Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Cut Off the Pills

“Bai Yang stole pills, offended his elders, and he still wants to take pills from me?”

Song Wan Ning lifted her hand and flicked her fingers as if brushing away dust.

In the next instant, Lu Nan Feng was sent flying. He slammed into the entrance of the hall, breath knocked from his lungs, ears ringing.

Before he could even push himself up, Song Wan Ning’s cold voice cut through the air and struck the courtyard like a blade.

“From now on, I won’t give you a single pill.”

The three outside stiffened.

“If anyone dares to enter the Pill Repository Pavilion without permission again,” Song Wan Ning continued, each word thin and sharp, “don’t blame me for being ruthless and expelling you from my tutelage.”

A heavy bang echoed as the palace doors slammed shut.

The sound landed in their chests, dull and suffocating.

“Master…” Lu Nan Feng stood there, stunned, staring at the closed doors as if the wood could explain itself.

He was shocked—and more than that, wronged.

He hadn’t stolen anything. He hadn’t defied her. Why was she punishing him, too?

Behind him, An Ze’s expression twisted. Bai Yang’s face went blank for half a breath, then darkened into something frighteningly quiet.

“It’s just a few lousy pills!” An Ze exploded, rage spilling out unchecked. “If she won’t give them, fine!”

Song Wan Ning kept humiliating them again and again—wasn’t she just trying to make them regret it?

Well, he refused.

“Eldest Senior Brother,” An Ze snapped, turning toward Bai Yang, “we’ll buy pills ourselves! Without her, are we supposed to be unable to get even a single pill?”

He grabbed Bai Yang’s arm and hauled him forward. “Let’s go!”

Bai Yang didn’t speak. He didn’t even look back.

But the gloom rolling off him made the air feel colder.

He glanced once toward the closed doors, and his eyes narrowed, hard as tempered steel.

Song Wan Ning would regret this.

She definitely would.

…

“Yo,” a mocking voice drawled, bright with amusement. “Isn’t this Bai Yang, our sect’s heavenly prodigy?”

Wen Ming Yu came out from an alchemy room, a pill bottle dangling in his hand. His gaze flicked over Bai Yang’s injuries, and his mouth curled in open glee.

“So why has our genius come all the way to Void-Refining Peak today?”

“Wen Ming Yu, watch your mouth!” An Ze flared instantly, temper sparking like tinder. “We’re here to buy pills. Hurry up and let us in to see Martial Uncle Lan!”

As he spoke, he tried to stride straight inside, acting as though he owned the place.

Earlier, they’d gone down the mountain and combed the market. The shops only sold low-grade pills. The best of them were merely mid-grade.

Mid-grade pills carried heavy pill toxins. Low-grade pills were worse—barely fit for consumption. They’d been disgusted.

If it weren’t for that, they would never have come here.

After all, Martial Uncle Lan had never gotten along with Song Wan Ning, and their relationship with Wen Ming Yu was even worse. Coming to Void-Refining Peak meant walking into hostility.

“Oh?” Wen Ming Yu lifted his brows, then laughed, dragging the sound out. “Weren’t your pills always taken care of by Martial Uncle Song? What, she cut you off?”

He tapped the bottle against his palm like a toy. “Ah—right. I almost forgot.”

His expression sharpened, disgust plain. “Someone ate inside and turned on his own people. Stole pills. Almost got someone killed.”

Wen Ming Yu’s eyes slid to Bai Yang, cold and contemptuous. “If I were Martial Uncle Song, I wouldn’t give that ungrateful white-eyed wolf a single pill, either.”

“Wen Ming Yu!” An Ze lunged, fury detonating. “You don’t know a damn thing. Say one more word and see what happens!”

He reached for him like he meant to tear him apart.

Wen Ming Yu snorted. “Like I’m afraid of you?”

Spiritual power flared. In an instant, the two of them were fighting—palms and fists, flashes of light, the crack of force colliding.

“Third Junior Brother! Stop!” Lu Nan Feng’s face turned pale. He rushed forward, grabbing at An Ze, trying to drag him back. “Don’t fight!”

He turned, desperate, and caught Bai Yang’s sleeve. “Eldest Senior Brother—tell him to stop!”

If this escalated, it would become a disaster.

Bai Yang’s brows sank. He moved—fast. In two steps he reached them and seized An Ze.

Lu Nan Feng sucked in a shaky breath.

Thank heavens. Eldest Senior Brother was still rational—

But the next moment, Bai Yang shoved An Ze aside and stepped forward himself.

“Bullying someone weaker than you,” Bai Yang said, voice low and cutting, “what kind of hero does that make you?”

His sword flashed from its sheath.

He attacked Wen Ming Yu without restraint. Killing intent surged with every strike, sharp enough to raise gooseflesh.

These past days, Bai Yang had swallowed anger until it turned poisonous. He couldn’t vent it at Song Wan Ning.

But Wen Ming Yu?

He could.

Wen Ming Yu’s face went cold. He drew his own weapon and met Bai Yang head-on.

The sudden turn made Lu Nan Feng’s blood run cold.

What’s wrong with Eldest Senior Brother?

Bai Yang had always been calm. When he clashed with Wen Ming Yu before, it was words at most—and sometimes Bai Yang didn’t even bother responding, as if Wen Ming Yu wasn’t worth acknowledging.

Now he looked like he wanted blood.

“Pah!” An Ze shouted from the side, eyes blazing. “That trash deserves a beating!”

“Shut up!” Lu Nan Feng snapped, anger boiling. He paced, frantic, trying to find an opening.

An Ze cultivated a fire-based technique that made him hot-tempered and easily provoked. He caused trouble constantly, and every time, it was Bai Yang who cleaned up after him.

Before, Master had always protected them.

Now that Master was acting like this, Lu Nan Feng had no idea what would happen if the sect elders got involved.

The clash grew more violent, spiritual power cracking the air until it felt like the sky itself was darkening. Passing disciples gathered, craning their necks, whispering in excitement.

In the end, Martial Uncle Lan came out and stopped them.

Lan Le’s face was livid. He dragged the matter straight to the Sect Master’s hall and accused Song Wan Ning of indulging her disciples until they committed violence.

The Sect Master sat at the high seat, staring down at the two battered figures. His headache split like lightning behind his eyes.

Especially Bai Yang.

Not long ago, there’d been the scandal of pill theft. Now Bai Yang had taken the initiative to attack a fellow disciple.

The Sect Master had someone summon Song Wan Ning.

When Song Wan Ning arrived, Bai Yang stood to one side, gaze cold and proud. Even injured, he carried himself like a drawn blade—aggressive, pressing, impossible to ignore.

Song Wan Ning walked in, calm as still water.

Today she wore a red dress, vivid as a peony in bloom. She lit up the hall with color alone.

Bai Yang’s eyes flickered when he saw her. He turned his head away.

An Ze, bristling with the same hostility, didn’t look at her either.

Song Wan Ning’s lips curved, faint and unreadable.

She walked past the disciples and sat in a chair off to the side as if she were here to watch a play.

Opposite her sat Lan Le—another alchemy master of the Heaven-Questioning Sect, and someone who had never gotten along with her.

Song Wan Ning’s talent in alchemy had been too dazzling. She’d practically advanced by stepping over Lan Le’s pride, and his envy had festered for years.

He’d buried himself in the alchemy room day after day, obsessed with surpassing her.

Now that they faced each other, the air sharpened—open and hidden barbs waiting like needles.