Song Wanníng's eyes darkened. She stared at Song Qingyun, her voice calm but cold.
"The beasts are behaving strangely. And our stationing here... it doesn't feel right."
"Everything about this feels wrong."
The tent quieted. Even the faint flutter of war flags outside seemed distant, swallowed by the weight of what was being said.
From the beginning, she had suspected the fall of the Song family was no accident. She had believed someone had tampered with their deployment—after all, the family had no say in where they were stationed. That made it the easiest place for outside manipulation.
But after thinking deeper, she realized it might not just be the deployment that was suspicious.
"You're thinking there's a spy too?"
Song Qingyun frowned, letting out a long sigh.
Song Wanníng stayed silent for a moment, then gave a slow nod. So her father had already reached the same conclusion.
Song Qingyun rubbed his brow, sighing heavily. "At first, I assumed someone intentionally placed us in this position. They gave us a false sense of safety. Let our disciples grow comfortable, relax their vigilance. Then, when the beast tide hit, it was too late."
He looked down at the map again, as though seeing it for the first time.
"But something about that plan never felt... complete. Too simple. I didn't want to believe anything worse." He paused.
"All the cultivators I brought here are direct descendants. Blood of the main and branch lines. How could I—" He cut himself off.
It was the kind of denial only a Patriarch could afford for a time. The kind of belief that came from love, loyalty, and too many years of trust. But as the head of the Song Clan, he knew. Sentiment was dangerous. He had already ordered a quiet investigation, assigning a few of his most trusted disciples to watch the others. Just in case.
Song Wanníng lowered her gaze, voice barely above a whisper.
"In my previous life, when I returned to the camp… I didn't have time to study anything. I was too… overwhelmed. The bodies, the carnage. It was all too fast."
Her jaw clenched.
"But now that I've thought back to it—really examined it in memory—something feels wrong."
She looked up. Her voice dropped even lower.
"Their bodies didn't look like they'd been killed by beasts."
Song Qingyun's head snapped toward her, stunned.
"What?"
"They weren't torn apart. Not all of them. Some had blade wounds. Some had clean punctures to the heart. No signs of struggle. And the claw marks…"
She drew a breath.
"They looked like they came after. As if they had already been dead when the beasts arrived."
"You're saying... they were killed before the beast tide even reached the camp?"
The horror in Song Qingyun's voice was unmistakable.
"I can't say for sure. But that's the overwhelming sense I got."
Song Wanníng's brows furrowed even tighter. "But if that's true… it almost feels like overkill."
Whoever orchestrated this would've had no trouble letting the beasts do the work. Killing the disciples ahead of time and then staging the scene? It felt excessive.
Why go through all that trouble?
Unless...
No. Not yet.
The theory forming in her mind was too dark, too dangerous to voice without proof. And so, for now, she kept it locked behind her teeth.
Across from her, Song Qingyun stood still, arms crossed, lips drawn into a hard line. His face had aged in the span of minutes. They exchanged no further words for a while.
Then, without prompting, both turned to the sand table once more. They began shifting markers across the terrain, recalculating defense formations, identifying weaknesses in the surrounding camps. Their fingers moved quickly, but their minds were already in a darker place.
Whatever had happened before, they would not let it happen again. They would stay ahead of the next strike. Whoever was behind this, whether beast or man, would not catch the Song Clan unaware.
Not this time.
…
"Hey, Song Yuanlang! I heard the beasts might attack again tonight. How about a little wager—see who can kill more?"
Song Yu'er grinned, giving him a slap on the shoulder.
Song Yuanlang brushed her hand off without much expression, then nodded.
"If I win, you've got to call me 'Big Sister'!" she added cheerfully, clearly in high spirits.
They had heard that this section of the border was relatively quiet. Several stationed units had already reaped decent spoils. She hoped to earn a few more spirit stones and bring them back to give her parents a better life.
But Song Yuanlang wasn't so optimistic. His eyes stayed fixed on the distant mountains, heavy with thought.
Suddenly, he asked, "Is it true the Eldest Miss has returned?"
The Song family's noble-born sons and daughters were ranked by number, but those from the main branch simply referred to each other by name. When anyone mentioned the 'Eldest Miss,' everyone knew who they meant.
"Mhm, I saw her just now!" Song Yu'er's eyes sparkled. "She's amazing. I heard she's already reached peak Nascent Soul!"
Her expression was full of admiration. She hoped she could one day enter the Song family's hall of fame too.
Song Yuanlang's gaze shifted slightly. "Do you know why she's here?"
