Villains Aren't Stepping Stones!

Chapter 36: Chapter 36: Belief

The chaos outside the gates was a cacophony of shattering earth and clashing Qi, a desperate struggle of the old against the new.

But for the youths who managed to slip through the silver veil, the world transitioned into a sudden, eerie serenity.

The first to stumble into the inheritance realm was Jin Pei, his golden armor scuffed but his eyes burning with a manic need to reclaim the dignity he had lost under Shen Haoran’s boot.

He was closely followed by Ao Long, then Luo Mingye and Yun Li, alongside a stream of other geniuses from various kingdoms on the Central Region’s outskirts.

They emerged into the vast field of spiritual flora, the air heavy with the sweet, medicinal scent of thousands of years of growth.

”Oh, a spirit herb garden,” Luo Mingye remarked, her voice carrying a hint of a faint, knowing smile as she surveyed the unharvested field, noting the lack of disturbed earth. ”It seems like Young Master Shen didn’t even bother taking anything from here. Everyone, why don’t you take your pick? After all, although these aren’t rare, they aren’t exactly common either.”

To the scions of the Central Region’s outskirts, herbs of this level—Rank 4 and 5—were like chicken ribs: too low-grade to significantly boost their high-level foundations, but too valuable to simply ignore.

At her words, the fragile peace shattered.

The ”geniuses” from the lesser kingdoms immediately lunged forward, their refined manners discarded in a flurry of greed.

”Hey! That Golden Striped Ginseng is mine! I saw it first!”

”You took my Thunder Grass! Back off or I’ll sever your hand!”

”Don’t push! There are thousands of stalks here! Go over to the other side of the ridge!”

Yun Li watched the frantic scramble, his fingers twitching as the pragmatist in him—the man who had lived a life of scarcity on Blue Star—ached to join the fray and hoard every leaf for his own cultivation.

But with Luo Mingye standing gracefully beside him, he couldn’t bring himself to show his greedy, ugly side, so he forced a mask of indifferent calm onto his face, though his heart burned with every herb he saw snatched by someone else.

”My, my, they sure are lively.”

The voice was like a chime of silver bells, cutting through the shouting of the herb-hunters as a new figure emerged from the silver light of the portal. Yun Li’s eyes widened in confusion as he looked the newcomer over.

The individual possessed an incredibly beautiful face, one that could put most fairies to shame, and short, auburn hair that framed delicate features.

Yet, the newcomer wore traditional male clothing, was as flat as a chopping board, and possessed a visible Adam’s apple.

Even so, the voice was soft, feminine, and carried a hauntingly beautiful quality.

”Ah, so it’s you...” Ao Long growled, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword. ”The Heaven’s Chosen of the Flower Mountain Sect, Xia Mengyao.”

In the Central Region, the title of ”Heaven’s Chosen” was not handed out lightly, they are given to the most talented youth of any power, decided through no holds barred combat with every other Core Disciples of that power.

Whoever emerged victorious, will be granted that title.

And Xia Mengyao suppressed the geniuses of his sect and claimed that title for himself.

Not to mention the Flower Mountain Sect was the undisputed leader of the Second-Rate Powers, guarded by a genuine Earthly Saint elder whose combat prowess was legendary—a stark contrast to Mingye’s grandfather, whose Saint-level status was more scholarly than martial.

That elder was rumored to be on the cusp of the Heavenly Saint realm, and should he succeed, the sect would ascend to the First-Rate ranks overnight.

Xia Mengyao was the pinnacle of that sect’s legacy, and at only twenty-five years old, he was already a genuine 1st Stage Golden Core expert, possessing a talent that truly bordered on the standards of the Imperial Capital—unlike Ao Long and Jin Pei, who had required another five years to reach the same heights.

”Mengyao!” Luo Mingye’s face lit up with a brilliant smile as she actually hopped toward the newcomer, her earlier poise replaced by the excitement of an old friend. ”It’s been a while!”

Xia Mengyao offered a gentle, elegant chuckle. ”The last time we met... was it during your eighteenth birthday? Are you still using the zither I gifted you?”

”Yes!” Luo Mingye nodded repeatedly, her eyes shining. ”I have already reached Rank 3 in Zither Arts!”

”Well, considering you only started four years ago, that is far too impressive,” Xia Mengyao noted, his gaze soft.

”Tsk, enough of this. I’m going ahead. I didn’t come here to watch a reunion,” Jin Pei clicked his tongue, his face sour as he turned and marched deeper into the realm, his golden armor clanking.

”Hmph.” Ao Long snorted at Xia Mengyao, his jealousy flaring at the intimacy between the two, before casting a final, warning glare at Yun Li and following after Jin Pei.

”Um, Miss Luo, who is this?” Yun Li asked, stepping forward with a practiced, friendly smile, though he felt a pang of insecurity in the presence of someone so ethereal.

”Oh, this is my friend, Xia Mengyao,” Mingye introduced, her voice stumbling for a fraction of a second. ”Sh... uh, he is the Heaven’s Chosen of the Flower Mountain Sect, and is considered the number one genius outside of the Imperial Capital.”

”I see. Nice to meet you.” Yun Li extended his hand for a handshake, hoping to establish some level of rapport with such a powerful figure.

”Greetings,” Li Mengyao said plainly. His beautiful eyes swept over Yun Li for a brief, disinterested second before he looked away, making no move to take the extended hand.

