Villain: Manipulating the Heroines into hating the Protagonist

The swirling vortex crackled with energies Wang Jian had never conceived of. Laws twisted and writhed in ways that defied the logic of the Chaos cosmos he knew. It was like staring into the raw, untamed heart of creation itself, yet infinitely more complex, more ancient.

He plunged in, the Dragon Prince a streak of azure light just ahead, navigating the chaotic currents with an ease that spoke volumes of his power, even in this mere vessel form.

Space distorted. Time warped. Wang Jian felt his connection to the Chaos cosmos, to his battleship, to his women, stretching thin, becoming an ethereal thread across an unimaginable distance.

”Listen closely, Wang Jian,” the Dragon Prince’s voice echoed, not through sound, but directly into his consciousness, cutting through the dimensional static. ”This passage consumes much. To ensure your soul anchors safely in the targeted lower realm of the Primal Universe, certain… measures are necessary.”

Wang Jian focused, filtering out the disorienting sensory overload. ’Measures? What tricks does this ancient lizard have now?’

”Your soul,” the Dragon Prince continued, his tone frustratingly calm, ”will be guided into a suitable vessel. A newborn. Fitting, is it not? A new beginning.”

A newborn? Powerless? Vulnerable? Wang Jian’s spirit bristled, but he kept his thoughts shielded.

”I have located a mortal family of humble origin, bearing the surname ’Wang’. Auspicious, wouldn’t you agree? Maintains a semblance of continuity for you.” A touch of amusement coloured the Prince’s mental voice. ”Finding such insignificant mortals was trivial, even across the dimensional gulf.”

’Wang family… so he wants me to keep the name. How thoughtful,’ Wang Jian thought with biting sarcasm.

”However,” the Dragon Prince’s tone shifted, becoming more serious, ”even my power, in this temporary Godking state, cannot completely override the fundamental laws of a Primal Universe realm, even a lower one. They are intrinsically more robust, more complete than the fragmented rules of your Chaos.”

”Your memories, your consciousness as ’Wang Jian’ the cultivator… they will be sealed deep within your soul upon arrival. Submerged beneath the nascent consciousness of the newborn.”

Wang Jian’s spirit recoiled. Sealed? Amnesia?

”Sealed?” he projected back, unable to keep the edge from his thought. ”You expect me to navigate this new universe blind?”

”Not permanently,” the Dragon Prince clarified smoothly. ”Consider it… protective layering. A powerful soul like yours, arriving fully formed in a mortal infant, could attract unwanted attention from the local Primal Laws or any observant cultivators. This way, you integrate naturally.”

”The seals are keyed to your own soul’s resonance. They will weaken over time. Years, perhaps decades in mortal terms. Or,” he added, a distinct note of challenge entering his voice, ”a significant catalyst might shatter them prematurely. A shock to the soul, a moment of extreme duress or resonance… something that forces your true self to the surface.”

He could almost feel the Dragon Prince smirking.

”Think of it as your first trial in the Primal Universe, Wang Jian. A test of your will, your destiny. Can you awaken your true self from the slumber of mortality? Can you rise again from the dust?”

The azure light of the Dragon Prince pulsed brightly ahead.

”Grow strong quickly. My plans require your… unique contributions sooner rather than later. Do not disappoint me.”

Before Wang Jian could formulate a suitably scathing reply, the vortex intensified. An irresistible force pulled at his soul, drawing him away from the Dragon Prince, towards a pinpoint of faint light amidst the swirling chaos.

His consciousness blurred. The overwhelming presence of the Dragon Prince faded. The roar of dimensional transit softened into a muffled hum.

Darkness. Warmth. A gentle, rhythmic thumping.

His awareness narrowed, shrank, became incredibly… small.

Green Bamboo Village, Eastern Prefect of the Yue State, Tian Yuan Continent, Xuanhuang Lower Realm, Primal Universe

The world was muffled sounds, gentle pressure, and the steady beat of a heart that was not his own.

Deep within the womb of Liu Shufen, a peasant woman in the humble Green Bamboo Village, a new life stirred. This life carried within its nascent soul a fragment of something ancient, powerful, and utterly alien to this world, yet dormant, locked away behind layers of cosmic seals.

Liu Shufen sighed, placing a hand on her swollen belly. She smiled tiredly at her husband, Wang De, a sturdy farmer whose face was etched with the hardships of their life, but whose eyes held a deep affection for her.

”He’s lively today,” she murmured.

Wang De chuckled, a rough, warm sound. ”He’ll be strong, like his father. Ready to help in the fields soon enough.” His gaze softened as he looked at his wife. ”Are you comfortable, Shufen?”

”As can be,” she smiled back. ”Just eager to meet him.”

