Mu Zixu's eyes widened in terror, only to realize he could no longer move.
This... what was this?
Spatial binding?
What was Immortal King Moyang planning to do?
Beside him, Wang Yang's pupils contracted sharply. Instinctively, he wanted to help his friend, but no matter how hard he struggled, only his eyeballs managed the slightest twitch.
Fear and dread surged in both of their hearts. Yet they were powerless to stop what was unfolding. They could only watch, helpless, as that palm descended and landed on Mu Zixu's head.
Immortal King Moyang's expression remained calm and detached. A strange sigil shimmered beneath his palm, glowing from its center and diving into Mu Zixu's spiritual sea.
There, he began constructing a bridge, reconnecting to the inheritance hall once more.
Mu Zixu, now nothing more than a puppet, stared blankly into space, lifeless and rigid like a marionette.
In the inheritance hall, Song Wanníng ground the last of the spirit tablets to dust, then incinerated the remains with alchemical fire.
From this moment on, not a single spirit tablet remained in the hall. Only bare stone was left, along with the unconscious form of Ye Chuxue on the ground.
The earlier explosion hadn't spared her. Blood streaked her face and limbs, and her robes were torn and ragged, making her look all the more pitiful.
Song Wanníng stepped toward her slowly. A cold gleam flickered in her eyes. She had originally intended to keep Ye Chuxue alive as a tool for treasure-seeking, but this series of events had changed her mind.
No matter how well she performed, these inherited treasures still gravitated toward Ye Chuxue.
If she couldn't reap the benefits, she might as well kill her.
Clean and simple. At least she wouldn't be in the way anymore.
She lowered her gaze to Ye Chuxue.
In her past life, Ye Chuxue had often taken the moral high ground, criticizing her for being spoiled and cruel, for treating human life like dirt.
She had even turned Gu Qingyuan against her, claiming that Song Wanníng was unworthy of him, that her hands were soaked in blood.
Worse yet, she paraded around preaching her laughable ideals of "equality for all," gaining admiration from hordes of low-level cultivators.
A sneer curled on Song Wanníng's lips.
In the cultivation world, strength was everything. Morality and secular dogma meant nothing in the face of absolute power.
She had cultivated without pause, walked through death countless times, and finally reached the Nascent Soul realm. Why should she pretend to be equal with anyone?
Those people should stop whining and either strive to catch up or simply lie down and accept their fate. And if Ye Chuxue was so selfless, why didn't she share the treasures she acquired?
All her slogans and posturing were nothing but empty noise.
Laughable.
Yet somehow the sect adored her for it, elevating her to divine status.
Meanwhile, Song Wanníng had merely spoken a few harsh truths, and that was enough to label her a monster. Ironic, wasn't it?
But now, it was time to settle things once and for all.
She would kill Ye Chuxue, then go deal with Gu Qingyuan and his three disciples.
None of those who betrayed the Song family in her past life would escape.
She raised her hand, and her sword followed.
The blade split into two streams of light, aimed straight at Ye Chuxue's neck and heart.
She didn't plan to leave even a sliver of life behind.
But in the next instant, a sword light flashed, snuffing out her killing strike before it even landed.
Not a ripple stirred.
Song Wanníng's expression sharpened, and she immediately retreated.
Then she saw it—a blurred silhouette cloaked in black.
She couldn't make out the details, but his aura surged like a tide. He stood tall and straight as a pine, radiating oppressive force.
From the way his sword vibrated at his waist, he was clearly a sword cultivator.
Song Wanníng's face darkened, killing intent roiling around her.
"Of course. Of course someone came to save Ye Chuxue at the last moment. Heaven really favored her, didn't it?"
But so what? If gods stood in her way, she would slay them. If buddhas blocked her path, she would cut them down. She thrust her sword forward and charged at the figure.
Her killing intent surged like a primordial beast. Immortal King Moyang's lips curled slightly, then with a mere flick of his hand, he suppressed her completely.
A flash of light.
Suddenly, Song Wanníng found herself in a strange place.
Empty. Desolate. The wind howled through swirling sand and shifting gravel.
Ahead, a figure descended from the sky like a god.
With a single swing of his sword, the heavens shattered.
The killing force within that strike seemed strong enough to destroy the entire world.
Yellow sand flew. Stones broke apart.
The sky cracked open. Stars burst like embers.
Space twisted violently. Shadows of beings from other worlds flickered at the edge of broken rifts.
Song Wanníng became a grain of sand within the storm, tossed and turned by the force.
Drifting, rootless, with no end in sight.
For a moment, she forgot where she had come from—or where she was meant to go.
All that remained in her heart was the memory of that earth-shattering sword.
...
When she opened her eyes again, the scene around her was familiar, but it felt like an entire lifetime had passed.
She didn't know how long she had wandered, what she had experienced. Only that she felt incredibly small—just a speck in a vast ocean.
In the depths of her spiritual sea, a nameless book floated in silence, shimmering with killing intent.
Song Wanníng gathered her thoughts and finally understood.
The figure she had seen had passed on an inheritance to her.
Shock. Suspicion. Uncertainty.
She still didn't let down her guard.
Who knew what his real intentions were?
Immortal King Moyang raised an eyebrow as he looked at the girl before him. Finally, he understood why the sword spirit had said she was his kind.
That beautiful face held an aura of violence and ruthlessness completely at odds with her appearance.
Toward enemies, she was decisive.
Toward elders, defiant.
Toward herself, merciless.
The Path of Ruthless Slaughter suited her perfectly.
Yet Moyang didn't find her disrespect unsettling. On the contrary, there was admiration in his eyes.
The two of them stared at each other, the air between them strange yet oddly harmonious.
At last, Song Wanníng broke the silence. "You with that Yaowang Sect rat?"
Was he here to avenge Mu Zixu?
Or to protect Ye Chuxue?
Moyang's voice was cold and flat. "We're from the same sect, nothing more. I barely know him."
"Not close? So you came for her?" Song Wanníng narrowed her eyes, pointing at Ye Chuxue still lying on the ground. Her mind had already begun calculating her odds of winning in a full-force battle.
Moyang didn't even glance at Ye Chuxue. "No."
"No? Then why are you here?" Song Wanníng's lips curled faintly. She didn't believe him for a second. Heaven always had its favorites. She had learned to doubt everyone, especially strangers.
Moyang looked deep into her eyes. "For you."
"For me?" Song Wanníng laughed. She was someone the heavens had already discarded. And yet someone claimed they had come for her?
"You don't need to doubt me. I come from the immortal realm. The laws of this realm's Heavenly Dao do not bind me."
Immortal King Moyang began to explain, word by word. He had no intention of letting a disciple like her slip away.
Especially one so naturally suspicious.
When he finished, his gaze sharpened.
"I walk the Path of Ruthless Slaughter. What you saw in your spiritual sea was my personal legacy. Now, are you willing to become my disciple and walk the Ruthless Slaughter Path?"
The Path of Ruthless Slaughter?
Song Wanníng smiled.
"I refuse."