Villains Aren't Stepping Stones!

”Are you just going to watch them die?”

”Who!?”

Zhu Ziyan immediately turned, looking around warily, her feline ears flattened completely against her dark hair, swiveling independently to catch the origin of the sound.

Her pupils contracted into vertical, needle-thin slits, slicing through the shimmering heatwaves of the temple parapet.

There was no one.

Not a footprint in the dust, not a ripple in the ambient spiritual qi, not even the flutter of a bug’s wing.

Yet the voice had not struck her ears from the outside—it had purred directly within the hollow of her skull, vibrating in the marrow of her spine like the deep, rhythmic chest-rumble of a slumbering predator.

’...I should run.’

Before her heels could touch the edge of the parapet to spring away—

SHUUUU—

The surroundings changed.

And before she realized it, Zhu Ziyan found herself in a hall made of sandstone.

A vast, breathtaking place completely untouched by time.

Colossal pillars of polished rose-gold sandstone soared into a vaulted ceiling of pure, midnight lapis lazuli, across which constellations of living starlight slowly wheeled and pulsed.

Torches set into the walls burned with silent, scentless black flames that cast neither smoke nor ash, bathing the great hall in a warm, amber twilight.

Long, sheer drapes of gossamer linen drifted in an unfelt breeze, and upon the immaculate flagstones beneath her boots lay scattered fresh petals of blue lotus, filling the air with a sweet, narcotic fragrance that immediately eased the frantic hammering of her pulse.

And in front, resting upon an elevated dais carved from nine tiers of pale limestone, stood a golden throne.

The seat was hammered from solid, radiant celestial gold, sculpted in the likeness of twin roaring lionesses whose paws formed the armrests and whose sweeping manes framed the high back.

Lounging upon that radiant seat was a beautiful woman with long brown hair, a pair of cat ears, cat tail, and golden eyes.

Her beauty was untamed, ancient, and terrifyingly effortless.

Her rich, glossy brown hair fell in thick, silken waves over her shoulders, tumbling down past her waist and spilling across the golden cushions of the throne.

Perched high upon her head were a pair of sleek feline ears covered in soft, velvety fur, shifting with subtle, lazy curiosity.

A slender tail tipped with dark fur swayed gently behind the arm of the throne, curling and uncurling with languid grace.

Her eyes were twin pools of molten gold—clear, bottomless, and carrying the quiet, all-seeing amusement of a deity who had watched the rise and collapse of a thousand mortal dynasties.

She was wearing a revealing white robe woven from gossamer, semi-translucent silk that clung to the dangerous, voluptuous curves of her lithe figure, parted boldly at the hip to expose long, sun-kissed legs.

Around her slender throat, her wrists, and her ankles rested an abundance of heavy, ornate golden accessories—chokers etched with protective hieroglyphs, spiraling armlets shaped like coiled vipers, and delicate chains draped across her collarbones and bare midriff that chimed like tiny bells whenever she drew breath.

”You...”

Zhu Ziyan instantly recognized her.

The breath locked hard in her throat, her eyes darted between the living figure on the dais and the memory of the cold, oil-slick basalt monument in the temple outside.

The resemblance was not merely close; it was down to the subtle arch of the brows, the predatory elegance of the posture, and the weight of sovereign grace that bowed the air itself.

This was the entity the dying tribe had wept to in the dark.

The Goddess Bastet.

Bastet rested her chin upon her palm, her golden bangles clinking softly against the gold lioness armrest, her molten eyes curved into an intimate, mocking arc as a slow, knowing smile parted her painted lips.

”Are you just going to let them die?”

The words were soft, like silk sliding over a blade, yet they carried a strange, inescapable weight that pressed against Ziyan’s chest.

”....They are not my responsibilities,” Zhu Ziyan answered flatly, her voice cutting through the perfumed twilight with sharp, unvarnished honesty. ”They are strangers. I am just a Nascent Soul cultivator, not even at the peak. A First Stage Nirvana Rebirth and twenty-six Spirit Ascension experts are marching on their gate. I am not going to risk my life for them.”

The goddess slowly shook her head, her lush brown waves shifting against the gold of her throne, a faint, patronizing pity softening the corners of her eyes.

”Self-preservation is good,” Bastet murmured, her tail flicking with a dry swish against the dais. ”But, are you going to remain a coward your whole life?”

Coward.

The word struck like a poisoned needle straight into the nerve of Zhu Ziyan’s pride.

Her fists clenched tight, her feline ears pinned violently against her skull, her eyes flashing with a sudden, venomous fire that defied the divine aura filling the hall.

