Villain: Manipulating the Heroines into hating the Protagonist

Chapter 851: Weaving Threads in Yueyang City

Yueyang City pulsed with a chaotic energy that Wang Jian found invigorating after the dull monotony of the countryside. Mortals swarmed the streets like ants, consumed by their petty struggles and fleeting ambitions. Yet, amidst this mundane sea, floated whispers – faint echoes of a world beyond mortal comprehension, the world of cultivators he intended to reclaim.

His base was the Lucky Scholar Inn, a name dripping with irony given his current circumstances. It was clean, relatively quiet, and centrally located – a decent observation post. From here, he would cast his net into the cityʼs murky waters.

ʼObjectives clear,ʼ he affirmed mentally, reviewing the plan formulated the previous night. ʼSeven Stars Pavilion. Mountain intel. Cultivation knowledge. Funds, including Spirit Stones if possible.ʼ

His silver, acquired from the unfortunate bandits and Master Fengʼs ʼgenerosityʼ, wouldnʼt last forever. Yueyang was more expensive than the villages, and information often came at a price – paid in coin, favours, or blood.

First, the Seven Stars Pavilion. The name itself hinted at something more than a mundane herb shop – perhaps an allusion to astrology, formations, or simply grandiose marketing. The merchants in the teahouse had mentioned its interest in rare herbs, particularly from the Serpentʼs Spine, and its ʼunusual clientsʼ. That was the strongest lead.

He spent the morning walking the city, specifically asking directions not for the Pavilion itself (too direct, might arouse suspicion), but for major apothecaries, spice merchants, and purveyors of exotic goods. By cross-referencing directions and observing the flow of well-dressed patrons and sturdy delivery carts, he narrowed down the Pavilionʼs likely location to the affluent Northern District.

It wasnʼt a shopfront, as he initially suspected. The Seven Stars Pavilion occupied a large, walled compound disguised as the residence of a wealthy merchant family. High walls, heavy wooden gates guarded by alert-looking men who were definitely more than simple gatekeepers, and windows covered by intricate lattices preventing easy observation.

ʼInteresting. Not a public business, then. More exclusive. Deals happen behind closed doors.ʼ

He found a multi-story teahouse opposite the compound, offering a decent vantage point from an upper window. Ordering another pot of cheap tea, he settled in for a long watch. Patience was a virtue he possessed in abundance when necessary.

He observed the gate guardsʼ shift changes, the types of carts making deliveries (some carrying mundane goods, others carefully sealed crates emanating faint, unusual scents), and the individuals permitted entry. Most were servants or labourers, but occasionally, figures in finer robes, sometimes arriving in covered sedan chairs, would be swiftly admitted after presenting a token or speaking a password to the head guard.

ʼTokens or passwords… implies membership or established clientele. Need to get inside, or intercept someone coming out.ʼ

He noted one particular individual – a middle-aged man with shifty eyes and slightly threadbare robes, who seemed perpetually nervous. He visited the Pavilion twice during Wang Jianʼs observation period, both times leaving quickly with a small, tightly wrapped package, his gaze darting around as if fearing pursuit.

ʼThat one,ʼ Wang Jian decided. ʼHe looks like a low-level functionary, perhaps an errand runner or a broker operating on the fringes. Stressed, likely underpaid or in debt. Vulnerable.ʼ

He trailed the nervous man discreetly when he left the Pavilion the second time. The man hurried through the bustling streets, constantly looking over his shoulder, eventually disappearing into a crowded, lower-class residential area near the Western Market – a maze of narrow, twisting alleys.

Perfect.

Wang Jian didnʼt act immediately. He noted the approximate location and returned later that evening, after darkness had fallen. The Western Market area was even more chaotic at night, filled with drunkards, gamblers, and women plying the oldest trade. Shadows danced, providing ample cover.

He located the small, dilapidated courtyard house the nervous man had entered. A single oil lamp burned dimly inside. Using skills honed over lifetimes, he scaled the low wall silently, landing like a cat in the muddy yard. He crept to the window, peering through a crack in the wooden shutter.

The man, whose name Wang Jian later learned was Ma Liu, sat alone at a table, nervously counting a small pile of copper coins. The package from the Pavilion lay beside him. He looked miserable.

Wang Jian slipped the simple latch on the flimsy door and entered without a sound.

Ma Liu jumped, startled, his eyes wide with terror as he saw the figure emerge from the shadows. ”Who… who are you? What do you want?”

Wang Jian stepped into the lamplight, his face calm, his eyes cold. He didnʼt draw his knife. Sometimes, the threat was more effective than the act.

