Chapter 47

Chapter 47: Strip Everything Off for Me!
“Your storage ring was a gift from me when you first joined.”

“That Heaven Silkworm Immortal Robe is a mid-grade defensive spirit artifact I gave you ten years ago.”

“Those Cloud-Chasing Boots are a top-grade flying artifact I gave you seven years ago.”

“The feather crown in your hair is a mid-grade defensive spirit artifact I gave you five years ago.”

Song Wan Ning’s voice stayed even, each item named like the ticking of a clock.

“From head to toe, every single piece came from me—not to mention all the pills you’ve consumed over the years.”

“You eat what I give you, use what I give you, and still turn your elbow outward.”

“If you’re so principled,” she said, eyes cold, “return it all. Right now.”

A murmur rippled through the surrounding disciples. Envy flashed across more than one face. For most of them, owning even one such treasure was a distant dream. An Ze had been draped in them for years—and still didn’t know how to cherish any of it.

At this moment, even those who’d once fawned over him couldn’t hide their contempt.

“You—”

An Ze hadn’t expected Song Wan Ning to settle accounts this way. Fury and panic twisted together inside him, and under the disciples’ stares he felt like his skin was being peeled.

“Fine! I’ll return it!” he roared, chin lifted as if volume could save his pride. “Like I care about this junk!”

He ripped the Heaven Silkworm Immortal Robe off with rough hands. In a few furious motions, he stripped away the treasures until only a plain white under-robe clung to his body. He dumped everything from his storage ring into a crude storage pouch, hair falling loose, and shoved on ordinary boots.

Then, as if to prove he wasn’t shaking inside, he threw the items down in front of Song Wan Ning—hard enough that metal clattered against stone.

Song Wan Ning didn’t even blink.

Her gaze slid past him to a four-legged beast working on the peak. With a casual lift of her hand, the pile rose and drifted through the air, landing neatly in front of it.

“These suit you pretty well,” she said lightly. “Consider them a gift.”

“Song Wan Ning!”

An Ze’s voice cracked. His rage snapped into something wild and ugly.

To give his things to a beast—to treat him like something lower than livestock—

He completely lost control.

The faint smile vanished from Song Wan Ning’s face.

Her palm swung.

The slap landed with a sharp crack.

An Ze’s head snapped to the side. Before he could even inhale, another slap followed—and another, and another—until his cheeks swelled, his lips split, and his face looked like it had been beaten into a grotesque mask.

Song Wan Ning controlled her strength with precision. She didn’t let him pass out. She made sure he stayed awake for every humiliating second.

“Disrespecting your elders,” she said, voice calm as ice. “As a sect elder, it’s only right I teach you properly.”

An Ze’s eyes turned bloodshot. Hatred boiled in him until it tasted like iron.

He wanted to kill her.

So what?

In the end, it was nothing but the fury of the powerless.

He swallowed the blood in his mouth and swore silently: today’s humiliation would be repaid tenfold. He would make Song Wan Ning regret it. He would make her disappear from this world.

From this moment on, there was no master-and-disciple affection left between them.

An Ze was flung into a corner like discarded trash. No one dared go help him up.

Song Wan Ning stood there smiling—yet she looked like a devil. No one dared provoke her.

Even Ye Chu Xue and Bai Yang stayed silent, wary of drawing her gaze.

The peak sank into a dead stillness.

The Sect Master clenched his teeth until his jaw ached. At last, he forced himself to speak again.

“Junior Sister Song, what you do is none of our business,” he said, voice strained. “But for the sake of being fellow disciples, Junior Brother Gu’s poison—”

He understood Song Wan Ning less and less.

Decades ago, Gu Qing Yuan and Song Wan Ning had gone out on a trial together. Both returned gravely injured. Song Wan Ning, despite her own illness, had thrown herself into the pill room to refine medicine for Gu Qing Yuan and repair his injuries.

But now…

She watched him poisoned and did nothing.

The deeper the love once was, the colder the indifference now.

Was she angry—or did she truly no longer love him?

“As it happens,” Song Wan Ning said, as if answering his thoughts, “I do have a detox pill.”

She slowly took out a pill, holding it between her fingers.

“This one is called the Hundred Poisons Pill. It can neutralize most known toxins.”

At the name, Ye Chu Xue went rigid.

Her fingers tightened into a fist so hard her knuckles went white.

“Then hurry and give it to Junior Brother Gu!” the Sect Master blurted, relief surging so strongly his shoulders sagged.

So she’d only been furious earlier. When real danger came, she still couldn’t bear to lose Gu Qing Yuan.

But Song Wan Ning tilted the pill in the light as if weighing it, a faint smile playing at her lips.

“There’s only one,” she said. “Should it go to that innocent disciple, or to Gu Qing Yuan?”

“Of course it should go to Junior Brother Gu!” the Sect Master answered without thinking.

A pillar of the sect versus an Outer Sect disciple—there was nothing to consider.

The moment the words left his mouth, the atmosphere shifted.

The disciples’ expressions went tight. Resentment flickered beneath their eyes like a hidden flame.

Gu Qing Yuan’s status was lofty, yes—but he had taken the pill as part of a bet. He had brought it on himself.

Wu Dan was innocent, dragged into it by Ye Chu Xue, still unconscious—yet tossed into a corner and ignored.

And now the Sect Master would abandon her to save Gu Qing Yuan.

They were all low-ranking disciples. How could that not chill them?

The Sect Master realized too late how it sounded. He coughed, trying to patch the damage.

“What I mean is, Junior Brother Gu’s condition looks more serious. Once you refine another pill, Junior Sister Song, give it to that disciple then.”

“The Hundred Poisons Pill requires extremely expensive materials,” Song Wan Ning said with a small sigh. “To refine another, I’d first have to gather them. That would take at least a month.”

Her gaze lifted, bright and unreadable. “That little disciple can’t last that long.”

“Then what are we supposed to do?” the Sect Master demanded, a cold dread spreading in his chest.

He understood instantly.

Song Wan Ning was doing this on purpose.

How dare she?

He turned sharply, grasping for another solution—and another chance to keep control.

“Lan Le,” he said, voice tight, “Junior Sister Song says she can’t refine another pill for now. Do you have any other way?”

In the past, Lan Le would’ve bitten at the chance to prove himself better than Song Wan Ning.

This time, he didn’t even pretend to consider it.

“If Junior Sister Song can’t do it,” he said coldly, “I’m even more helpless.”

Looking down on him, were they?

Then they could suffer on their own.

The Sect Master’s temple throbbed. He felt like he’d gone mad.

These alchemists wouldn’t even give the Sect Master face. He was so furious his vision swam.

Then Song Wan Ning spoke again, voice sweet and musical—like honey poured over poison.

“Ye Chu Xue,” she said, “this happened because of you.”

She lifted the pill slightly.

“You can decide who gets it.”