Villains Aren't Stepping Stones!

An entire light year away.

Rou Ting and her crones appeared in a dark forest.

The air here was freezing, stagnant, and choked with the heavy, rotting odor of decomposing black pine needles and ancient swamp moss.

A low, creeping fog slithered around their ankles, tasting of bitter sulfur and stale dampness, far removed from the screaming fires and paved avenues of the ruined city.

With a callous, dismissive jerk of her arm, Rou Ting tossed Qing Yan’s paralyzed body to the damp forest floor.

THUD.

Qing Yan hit the wet moss heavily, his limbs failing to respond to his frantic mental commands.

Standing over him, Rou Ting smoothed down the wide, wine-red sleeves of her luxurious robes.

She reached up, gently pressing the jagged copper stitches running along the seam of her swollen, borrowed jawline, and a thin bead of dark, stagnant fluid oozed from the puncture holes, which she wiped away with an expression of bitter disgust.

”What a waste...” Rou Ting hissed, her voice a grating scrape that made the surrounding fog curdle. ”Such beautiful face. If I had carved her skin and sewn her flesh over this rotting face of mine, it would have lasted another three centuries without a single stitch failing.”

She spat a glob of pink, venomous phlegm onto the moss, her stitched lip curling into an ugly, resentful sneer.

Behind her, the half-naked crones who had survived the retreat shuffled forward like starving hyenas.

Their sunken, yellowed eyes were practically glowing with rabid, animalistic hunger, fixed entirely on the paralyzed young man lying prone in the dirt.

Their dry, peeling lips parted, exposing blackened gums and broken teeth slick with foul saliva as they rubbed their bony, grimy hands together in sickening anticipation.

Then, the oldest of the wretched crones, a hunched, skeletal creature whose sagging breasts were covered in festering yellow boils, fell to her knees, groveling in the wet mud at Rou Ting’s hem.

”Honored Elder...” the hag croaked, her breath rattling like dry bones in an urn. ”Please allow us to taste our chosen, just once! We promise not to drain him dry or break him!”

Rou Ting looked down at the groveling monstrosities with cold, indifferent superiority.

She crossed her arms, her pink eyes flicking lazily across Qing Yan’s trembling silhouette.

To her, the youth’s yang essence was merely the wrapper of a magnificent gift; so long as his soul remained intact for the ritual of the God of Lust, what happened to his mortal dignity was of zero consequence.

”Make it quick,” Rou Ting said coldly. ”But remember, do not drain him dry. If you damage the channel to his sea of consciousness before the High Priestess can extract his soul, I will skin each of you alive and hang your hides in my wall.”

”Thank you, Elder! Blessings upon you for your generosity!”

A shrill, repulsive chorus of cackling erupted through the stagnant woods as they turned towards the terrified Qing Yan.

”No... stop... get away from me, you filthy hags!” Qing Yan’s voice was a cracked, desperate roar, but his throat could barely project a rasping whisper.

Pure, unadulterated fear and suffocating despair crashed down upon his soul like a collapsing sky!

At that moment, the fear of being dominated by that gorilla once again resurfaced in his mind.

Just like back then, this was a nightmare of grotesque defilement!

’System! System come out! Help me! Help me!’

The system did not respond. For it, although it prefered beauties, as long as its host can have sex, then it’s a win.

’... It’s over...’

The thought of those diseased, rotting hands stripping away his clothes, of those blistered, pus-weeping lips pressing against his skin, made every instinct in his body scream in petrified agony.

He would have gladly accepted a sword through his heart, would have embraced having his limbs severed one by one, rather than suffer this unspeakable, humiliating desecration.

Tears of raw, helpless rage burned the corners of his eyes as he thrashed his neck, trying to smash his skull against the stones to knock himself into unconsciousness.

It was entirely useless.

Two of the crones dropped their bony, emaciated knees directly onto his shoulders, pinning his head flat into the cold mud.

Another crone pinched his nostrils shut with grimy, claw-like fingers, while the oldest hag forced her blackened fingernails between his lips, brutally prying his clenched jaws apart.

From a soiled silk pouch at her waist, the crone retrieved a thumb-sized crimson pill that pulsed with an oily, sickening luminescence.

Without a shred of mercy, she shoved the repulsive, greasy sphere deep down his gullet, forcefully massaging his throat to compel his swallowing reflex.

