Villain: Manipulating the Heroines into hating the Protagonist

The Jade Moon Market, with its lingering scent of lotus and the hum of bartered secrets, faded behind them. Wang Jian and Princess Yue Lingshan, now both solid Sixth Stage Qi Condensation cultivators, their storage pouch significantly heavier with spirit stones and raw alchemical ingredients, turned their attention to a more mundane, yet necessary, task: completing their sect missions.

’Can’t just vanish indefinitely,’ Wang Jian mused as they activated their Flying Leaves, soaring into the vast, blue sky. ’Need to maintain the facade of diligent outer sect disciples. Besides, a completed mission, however trivial, adds to our sect record. Useful for avoiding unnecessary scrutiny later.’

Their missions were, by cultivator standards, laughably simple. Wang Jian’s was to survey the Western Foothills for ’unusual beast activity’ and map local flora. Princess Yue Lingshan’s was to deliver a sealed scroll to the Cloud Mist Monastery.

”We’ll do yours first, Lingshan,” Wang Jian decided. ”The monastery is further east, but on a relatively established route. My survey can be... adjusted to encompass that region. Two birds, one stone.”

”Efficient as always, Jian,” Yue Lingshan said, a smile in her voice, her veiled face turned towards him as their Flying Leaves skimmed the treetops. The past two months of intense cultivation and shared intimacy had forged a deeper, more comfortable bond between them. She still felt the thrill of his presence, the allure of his power, but now it was overlaid with a growing sense of partnership.

The journey to the Cloud Mist Monastery took them several days. They flew by day, conserved Qi by resting in secluded spots by night – nights that invariably involved more than just rest. Wang Jian, ever the pragmatist, saw no reason to waste opportunities for ’mutual energy exchange and body tempering practice’. Yue Lingshan, no longer the naive princess, readily agreed, her own desires now openly acknowledged and enthusiastically reciprocated.

The Cloud Mist Monastery was a serene, isolated complex of weathered grey stone buildings nestled high on a mist-covered plateau. Ancient pines clung to the cliffs, and the only sounds were the sigh of the wind and the distant chime of temple bells. It was a place of profound peace, a stark contrast to the chaotic energy of the cultivator markets.

Princess Yue Lingshan, her demeanor appropriately solemn, delivered the sealed scroll to an ancient, wizened monk with eyes that seemed to hold the wisdom of centuries. The monk accepted it with a silent nod, offered them bland tea and stale rice cakes, and indicated that a reply, if any, would take several days to prepare.

’Perfect. Gives us time for my ”survey”,’ Wang Jian thought.

While Lingshan engaged in polite, if somewhat stilted, conversations with the monastery’s few other inhabitants (mostly old monks and a handful of young novices with shaved heads and vacant expressions), Wang Jian explored the surrounding Western Foothills.

He meticulously mapped the area, noting the common spirit herbs (most of which he now recognized from the Compendium), the tracks of mundane beasts, and the occasional sign of low-level spiritual creatures. He made detailed sketches, his hand surprisingly adept, adding notes on soil composition and water sources. He was, to all outward appearances, a diligent disciple fulfilling his mission.

’No truly ”unusual” beast activity here,’ he concluded after two days of thorough exploration. ’Just the standard ecological balance of a remote, thinly populated mortal region with some minor spiritual energy presence. Boring. But the report needs to look comprehensive.’

When the old monk at the monastery finally handed Yue Lingshan a small, equally sealed reply scroll, their missions were effectively complete. They offered their thanks, made a small donation of a few copper coins (to maintain appearances), and departed, their Flying Leaves once again carrying them away from the tranquil mountain peaks.

Their return journey towards the Mystic Peak Sect was planned to be leisurely, allowing Wang Jian to ’complete’ his survey of other, less peaceful, parts of the Western Foothills. It was during this leg of their journey, while resting in a bustling mortal trading town called Three Rivers Crossing, that trouble found them, or rather, found Princess Yue Lingshan.