Months passed in the simple rhythm of village life – planting, tending, harvesting, hoping for good weather and fair prices, praying to the local earth spirits for protection.

Then came the day of birth.

It was a long, arduous labour, typical for the village midwife’s small hut. Finally, a healthy cry pierced the air.

A baby boy.

As Wang De held his son for the first time, tears of joy mingling with sweat on his face, he looked into the infant’s eyes. They seemed unusually clear, holding a depth that felt… profound. A strange feeling washed over him, a fleeting sense of… importance? He shook his head, dismissing it as parental pride.

”What shall we name him, Shufen?” he asked his exhausted wife.

Liu Shufen looked at her son, cradled in her arms. A name surfaced in her mind, feeling inexplicably right, like a whisper from the child’s own soul.

”Jian,” she whispered. ”Wang Jian.”

Wang De nodded slowly. ”Wang Jian. A good, strong name.”

The faint influence the powerful, dormant soul exerted on its new parents faded, its purpose served. The cosmic seals held firm.

Wang Jian, the newborn, was just another peasant baby in a countless multitude within the vast Xuanhuang Lower Realm.

Sixteen Years Later…

Life in Green Bamboo Village was defined by the rising and setting sun, the rhythm of the seasons, and the constant toil for survival.

Young Wang Jian grew up amidst this. He was a handsome youth, taller and stronger than many boys his age, with sharp features and eyes that held an unusual intensity.

He learned the ways of the farm from his father, Wang De. How to till the soil, sow the seeds, mend the tools, read the weather. His hands became calloused, his skin tanned by the sun.

He learned the ways of the household from his mother, Liu Shufen. How to mend clothes, prepare simple meals, the names of common herbs for minor ailments, and, most importantly, the stories.

His mother, despite her own illiteracy, possessed a wealth of oral tradition passed down through generations. Tales of mischievous spirits in the woods, benevolent river gods, fierce mountain beasts, and sometimes, hushed legends of Immortals.

Flying swords. Mountains shattering with a wave of a hand. People living for centuries, untouched by mortal concerns.

These stories captivated Wang Jian more than anything else.

’Immortals…’ he’d think, lying on his straw mat at night, staring at the ceiling of their small, mud-brick house. ’To fly… to command such power… Is it truly possible?’

He felt a yearning deep within him, a dissatisfaction with the endless cycle of planting and harvesting, the vulnerability to drought, flood, bandits, and the whims of the distant county magistrate. There had to be more.

He proved unusually adept at everything he tried. He learned farming techniques faster than his peers. He picked up the village elder’s lessons on basic characters with surprising ease, though formal schooling was an impossible luxury. He was quick-witted, observant, and possessed a certain quiet confidence that set him apart.

His father would clap him on the back, proud. ”Good lad, Jian! You learn fast. Maybe one day, you can be more than just a farmer. Perhaps a steward for a landowner, eh?”

His mother would smile gently. ”Our Jian is clever. He’ll make his own way.”

He loved his parents dearly. Their simple, unwavering affection was the bedrock of his young life. He saw their struggles, the lines of worry on their faces, the way they scrimped and saved every copper coin. He felt a fierce protectiveness towards them, a desire to give them a better life, a life free from the constant grind and fear.

Sometimes, staring towards the distant, mist-shrouded peaks known as the Serpent’s Spine mountains, he’d see strange flashes of light at night. Once, during a fierce thunderstorm, he thought he saw two figures battling amidst the clouds, unleashing power that made the very air tremble miles away.

The villagers dismissed it as odd lightning or tricks of the eye. But Wang Jian wondered.

’Was that… Immortals?’

The thought sent a thrill through him, mixed with a profound sense of insignificance. What was a peasant boy compared to beings who could duel in the heavens?

He practiced basic martial forms taught by a retired village guard, mostly for self-defense against wild animals or bandits. Again, he excelled, his movements fluid, his understanding intuitive. The old guard often remarked he had the ’bones’ for martial arts, a pity he was born a peasant.

But mortal martial arts felt… lacking. Limited. Grounded.

His yearning grew. The stories, the flashes of light, the feeling that he was meant for something more… it simmered beneath the surface of his daily chores.

He was sixteen. Strong, intelligent, restless. Trapped in the mundane, dreaming of the legendary.

Then came the day the tax collector arrived.

It wasn’t the usual county official, a man they knew, however greedy. This was Master Feng, the steward for the newly appointed magistrate, a man known for his cruelty and avarice. He arrived with a retinue of burly, sneering guards, their leather armour and steel weapons a stark contrast to the villagers’ simple tools.

Master Feng demanded triple the usual grain tax, citing vague ’new imperial decrees’. It was an impossible amount. The harvest had been only average. Paying it would mean starvation for the entire village through the coming winter.

