Chapter 9: Not Everyone Can Hear Lang Jiu’s Words
Chapter 9: Not Everyone Can Hear Lang Jiu’s Words
Lang Jiuchuan was slapped to the ground. She looked at the person who had struck her, pushed her tongue against the inside of her cheek, and spat out a mouthful of blood with a sharp ptui.
She was more amused than angry.
To think that just a single slap could knock her down—the frailty of this body was truly laughable.
She climbed up from the floor, licked the blood from the corner of her lips, and shot Cui Shi a cold glance before walking straight out.
Cui Shi stared in a daze at her own palm, then at the blood on the ground. Her heart felt as though it was gripped by an invisible hand, making it hard to breathe.
That is not my child. She cannot be my child.
Her nails dug hard into her own palm. Avoiding the maidservant’s hand that reached out to support her, Cui Shi walked unsteadily out of the mourning hall.
Everyone exchanged glances, their expressions complicated—some were shocked, some gloating, others intrigued, each with their own thoughts.
Lang Zhengping felt his face burn with shame. To make such a scene in front of outsiders—what could possibly come of this except disgrace?
Awkwardly, he turned to Elder Zhao. “Uncle Zhao, please forgive us. This… this truly is a mess. Why don’t we move to the flower hall and have some tea?”
Elder Zhao shook his head. “I came here today to send your father on his way. That is enough to fulfill the bond between our two families. A funeral is already full of burdens; I won’t trouble you with tea. You take care of your matters. When your father is buried, our family will also prepare a roadside offering.”
Lang Zhengping quickly bowed in thanks.
He accompanied the elder and his grandson out of the mourning hall, out of the manor, and onto their carriage. Once seated, Elder Zhao asked, “That young girl just now…”
Lang Zhengping quickly explained, “She is my second younger brother’s posthumous child. She was born premature and frail, so she was sent to be raised at a country estate. Only today was she brought back. Because she grew up without proper guidance, she lacks discipline. Her words were reckless. As her uncle, I beg your forgiveness on her behalf.”
Saying this, he stepped back and gave a deep, formal bow.
Zhao Yuancheng wanted to speak, but one sharp glance from his grandfather silenced him.
Elder Zhao asked, “So that child… she has been raised in the countryside all along?”
Lang Zhengping was puzzled by the question but still nodded.
“Your brother Zhengfan died in battle at such a young age. That child is his only bloodline, isn’t she? Sending her away to be raised elsewhere—if it was uncles and cousins who decided, one might excuse it. But as her mother, how could she bear it?”
Lang Zhengping heard the probing edge of sarcasm in the words, and his face grew awkward as he stammered, “The abbot Master Xuanjing at Huguo Temple once said that mother and daughter’s birth charts clash, so…”
Elder Zhao looked unconvinced. Even if charts clash, she is still her own flesh and blood. Not to mention—she is her only child. Yet that mother not only showed no tenderness, she even struck her, and in front of everyone, no less.
Clearly, this matter was more than some mere clash of fates.
But it was, after all, the Lang family’s private affair. He could not pry too deeply. Still, when he recalled Lang Jiuchuan’s eyes—dark as ocean whirlpools—and her words, his heart gave a restless throb.
He even felt a sudden impulse to leap from the carriage and seek out that child for clearer answers.
“Let’s return.” Elder Zhao clenched his hand tight, looking back toward the depths of the Lang residence before lowering his gaze, concealing the storm within his eyes. He let the carriage curtain fall.
Lang Zhengping watched the carriage drive off, his brows furrowing before he turned and strode back into the manor.
Inside the carriage, Zhao Yuancheng spoke in a low voice, “Grandfather, that Lang Jiu spoke far too rudely. How could you let her go so easily?”
“If I don’t let her go, then what? I am of an age to be her grandfather. If word spreads, others will only say that a little girl spoke out of turn, while accusing me, Zhao Lin, of being petty and ungenerous. Which judgment do you think weighs heavier?” Elder Zhao looked at his heir and sighed. “You, child, are still too quick to lose your composure.”
Zhao Yuancheng frowned. “I simply cannot stomach it. That was not merely unrestrained speech—it was a curse upon you, Grandfather. Forgive me, but I cannot pretend to feel nothing.”
“Then you never wondered,” Elder Zhao said slowly, “how a young girl could speak such words?”
“What words?”
“‘To save one who should not have been saved.’”
Zhao Yuancheng looked baffled. “She said that? What does it even mean—to save one who should not have been saved?”
Elder Zhao’s hand trembled, his face filled with horror. He didn’t hear it?
(End of Chapter)
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