”I won’t,” Zhu Ziyan snapped, stepping forward, ”I have crawled through gutters choked with corpses and rot. I have broken my own fingers to escape pursuers. I have run through poison briars with three broken ribs while demonic beasts tore at my heels, and I did not shed a single tear! I am not afraid of pain, and I am not afraid of suffering! But why should I risk my life for people I don’t know?!”

She threw her arm out, gesturing toward the tribal people beyond the sandstone walls, her chest heaved, her breath coming hot and sharp.

”If it was Huo Yue or Haoran, I will lay down my life without hesitation! If Haoran stood surrounded by ten thousand Heavenly Saints, I would charge head on until my bones were ground into dust! If Huo Yue was burning in the deepest hell of the Prime Origin Realm, I would dive into the magma to drag her out with my bare teeth! I have people I will bleed for! But those people? They mean nothing to me!”

She stood panting in the vast hall, waiting for the deity to strike her down for daring to prioritize mortal bonds over divine commandments.

Yet Bastet merely smiled at that.

It was not an angry smile. It was wide, radiant, and dripping with an ancient, devastating irony that made Ziyan’s stomach twist with sudden, cold unease.

”Indeed,” Bastet purred, her voice dipping into a lower, richer octave that resonated with the ancient pillars. ”You would. Without a second thought, without a shred of hesitation, you would throw your little body onto the nearest spear if it meant buying Shen Haoran half a breath of time. You would let your soul be shredded into kindling to keep Huo Yue’s fire burning.”

The goddess slowly leaned forward, resting both forearms upon her golden knees.

The white silk of her robes drifted open, the heavy gold chokers catching the black torchlight, her golden pupils piercing straight through Ziyan’s flesh, through her ribs, into the raw, hidden core of her consciousness.

”But it’s not because of bravery or anything like that,” Bastet stated calmly, her voice stripping away every shred of romantic noble sacrifice Ziyan had cloaked herself in. ”You do it simply because you think that their life is more important than your own.”

Zhu Ziyan’s breath hitched. ”What—”

”That is not bravery,” the goddess said, her voice dropping like an iron portcullis into the silence of the sanctuary. ”That’s hypocrisy.”

”It is loyalty!” Ziyan snarled back, her fangs baring in an involuntary hiss. ”It is devotion! In this rotten, cannibalistic cultivation world where brothers butcher brothers for half a spirit stone, standing by the people who walk beside you is the only law that matters!”

”Is it?” Bastet tilted her head, her feline ears twitching with quiet mockery. ”Or is it merely a convenient, glorious suicide? Consider your own heart, Zhu Ziyan. You claim you value your life above all things, saying you will not throw your life away against a Nirvana Rebirth cultivator because it’s not in your favor—”

The goddess stood up, her movement was effortless, fluid as running oil.

Standing atop the nine-tiered dais, she was tall, magnificent, and utterly dominant, the gossamer silk of her robes trailing behind her like a mantle of white smoke.

Step by step, she descended the stairs, her bare, golden-ankleted feet making no sound against the scattered blossoms.

”—Yet the moment Shen Haoran snaps his fingers, your precious ’pragmatism’ evaporates into mist,” Bastet continued, her voice circling Ziyan like a hunting leopard stalking its prey. ”The moment Huo Yue draws her sword against an impossible enemy, your calculations vanish. You will throw your life away for them not because you believe you can win, but because deep in your soul, you believe your existence is cheap. You believe your life is an expendable coin meant to be spent purchasing their survival. You hold your own worth in such utter, pathetic contempt that you would rather die for a man you admire than bear the terrifying, agonizing burden of becoming a supreme yourself!”

”That is a lie!” Ziyan’s voice cracked, her fists shaking violently. ”Haoran is the man I love, and Huo Yue was the one who gave me purpose—”

”They gave you a leash!” Bastet countered, stopping barely two paces away.

The scent of dry desert wind, warm fur, and ancient solar gold rolled off the goddess, so dense it made Ziyan’s lungs ache.

”A magnificent, golden leash held by a peerless master, but a leash nonetheless,” the goddess whispered, looking down into Ziyan’s trembling eyes. ”You hide behind their brilliance. You measure your strength against them. When you face strangers, you claim you are too weak to help because you are ’just an ordinary mortal.’ But when you stand beside them, you pretend to be a fearless warrior. You use your devotion to them as an excuse to never cultivate your own independent will. You would rather die as their loyal hound than live as a huntress who decides who lives and who dies by her own law!”

