Chapter 12

Chapter 12: Satisfied Now?

Lan Le repeated the entire sequence of events, voice edged with righteous fury. He emphasized Bai Yang and An Ze’s aggression, their disregard, their willingness to injure a fellow disciple.

“Junior Sister Song’s long-term indulgence has made Bai Yang and An Ze arrogant,” Lan Le said, staring straight at the Sect Master. “They look down on everyone. They injure people at will. Sect Master, you must discipline them properly!”

He leaned forward, pressing the advantage. “If everyone acted like Junior Sister Song, wouldn’t the whole sect fall into chaos?”

Song Wan Ning had always protected her own. With her cultivation and her alchemy, she often received special treatment. Her disciples were praised and flattered wherever they went.

Lan Le had been sick of it for a long time.

The Sect Master pinched the bridge of his nose. Both of them were pillars of the sect. Favoring either side would invite resentment. Mediating between them was exhausting.

Every time these two met, it became an argument that left everyone bleeding.

He forced himself to speak evenly. “Junior Sister Song. What do you say about this?”

Everyone’s gaze turned to Song Wan Ning.

Bai Yang’s eyes were heavy, his expression flat. But deep down, a ridiculous tension coiled in him.

He’d never felt nervous around Song Wan Ning before.

In the past, he’d been absolutely sure she would protect them—she would argue with Martial Uncle Lan, then take them away without anyone daring to stop her.

But now… he wasn’t sure.

And worse—he realized, with a jolt of panic, that he wanted her to protect him anyway. He wanted to be first. He wanted her gaze to land on him the way it always had.

Song Wan Ning rose slowly.

Her eyes lifted and met Bai Yang’s.

For a heartbeat, the look was the same as always—soft, attentive, almost tender.

A quiet joy surged through Bai Yang’s chest.

He knew it. Master cared.

For her to endure these days must have been torment. She must have suffered enough.

Bai Yang’s brows eased. As long as Master was willing to bow her head, he could give her another chance. Everything unpleasant could be forgotten.

He lifted his chin, ready to meet her halfway—

Song Wan Ning raised her hand.

Then—

Smack.

The slap cracked through the hall, clean and vicious.

Silence dropped like a guillotine.

Song Wan Ning’s palm carried spiritual power. She used less than one percent of her strength, but Bai Yang was already injured—he couldn’t withstand it.

Several of his remaining teeth flew out. Half his face swelled rapidly as he was thrown sideways, hitting the ground hard enough to make the hall tremble.

Lan Le froze, eyes wide.

Wen Ming Yu stared as if he’d seen a ghost. He lifted a hand and rubbed his eyes hard, convinced his vision had to be wrong.

The Sect Master shut his eyes and sighed. It wasn’t even the first time he’d seen Song Wan Ning do something like this.

Song Wan Ning tilted her head toward Lan Le, lips curving. “Senior Brother Lan,” she asked lightly, “are you satisfied now?”

Before Lan Le could answer, she stepped forward again and slapped Bai Yang.

Smack.

Smack.

Smack.

Smack.

Four slaps in a row.

Bai Yang’s body jerked with each blow, thrown back and forth like a rag doll. Finally he crashed to the ground.

Thud.

The sound echoed.

So did something inside him.

He lay there, stunned beyond pain. The burning in his face felt distant, unreal. Confusion swallowed everything else.

Just because he stole one pill… Master became like this?

Why?

A panic he’d never known spread through him, fast and cold. For the first time, Bai Yang understood—truly understood—that he was no longer Song Wan Ning’s most cherished disciple.

The hall remained deathly quiet.

An Ze recovered first. His face flushed with rage as he surged forward. “Master—why are you helping outsiders? Eldest Senior Brother’s injuries haven’t healed. How could you hit him?”

Song Wan Ning didn’t explain.

She slapped him even harder than she had Bai Yang.

An Ze flew backward, his head cracking against the floor. Stars burst in his vision.

Song Wan Ning’s gaze was icy. “It’s all because you useless trash kept stirring trouble.”

She struck again.

An Ze’s old injuries hadn’t healed in the first place. After only two slaps, he coughed up blood and collapsed, unconscious.

Lan Le stared at Song Wan Ning like she’d lost her mind.

Song Wan Ning turned back to him with a sweet, almost innocent smile. “Senior Brother Lan,” she asked again, “are you satisfied now?”

Lan Le’s throat worked soundlessly. He’d wanted an explanation, he’d wanted discipline—but not this. Not destruction.

“If you’re still not satisfied,” Song Wan Ning continued, voice bright, “I can—”

“No need!” Lan Le blurted, standing so fast his chair scraped. Alarm flashed across his face. “No need!”

“Are you sure?” Song Wan Ning looked almost disappointed.

Then she shrugged, as if his opinion didn’t matter at all.

Why would an evil supporting character care whether it was reasonable?

If she wanted to do it, she did it.

Song Wan Ning lifted her hand and slapped again—right in front of everyone.

Even the unconscious An Ze took two more.

Bai Yang was slapped into the air again, his body twisting mid-flight before he hit the ground.

Even Lu Nan Feng, still stunned at the edge of the hall, wasn’t spared—one sharp slap that knocked him to the side and left his face ringing.

Lan Le’s fury snapped, laced with fear. “Madwoman!”

He glared at Song Wan Ning, then stormed out with a violent sweep of his sleeve.

Wen Ming Yu’s legs nearly gave out. His gaze toward Song Wan Ning turned terrified. He scrambled after his own master and fled.

The farce ended like that, leaving the Sect Master’s headache splitting.

“In a few days,” he began, voice strained, “it will be the Heavenly Prodigy Grand Competition, and you—you…”

At such a crucial time, Ye Chu Xue was injured. Bai Yang had been beaten into this state. The two most likely to take first place—

Song Wan Ning raised her brows. She flicked a lazy glance over the three disciples sprawled across the floor.

“Then tell me,” she said, “what should I do, Sect Master?”

Her tone was mild, but the edge beneath it was unmistakable.

“Bai Yang acted on his own. I was only disciplining my disciples. Sect Master thinks I did wrong?”

She smoothed her skirt as if she hadn’t just shattered the hall’s composure. “Before, I didn’t manage them and you had things to say. Now that I manage them, you still…”

She sighed, exaggerated and light. “It’s truly hard.”

Then she turned and walked out.

Her red skirt swayed gently as she left, bright as a drifting flame.

Bai Yang lay on the ground, staring after her.

He lifted a hand, helplessly, as if he could catch that sliver of color before it disappeared.

But the distance only grew.

His fingers trembled, then fell.

His chest felt suddenly hollow, painfully empty.

In his mind, Song Wan Ning’s voice surfaced, clear as if it were happening now:

“Bai Yang, from today on, you are my disciple.”

“Bai Yang, this is a top-grade pill I just refined. There’s not a trace of pill toxins. Try it. From now on, I’ll refine your pills separately for you.”