GULP.

Qing Yan choked, coughing violently as the pill dissolved the instant it hit the lining of his stomach.

The hags leaned over his face, their foul stench washing over his nostrils in suffocating waves, laughing hysterically.

”Swallow it down, pretty boy! Swallow the Heavenly Ecstasy Elixir!” the hag hissed, her cracked tongue flicking against his earlobe. ”It will set your cold blood on fire! It will chase away your silly fears! In just a few breaths, you won’t care about anything but pleasure! You will see paradise, no, you will be in heaven!”

At first, a scorching, molten heat tore through Qing Yan’s stomach, like a cup of boiling liquid bronze poured directly into his intestines.

He clenched his teeth, preparing for excruciating agony—

And then, his reality violently shattered.

The burning sensation detonated into an overwhelming, cataclysmic explosion of pure, synthetic euphoria.

The cold, damp mud beneath his cheek suddenly felt softer than clouds of woven celestial silk.

The foul, sulfurous forest air transformed into an intoxicating, ambrosial perfume that tasted of honeyed wine and summer blossoms.

The horrifying, agonizing paralysis in his limbs vanished, replaced by an artificial, electric rush of boundless, hyper-accelerated energy that surged through his meridians like a raging river of molten starlight.

His pupils violently dilated until the deep midnight of his irises was swallowed entirely by blackness.

The gnarled, shadowy trees above him began to bend, swirl, and breathe in rhythmic, intoxicating waves of liquid gold and iridescent violet.

The damp fog glowing at his feet separated into millions of glittering, dancing prismatic fractals that sang in harmonious, angelic chords directly into his auditory nerves.

A wave of dizzying, uncontrolled ecstasy crashed over his brainstem, stripping away his logic, his memory, and his terror in a single, terrifying sweep.

He was high. Dangerously high.

Every single nerve ending across his skin became hyper-sensitized to an impossible degree.

A stray leaf brushing against his wrist felt like an exquisite, electrifying caress that sent tremors of unearned bliss straight to the base of his spine.

His heart hammered at a lunatic tempo, each pulse sending a warm, golden tide of absolute pleasure washing through his chest, drowning out the concept of pain, drowning out the concept of shame, drowning out his very identity.

The grotesque crones looming over him began to blur and warp within his hallucinating sight.

Their peeling, yellowed skin seemed to shimmer like radiant alabaster; their broken, blackened teeth appeared to his clouded mind as rows of glistening pearls; and their manic, wheezing laughter sounded like the delicate, tinkling giggles of heavenly maidens frolicking in a divine garden.

”Ah... ah...”

A breathless, shuddering moan tore from Qing Yan’s parted lips, his head falling back against the moss.

A terrifying, vacant smile began to spread across his handsome face as the drug completely seized the reins of his consciousness, dragging his soul down into an abyss of chemically induced, helpless delirium, while the cackling crones began tearing at his robes.

*

*

*

Back in the city, the scene was the exact opposite of that dark, poisoned woods.

The roaring flames that had threatened to consume the commercial avenues had finally been suppressed, thanks to the swift deployment of the city guards and the help of other rogue cultivators and mortals.

Yet, the aftermath was a landscape of tragic ruin.

Shattered roof tiles, charred timber beams, and mounds of smoking rubble lined the wide streets, while the groans of wounded cultivators and weeping mortal families filled the afternoon air.

In the center of the devastated square, surrounded by piles of scorched debris, Qian Yunxi was helping the injured.

Her wings were still extended from her back, spanning thirty paces wide, glowing with a soft, warm, and comforting luminescence that chased away the lingering chill of the demonic miasma.

Moving gracefully among the fallen, she stood at the center where the injured have gathered.

Her pristine white robe was smudged with soot and streaks of blood, but her expression held only gentle, focused compassion.

Placing her pale, unblemished hands in front of her, Qian Yunxi closed her eyes.

HUMMMMM—

A spirit circle with runes appeared under her, expanding until it covered half of the city.

”Spring Breeze Life Restoration Art!”

In that instant, amongst the injured, the compound fractures clicked back into place with astonishing speed, torn muscle fibers knitted together like woven silk, and the dark, corrosive traces of the pink demonic poison sizzling in their blood were instantly vaporized into harmless white steam.