The village elder, Elder Liu (a distant relative of Wang Jian’s mother), tried to reason with him, his voice trembling.

”Master Feng, please, this amount… it is beyond our means! We will surely perish! Perhaps if the esteemed Magistrate knew…”

SMACK!

One of the guards backhanded the elder across the face, sending the old man stumbling back, blood trickling from his lip.

”Insolence!” the guard snarled. ”Questioning the Magistrate’s decree?”

Master Feng, a portly man with cold eyes, merely adjusted his silk robes. ”The decree stands. Pay the grain, or face the consequences. Failure to pay is treason.” He eyed the meager stockpiles. ”And I see you do have grain. Just hoarding it, lazy peasants.”

Fear gripped the village. Wang De stood protectively in front of Liu Shufen and Wang Jian, his face pale but resolute. Other villagers huddled, eyes wide with terror.

”We cannot pay this!” Wang De called out, his voice tight. ”It is a death sentence!”

Master Feng’s cold gaze settled on Wang De, then flickered towards Liu Shufen. A lecherous glint entered his eyes as he appraised her simple, worn beauty.

”Cannot pay?” Feng sneered. ”Perhaps other forms of payment can be arranged.” He gestured towards Liu Shufen with his chin. ”Your wife is… passable. Send her to serve the Magistrate for a season. Perhaps he will show leniency towards your village.”

Rage, cold and absolute, surged through Wang Jian like nothing he had ever felt before. His mother? Offered up like chattel? The injustice, the sheer arrogance of this fat leech…

He stepped forward, placing himself in front of his mother.

”You dare?!” The voice that came out wasn’t the usual tone of the peasant boy. It was low, guttural, vibrating with an intensity that made the nearest guards flinch instinctively.

Wang De grabbed his arm. ”Jian! No!”

Master Feng looked down his nose at Wang Jian. ”Oh? A young cockerel crows? Do you wish to join your mother in service, boy? Or perhaps you’d prefer the stocks?”

The guards chuckled menacingly, hefting their spears.

Wang Jian stared at Master Feng. He felt utterly powerless in his mortal body. These guards were armed thugs; Feng held the Magistrate’s authority. Resistance seemed futile, suicidal. Despair washed over him – the same despair he saw reflected in his parents’ eyes, in the faces of his neighbours.

This helplessness… this feeling of being crushed by forces beyond his control… it was intolerable.

’No…’ A thought, sharp and fierce, pierced through the despair. ’I am NOT helpless! I command… I dominate… I TAKE!’

Where did that thought come from?

His head suddenly throbbed. A sharp, piercing pain, like a thousand needles stabbing into his brain.

Images flooded his mind’s eye, chaotic, overwhelming.

Azure eyes filled with ancient power… A swirling vortex… A voice echoing, ”Think of it as a challenge…”

Endless stars… A vast battleship… Silken cushions…

Faces… Beautiful, beloved faces… Su Xiao, regal and calm… Fen Shuying, fiery and passionate… Chen Yiyan, quiet strength… Hong Meilin, vibrant energy… Stella… Jin Meixiang…

More faces… Kang Huian… Han Xifeng… Xiao Ling… Bixi Shuyan… Elder Hua… Zyrithia… Xu Yuting… Yue Yanling… Yi Shi… Meng Xiangyi… Victoria… Isabella… Selena…

So many women… His women!

Memories of power… Demonic energy swirling… Draconic might roaring… Laws bending to his will… Peak Divine Ascension!

Enemies… Arrogant Heavenly Talents… Altan’s golden rage… Feng Xuan’s crimson humiliation… Raizel’s abyssal darkness… Gorthan’s draconic fury… Their consorts, trembling beneath him…

The Dragon Prince… The proposal… The threat… The Primal Universe…

Sixteen years of simple village life… Wang De… Liu Shufen… His mortal parents…

The memories slammed into his consciousness like a tidal wave, fragmenting and reforming, settling into place. The cosmic seals, strained by the intense emotional surge of protective fury and the sudden resonance with his core nature, shattered completely.

He stumbled back a step, clutching his head, gasping. The world swam before his eyes.

He was Wang Jian.

Not just the peasant boy from Green Bamboo Village.

He was Wang Jian, the former peak Divine Ascension expert, the scourge of Heavenly Talents, the Master of countless women, the one who had stared down a Godking vessel.

He was trapped in the body of a sixteen-year-old mortal peasant.

The sheer, ludicrous absurdity of it struck him.

He started to laugh.

It began as a low chuckle, then grew louder, escalating into full-blown, unrestrained laughter that echoed strangely in the tense silence of the village square. It wasn’t the laughter of madness, but of sheer, arrogant amusement and burgeoning excitement.