Yun Li’s hand hung in the air, the silence stretching into an agonizing moment of embarrassment.

He slowly lowered his hand, his face still smiling, but deep in the recesses of his soul, a black seed of hatred took root.

’Another one,’ he thought. ’Another native looking down on a transmigrator. I’ll make you pay for this slight, Heaven’s Chosen.’

”Sorry about him, Mr. Yun Li,” Mingye said, noticing the tension and offering an embarrassed smile. ”Please don’t take it to heart. He just doesn’t like to be touched by others.”

”No, no, it’s okay. I understand. Everyone has their quirks,” Yun Li said, his voice smooth and forgiving.

”Good. Now, let’s go,” Mingye said, turning toward the forest where the silver mist was beginning to gather. ”Let’s ignore these people scavenging for trash and go ahead. The real treasure lies further in.”

Mengyao nodded and followed her with effortless grace.

Yun Li hesitated for a heartbeat, looking back at the ”trash” herbs being fought over, before he turned and followed the two figures.

*

*

*

The stone walls of the chamber were slick with a prehistoric moss that glowed with a faint, bioluminescent pulse, casting a sickly green light over Shen Haoran’s sharp features.

He leaned back against the ancient masonry, the rough texture of the wall contrasting with the exquisite silk of his robes.

His arms were crossed, his posture radiating a terrifyingly cold patience as he stood in the absolute stillness of the room for a duration equivalent to five incense sticks.

In the world of high-level cultivation, where a split second could determine the fate of a kingdom, five incense sticks felt like an eternity.

Just then, Haoran’s eyes, which had been closed in a state of meditative detachment, suddenly snapped open.

He turned his gaze toward the wall of gray, churning mist from which he had emerged.

The forest was silent, giving up no clues of the struggle within.

”Five incense sticks,” he murmured, his voice echoing with a clinical, detached edge. ”Did she fail? After I provided her with the Nine-Colored Dagger and the encouragement of my own presence, did she still succumb to the phantoms of her own mind? How disappointing.”

He let out a short, sharp exhale through his nose—a sound of disappointment.

He had given Ning Xueli the chance of a thousand lifetimes, but if her soul was fundamentally brittle, no amount of Central Region resources could forge her into a weapon.

Haoran pushed off the wall, his movements fluid and decisive as he adjusted his sleeves, his eyes fixed on the silver-veined hallway that led deeper into the heart of the Emperor’s tomb.

Even if Xueli were gone, it changed nothing for him.

He would simply claim the Bright Silver Emperor’s legacy for himself.

After all, a Supreme’s inheritance might be ”trash” in the eyes of his clan, but power was still power; he could refine the essence, study the unique laws of this region, or simply store it in his clan’s archives as a curiosity.

He took a single step toward the inner sanctum, his heart unburdened by the loss of a companion he had only recently acquired.

But as his heel touched the stone, a frantic, ragged sound broke through the silence.

”Haoran! Wait!”

The voice was thin, cracking with exhaustion and desperation, causing Haoran to paused, turning his head just enough to see a figure stumbling out of the shifting mist.

It was Xueli, looking like she had walked through a war zone, her cerulean dress was torn at the hem, her hair was a tangled mess of dark silk, and her face was flushed a deep, unhealthy crimson.

Her breathing was a series of shallow, painful hitches, but as her eyes found him, a flash of raw relief illuminated her face.

She staggered forward, her legs trembling so violently they threatened to give way with every step, but she didn’t stop until she reached him, practically collapsing against his chest.

Her hands gripped the lapels of his robes so intense her knuckles turned white, her forehead resting against the cool silk of his collar.

”You... you were about to leave me behind, weren’t you!?” she gasped, her voice muffled by his chest.

She could feel the steady, unbothered rhythm of his heart—a stark contrast to the chaotic drumming in her own.

Haoran stared down at the top of her head, his expression remaining an unreadable mask of calmness.

”No, I wasn’t,” he lied, his tone smooth and effortless. ”I just wanted to move a few paces ahead to observe the surrounding formations.”

Xueli let out a weak, bitter giggle, her grip tightening for a fraction of a second.

”Liar,” she muttered, though there was no real heat in the accusation—only the exhaustion of someone who had just looked into the abyss and refused to blink.

She pulled back just enough to look up into his golden eyes, the fear was still there, lurking in the corners of her pupils, but beneath it sat a new, hardened foundation.

”Haoran, I know I’m weak compared to you, and I know I probably don’t have the right to say this yet... but please, believe in me. I fought through every regret, every nightmare that forest threw at me, just to see your back again. I will never disappoint you, not now, not ever.”

The air in the mossy chamber seemed to still as Haoran looked at her—not as a subordinate or a toy to for him to relieve his stress, but as a piece of iron that had finally begun to feel the heat of the forge.

The fact that she had navigated the Trial of Will despite her mediocre background suggested that her ”will” was more resilient than he had initially calculated.

He remained silent for a long moment, before finally, he gave a slow, measured nod.

”Very well,” Haoran said, his voice regaining a hint of warmth. ”I shall take note of that resolve. That much, I can promise to believe in.”

Xueli’s face transformed.

The exhaustion seemed to lift as a bright, radiant smile broke across her face—a smile of pure, unfettered joy that made her look more beautiful than any flower had a right to be.

She straightened her dress as best she could, her confidence returning.

She knew the trials ahead would only get harder, but as long as she was walking in his shadow, she felt she could challenge the heavens themselves.