Villain: Manipulating the Heroines into hating the Protagonist

The Serpent Scale Soarer sliced through the heavens, a silent, dark predator leaving the blood-soaked canyon of Serpent’s Pass far behind. The screams of their fallen sect mates, the triumphant roars of their rivals, the stench of death—it all faded into a distant, nightmarish echo.

All that remained was the rush of the wind and the grim, heavy silence between them.

Wang Jian stood at the helm, his expression a mask of cold, unreadable calm. His gaze was fixed on the horizon, his mind already leagues away, calculating, planning, processing the brutal calculus of their survival.

Yue Lingshan stood a few feet behind him, her hands gripping the cool, smooth railing of the artifact. Her body still trembled with the residual adrenaline of the battle, her mind replaying the horrific scenes of the slaughter. Her sect brothers, men she had trained alongside, laughed with... all gone.

She looked at Wang Jian’s back. It was a bastion of unyielding strength. He had been her anchor in the storm, her shield against the tide of death. Without him, she knew with absolute certainty, she would now be a violated corpse lying in that desolate pass.

The thought solidified something within her, a feeling that had been growing for months, now forged into an unshakeable truth in the fires of battle. Her loyalty was no longer to a sect that had proven itself arrogant and vulnerable. It was to him. Only him.

After a long period of silent flight, Wang Jian finally spoke, his voice cutting cleanly through the wind. ”We need to report back.”

Yue Lingshan nodded numbly. ”Yes. The sect must be warned.”

They each produced a Communication Talisman from their storage pouches. The talismans were thin slips of jade, shimmering with the faint green and white light of the Mystic Peak Sect’s spiritual signature.

Wang Jian’s movements were efficient, his expression detached as he closed his eyes, his spiritual sense impressing his message into the jade. His report was a masterpiece of cold, professional brevity.

’Demonic cultivator Mo Jiao, mid-stage Foundation Establishment, has been eliminated. The threat to mortal villages is neutralized. Mission complete. Deacon Wang Jian.’

He deliberately, calculatedly, omitted any mention of the caravan, of the ambush, of the slaughter. His mission was complete. The rest was not his official concern. It was a separate matter, one that would be reported by the other survivor.

He tossed the talisman into the air. It flared with a bright green light, then dissolved into a streak of energy that shot eastward, a silent messenger carrying his version of the truth.

Yue Lingshan then took her own talisman. Her hands trembled slightly as she recalled the faces of the fallen, the treachery of their supposed allies. She poured her grief, her anger, and the stark, brutal facts of the ambush into her message.

’Urgent report. Caravan ambushed in Serpent’s Pass. All four major sects—Azure Sword Clan, Crimson Pill Sect, Hundred Beast Manor, Silent Puppet Guild—participated in a treacherous, coordinated attack. Cargo lost. Escort team, including Senior Brother Wei Chen, presumed fallen. I and Deacon Wang Jian were the only survivors. Awaiting sect’s instructions. Deacon Yue Lingshan.’

Her talisman, too, dissolved into light, a desperate cry for help and a solemn warning streaking across the sky, following the path of Wang Jian’s.

With the deed done, a heavy silence fell once more.

”We are not returning to the sect,” Wang Jian stated, his voice flat. It was not a suggestion, but a declaration.

Yue Lingshan looked at him, her beautiful eyes questioning from behind her veil. ”But... the sect will need us. They will want a full report.”

”The four sects have just committed an act of open warfare,” Wang Jian explained patiently, as if speaking to a child. ”They will not be foolish enough to leave survivors who can testify against them. They will have scouts, perhaps even other Deacons, patrolling the routes back to Mystic Peak, looking for anyone who might have escaped the initial slaughter.”

His cold logic was undeniable. Returning now would be flying directly into another, better-prepared trap.

”So what do we do?” she asked, her voice small. ”Where do we go?”

He guided the Serpent Scale Soarer into a gentle, descending arc. Below them, a wide, tranquil river snaked through a lush valley dotted with vibrant bamboo groves. Nestled on the riverbank was a small, peaceful-looking mortal town, its tiled roofs gleaming in the afternoon sun.

”We lay low,” he said. ”We become mortals for a little while. We wait for the dust to settle.”