They had taken a room in a decent inn, ’The Merchant’s Rest’. Yue Lingshan, feeling secure within the town’s walls and tired of the stuffy veil, had briefly removed it while they ate a meal in a private dining room. Unfortunately, a window overlooked a busy thoroughfare, and for a fleeting moment, as she turned her head, her unveiled profile – the exquisite line of her jaw, the curve of her cheek, the lustrous sheen of her dark hair – was visible to a passerby.

That passerby happened to be a cultivator, a man named Ma Zhaolong, dressed in dark, subtly embroidered robes that hinted at a sinister affiliation. His eyes, sharp and predatory, had widened a fraction as he caught that brief glimpse of unparalleled beauty. He hadn’t seen her full face, but what he saw was enough to ignite a spark of avarice and lust.

’A fairy!’ Ma Zhaolong had thought, his heart quickening. ’Such beauty, even in this backwater mortal town! She must be mine!’ He was a disciple of the Blood Fiend Sect, a demonic sect from the neighboring State of Jin, known for their ruthlessness, their unorthodox cultivation methods involving blood sacrifices, and their particular fondness for ’acquiring’ beautiful women, often by force.

Ma Zhaolong didn’t act immediately. He was cautious. He discreetly observed Wang Jian and Yue Lingshan (who had quickly re-veiled herself), noting their simple outer sect disciple robes, their relatively low Qi signatures (Sixth Stage, he gauged, not particularly threatening to his own Seventh Stage), and the fact that they seemed to be traveling alone.

He sent a quick, coded message via a carrier spirit-pigeon to his nearby sect brothers, who were also in the State of Yue on a ’resource gathering’ mission (which usually involved terrorizing mortal villages or ambushing lone cultivators).

’Prime quality goods found in Three Rivers Crossing. Two targets, seemingly weak. The female is... exceptional. Gather the pack. We hunt tonight.’

Later that evening, as Wang Jian and Princess Yue Lingshan left Three Rivers Crossing on their Flying Leaves, intending to find a secluded spot to camp for the night, they were unaware they were being trailed.

Six figures, cloaked in dark, blood-tinged robes, followed them at a discreet distance, their own flying artifacts – crude, bat-winged contraptions – making little sound. Ma Zhaolong led them, his eyes fixed on Yue Lingshan’s cloaked form, a lecherous grin on his face.

”See, brothers?” Ma Zhaolong cackled softly to his companions, all disciples of the Blood Fiend Sect, their cultivations ranging from Fifth to Seventh Stage. ”I told you she was a prize! That little glimpse was enough to tell me she’s a top-tier beauty under that veil. We’ll deal with the pretty boy first, make it quick. Then... we can all have some fun with the little fairy before we... refine her essence for the Blood Pool.”

His companions chuckled, their eyes gleaming with cruelty and lust. They were used to such hunts.

Wang Jian, though seemingly relaxed as he flew beside Lingshan, felt a subtle prickle on his senses. His soul, even without its full divine capabilities, was preternaturally sensitive to killing intent and hostile gazes.

’We’re being followed,’ he sent to Yue Lingshan using the Whispering Wind Voice Art. ’Six of them. Demonic Qi signatures, faint but distinct. State of Jin, Blood Fiend Sect, if their robe insignia is any indication from the texts I read.’

Yue Lingshan tensed, her hand instinctively going to the hilt of her Verdant Willow Blade. ”What should we do, Jian?”

”Lead them away from any populated areas,” Wang Jian replied calmly. ”Find a secluded spot. Let them think they have the advantage of surprise. Then... we eliminate them.” His voice was devoid of emotion, but Lingshan could sense the cold, deadly intent beneath.

They found a small, forested valley, far from any roads or villages. They landed their Flying Leaves, feigning ignorance of their pursuers.

”This looks like a good spot to rest for the night, Lingshan,” Wang Jian said, his voice carrying deliberately.