The guards stared, bewildered. Master Feng frowned, annoyed by the disruption. His parents looked at him with fear and confusion.

”Jian? Son, are you alright?” Liu Shufen whispered, reaching for him.

Wang Jian stopped laughing, though the amusement still danced in his eyes. He straightened up. The slump of the peasant boy was gone, replaced by an upright posture that hinted at innate authority. His gaze, now sharp and assessing, swept over Master Feng and his guards.

’So this is the Primal Universe,’ he thought, the last sixteen years of mortal memories integrating seamlessly with his true self. ’A lower realm called Xuanhuang. Mortals struggling under corrupt officials. Sounds familiar.’

He recalled the Dragon Prince’s parting words: ”Think of it as a challenge… Grow strong quickly.”

’A challenge indeed,’ Wang Jian mused. ’Stripped of my cultivation, my techniques useless, my primary method of power acquisition nullified. Starting from zero in a mortal body.’

He looked at the trembling villagers, at his worried parents, at the arrogant steward and his thugs.

’My first obstacle.’

A thrill shot through him, chasing away the last vestiges of disorientation. This wasn’t a prison; it was a playground. A new world to conquer, new rules to learn and exploit.

’The Dragon Prince thinks he’s put me on a leash, set me on his path? Fool.’ His ambition, vast and untamed, roared back to life. ’I’ll play his game. I’ll grow strong. Stronger than he can imagine. I’ll reach the peak of this Primal Universe.’

He remembered his promise to his wives. ’And I will return for them.’

’But first…’ His eyes narrowed, focusing on the immediate problem. ’Dealing with this refuse.’

He took a deep breath. No Qi. No divine sense. No techniques. Only a mortal body, albeit a strong one, and a soul brimming with eons of experience, killing intent, and utter ruthlessness.

He looked Master Feng directly in the eye. The peasant boy’s fear was gone, replaced by a coldness that made the portly steward unconsciously take half a step back.

”Master Feng, was it?” Wang Jian asked, his voice calm, almost conversational, yet carrying an unnatural weight.

Feng puffed himself up, regaining his composure. ”You address me, boy?”

”A correction,” Wang Jian said smoothly. ”The grain tax. You misspoke. The amount is not triple. It remains the standard rate.”

Feng sputtered. ”Impudence! The Magistrate’s decree—”

”There is no new decree,” Wang Jian interrupted flatly. ”You are attempting extortion based on a change in administration. A foolish gamble.”

How did this peasant boy know? Feng felt a flicker of unease.

”And your comments regarding my mother,” Wang Jian continued, his voice dropping further, laced with ice, ”were unwise.”

He took a deliberate step forward.

The guards tensed, gripping their spears.

”Seize him!” Feng barked, unnerved by the boy’s sudden change in demeanor. ”Teach this peasant brat some manners!”

Two guards lunged forward, spears aimed low.

Wang Jian moved.

It wasn’t a cultivator’s technique. It was pure, brutal efficiency honed over countless life-or-death battles, translated into the limitations of his mortal frame.

He sidestepped the first spear thrust with impossible agility, his foot lashing out, catching the guard behind the knee. The man yelped, his leg buckling.

Simultaneously, Wang Jian’s hand shot out, not grabbing the spear shaft, but striking the underside of the second guard’s wrist with pinpoint accuracy using his knuckles. There was a sickening crack. The guard screamed, dropping his spear, clutching his broken wrist.

Before the first guard could recover, Wang Jian pivoted. He grabbed the man’s tunic, using his momentum to spin him around, positioning him as a shield just as another guard swung a sword.

The sword sliced into the first guard’s back. He screamed again, collapsing.

Three guards down in seconds. Not through overwhelming power, but through speed, precision, and ruthless exploitation of openings.

The remaining guards froze, stunned by the sudden, vicious turn of events. The villagers gasped. Wang De and Liu Shufen stared, mouths agape.

Wang Jian stood amidst the downed guards, his expression calm, almost detached. He picked up one of the fallen spears, testing its weight. His eyes, filled with chilling indifference, locked onto Master Feng.

The steward was sweating profusely now, his arrogance replaced by stark terror. This wasn’t a peasant boy. This was… a demon.

”You… Who are you?” Feng stammered, backing away.

”Someone you should not have provoked,” Wang Jian replied simply. He took another step forward, the spear held loosely at his side. His killing intent, refined over centuries of slaughter, washed over the remaining guards and Master Feng. It was an invisible force, but palpable, making their hearts pound, their legs tremble. They felt like lambs facing a slumbering tiger that had just woken up.

”I believe,” Wang Jian said, his voice soft but carrying clearly, ”you have some grain tax to collect? At the correct rate. And perhaps… an apology to offer?”

He glanced meaningfully at the downed guards, then back at the terrified steward.