One of the man closest to her opened his eyes, staring at his fully restored, unblemished arm in disbelieving awe.

He immediately scrambled to his knees, pressing his forehead repeatedly against the soot-covered cobblestones, weeping tears of profound gratitude.

”Thank you, Fairy! Thank you, Divine Maiden!”

Around them, all wounded citizens who had been healed by her immediately began thanking her, even praising her.

”Thank you, fairy! You really are a saint!” an elderly woman cried out, clutching her healed granddaughter to her chest.

”You are a living Bodhisattva!”

”Praise be to you, oh saintess! Praise be to you!”

The shouts of reverence spread through the ruined street like wildfire, hundreds of survivors bowing their heads, clasping their hands in prayer, looking upon her illuminated silhouette with the pure, unadulterated devotion usually reserved for ancient temple idols.

Qian Yunxi froze, her cheeks instantly flushing with a deep, vibrant crimson.

She was thoroughly embarrassed, waving her hands in a flustered, awkward gesture, the tips of her wings twitching self-consciously behind her back.

”P-Please, everyone, stop that! Stand up! I am not a saintess, nor am I a goddess! I am merely a cultivator traveling through your city! Please, do not bow to me! You must just rest and tend to your families!”

She was accustomed to the fierce, cutthroat competition of the Imperial Academy, where scions traded cold insults and lethal sword strikes.

Being placed upon an altar of public adoration and hailed as a holy savior made her feel entirely out of her depth, her calmness crumbling into endearing bashfulness.

Before she could retreat further into the crowd to escape the worship—

CLANK! CLANK! CLANK!

The rhythmic, heavy sound of enchanted iron sabatons striking the stone echoed across the square.

It was the city guards.

The crowd respectfully parted, creating a wide corridor through the rubble to let them through.

They were a detachment of twenty city guards, clad in polished silver plate armor etched with protective azure dragon glyphs, marched into the clearing.

At their head was a tall, stern-faced commander sporting a long crimson cape, carrying a massive halberd across his back, his aura radiating the formidable authority of a peak Spirit Ascension powerhouse.

Stopping three paces before Qian Yunxi, the commander snapped his fist to his chest in a crisp, thunderous military salute, his men following suit in unified precision.

”On behalf of the Garrison of Cloud-Mist City, allow this one to express our deepest reverence,” the commander spoke, his voice deep, gravelly, and laced with genuine respect as he thanked her for the help. ”Your valor and your healing grace have saved our city from a catastrophic massacre.”

Qian Yunxi shook her head politely, lowering her hands. ”I merely did what was necessary to help the innocent. There is no need for grand ceremony, Commander. My companion was abducted during the chaos, so I must leave immediately to help them.”

The commander did not lower his posture. Instead, his gaze hardened with solemn, urgent insistence.

”We are aware of the abduction, young mistress. The Ishtar Divine Cult is a cancer that has plagued the southern borders for decades, and their Third Elder, Rou Ting, is a notorious demoness of the Nirvana Rebirth realm. Wandering blindly to track a Fourth Stage Nirvana expert is an act of extreme peril.”

The commander stepped forward, lowering his tone respectfully.

”Our City Lord had already sent scouts to search for them,” the commander explained, gesturing toward the soaring white stone citadel rising majestically in the center of the metropolis. ”It will be far easier to coordinate with us, and this will also allow us to thank you properly.”

Qian Yunxi wanted to refuse.

Every single second that ticked by was a second where Qing Yan was in the clutches of that hideous, stitched-faced demoness.

Although she is honestly not that close to him, but he was still someone from the same academy as her.

”Please, young mistress, do not reject the city lord’s hospitality and good will.” the commander urged solemnly, stepping to the side and sweeping his arm toward an ornate, gilded spiritual carriage drawn by two pure-white horned spirit stags that had just pulled up to the edge of the square.

Qian Yunxi looked at the urgent, earnest faces of the guards, then up at the towering white citadel in the distance.

The commander’s words were entirely logical.

Confronting a Fourth Stage Nirvana Rebirth expert alone without knowing anything about her was reckless, so securing the intelligence and backing of the city lord would ensure she didn’t walk into an inescapable ambush.

”Very well,” Qian Yunxi nodded, her golden wings retracting into her back with a gentle chime of fading starlight. ”Take me to the City Lord.”