As they began to set up a mock camp, the six Blood Fiend Sect disciples descended, surrounding them in a loose circle, their weapons drawn – cruel-looking sabers, barbed whips, and one disciple even wielding a flute that seemed to hum with a sinister energy.

”Well, well, what have we here?” Ma Zhaolong sneered, stepping forward, his gaze openly devouring Yue Lingshan’s cloaked form. ”Two little lambs, strayed from their flock? Lost, are we, little fairy?” He licked his lips.

Wang Jian stepped in front of Yue Lingshan, his hand resting on the hilt of his Night Fang. ”Fellow Daoists from the Blood Fiend Sect, I presume? To what do we owe this... unwelcome attention?”

Ma Zhaolong chuckled. ”Smart boy. Saves us the trouble of introductions. As for attention...” His gaze raked over Yue Lingshan again. ”Your lovely companion has caught our eye. Hand her over, and perhaps we’ll let you live. A quick death, of course.”

”I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Wang Jian said, his voice still calm, but with an underlying chill. ”My companion is not for... sharing.”

”Brave words for a pretty boy about to die!” another Blood Fiend disciple, a burly seventh-stager with a scarred face, snarled, stepping forward. ”Kill him! The girl is ours!”

The six demonic cultivators attacked simultaneously.

Ma Zhaolong lunged at Wang Jian with his saber, its blade coated in a faint, dark red Qi that reeked of blood. The scarred seventh-stager swung a barbed whip, aiming to entangle Wang Jian. Two fifth-stagers charged Yue Lingshan, their eyes gleaming with lust. The disciple with the flute began to play a shrill, disorienting melody, designed to confuse their spiritual senses. The sixth, another sixth-stager, circled, looking for an opening.

Wang Jian exploded into motion. He didn’t wait for Ma Zhaolong’s attack to land. His Night Fang was a blur. ’Flowing Metal Slash!’ he roared internally, channeling his Qi. His blade met Ma Zhaolong’s saber with a clang, but instead of a direct block, Wang Jian’s sword slid along Ma Zhaolong’s, sparks flying, then, with a flick of his wrist, disengaged and darted towards Ma Zhaolong’s exposed sword wrist.

Ma Zhaolong yelped, instinctively pulling his hand back, but not before Night Fang left a deep, bloody gash. Simultaneously, Wang Jian sidestepped the incoming barbed whip, the cruel barbs whistling past his ear. He didn’t pause. He launched a ’Sparking Ember Spell’ directly at the flute-playing disciple. The small fire projectile, while weak, was unexpected. The disciple yelped, his melody faltering as he dodged, breaking the disorienting sound attack.

Yue Lingshan, meanwhile, faced the two lust-crazed fifth-stagers. ”Jade Water Shield Art!” she cried, a shimmering barrier of blue Qi appearing around her. Their crude saber slashes bounced off it, though the shield flickered precariously. She then retaliated with her ’Azure Serpent Strike’, a whip-like tendril of water Qi lashing out, catching one of the disciples across the face, making him scream and stumble back. Her peak mortal body, empowered by her Sixth Stage Qi, allowed her to fight on par, even slightly above, these reckless fifth-stagers.

The scarred seventh-stager, enraged that his whip had missed, roared and swung again, this time aiming for Wang Jian’s legs. Wang Jian leaped, using his ’Feather-Light Step Technique’ for a short burst of agility, his Night Fang descending in a powerful chop towards the whip-wielder’s shoulder.

CLANG! The disciple managed to block with his whip handle, but the force of Wang Jian’s Qi-infused blow sent a numbing shock up his arm.

Ma Zhaolong, clutching his bleeding wrist, snarled, ”He’s stronger than he looks! All of you, together! Overwhelm them!”

The sixth disciple, the one who had been circling, finally lunged, aiming a poisoned dagger at Wang Jian’s back.