"No idea. Maybe because the Wentiān Sect's camp is nearby? Could be she just dropped by to check on things."
She tilted her head. "But that's strange. Since when do you care about the Eldest Miss?"
"No reason."
Song Yuanlang turned and walked away.
Song Yu'er stared after him, confused. She shrugged and headed off too. The beast tide wouldn't wait—she had to be ready.
…
After a long, quietly intense discussion with her father, Song Wanníng stepped out of the command tent with her head held high and her sleeves fluttering behind her.
The midday sun had climbed higher, casting clean shadows on the camp below. The war banners swayed gently in the breeze, but beneath their calm flutter was an undercurrent of tension that only a few could sense.
She walked with practiced ease, neither hurried nor too slow, her posture relaxed but upright, just enough to give the illusion that nothing serious had occurred.
Disciples she passed stopped what they were doing, bowing respectfully as she moved past them.
"Eldest Miss."
"Young Lady Wanníng."
Her name carried weight here. Reverence. The younger disciples watched her as one might watch a star drift past—distant, beautiful, untouchable.
She returned their greetings with faint nods and calm eyes, never pausing. If anyone wondered why she had come to the command tent, they quickly dismissed the thought. To them, it was natural—just a filial daughter checking on her father. Who would dare suspect anything more?
But the moment she stepped beyond the camp perimeter, she felt it.
Someone was following her.
Her eyes narrowed. About a kilometer out, she came to a halt, arms crossed as she turned around.
She continued walking for another hundred meters, slow and measured. Then, abruptly, she stopped.
Turning around, she looked directly into the trees.
"Come out."
The leaves rustled, and a young man stepped forward without hesitation.
He was tall, modestly dressed in Song Clan robes, and still bore the fresh look of youth—sharp chin, high brows, but not particularly striking. His expression was tight with unease.
He clasped his hands and bowed deeply.
"Eldest Miss. I am Song Yuanlang, 172nd generation disciple of the Song family."
Song Wanníng raised a single brow.
The name meant nothing to her.
Not one of the elites. Not among the promising talents or inner circle she remembered. If anything, he seemed unremarkable—exactly the sort who would be easily ignored in clan affairs.
That alone made her more alert.
"What do you want?" she asked coolly.
Her gaze swept over him from head to toe, eyes like polished glass. Not overtly hostile, but watchful. Calculating.
Song Yuanlang swallowed, glancing around as though checking for invisible listeners. His voice dropped to a whisper.
"A few days ago... I encountered something strange. But I didn't know who I could trust with it."
His tone was nervous, but not frantic. There was hesitation in his movements, as though he were still weighing whether he had done the right thing in approaching her.
Song Wanníng's expression turned serious. Her fingers twitched once beneath her sleeve, and her eyes flicked briefly behind him, checking for any second presence in the trees.
None.
Still, she didn't let him speak any further in the open.
She raised a hand.
"Not here," she said softly.
Then, with a swift motion, she reached forward, seized the sleeve of his robe, and stepped sideways.
Their forms shimmered once before vanishing into the dense tree line, swallowed by shadows.
…
"Junior Sister Ye's pills are amazing. I only took one, and the lung injury I got from that beast kick healed right up!"
"I know, right? I heard she refined more than seventy Rejuvenation Pills and over twenty Spirit Recovery Pills this afternoon alone—and they're all mid-grade!"
"Seriously? She's that good?"
"Don't you remember? She was already considered a pill refining prodigy before. Maybe that whole poison incident really was someone framing her…"
"Shh, don't say that out loud! It was her fault for messing up the refining process. Don't go throwing blame."
"Relax. I'm just saying, it's suspicious. I never said who did it."
"I heard Master Song went out earlier. Probably to the Song family's camp."
"Do you think she's refining pills for us too?"
"Who knows?!"
The disciples were murmuring among themselves, the topic circling around one thing—pills. After facing the battlefield today, they had finally witnessed how insane the beasts had become. They charged like mad dogs, without hesitation or sanity. Even Golden Core cultivators had sustained injuries, let alone the low-ranked disciples.
Healing pills had become their only lifeline.
The ones handed out earlier were mostly from the sect's stores, brought in before the battle began. But the newly refined pills? Those came from Junior Sister Ye.
Which led to the current mood.
The Nascent Soul cultivators were out fighting on the frontlines, risking their lives. Song Wanníng had taken on the task of alchemy—but had vanished from the camp.
So, of course, people were starting to talk.
Song Wanníng returned to the camp and instantly felt the shift in the air.
The way people looked at her had changed.
And she immediately understood why.