Song Wanníng pressed forward, her words slicing through the air, leaving Ye Chuxue visibly shaken.
"You're twisting logic!
The Yaowang Sect is a great sect with a lineage passed down through generations. The only reason its inheritance was interrupted was because of unforeseen calamity. Otherwise, no other sect would even have the chance to rise to the top!"
While rebutting Song Wanníng, she kept a careful eye on Mu Zixu's expression from the corner of her vision. When she saw his face darken like storm clouds, she knew she had won. There was no way Song Wanníng would be chosen to inherit the Yaowang legacy now.
"Oh, you're top-ranked when it comes to flattery. I just wonder if you have any other skills," Song Wanníng replied with a mocking laugh, not sparing Mu Zixu's scowling face a single glance.
She scoffed lightly. "If someone like you is the chosen successor of the Yaowang Sect, then the sect is doomed. It'll never rise again, not in this lifetime."
"Insolence!"
Before Ye Chuxue could react, Mu Zixu's fury erupted. With a wave of his hand, he struck at Song Wanníng.
"You dare curse the Yaowang Sect? You're courting death!"
His previous dislike had now turned into killing intent, fueled by her repeated provocations. The Yaowang Sect had risen through the tireless effort of countless generations. Every step of its fame had been earned with hardship and sacrifice.
Back then, a spatial storm had wiped out most of their disciples. It had already been a devastating blow. And now this girl dared to insult their fallen ancestors so openly? Unforgivable.
Spiritual energy condensed into a massive palm, radiating a chilling force as it rushed toward Song Wanníng. But she only raised an eyebrow. With a swift step, she vanished and reappeared behind Ye Chuxue, placing a cold sword against her snow-white neck.
The icy blade drew a sharp breath from Ye Chuxue, her body covered in goosebumps. Then she began coughing violently. She was already weak, and in this moment, Song Wanníng could crush her with a single finger.
The spiritual palm was still bearing down. The sheer pressure of it made Ye Chuxue's mind tremble and her pupils contract. No one expected Song Wanníng to feint and use Ye Chuxue as a hostage.
Mu Zixu was forced to withdraw his strike at once, and the recoil made his divine sense ripple. A wave of dizziness followed. This remnant of divine will had lasted hundreds of thousands of years. Its strength was far from what it once was.
"Let her go!" he barked, his face alternating between red and pale. In all his years of cultivation, he had never encountered a junior this brazen.
"Let her go?" Song Wanníng smiled lazily, the blade in her hand pressing slightly closer.
The cold steel broke the soft skin of Ye Chuxue's neck. A bead of crimson bloomed against her pale flesh, its strange beauty both cruel and vivid.
"Cough, cough...!"
Ye Chuxue was wracked with coughs, her fear now fully awakened. She had thought Song Wanníng was just a fool, but now she saw clearly—this was a madwoman. Someone who would destroy what she couldn't have. The most terrifying kind.
Then Song Wanníng leaned in close, her breath brushing against Ye Chuxue's ear. The warmth made her body tense, a chill rushing up from the soles of her feet.
"You'd better hold back those coughs," Song Wanníng whispered. "If I slip and your throat gets cut... I won't be taking responsibility."
Soft laughter followed. Low, unhurried, and laced with menace.
The sound made Ye Chuxue's scalp prickle. She glanced at Mu Zixu with desperate eyes, silently pleading for rescue. She couldn't even gather spiritual energy at the moment. Facing a Nascent Soul cultivator was beyond impossible.
Mu Zixu's face darkened further.
"You think killing her will earn you the Yaowang Sect's inheritance?" he asked coldly. "Ridiculous."
He stared at Song Wanníng with disdain. "If I do not give my approval, even if you kill everyone in this hall, you will never get a single drop of what belongs to my Yaowang Sect."
His oppressive aura surged, pressing down with the weight of a superior cultivator.
"I'm warning you. Release her now, or you won't make it out of this hall alive."
A dignified immortal, now trembling with rage, completely losing his composure because of one junior. Wang Yang's frown deepened. His eyes were filled with helplessness.
"Mu Zixu, is he regressing with age? Why is he so hung up on this junior?"
He shook his head. "If he dislikes her, he should just throw her out."
It was obvious Mu Zixu was deliberately targeting the girl.
All these words were just an excuse to vent his anger.
On the other side, Immortal Lord Moyang remained expressionless, as unmoving as a statue carved from ice. If not for the faint tremor in the hand resting on his sword, Wang Yang might have believed there was no one beside him at all.
"Inheritance from the Yaowang Sect?"
A flicker of irritation crossed Song Wanníng's face, the smile fading from her lips.
"You really think I came here for your so-called inheritance?"
"Didn't you?" Mu Zixu sneered. "You plotted everything, even hid something in her—"
Before he could finish, Song Wanníng moved suddenly. She struck Ye Chuxue, knocking her unconscious to the ground.
Ye Chuxue still had her uses. If she found out who Song Wanníng really was, it could affect future opportunities. So Song Wanníng simply sealed her five senses and tossed her aside without care.
With a heavy thud, Ye Chuxue hit the ground and lay still.
Song Wanníng wiped her hands in disgust, then tilted her head toward Mu Zixu in that same mocking posture as before.
"You—!"
Mu Zixu was both stunned and furious.
"What? Are you still clinging to the fantasy that your inheritance is some priceless treasure?" she said with a faint smile.
"In my eyes, it's nothing but a pile of trash. Completely worthless."
She laughed softly and let her gaze drift over the rows of spirit tablets.
"Yaowang Sect, doomed... completely doomed."
Then she laughed again. A wild, scornful sound.
As for the inheritance? She didn't want it.
Since they refused to give it willingly, she would destroy it herself.
No one would climb over her to ascend ever again.
"You brat! You insolent brat!"
Mu Zixu was so enraged that his beard trembled. His palm struck out once more toward Song Wanníng.
Murderous intent filled the air. The spiritual palm transformed into a golden lotus of flame, its blazing petals scorching the air, reaching straight for her dantian.
Song Wanníng's eyes sharpened. With a wave of her hand, her natal sword flew into her grasp. She stepped across the ground in the pattern of the Seven Stars, her body ghostlike and swift. Instead of retreating, she advanced, sword raised high.
Sword intent surged. The pressure warped the air into a shrill, piercing hum.
She struck the fire lotus head-on.
With a deafening blast, flames exploded, lighting the hall as bright as day.
The shockwave twisted the space around them.
Ye Chuxue, unconscious at the side, was caught in the blast and thrown across the floor.
Mu Zixu's eyes widened. He quickly reached out with spiritual energy, grabbing her from a distance and placing her behind him to keep her safe. It had taken long enough for the Yaowang Sect to find a successor. He couldn't let her be harmed.
But Song Wanníng had already drawn her sword again. With a twist of her body, she launched another strike. Killing intent filled the inheritance hall. Her natal sword began to hum in resonance.
Just like its master.
Wild. Ecstatic.
"Enough!" Mu Zixu growled and raised his palm once more, sending out a burst of power.
He wanted Song Wanníng dead.
And this time, she would not leave alive.