Wang Jian, his senses preternaturally sharp, spun, his Night Fang parrying the dagger with a screech of metal. He then kicked out, his foot connecting solidly with the disciple’s knee, eliciting a howl of pain.

The battle became a chaotic melee. Wang Jian, though only Sixth Stage, fought like a demon. His movements were precise, economical, his every strike infused with just enough Qi from his ’Bright Jade Art’ to be damaging, his control exquisite. He used the terrain, the confusion of the group attack, his superior combat instincts, to turn their numbers against them. He focused on disabling strikes – wrists, knees, eyes – rather than outright kills, conserving his precious Qi for when it truly mattered.

Yue Lingshan, meanwhile, was holding her own surprisingly well against the two fifth-stagers. Her Jade Water Shield, though flickering, absorbed their clumsy attacks, and her Azure Serpent Strike kept them at bay. Her Verdant Willow Blade, guided by her growing confidence, found openings, drawing blood.

The flute player, having recovered from the Sparking Ember, tried to resume his disorienting melody, but Wang Jian sent another, more accurately aimed, fire projectile his way, forcing him to dodge again, his contribution effectively neutralized.

Ma Zhaolong and the scarred seventh-stager pressed their attack on Wang Jian, their demonic Qi flaring. Wang Jian, though taking a few minor cuts and bruises, fought with a cold, terrifying efficiency. He was a whirlwind of dark steel, his Night Fang seeming to be everywhere at once.

He saw an opening. The scarred seventh-stager, overeager, lunged recklessly. Wang Jian sidestepped, then, instead of attacking, he pushed the disciple with a Qi-infused palm strike, sending him stumbling directly into Ma Zhaolong’s path.

Ma Zhaolong, surprised, barely managed to avoid skewering his own sect brother. The momentary confusion was all Wang Jian needed.

His Night Fang flashed. ’Flowing Metal Slash!’ This time, aimed at Ma Zhaolong’s exposed neck.

Ma Zhaolong’s eyes widened in terror. He tried to bring his saber up, but it was too late. Wang Jian’s blade, empowered by his remaining Qi, bit deep. A gurgling sound, a spray of dark blood, and Ma Zhaolong, the lecherous leader, collapsed, his eyes staring sightlessly at the darkening sky.

Seeing their leader fall, the remaining Blood Fiend disciples faltered. Panic began to set in.

The scarred seventh-stager roared in fury and grief, charging Wang Jian with renewed, reckless abandon. Wang Jian met him, their blades clashing, but now Wang Jian was pressing the attack, his movements faster, more aggressive. He scored a deep cut on the disciple’s sword arm, then another on his leg. The disciple stumbled, roaring in pain.

Yue Lingshan, seeing her opponents distracted by their leader’s death, pressed her advantage. Her Azure Serpent Strike wrapped around one fifth-stager’s ankle, tripping him. As he fell, her Verdant Willow Blade descended, ending his lecherous ambitions permanently. The other fifth-stager, seeing his companion fall, turned to flee, but Lingshan, with a surprising burst of speed from her Feather-Light Step, intercepted him, her blade piercing his back.

The flute player and the dagger-wielding sixth-stager, seeing the tide turn so decisively, abandoned all thoughts of fighting and tried to escape.

Wang Jian didn’t let them. He disengaged from the wounded seventh-stager, who was now barely able to stand, and pursued the fleeing flute player. A well-aimed ’Crimson Sparrow Dart’ spell – three small, homing fire projectiles – struck the man in the back, sending him sprawling with a scream. Wang Jian finished him with a quick thrust of his Night Fang.

He then turned to the dagger wielder, who was scrambling desperately through the undergrowth. Wang Jian hurled his Night Fang with unerring accuracy. The sword spun through the air, embedding itself deep in the man’s spine.

Only the scarred seventh-stager remained, bleeding heavily, his eyes filled with despair and hatred. Wang Jian calmly retrieved his sword, wiped it on the grass, and walked towards him.

”You... you monsters...” the disciple spat, blood flecking his lips.

