Chapter 34: Too Much Force, the Corpse Scattered

 Chapter 34: Too Much Force, the Corpse Scattered

Cui Shi’s pulse was far from robust—thin and feeble, with both heart and blood qi depleted, coupled with an ailment of cold in her body. As for her heart disease, if it was not congenital, then it must have been acquired later.

Jianlan fell silent for a moment, hesitant whether to speak, until Lang Jiuchuan’s brows drew together. Only then did she say, “I heard from the maids who served Madam in the past, that she suffered a difficult labor. After childbirth, her blood was weakened, but because of long-accumulated grief, she never received proper care, and so developed heart disease. But according to Nanny Cheng, Madam’s mother—your grandmother—also had heart disease since childhood, and passed away when Madam was thirteen.”

So, hereditary factors played a part as well.

Fearing that Lang Jiuchuan would grow more resentful of Cui Shi, Jianlan quickly added, “These years have not been easy for Madam either. She has lived as a widow, rarely associating with the masters of the first and third branches. Only at festivals would she sit together for meals. Most days she stayed in her courtyard, very lonely. Now that you’ve returned, our second branch will be lively again.”

Lang Jiuchuan gave a small laugh. “Are you sure this liveliness isn’t just me stirring up trouble?”

“This…”

Thinking of the uproars this Ninth Young Miss had caused since returning, Jianlan dared not answer. It was true—things had become lively, but also endlessly turbulent.

Seeing Jianlan flustered, Lang Jiuchuan did not tease her further. “Enough of that. Go inquire after the medicinal herbs I asked for.”

“Yes, Young Miss.”

At that moment, Daman entered carrying a tray—the medicine prescribed for Lang Jiuchuan by the physician.

“Young Miss, it is time for your medicine.”

Lang Jiuchuan wanted to say to throw it away—it was useless to her—but recalling how this had been decocted personally by Xiaoman and Daman, she took the bowl and drained it in one breath. Returning the bowl to the tray, she said, “Do not bother brewing the rest. I will prepare a new prescription.”

Daman froze, glancing instinctively at Jianlan. Jianlan considered, then nodded. “Follow the Young Miss’s instructions, Daman. You now serve her.”

This was a warning.

Whomever you serve, heed their word.

Daman immediately obeyed.

At this, Lang Jiuchuan gave Jianlan a sidelong glance—this girl was rather interesting.

When Jianlan left the courtyard with the prescription, she ran into Hanlan, who told her Nanny Cheng was seeking her. So she went to Cui Shi’s chambers. After giving her greetings, Jianlan was startled by Nanny Cheng’s words.

Seeing her expression, Nanny Cheng deliberately spoke with a touch of anger. “What, girl, after serving Ninth Young Miss for two days, your heart already leans toward her?”

Jianlan’s face blanched, and she hastily knelt. “This servant does not dare.”

“You little hoof, you say you don’t dare, but your heart is full of defiance…”

“Enough, Nanny Cheng.” Cui Shi cut her off, turning to Jianlan. “What is that in your hands?”

Jianlan hesitated, then presented the prescription. “Young Miss desires these herbs.”

Nanny Cheng unfolded it, and the vigorous strokes struck her like a blow. The girl’s calligraphy was so fine?

Cui Shi, seeing her stunned, took it for herself. A trace of surprise crossed her face. “I recall, when the Old Madam invited a tutor for her, he wrote an excellent hand in standard script.”

But these strokes were no standard script. Like their writer, they were unrestrained, domineering.

Nanny Cheng said, “Yes, perhaps the Young Miss learned two styles.”

Cui Shi studied the list of herbs, then thought of Lang Jiuchuan’s frail body. Her lips pressed tightly. Was this ‘a long illness making the patient into a doctor’?

“Go let the Eldest Young Madam make arrangements. If the public stores have none, open the private stores. If still none, send someone to the physician’s shop.”

Handing the prescription back to Jianlan, she added, “Since your heart leans toward her, then go and serve her henceforth.”

Jianlan fell to her knees with a thud. “Madam, this servant…”

“Rise. I did not say you betrayed me.” Cui Shi’s voice was calm. “She will need someone at her side. Since you suit her, then you. Remember: from now on, your mistress is the Ninth Young Miss.”

Jianlan felt panic and unease, looking at Nanny Cheng. The latter said coldly, “Why are you not giving thanks yet? Go pack your things and move to her quarters. Serve her well, or watch your hide.”

Jianlan had no choice but to kowtow thrice in thanks, pledge her loyalty, and withdraw. Standing dazed beneath the veranda, she then gathered her belongings and placed them in the side room of Lang Jiuchuan’s courtyard.

Through the window, Lang Jiuchuan saw her return with a bundle. One brow arched. Not long after, Jianlan came to report—saying she had been assigned to serve her, and asked for a bestowed name.

“What did they summon you over to ask?” Lang Jiuchuan suddenly asked.

Jianlan started, eyes flying up to meet hers. After a moment, she lowered herself to the ground. “Madam wished to know if Young Miss bears a crescent-shaped birthmark at the nape of her neck.”

Lang Jiuchuan was somewhat surprised, instinctively reaching back to touch her nape, thoughtful.

Jianlan was deeply uneasy, not daring to raise her head, uncertain where this path led.

“Come look for me.”

Jianlan gave a small cry. Seeing Lang Jiuchuan turn, loosen her collar, and lift her hair, she stepped forward to inspect.

Smooth, pale skin—without blemish, without scar. No trace of any crescent birthmark.

Jianlan’s face drained of blood, her hands twisting nervously. She guessed at the truth—Cui Shi had her check for the birthmark, believing only the girl with it was her true daughter.

But Ninth Young Miss had none. Then…

Was she a counterfeit?

When Jianlan failed to respond, Lang Jiuchuan turned, catching her pallid face. Understanding dawned. “There is none?”

Jianlan’s lips trembled, but not a word came.

Lang Jiuchuan understood. “Go report it then.”

Jianlan’s body went rigid. Stammering, she said, “Young… Young Miss…”

“Simply answer truthfully.”

Jianlan stared in shock. Seeing no trace of care or sorrow on Lang Jiuchuan’s face, her heart twisted with a sudden ache. How could she not be?

Yes—how could she not?

Lang Jiuchuan toyed with her talisman brush. She knew well the bond of blood was no illusion. That birthmark Cui Shi longed for—was it real, or merely her imagination?

This matter was… rather amusing.

She thought for a moment. Then, with a shift of intent, she guided the talisman brush to write in midair. As the character “Lang” took form, her will faltered. Attempting “Jiu,” the second stroke weighed as heavy as a thousand catties, her spirit torn with pain.

Barely had the “Chuan” begun when it felt as though her soul was being ripped apart.

Pfft.

Lang Jiuchuan spat a mouthful of blood, collapsing as the brush fell from her hand. Her spirit lurched free of her body.

And her physical shell—strained by too much force—scattered.

At that same moment, Jiangche, who was stealing incense ash at a temple, felt his spirit reel in agony. With a crash, he knocked over the censer, scattering ash across the floor.

Terrified, Jiangche hastily gathered his dissolving soul with his wish-power, while cursing furiously in his spiritual platform at Lang Jiuchuan.

“You damned tigress—what self-mutilation are you up to now? Get yourself back together, at once!”

(End of Chapter)