Chapter 6: This Heretic, How Dare She?

 Chapter 6: This Heretic, How Dare She?

Lang Jiuchuan knelt by the coffin, leaning slightly against it. Turning her head toward the body inside, she quietly absorbed the faint trickle of merit drifting her way, nourishing her flesh and spirit. She let out a soft breath of relief.

But when she noticed that some of that fortune still dispersed toward the other Lang family members, her brows furrowed. Fixing her gaze on the corpse beneath the white shroud, she thought: if she were the one lying inside, wouldn’t all of that merit flow straight to her alone? The idea made her lips curl in wicked delight—how tempting it would be to plunder it all.

The pair of dog’s eyes crudely fitted into her sockets nearly bored holes straight through the coffin lid with their intensity.

Whoosh!

A sudden gust swept through the mourning hall, scattering yellow paper money across the floor and setting the candles to flicker wildly.

Everyone froze in shock. Where had this wind come from?

Their eyes turned instinctively toward Jiuchuan. Was she disturbing the old master’s rest?

Cui Shi’s expression darkened, her brows drawn tightly together.

Sensing the heated stares on her back, Jiuchuan casually dragged the offering brazier closer, picked up the scattered yellow paper, and tossed it in. “I’ll burn some paper for the old master,” she said mildly, “so that his road in the underworld will be smooth and unobstructed.”

The tension in the air eased a little—at least she was showing some shred of filial piety. Still, what did she mean by “smooth roads”?

Cui Shi closed her eyes, murmuring scripture beneath her breath.

Then, suddenly, a thunderous voice howled from the doorway:

“You old bastard! You actually died before me? Weren’t we supposed to see who could still piss the farthest at seventy? You lying son of a—”

The mourning hall fell silent.

Jiuchuan’s hand twitched mid-offering, her mouth twitching as she looked up.

An elderly man with white hair but a ruddy face strode in, leaning on a staff. Dressed in plain mourning robes, he walked straight to the coffin, his voice catching as he looked upon the body within. “Old bastard, what are you doing lying there? Get up and drink with me!”

“Grandfather,” a young man in a moon-white robe hurried forward to support him, coaxing softly: “Please, at least light some incense for the old marquis first.”

“Yes, Uncle Zhao,” said Lang Zhengping, the heir of the house, stepping up as well. “My father passed peacefully. Please don’t grieve too much. If you fall ill from sorrow, my father won’t rest easy in the afterlife.”

Other members of the Lang family also rose to murmur words of comfort. Lang Caimeng and several others tried to calm the old man’s grief.

“You needn’t persuade me,” the old man, Elder Zhao, rasped, his eyes brimming with sorrow. “These old bones of mine are still sturdy. If I want to cry for him, then cry I shall—it’s the least he deserves. We fought each other our whole lives. Now… now I have no rival left.”

A voice, cold and sharp as falling frost, cut through the mourning:

“What’s there to cry over? You’ll be meeting him soon enough.”

The hall went deathly quiet. Shocked faces turned toward Jiuchuan.

Was she mad? What sort of lunacy was this? To say such words to an elder, here of all places, during mourning rites?

Lang Zhengping reacted instantly, his voice like a whip: “Insolence! What nonsense are you spouting? You—wait, whose child are you?”

He stared at the unfamiliar girl before him, momentarily stunned. Since when had their family produced such a daughter?

Lang Caimeng hurriedly stepped forward: “Father, this is Ninth Sister—second uncle’s daughter.”

Recognition dawned in Zhengping’s eyes. Yes, the one who’d been raised away in the countryside—the second brother’s only child. His gaze flicked instinctively toward Cui Shi. His lips parted as though to speak, but he hesitated, then simply waved his hand. “She looks frail. Don’t keep her kneeling here—take her away to rest.”

Cui Shi’s face turned ashen, her fingers trembling, chest heaving with suppressed fury as she fixed Jiuchuan with a venomous glare.

This heretic—how dare she?