”We adapt,” Wang Jian replied coolly. He ended the man’s suffering with a single, efficient strike.

Silence descended once more, broken only by Yue Lingshan’s slightly ragged breathing and the distant sounds of the forest. Six bodies lay scattered around the clearing.

Princess Yue Lingshan, her face pale but her eyes blazing with a mixture of adrenaline and grim satisfaction, looked at Wang Jian. She had killed again. It wasn’t as sickening as the first time, but the weight of it was still there. She endured.

Wang Jian gave her an approving nod. ”Good work, Lingshan. You handled yourself well.”

He then began the familiar task of looting the corpses. The Blood Fiend Sect disciples, despite their thuggish appearance, were surprisingly well-equipped. Each carried a low-grade storage pouch.

’Demonic sects... often surprisingly wealthy from their plundering,’ Wang Jian mused.

He used his remaining Qi to open each pouch. The combined haul was significant. Nearly a hundred low-grade spirit stones. Several bottles of potent, if slightly sinister-looking, healing salves and Qi recovery pellets (which Wang Jian set aside for careful analysis later). And, most interestingly, cultivation manuals.

Each disciple had a standard Blood Fiend Sect Qi Condensation technique, the ’Crimson Flow Art’, which seemed to focus on absorbing blood essence to rapidly increase Qi, albeit at the cost of stability and mental clarity. ’Crude. Unsuitable for us. But understanding it could be useful.’

Ma Zhaolong’s pouch, however, held a true prize. A thicker, more ancient-looking jade slip. Wang Jian scanned it. It was a complete demonic cultivation manual, the ’Asura Blood Devil Scripture’, detailing a path all the way to the late Nascent Soul Realm. It was a powerful, if heretical, technique, involving refining demonic blood entities and cultivating a terrifyingly potent Asura battle form.

’This... is significant. Not for me to cultivate directly, my own path is different. But the principles, the insights into demonic cultivation at higher realms... invaluable for creating my own technique later. And perhaps, for understanding potential future enemies.’

Another surprising find in Ma Zhaolong’s pouch was a thin, insect-eaten scroll: ’Profound Insect Rearing Manual’. It detailed methods for cultivating and controlling various types of spiritually attuned insects, using them for scouting, assassination, and even direct combat.

’Insect art... interesting,’ Wang Jian thought. ’A niche, but potentially very effective path if one finds the right spirit insects. Something to keep in mind.’

Yue Lingshan, watching Wang Jian meticulously sort through the spoils, her initial nausea subsiding, felt a thrill of acquisition. ”So much... loot, Jian! Especially the spirit stones!”

The Blood Fiend disciples had also yielded some decent spirit-tempered weapons. Ma Zhaolong’s saber was a wicked-looking curved blade, emanating a faint bloodthirsty aura – Wang Jian claimed it, strapping it alongside his Night Fang. It felt more suited to some of the demonic arts he vaguely remembered. One of the other disciples had a beautiful, ornate fan, its ribs made of dark ironwood, its silk surface painted with delicate, if slightly unsettling, demonic beasts. When infused with Qi, its edges became razor sharp.

”This fan... it’s beautiful, in a dark way,” Yue Lingshan murmured, picking it up. ”And surprisingly light.” When she channeled her Water Qi into it, the demonic beasts on its surface seemed to shimmer, and the air around it grew colder. It seemed to complement her Verdant Willow Blade nicely, offering a different style of attack.

Wang Jian nodded. ”Good. A versatile arsenal is always useful.”

He then meticulously disposed of the bodies, burning them to ash with a few well-placed Sparking Ember spells (which took a considerable amount of his recovered Qi), then scattering the ashes and burying any remaining traces. He left no clues.

”We move,” he said finally, the clearing now looking undisturbed, save for a few scorch marks. ”The State of Jin is too close. We don’t want any more Blood Fiend Sect ’resource gatherers’ stumbling upon us.”