No guards, no wards. Only stillness thick enough to choke on.
Song Wanníng stepped into the empty chamber. Her breath caught.
In the center stood a single pill furnace, grand and ancient.
It was four-legged, crafted of black jade with dragon patterns so intricate they seemed to twist and shift beneath the light. From each of the four corners, threads of radiant light stretched upward, weaving a net of suspended energy around a single floating orb.
The orb appeared clear and translucent, but within its depths swirled a faint trace of black mist.
Song Wanníng frowned. That bead did not look like something good. In fact, the aura it gave off was deeply familiar to her.
Demonic energy?
Her chest tightened. Her expression shifted abruptly, spiritual energy flaring uncontrollably from her body. Even the whites of her eyes were tinged with red.
Memories buried deep in her soul surged up violently, breaking free from suppression. The madness of her past life returned in a torrent, pressing against her consciousness like a tidal wave.
Her soul trembled. Blood surged to her head.
Pft—!
Song Wanníng suddenly spat out a mouthful of black blood. She staggered back, slumping against the cold stone wall.
Her slender fingers scraped down the rough surface, leaving behind jagged streaks that slowly soaked through with blood.
Even as her skin split, she didn't seem to feel it. All her strength was spent holding back the rising malice within her.
In her past life, it was these people who had driven her to madness, who forced her into the demonic path, turning her into something neither human nor demon, hunted by all.
She fled, but they spread rumors that the Song Clan had colluded with the demon race. Tens of thousands answered the call to arms, laying siege to her family.
She knew it was a trap, but she had no choice but to walk right into it.
They accused her of being bloodthirsty. Accused her of tormenting Ye Chuxue. Accused her of forcing Gu Qingyuan into a marriage...
She couldn't refute any of it. And she didn't want to.
She had never claimed to be good. She never hid her hatred.
She wanted Ye Chuxue dead.
She lost, and she accepted that. Her skills had simply not been enough.
But those people didn't stop. They humiliated and butchered the Song Clan. Her parents, the elders, the juniors... even innocent children were slaughtered.
She finally broke.
She begged Gu Qingyuan to make them stop.
He did nothing.
She turned to Bai Yang, the disciple she loved most. The child she raised with her own hands, like her own flesh and blood...
But in her moment of hope, he drove a sword through her chest.
She still remembered the coldness in his eyes.
"From the moment you harmed Chuxue, you were no longer my Master."
Little An Ze had clapped gleefully beside him, calling her a "monster."
Even the softest one, Lu Nanfeng, who always lacked conviction, had only clutched at his sleeves in a tangle of guilt.
"Master... Junior Sister Chuxue is really kind. You shouldn't have hurt her..."
Then the sword plunged deeper into her body.
That was the moment she drowned completely in hate and madness.
Pft—!
Another mouthful of blood splattered to the floor.
The demonic energy sealed within her soul erupted once more, engulfing her from within, clawing to take over.
She had been given a second chance at life. Yet even now, the Heavenly Dao insisted on dragging her into the demonic path.
Why?
Why should she bow to the will of heaven?
Why was she always the one condemned, while Ye Chuxue remained the snow-white figure atop the mountain?
Her eyes widened. She bit down hard on her lower lip until blood streamed freely, but she did not loosen her grip on her thoughts.
Her life—Song Wanníng's life—would be hers to decide.
With a sharp glint in her eyes, she reached out. The bead suspended above the furnace flew straight into her palm.
Dense, swirling demonic energy burst forth, surging into her through the bead in frenzied waves. She didn't retreat. Instead, she stepped forward, eyes flashing with unhinged resolve. Then she opened her mouth and swallowed the bead whole. It burst with light the moment it entered her, racing straight to her dantian. Dark energy erupted, engulfing her completely.
In the Immortal Realm, at Wujizong.
Mu Xuzi was playing a game of Go with his friend Wang Yang when he suddenly paused mid-move.
"Someone's entered the inheritance hall of my Yaowang Sect."
With a wave of his sleeve, a mirror of water shimmered into the air, casting the images of two figures—Song Wanníng and Ye Chuxue.
"Back then, when we discovered a path to the Spirit Realm, Yaowang Sect relocated overnight. Only the halls were left behind in the Lower Realm. It's been hundreds of thousands of years... and finally, someone has arrived."
Mu Xuzi's gaze lit up faintly. Stroking his beard, he looked on with evident relief.
"In the ancient era, the Yaoxu Realm was split apart by war. What was once a complete Greater Realm fractured, giving birth to the Spirit Realm with its abundant energy."
"I heard Yaowang Sect moved their entire sect there," Wang Yang said, placing a piece on the board with a light chuckle. "Didn't expect you'd still find a successor in the Lower Realm after all these years. Interesting."
When the sect had moved, a spatial storm struck, killing more than half the disciples. The cost was immense.
Mu Xuzi often spoke of it with regret.
Even after becoming an immortal, his heart still bore the guilt of that decision.
Now, those memories flickered again across his mind. He let out a soft sigh.
"If fate allows us to find a successor in the Lower Realm, then Yaowang Sect was never meant to vanish from this world."
He placed his Go piece down and studied the two figures in the mirror more closely.
The relocation had severed their inheritance and brought countless deaths. It had haunted him ever since.
Now that the chance had come, he was determined to choose the most worthy heir and restore Yaowang Sect's glory.
But then...
"Why does that one seem... possessed?"
Wang Yang frowned, his expression turning grim.
One plagued by inner demons would never walk the path of immortality.
Mu Xuzi's brows furrowed as well, displeasure flickering in his gaze.
"How did someone like that make it into the inheritance hall? If she can't even control her own demons, she dares covet the legacy of Yaowang Sect?"
"Utter delusion."
His tone brimmed with disdain. Then his eyes turned to the other figure—Ye Chuxue.
Before her stood a long table, covered with various spiritual herbs. Nearby, a detailed pill formula described how to prepare each one.
Some needed to be peeled, others preserved whole. Root systems, stems, and leaves each had specific requirements.
Even the boiling times were exact. And some herbs, though naturally repelling one another, still had to be forced into a single harmonious blend. That demanded incredible control from the alchemist.
And this was just the preparation phase. The true process of pill refining was even more demanding.
Which was why alchemists were so rare, and so highly respected.
Ye Chuxue was fully focused as she studied the herbs, coughing now and then, but never losing her composure.
Mu Xuzi stroked his beard, visibly pleased.
"Not bad. She suffers from a severe illness, yet still devotes herself to the path of alchemy. She even seems naturally gifted. If she became the heir of Yaowang Sect, it wouldn't be a bad choice."
For reasons he couldn't explain, just looking at her stirred a sense of closeness.
As for the one cloaked in demonic aura—he had disliked her from the very first glance.
Whether she was possessed or tainted by bloodshed, such a person was not fit to bear the weight of a sect's legacy.