”Relax, Ma Liu,” Wang Jian said softly, using the name heʼd overheard someone call him earlier near the market. Using the manʼs name immediately unnerved him further. ”I just want to talk.”

”Talk? About what? I have nothing!” Ma Liu stammered, instinctively trying to cover the coins.

”Oh, I think you do,” Wang Jian countered smoothly. ”You work for, or at least with, the Seven Stars Pavilion, do you not? Running errands? Delivering small packages?”

Ma Liuʼs face went ashen. ”I… I donʼt know what youʼre talking about!”

Wang Jian sighed dramatically. ”Ma Liu, Ma Liu. Letʼs not waste time. I saw you leaving the Pavilion compound. Twice today. Looking quite nervous, I might add.” He gestured towards the package on the table. ”What interesting items does the Pavilion entrust to you?”

Fear warred with defiance in Ma Liuʼs eyes. ”Thatʼs none of your business! Get out!”

Wang Jian took a slow step closer. His aura, though lacking Qi, radiated the chilling pressure of a predator accustomed to dominance. Ma Liu shrank back in his chair.

”Hereʼs the situation, Ma Liu,” Wang Jian stated flatly. ”Youʼre involved with a secretive organization. You look perpetually terrified, suggesting youʼre either being exploited or youʼre in over your head. Perhaps both.”

He leaned down slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. ”Maybe you owe gambling debts? Maybe you skimmed a little off a delivery? Maybe someone else is blackmailing you?”

Ma Liu flinched at the mention of gambling debts. Wang Jian saw it. ʼBingo.ʼ

”Whatever it is,” Wang Jian continued, ”your position is precarious. One word from me in the right ear – perhaps to those sturdy guards at the Pavilion gate, or maybe even to some of your less savory creditors – and your miserable life gets considerably worse. Perhaps even… shorter.”

Ma Liu started trembling. ”What do you want?” he whispered, defeated.

”Information,” Wang Jian said simply. ”Tell me about the Seven Stars Pavilion. What do they really do? Who are their main clients? What kind of herbs or goods do they deal in? How does one become a supplier or a client? Tell me everything.”

Faced with Wang Jianʼs cold pressure and the implied threat to expose him, Ma Liu cracked. Pouring out his story in halting whispers, fueled by fear and desperation.

The Seven Stars Pavilion, he explained, was indeed far more than an herb merchant. It acted as a discreet intermediary, primarily serving cultivators or powerful martial sects operating secretly within the region. They sourced rare, often dangerous-to-harvest herbs, minerals, and beast parts from the Serpentʼs Spine mountains and other perilous locations, selling them at exorbitant prices.

ʼCultivator intermediary. Just as I suspected.ʼ

Their clients were varied – reclusive alchemists, sect elders needing specific ingredients, even some ʼunorthodox practitionersʼ who required items not available through legitimate channels. Ma Liu himself was a small-time broker, connecting desperate herb gatherers from the mountains with the Pavilionʼs buyers, taking a risky commission. He was indeed deeply in gambling debt, and the Pavilion kept him on a very short leash.

”What about specific herbs?” Wang Jian pressed. ”Things that might interest… cultivators?”

Ma Liu hesitated, then mentioned a few names whispered among the gatherers: ʼMoonpetal Dewdropʼ, ʼSunscar Fungusʼ, ʼSerpentʼs Blood Vineʼ. He described their supposed properties – enhancing Qi absorption, healing spiritual injuries, ingredients for potent pills. He also confirmed the Pavilion dealt in beast cores, particularly from creatures found deep within Blackwood Forest or the higher peaks.

”And Spirit Stones?” Wang Jian asked casually.

Ma Liu shook his head nervously. ”Spirit Stones? Heavens, no! The Pavilion might accept them as payment from truly powerful clients, Iʼve heard rumors, but they donʼt trade them. Those are like Immortal treasures! Far beyond the likes of me or even the Pavilionʼs day-to-day business.”

ʼSo, acquiring Spirit Stones directly through the Pavilion is unlikely. As expected.ʼ

Wang Jian then questioned him about Blackstone Peak and the Jade Moon Sect. Ma Liu knew little, only the common rumors – Blackstone Peak was considered ill-omened, avoided by most gatherers due to strange disappearances and lights. The Jade Moon Sect was a legend, maybe real, maybe not, supposedly hidden somewhere inaccessible in the highest parts of the Serpentʼs Spine. No one knew how to find them or contact them.

