only the Lang family but also the relatives and guests waiting in the courtyard. All craned their necks to see what had happened.

Hearing Fan Shi’s command, Lang Caimeng and the other young men surged forward. But Lang Jiuchuan moved faster. With a leap, she darted before the coffin and seized the mustached Daoist’s hand.

“What are you doing? What are you doing! Patriarch Lang, what is the meaning of this?” the Daoist stammered in panic.

This frail little girl, who looked like she had the face of a short-lived ghost, actually gripped him with such force that he couldn’t break free. His hand throbbed with pain, cold sweat pouring down his brow.

“Ninth Younger Sister, do not be discourteous to the master,” Lang Caimeng protested, his head pounding. This cousin was just as stubborn as his late Second Uncle—equally maddening.

Lang Jiuchuan said coldly, “You came just in time. Seize this charlatan for me. You—yes, you, little rascal—go outside and fetch two monks.”

Her frail body was already straining. To grab even a false Daoist took such effort. Restoring this ruined vessel of a body had to be her first priority.

The boy pointed at himself. “Who are you calling ‘little rascal’? I, Lang Caizhao, never change my name whether sitting or standing!”

“Good, I know. Stop wasting words—go now.” Lang Jiuchuan glared.

“Oh.”

Lang Caizhao took two steps, then faltered. Who was she to order him? Why was he listening?

He wanted to argue, but one glance at the chaotic mourning hall and his father’s furious eyes—nearly bulging out of his head—made his neck shrink. Not a safe place to linger. Best to slip away.

Lang Caimeng and his brothers didn’t actually restrain the Daoist, but their sheer numbers and positions boxed him in together with Lang Jiuchuan.

The Daoist’s heart trembled. A flicker of malice glinted in his eyes. The main deed was already done; but now this doomed girl had meddled, ruining everything. Very well—if she wanted trouble, he would give her death.

Hidden in his sleeve, his other hand shifted slightly toward Lang Jiuchuan’s wrist. Out loud he said angrily, “Patriarch Lang, is this the Lang family’s way of treating a master—ah!”

Before he could finish, he screamed. His body convulsed backward, collapsing to the ground. Clutching his chest, he stared at Lang Jiuchuan in terror, trembling uncontrollably.

Lang Caimeng and the others froze. “...?”

They hadn’t even touched him.

“Look at his hand,” cried Lang Caiguang, the tenth son, sharp-eyed.

All turned and saw the Daoist’s right hand—ashen black, his lips stained with blood. His face blanched, hair at his temples turning visibly silver.

In the blink of an eye, how had he become like this?

Everyone instinctively backed away from Lang Jiuchuan, eyes wary. What had she done?

Lang Zhengping shoved aside the younger ones for a closer look. His face turned grim. The other two young Daoists were edging toward escape. He barked an order: “Third Brother, seize them!”

Lang Zhengwen immediately called the stewards.

Lang Jiuchuan glanced at her own wrist. On the pallid skin, blue veins starkly visible, was a tiny cut oozing blood. To her eyes, however, the wound glowed with a dark aura. Yin energy invaded through the scratch, coursing into her frail body. A shiver wracked her.

This charlatan had struck to kill her!

In her fragile state, such an injury could easily have been fatal. A normal girl would already be poisoned, wasting away from yin corruption.

“You really think I haven’t died fast enough?” she sneered at the Daoist, her smile harmless on the surface but chilling in his eyes.

For him, the pain in his chest was like his very life being ripped apart. Terror froze his soul.

He had indeed cut her with a coffin nail tainted in yin. She should be collapsing, yet instead—he was the one being devoured. His cultivation drained away, his body withering.

“How... how are you... fine?”

Lang Jiuchuan pressed a finger to the bloody scratch. Fine? Not at all. Her already-broken body had taken another hit. It was maddening.

Lang Zhengping saw the wound and said sharply, “Eldest Son, search this ‘Master Huang’ at once!”

Even without much learning, he knew this was no normal occurrence. A man aging and failing before everyone’s eyes—how could it not be sinister? Coupled with the earlier paper effigy incident, this was clearly aimed at the Lang family.

Fan Shi quickly interjected, “Better let the servants search. If there is poison, it could harm the boys.”

Wu Shi nodded in agreement. A gentleman avoids standing by a crumbling wall. Better safe than sorry.

The others murmured assent, casting uneasy glances at Lang Jiuchuan.

The Daoist had been fine until she interfered. Now, with his ghastly appearance, suspicion naturally fell on her. What power had she used?

“No need. I’ll do it myself.” Lang Jiuchuan rolled her tongue against her cheek and stepped forward, lips curling.