They landed in a secluded bamboo grove, the tall, green stalks forming a natural curtain around them. The air here was fresh and clean, filled with the scent of bamboo and damp earth, a world away from the stench of blood and battle.

Wang Jian stepped off the Soarer. With a casual wave of his hand, the massive, eight-foot-long artifact shimmered and shrank, vanishing into the storage pouch at his waist.

Yue Lingshan watched, her eyes wide with fresh astonishment. Her own storage pouch, a standard sect-issue item, could perhaps hold a few weapons, robes, and a small chest of supplies. His... his had just swallowed a vehicle. The depths of his secrets, his mysterious background, seemed truly bottomless.

”Come,” he said, extending a hand to her. ”Let us be husband and wife, just for a little while.”

She took his hand, a blush rising to her cheeks at his words, but she did not protest. The idea of playing house with him, of shedding the heavy identities of Deacon and Princess, felt... surprisingly appealing.

They suppressed their powerful Foundation Establishment auras until only the faintest, almost unnoticeable trace remained, making them appear as exceptionally healthy, vibrant mortals. They walked out of the bamboo grove and towards the town, which a weathered sign proclaimed was ’River Bamboo Town’.

The town was idyllic. Fishermen mended their nets by the riverbank, their laughter carrying on the gentle breeze. Women washed clothes on smooth, flat stones, their chatter a pleasant, melodic hum. Children chased each other through the clean, well-swept streets, their faces bright with innocent joy. It was a world of profound, simple peace.

They found a quiet inn called ’The Fisherman’s Rest’, its wooden facade adorned with hanging baskets of blooming flowers. The innkeeper, a kindly-looking woman with a warm smile, greeted them.

”Welcome, travelers. A room for the night?”

”Yes, please,” Wang Jian replied, his voice losing its cultivator’s edge, becoming the warm, gentle tone of a traveling scholar. ”For myself and my wife. We seek a quiet room for a few days of rest.”

Yue Lingshan’s blush deepened at the word ’wife’, but she played her part, offering the innkeeper a shy, graceful nod from behind her veil.

The innkeeper’s eyes crinkled in a knowing smile. ”Of course, young master. The best room overlooking the river is available. I trust you and your lovely wife will find it most comfortable.”

Their room was simple, but immaculately clean. A large, comfortable-looking bed, a small table with two chairs, and a wide window that opened onto a balcony overlooking the sparkling river. It was a far cry from their lavish cave dwellings, but it felt... peaceful.

The next few days passed in a haze of domestic tranquility that was utterly foreign, and deeply intoxicating, to Yue Lingshan.

They shed their cultivator robes, purchasing simple, mortal clothes from the town market. Wang Jian, in the plain, dark blue robes of a scholar, looked devastatingly handsome, his sharp features and powerful physique a stark, magnetic contrast to his humble attire.

Yue Lingshan, in a simple, pale lilac cotton dress, her hair tied back with a simple ribbon, was a vision of heart-stopping beauty. Even without her veil, her otherworldly grace made people stop and stare, their conversations faltering as she passed.

They walked along the riverbank at sunset, watching the fishermen pull in their nets, heavy with shimmering silver fish. Wang Jian bought her a simple, handcrafted wooden hairpin from a market stall, its surface carved with a delicate bamboo motif. It was a trinket of no spiritual value, yet when he gently tucked it into her hair, her heart soared with a joy more profound than any treasure she had ever received.

They shared simple meals of fresh river fish, steamed rice, and local vegetables. The food was mundane, lacking any spiritual energy, but the act of sharing it with him, of watching him eat with a hearty appetite, of listening to his witty observations about the townsfolk, filled her with a deep, quiet contentment.

Their nights were not the wild, savage tempests of passion that often consumed them in their cave. Here, in this mortal inn, their lovemaking was different. It was tender, slow, and deeply intimate. He would hold her for hours, his hands gently stroking her hair, his lips pressing soft, reassuring kisses to her forehead. He would listen as she finally spoke of the horror of the ambush, of the fear and the guilt of leaving her sect mates behind.

He didn’t offer cold logic now. He offered comfort.