Wang Jian absorbed all this, cross-referencing it with what he already knew. Ma Liu, despite his lowly position, had provided valuable confirmation and details.

ʼHeʼs served his purpose.ʼ

Ma Liu looked up hopefully. ”Iʼve told you everything! Please, just let me go! I wonʼt say a word!”

Wang Jian smiled faintly. ”Youʼre right, Ma Liu. You wonʼt say a word.”

Before Ma Liu could react, Wang Jianʼs hand shot out, clamping over the manʼs mouth while his other hand delivered a swift, precise chop to the back of his neck. A muffled snap, and Ma Liu went limp.

Wang Jian lowered the body gently to the floor. No mess, no struggle. Quick, clean, efficient. Leaving loose ends was sloppy. Ma Liu knew his face, knew he was asking questions. Alive, he was a liability.

He calmly searched the small house. He found the package from the Pavilion – inside was a small pouch containing a dried, faintly glowing fungus. ʼSunscar Fungus, perhaps?ʼ He pocketed it. Might be useful later, or sellable if he found the right channel. He also took Ma Liuʼs meager coins and a crudely drawn map hidden under the floorboards, showing paths into the foothills of the Serpentʼs Spine, likely used by the herb gatherers Ma Liu dealt with.

He wiped down any surfaces he might have touched, arranged the scene to look like Ma Liu had perhaps choked on food or drink (a common enough end for desperate gamblers), and slipped back out into the night as silently as he had arrived.

One objective partially achieved: confirmation and details about the Seven Stars Pavilion. One potential lead (Ma Liu) eliminated. One potentially valuable herb acquired.

The next day, Wang Jian shifted focus: knowledge acquisition. Specifically, practical knowledge about local herbs, alchemy basics, and perhaps maps or texts relating to the Serpentʼs Spine.

He started with apothecaries. Most were simple shops selling common remedies. But in a quieter side street, he found ʼOld Fangʼs Herbal Remediesʼ. The shop was dusty, cluttered, and smelled strongly of dried plants. Behind the counter sat a wizened old man with cloudy eyes, meticulously grinding herbs with a mortar and pestle.

Wang Jian browsed the shelves, feigning interest in common cures.

”Looking for something specific, young man?” Old Fang asked without looking up, his voice raspy.

”Just curious, venerable elder,” Wang Jian replied respectfully. ”I grew up in the countryside, familiar with some basic plants, but the city has so many more.” He picked up a bundle of dried leaves. ”What is this used for?”

Old Fang squinted at it. ”Feverfew. Good for headaches.”

Wang Jian spent the next hour engaging the old man, asking seemingly innocent questions about various herbs, praising his knowledge. Old Fang, clearly lonely and proud of his craft, slowly warmed up, launching into explanations of different plants and their uses.

Wang Jian listened intently, absorbing the information, comparing it to his vast but currently inaccessible knowledge from the Chaos cosmos. Some herbs were similar, others completely alien.

He noticed a locked wooden chest behind the counter. ”You have some truly rare items here, elder. What treasures do you keep locked away?” he asked lightly.

Old Fang chuckled drily. ”Treasures? Just my references. Old herbals, some passed down, some copied. Notes from my youth. Worthless to anyone but me.”

ʼReference books. Exactly what I need.ʼ

Wang Jian expressed admiration for the elderʼs dedication and purchased a few common herbs he didnʼt actually need, paying slightly over the odds. ”Thank you for sharing your wisdom, Elder Fang. Itʼs rare to meet someone with such deep knowledge.”

He left, making sure the elder had a positive impression of the polite, curious young man.

That night, Wang Jian returned.

Old Fang lived in a small apartment above his shop. Wang Jian bypassed the shop entrance, scaling the buildingʼs wall with silent ease, slipping through the unlocked window of the apartmentʼs storage room.

He moved through the dark apartment like a ghost. He found Old Fang asleep in his small bedroom, snoring softly. In the main room, near the stairs leading down to the shop, was the locked wooden chest.

The lock was simple, old. Wang Jian examined it. He didnʼt have lock picks, but he didnʼt need them. Using his knife and a thin piece of metal heʼd acquired, leveraging his understanding of basic mechanics, he manipulated the tumblers. A soft click echoed in the silence. The chest opened.

Inside were several hand-bound books and scrolls. He carefully lifted them out, examining them in the faint moonlight filtering through the window.

ʼCompendium of Common Yue Herbsʼ. ʼNotes on Serpentʼs Spine Floraʼ. ʼBeginnerʼs Guide to Harmonizing Ingredientsʼ. ʼBasic Poultice and Salve Recipesʼ.

