Chapter 6: This Heretic, How Dare She?

Lang Jiuchuan knelt down by the coffin, leaning against it as he turned his head to gaze inside. He felt the faint flow of merit and fortune surging toward him, nourishing both his flesh and spirit, and he couldn’t help but sigh softly.

Noticing that some of the fortune was still being scattered among the Lang family members, a faint furrow appeared between his brows. He stared intently at the corpse draped in white cloth. If he were lying in there himself, would all this merit and fortune pour solely toward him?

The thought brought a strange joy, a desire to seize it.

Lang Jiuchuan’s temporarily sharp, dog-like gaze almost seemed to bore holes into the old master within the coffin.

Suddenly, a gust of wind swept through the mourning hall, swirling the yellow paper offerings on the floor and flickering the candle flames.

Everyone was momentarily stunned—where had this wind come from?

Their eyes instinctively turned to Lang Jiuchuan, kneeling there. Had she disturbed the old master’s rest?

Lady Cui’s face darkened, and her brows knitted tightly.

Sensing the burning gazes upon her, Lang Jiuchuan casually dragged the offering basin closer, picked up the scattered yellow papers, and tossed them inside. “I’m burning some paper for the old master, to ensure his path is smooth in the afterlife,” she said.

Hearing this, the crowd’s expressions softened somewhat, displaying a hint of filial piety, though they couldn’t quite grasp what “smooth path” really meant.

Lady Cui closed her eyes, silently reciting scriptures.

Suddenly, a loud howl shattered the silence from the doorway, deafening and piercing.

An old man, leaning on a cane, burst in.

“You old codger, you’ll outlive me yet! We agreed at seventy to see who could pee the farthest, but you don’t keep your word!” he scolded loudly.

The hall fell silent.

Lang Jiuchuan’s hand trembled slightly as she stopped burning the paper and looked up at the newcomer, the corner of her mouth twitching.

The man was an elderly figure with white hair and a youthful face, dressed simply in a plain robe. He walked to the coffin and choked up when he saw the person inside. “Old fool, why lie there? Get up and drink with me.”

“Grandfather,” a young man in a pale blue robe gently supported the elder, softly urging, “Let us first offer incense to the late marquis.”

“Yes, Elder Zhao. Father passed peacefully. Please don’t grieve too much—if you fall ill because of it, Father won’t find peace in the heavens,” Lang Zhengping, the Lang family heir, stepped forward to comfort him, followed by other family members, including men like Lang Caimeng, who also offered words of consolation.

“No need to persuade me. I’m still sturdy in these old bones. A good cry is what he deserves,” Elder Zhao said sorrowfully, staring at his lifelong rival and old friend whose burial cloth had been lifted. They had fought all their lives; now there was no opponent left.

“Why cry? You will soon meet again,” a cold voice, as chilling as frost and snow, broke through the sorrow.

The murmurs of comfort ceased abruptly, and everyone stared at Lang Jiuchuan in shock.

What madness was this?

What nonsense was she spouting? How could she say such things to a grieving elder?

Lang Zhengping quickly regained his composure and snapped, “How dare you speak such nonsense? Who... who do you belong to?”

He looked at the unfamiliar young woman before him, momentarily stunned. Where had she come from? Did their family have such a girl?

Lang Caimeng hurriedly explained, “Father, this is the ninth sister from our second uncle’s household.”

Upon hearing this, Lang Zhengping immediately recalled—the child sent to live at the village, the only blood of the second brother. Instinctively, he glanced at Lady Cui, opening his mouth but finding no words, waving his hand instead. “She looks fragile. Don’t have her kneel here any longer. Take her away to rest.”

Lady Cui’s face turned as dark as still water, her fingertips trembling and her chest heaving with anger. She glared at Lang Jiuchuan—the heretic—how dare she?