Chapter Sixteen: How Can This Madwoman’s Tongue Be So Sharp?

There’s a ghost!

The piercing scream once again filled the originally quiet ancestral hall with a crowd.

Lang Zhengping’s face turned as dark as a pot bottom upon hearing the news of a ghost in the hall. When he arrived, he saw Sixth Lang from the third branch wildly shouting about a ghost, veins bulging on his forehead.

His eldest son and his illegitimate son both looked pale as death, with swollen red foreheads and vacant eyes, as if they had been terrified by something.

Family members who had come upon hearing the commotion whispered among themselves, wondering what had happened to make them all look so disheveled.

The ancestral hall, which should have been solemn, had turned into a noisy marketplace, and this was all happening in front of the coffin of a deceased family member.

It was utterly absurd.

“Nonsense!” Lang Zhengping roared furiously. “How dare you make such a racket in the ancestral hall!”

His shout, full of energy and anger, silenced the chaos immediately.

Lang Jiuchuan knelt by the coffin, grabbed the ceremonial incense basin, picked up some yellow paper on the ground, and tossed it inside.

The paper burst into flames without any fire source.

Lang family’s notorious troublemaker, Twelfth Lang, glanced over unintentionally, eyes bulging in shock. He rubbed his eyes hard—was the dim light playing tricks on him?

How could the paper catch fire without a flame?

Wait, what did Sixth Lang say just now? Ghost?

Could this be ghost fire?

With a startled cry, Lang Twelfth suddenly turned and dashed out of the hall like a stone thrown into a calm lake, disturbing the brief peace.

Lang Caize snapped back to his senses, terrified: “Uncle, there really is a ghost. He grabbed my face and even kissed me. Sniff… If you don’t believe me, ask my older brothers. We couldn’t even get out earlier.”

Lang Caimeng was named next and was pinched hard on the soft inner arm by his wife, causing him to hiss in pain but fully regain his composure.

“Ridiculous. If you’re tired, go rest. Third brother, take him away,” Lang Zhengping barked again, shooting a glare at Third Lang, Lang Zhengwen. Didn’t he hear the nonsense his son was spouting?

Lang Zhengwen’s face turned green. Children should not talk of ghosts or spirits. This dead kid saying a ghost kissed him—what was he, mad to want to be a groom?

Even if he wanted to, he had to hold it back. Only after the mourning was over could he think about marriage!

Lang Zhengwen ordered a servant to drag his son away, but Lang Caize struggled like he was possessed, shouting, “I’m not lying! My older brothers and Fourth brother all know. And that damned Ninth Sister!”

Ninth?

Everyone was momentarily stunned.

Who was that? Oh, right, the Ninth Miss who stirred up a big commotion just after returning home.

Catching the scent of burning paper, everyone looked over to see the unassuming girl dressed in mourning white, kneeling by the coffin, burning sheets of yellow paper one by one with closed eyes, appearing deeply absorbed—devout, perhaps?

Lang Jiuchuan was quietly absorbing the faint merits from the ritual. Noticing all eyes on her, she suddenly opened her eyes.

The flickering firelight illuminated her pale face, casting eerie shadows, reflecting in her unnervingly large, hollow-looking eyes. Everyone inwardly gasped.

She looked like a ghost herself!

Lady Cui, supporting the grandmother’s hand, frowned as she looked at Lang Jiuchuan.

Lang Zhengping felt a headache coming on. This niece was everywhere. She had been back less than a day, yet the hall had been disturbed twice. He wanted to scold her but saw Lady Cui and held back.

Lang Caicheng swallowed nervously and said, “The door really wouldn’t open earlier, as if it were locked.”

“How did it open now then?”

Lang Caicheng looked at Lang Jiuchuan but remained silent.

“Did Ninth Sister kick it open?” Lang Caimeng also glanced at Lang Jiuchuan.

Suddenly, Lang Caize’s brain lit up. He glared at Lang Jiuchuan: “Could it be you playing tricks? Pretending to be a spirit to scare us?”

The villain accuses first?

Lang Jiuchuan narrowed her eyes, almost driven to madness. She was about to reply when Lang Caimeng said, “Sixth brother, be careful what you say. When it happened, only the three brothers were here. Ninth Sister came later.”

“But as soon as she came, the door opened,” Lang Caize insisted, still suspecting her the most.

Lang Cailing seized the moment and whispered behind Lang Caize, “What’s she doing here at this hour?”

“To keep vigil and pay respects—isn’t that right?” Lang Jiuchuan grabbed a handful of joss paper, threw it into the fire basin, scattering ash and smoke that made several cough.

She stood up, staring at Lang Caize: “If I’d known you were so ungrateful, I’d have let that female ghost haunt you. If I hadn’t kicked, you’d already be dragged off to be a groom by the ghost. Actually, no—that groom has to be legitimate. You have no betrothal letter, no engagement; your status is improper. You can’t even be a groom, at best a concubine’s man.”

Everyone stared wide-eyed.

What strange, wolfish words were these? They couldn’t understand a word.

Lang Caize stomped, trembling as he pointed at her, “You, you, you…”

Not even a groom, but a concubine’s man—that was a grave insult!

How could her tongue be so venomous?

Lang Jiuchuan retorted, “Villains accusing first should consider their own immoral deeds. Being haunted by a ghost—didn’t you bring it on yourself?”

Lang Caize was speechless. What had he done?

Lang Jiuchuan walked over to a row of paper-crafted maidens and said, “Tell me, did you invite her or not?”

Everyone followed her gaze toward the lifelike paper maiden. For some reason, it sent chills down their spines, especially its eyes, as if staring directly at them—eerily unsettling.

“Who are you trying to scare at this hour?” Lang Cailing said, face pale.

Lang Caize was already frozen but tried to sound calm, “It’s just a paper offering. How could I have invited her?”

“Didn’t you praise her beauty? Then why would she kiss you?” Lang Jiuchuan sneered. “You flirted with a ghost first, cast the bait. She just played along.”

Lang Caimeng and Lang Caicheng were stunned. How did she know?

Naturally, the ghost haunting Lang Caize had fled before, fearing Lang Jiuchuan would bring bad luck, and spilled the truth herself. In life, she was a libertine; in death, a lascivious spirit.

A chill ran through Lang Caize’s body; he wanted to speak but felt as if something was choking his throat.

“Nonsense,” Lang Zhengping said, seeing his family silent as if frightened. Forgetting Lady Cui, he glared at Lang Jiuchuan: “I told you to care for your grandmother. Why are you here? Take Ninth Sister and Sixth Young Master away.”

Lang Jiuchuan said, “You brought me back to be a filial child. No one can stop me from honoring the old master.”

It was better to stay near the coffin to nourish the body, absorbing more merits before the burial.

She pointed again at the paper maiden. “Also, tonight’s events are no coincidence. If I were you, I’d investigate where this maiden came from. Paper figures can hold spirits; any wandering soul can enter.”

She glanced at the maiden’s feet and raised an eyebrow. No wonder there was more than one little ghost here—there was even a dark entity attracting them.

Everyone present felt their heads buzzing. What was she talking about? Why couldn’t they understand?

Though confused, they could clearly see her actions. Lady Cui’s face changed drastically as she scolded, “Damn brat! What do you think you’re doing? Stop right now!”

This madwoman was about to destroy the ritual offerings!