Bingo. Exactly what he needed. Not high-level cultivation texts, but practical, foundational knowledge for this world. One scroll even had crude drawings and descriptions of plants Ma Liu had mentioned, including one matching the Sunscar Fungus he now possessed. Another book contained basic alchemical principles – heating times, catalyst reactions, ingredient preparation – albeit focused on mortal remedies, the core concepts were transferable.

He couldnʼt steal the books outright; Old Fang would notice immediately and raise an alarm. Copying them by hand would take far too long.

ʼNeed to borrow them. Long enough to memorize.ʼ

He scanned the room. He found Old Fangʼs writing supplies – ink stone, brushes, cheap paper. An idea formed, cruel but efficient.

He went back to the storage room, found a small, empty clay jar. He went downstairs into the darkened shop. Using his newfound knowledge from browsing earlier, he quickly located several specific herbs known to induce temporary, non-lethal paralysis and confusion when ground and inhaled. He ground them together using Old Fangʼs own mortar and pestle, creating a fine powder.

He returned upstairs. Standing over the sleeping Old Fang, he carefully wafted the powder near the old manʼs face. Old Fang stirred slightly, coughed, then settled back into a deeper, unnaturally still slumber, his breathing shallow but steady.

ʼThat should keep him incapacitated and confused for at least a day, maybe two. Long enough.ʼ

He carried the chestʼs contents back to his inn room. The Lucky Scholar Inn wasnʼt ideal for long-term study, but it would have to do for now. He spent the entire next day and night sequestered in his room, meticulously reading, analyzing, and committing the contents of Old Fangʼs precious books and scrolls to memory.

His soul, honed by eons of cultivation and study, absorbed the information at an incredible rate. Plant identification, properties, basic alchemical processes, geographic notes on the Serpentʼs Spine foothills – it flowed into his mind, forming a new foundation of knowledge specific to this realm.

By the morning of the second day, he had internalized everything of value. He carefully returned the books to the chest, relocked it, and returned to Old Fangʼs apartment via the window.

The old man was still unconscious, though stirring slightly. Wang Jian placed the chest back where he found it, wiped away any trace of his presence, and left as silently as he came.

Old Fang would eventually wake up, confused, groggy, perhaps thinking heʼd just slept very deeply or had a strange illness. Heʼd never know his lifeʼs work had been mentally plundered.

Knowledge secured. Objective partially achieved.

Next, information on the mountains and potential sect locations. Maps were crucial.

He visited several shops claiming to sell maps, but most were crude, inaccurate depictions of the prefecture, useless for navigating treacherous mountain terrain. He needed something more detailed, perhaps military-grade or used by experienced hunters or surveyors.

His inquiries led him to the ʼAdventurerʼs Restʼ, a rowdy tavern frequented by mercenaries, caravan guards, hunters, and other rough types who often traveled the prefectureʼs wilder regions. The air was thick with cheap wine fumes, boastful laughter, and the clang of tankards.

He took a corner table, ordered watered-down wine he barely touched, and listened. He heard tales of giant spiders in Blackwood Forest, rumors of rich ore veins discovered (and fought over) in the western hills, and arguments about the best routes to avoid recent bandit activity near Serpentʼs Pass.

He focused on a group of three grizzled men dressed in worn leather, clearly hunters or trappers familiar with the mountains. They were complaining about a recent failed hunt deep in the Serpentʼs Spine foothills.

”... damn mist!” one grumbled. ”Came out of nowhere. Couldnʼt see ten feet ahead. Lost the trail of that Cloudhorn Stag completely.”

”And that weird whistling sound near Blackstone?” another added, shivering slightly despite the warm tavern. ”Felt like ghosts watching us. I say we stick closer to the outer ridges from now on.”

The third nodded grimly. ”Place is cursed, I tell ya. Especially Blackstone Peak. My uncle vanished near there years ago. Found his camp, but no sign of him.”

Wang Jian waited until they had drunk a fair amount more. He approached their table, adopting a respectful, slightly naive demeanor.

”Apologies for intruding, seniors,” he said, offering a slight bow. ”I couldnʼt help but overhear you speaking of the Serpentʼs Spine. I am… considering a trip into the foothills myself. For rare herbs.”

The hunters eyed him up and down. ”You, boy?” the first one scoffed. ”Alone? The foothills ainʼt a place for greenhorns. Youʼll end up as wolf-meat or worse.”