”And what should I do instead?!” Ziyan shouted, the frustration tearing from her throat like a wild animal’s shriek. ”Throw myself at a Nirvana expert?! Die in a ditch for a tribe that meant nothing to me ten minutes ago?! How does that prove my will?! How is throwing away my life for strangers any less of a suicide than dying for the people I love?!”

”Because courage is not born from familiarity, child,” Bastet answered, her voice dropping into a solemn, ancient cadence that shook the lapis lazuli sky above. ”Courage is the declaration that injustice does not stand where your shadow falls!”

”Those people out there are weak. They are pathetic. They are cowards who prayed to a stone statue because they could not lift their own spears. They are everything you despise about your own past—abandoned, helpless, huddled in the dark waiting for an executioner’s blade.”

”You look at them and you see the helpless girl who starved without a place to go, the stray cat that no one came to save! You hate them not because they are strangers, but because they remind you of the weakness you have spent your entire life trying to outrun!”

”You want to walk away because walking away is safe. Walking away lets you tell yourself that you are clever, that you are a survivor. But every time you turn your back on the slaughter of the weak simply because you fear the blade of the strong, you hammer another nail into your own cage. You remain a scavenger. You remain an insect that scuttles beneath the feet of giants, praying that the shadow of a supreme will keep you from being crushed!”

The words fell like physical blows upon Zhu Ziyan’s soul.

Her breath came in ragged, burning gasps, her eyes stung staring at the floor.

In the dark pool of her mind, the faces of the tribe flashed before her—the trembling hands of the old priest pressing against the dust, the wide, terrified eyes of the children who had peeked at her tail from behind the mud-brick huts with innocent, reverent awe, the women who had offered her their meager flatbread with bowed heads, believing the heavens had finally heard their weeping.

They were weak.

They were doomed.

They were everything she had hated being.

A strange, agonizing ache tightened in the center of her chest—a sudden, irrational urge to roar, to bare her claws, to leap through the temple gates and rip the throat out of the first Jackal captain who dared cross the threshold!

Just fight.

Just once... stand and fight for nothing other than the fact that you refuse to let them burn.

Her teeth ground together until blood pooled on her tongue.

Her knuckles turned white, her shoulders shook under the immense, crushing weight of the goddess’s divine scrutiny.

Then... slowly... deliberately...

Zhu Ziyan raised her head.

The wavering, conflicted hesitation in her eyes hardened once more into the cold, jagged obsidian of a border survivor.

”No,” Zhu Ziyan whispered.

Her voice was quiet, but it carried the unyielding, stubborn finality of a stone dropping to the bottom of a dry well.

”I still refuse.”

Bastet’s golden eyes narrowed slightly. ”You choose to run away, once more?”

”I choose my life,” Zhu Ziyan stated, her jaw set like an iron trap, looking the ancient goddess straight in the face. ”Call it cowardice. Call it hypocrisy. Carve it onto your sandstone walls if it pleases you. But I was not born to be your martyr. I was not born to save a world that never spared a crumb for me. My power belong to me. My blood belongs to me. And until the day I decide to spend it on the people I have chosen with my own heart, I will not bleed for your sermon.”

She took a slow, firm step backward, away from the dais, her tail snapping once with uncompromising defiance.

”Send me back, Goddess. Let your tribe fight their own war. If they die, then they die beneath the same sky that watched me suffer. I am leaving.”

Bastet stood motionless upon the limestone steps.

She stared at the young beast-kin girl for a long, heavy moment.

The ancient deity looked past the bared fangs, past the fierce, stubborn glare, seeing the deep, scarred armor of a soul that had been beaten too many times by the mortal realm to ever trust a miracle.

In the end, the fierce golden light in Bastet’s eyes slowly softened into a quiet, ancient exhaustion.

Bastet can only sigh.

The sound was heavy, melancholic, like autumn leaves falling across an abandoned courtyard.

”So be it, little one,” the goddess murmured, turning her back to walk slowly toward her golden throne. ”Keep running. Keep surviving. But remember my words when you find yourself standing before an enemy that even the one you hold dear cannot slay.”

Bastet raised her slender, gold-adorned hand and lazily flicked her wrist toward the empty air.

CRACK—!

The sandstone pillars splintered like dry glass, the lapis lazuli firmament collapsed inward into a rushing vortex of blinding light.

WHOOSH!

The perfumed scent of blue lotus vanished, violently replaced by the scorched stench of hot sand, sulfur, and the coppery tang of drawn blood.

Zhu Ziyan gasped, her boots hitting the rough floor of the temple parapet with a heavy, physical thud.