”It was not your fault, Lingshan,” he murmured, holding her as she wept silently against his chest. ”You are strong. You survived. That is all that matters.”

He would make love to her with a gentle, worshipful reverence, his touches designed not to conquer, but to heal. He soothed the lingering trauma of the battle with the balm of his affection, his passion a warm, life-affirming fire that chased away the cold shadows in her soul.

Yue Lingshan, in these quiet, stolen days, found herself falling in love with him all over again, but in a new, deeper way. She was not just in love with the powerful, dominant cultivator, the strategic genius. She was in love with Jian, the man who could make her laugh over a simple bowl of noodles, the man who held her when she cried, the man who made even a simple mortal life feel like a paradise, as long as he was by her side.

For Wang Jian, the experience was... an interesting novelty. He found the tranquility profoundly boring, the mortal concerns of the townsfolk laughably trivial. His soul, vast and ancient, chafed at the confines of this simple existence.

But he was a master actor, and he played his part to perfection. He recognized the strategic value of this interlude. It was allowing the heat from the ambush to die down. More importantly, it was cementing Yue Lingshan’s devotion to him on a level that went beyond mere physical submission or admiration of his power. He was forging an emotional bond so absolute that she would never, ever question him again, no matter what darkness he revealed to her in the future.

He saw her watching him one afternoon as he haggled playfully with a fruit vendor, a soft, adoring smile on her face. He knew then that this part of his plan was a complete success.

After five days of this idyllic retreat, they sat on their balcony, watching the moon rise over the tranquil river. They had heard no news of pursuit, no whispers of the four sects searching for survivors. It was safe to assume their escape had been clean.

The mood between them shifted. The peaceful dream was ending, and the harsh reality of their situation was beginning to reassert itself.

Wang Jian took her hand, his expression turning serious.

”Lingshan,” he began, his voice a low, thoughtful murmur. ”Your report will have reached the sect by now. The elders, the Grand Elder... they will be in an uproar. The four sects have, for all intents and purposes, declared war on our Mystic Peak Sect.”

Yue Lingshan nodded, her face now serious as well. The peaceful fantasy was over. ”I know, Jian. The sect will be in turmoil.”

”A war is inevitable,” he continued, his gaze distant. ”And it will be a war fought not by us, but by the true powers of the sects. Core Formation Ancestors, perhaps even the Nascent Soul Grand Elders, will be the ones deciding the fate of the State of Yue.”

He turned to look at her, his eyes dark and intense. ”We are only in the early stage of the Foundation Establishment Realm, Lingshan. In a conflict of that magnitude, we are little more than cannon fodder. Our individual strength, as it is now, cannot change the outcome of such a war.”

She understood his grim logic. Her heart grew heavy with a sense of powerlessness. ”So what do we do, Jian? We cannot simply hide here forever. The sect is our home.”

”No, we cannot hide,” he agreed. ”But we also cannot charge back blindly and throw our lives away in a battle that is beyond our current ability to influence. We need an advantage. We need to be smarter.”

He paused, his grip on her hand tightening slightly. ”Before we return to the sect and get swept up in the inevitable chaos, we need intelligence. Knowledge is power, Lingshan. Now more than ever.”

His eyes gleamed with a familiar, calculating light.

”We need to know what our enemies are planning. Specifically, the Crimson Pill Sect. They are masters of alchemy, of poisons, of strategies that are less direct than the Azure Sword Clan’s brute force. They are dangerous in their subtlety.”

He met her gaze, his plan now clear.

”We need to meet with Liu Ruyan.”

Yue Lingshan looked at him, her mind instantly grasping the strategic value of his proposal. Liu Ruyan owed them her life. She was a prominent inner sect disciple. And she was their only potential link to the inner workings of the Crimson Pill Sect.

”You believe she will help us?” Yue Lingshan asked.

”I believe,” Wang Jian said with a confident smirk, ”that she will be... very receptive to a discussion. Especially when it is framed as an exchange between fellow alchemists seeking to navigate a dangerous new world.”

Yue Lingshan nodded, her expression firming with resolve. The peaceful interlude in River Bamboo Town was over. It was time to return to the great, dangerous game. ”I understand, Jian. We need to know what they are planning.”