Chapter 3: You're Teaching Me How to Live?

Filled with various doubts, Lang Jiuchuan arrived at the mourning hall. However, the moment she entered the courtyard, her body swayed; her soul felt hollow, and she nearly slipped out of this physical vessel.

A mnemonic formula suddenly surfaced in her mind. With a slight movement of her fingers, she pressed her soul firmly back into her flesh.

*Judge, you plague-ridden bastard, saying that I and this body are a perfect match—pfft!*

Lang Jiuchuan looked toward a corner of the courtyard. A dozen bright, bald heads gleamed in the sunlight, nearly blinding her "dog eyes," and the continuous chanting of Buddhist sutras felt like demonic sounds drilling into her eardrums, lashing at her soul.

After all, this was a case of borrowing a corpse to return a soul, and a broken one at that. Neither soul nor body were intact; facing these golden-glowing scriptures now was truly a form of torture.

Lang Jiuchuan silently cast a soul-stabilizing spell on herself. Her tottering body was caught by Jian Lan.

Jian Lan was terrified. Holding her, she asked, "Are you alright?"

She stared in horror at Lang Jiuchuan's complexion and swallowed instinctively. That recent sway had made her face even more pale and ashen, devoid of any color, looking exactly like a dead person.

And her hands—her hands were ice-cold.

Jian Lan's heart trembled.

This Ninth Miss, who was supposedly more famous than she was seen, couldn't possibly be some frail, sickly invalid, could she?

Gritting her teeth, Lang Jiuchuan shook her head and said, "Let's go in."

Hearing this, Jian Lan gripped her hand even tighter, fearing she might actually collapse.

It was already past noon. The number of mourners was no greater than in the morning, and Lang Jiuchuan only encountered a few people.

As she entered the mourning hall, among the group of monks chanting in the courtyard, a thin, elderly monk lifted his head and looked toward the entrance of the hall, his brow furrowing slightly.

*What a strange aura.*

The moment Lang Jiuchuan entered the hall, those dressed in heavy mourning clothes kneeling on straw mats in the southeast corner all looked over. Their eyes held shock and unfamiliarity, but after someone whispered something, their expressions turned to realization.

*It's that ill-omened person from the Second Branch.*

There were no outsiders in the hall at this time, so many people scrutinized her without restraint.

*She looks far too weak. And her face... she has the same complexion as the Old Master lying in the coffin.*

Lang Jiuchuan ignored the gazes falling upon her. She merely glanced at the Phoebe zhennan wood coffin carved with the character for "Longevity" resting against the wall. The Old Master of the Lang family had already been laid to rest, and they were preparing to close the lid.

"Ninth Miss, please offer incense and kowtow to the Old Master." A manager, clearly aware of her identity, handed her three burning sticks of incense.

Lang Jiuchuan did not move for a moment, causing the onlookers' eyelids to twitch.

*Is she really this tactless?*

*As expected of someone raised in a manor; she has no sense of etiquette at all. Truly dull.*

Jian Lan also grew anxious and urged her softly, "Miss?"

Lang Jiuchuan snapped back to her senses. To the onlookers, she appeared to accept the incense reluctantly. She bowed three times toward the coffin and placed the sticks into the incense burner, which was already filled with ash.

Once she had offered the incense, another servant woman gestured for her to approach the coffin to view the deceased's final visage. She spoke with a cold, hard tone: "Ninth Miss, as a granddaughter who has not returned home for a long time to serve at his knees, you should wail and kowtow to show your filial piety."

Everyone in this room, young and old, were filial children and grandchildren, and every one of them had red eyes. But this one? Forget red eyes—there wasn't a trace of sorrow on her face.

*Those not raised in the main household truly have cold and hardened hearts.*

Sensing the dissatisfaction and contempt in the woman's tone, Lang Jiuchuan narrowed her eyes and looked her way.

How laughable. She hadn't returned home for a long time—was it because she didn't want to?

It was because the Lang family had failed to remember to bring her back. And now that they remembered, it was only to bring her back for a funeral, and even then, it was too late.

The real Lang Jiuchuan was dead beyond all recovery; her soul was nowhere to be found.

At this thought, the hostility in her eyes leaked out.

It was chilling and cold.

Lang Jiuchuan looked at her and said ominously, "Is the Lang family's rule to let a servant teach a master how to behave?"