”I understand the risks,” Wang Jian said earnestly. ”But the potential rewards… I heard certain plants fetch high prices here in the city. I was hoping experienced hunters like yourselves might offer some advice? Perhaps point me towards reliable maps of the safer paths?”

He subtly placed a few silver coins on the table. ”For your time and wisdom, of course.”

Silver always talked in places like this. The huntersʼ expressions softened slightly.

”Maps, eh?” the second hunter grunted, pocketing the silver. ”Most maps ainʼt worth the parchment theyʼre drawn on for the deep mountains. Best maps are kept by the military, or families like the Hongs who claim logging rights near Serpentʼs Pass.”

ʼThe Hong family? Logging rights? Another potential avenue.ʼ

”But,” the third hunter leaned in conspiratorially, ”we got our own charts. Sketched ʼem ourselves over the years. Marked safe water sources, good hunting grounds, places to avoid…” He tapped his temple. ”Most of itʼs up here, but we got some drawings back at our lodge.”

”Could I perhaps… see these drawings?” Wang Jian asked hopefully. ”Just the foothill regions? I wouldnʼt dream of intruding on your secret hunting grounds.”

The hunters exchanged glances. They were clearly reluctant to share their hard-earned knowledge with a stranger.

Wang Jian added more silver to the pile. ”A fair price for invaluable knowledge.”

Greed warred with caution in their eyes. Finally, the first hunter sighed. ”Alright, alright. Finish your drink, boy. Weʼll take you back to the lodge, let you have a quick look. But no copies, understand? Just look.”

”Understood, and thank you, seniors!” Wang Jian beamed, playing the grateful novice.

He followed them out of the tavern and through a network of back alleys to a rundown lodge house used by itinerant hunters. Inside, amidst drying pelts and hunting gear, they grudgingly unrolled several pieces of tanned hide covered in charcoal sketches and notes.

The maps were crude compared to cultivator standards, but far more detailed than anything sold commercially. They showed trails, landmarks, warnings about treacherous ravines, locations of known beast lairs, and, crucially, rough outlines of areas deeper in the mountains, including the dreaded Blackstone Peak region, marked with skulls and warnings like ”Bad Air” and ”Strange Lights”. There was no mention of a Jade Moon Sect.

Wang Jian studied the maps intently, his powerful memory absorbing every line, every note. He asked clarifying questions, feigning difficulty understanding certain symbols, prompting the hunters to explain further, revealing more details in their gruff explanations.

After nearly an hour, he straightened up. ”Thank you, seniors. This has been incredibly helpful.”

”Right then,” the first hunter said gruffly, already rolling up the maps. ”Time for you to be on your way, boy. And keep quiet about this, eh?”

”Of course,” Wang Jian smiled reassuringly.

As he turned to leave, the second hunter suddenly frowned, suspicion dawning in his slightly booze-addled brain. ”Hold on… you memorized that awful quick, didnʼt ya? For just ʼhaving a lookʼ?”

The third hunter also looked uneasy. ”Yeah… seemed mighty interested in the Blackstone area too, for someone just lookinʼ for herbs in the foothills…”

Their eyes narrowed. They realized they might have been played.

Wang Jian stopped at the door, his back to them. He sighed inwardly. ʼPredictable. Greed makes them share, then suspicion makes them regret. Loose ends.ʼ

He turned around slowly. The smile was gone from his face, replaced by the same cold indifference heʼd shown Master Feng.

”You noticed,” he stated flatly. ”A pity.”

The hunters instinctively reached for the knives at their belts. ”Who are you, boy?” the first one demanded, menace returning to his voice.

”Someone who now possesses your valuable knowledge,” Wang Jian replied. ”And someone who dislikes complications.”

He moved before they could draw. Faster than they could track. He grabbed a heavy wood-chopping axe leaning against the wall.

The fight was short, brutal, and confined to the small lodge room. Despite their experience hunting beasts, the hunters were mere mortals against Wang Jianʼs honed combat skills and ruthless efficiency. Axe, knife, improvised weapons like stools and firewood – he used everything at hand.

Minutes later, Wang Jian stood breathing steadily amidst the wreckage and the three still bodies. He hadnʼt even broken a sweat.

He searched the lodge thoroughly, finding a bit more coin, some usable survival gear, and, most importantly, the huntersʼ map-hides. He rolled them up carefully and tucked them into his pack.

He cleaned himself up, ensured the door was barred from the inside, and slipped out a back window, melting back into the cityʼs nighttime shadows.

Mountain intelligence: Secured. Objective achieved. Loose ends: Tied up permanently.

He now had knowledge of herbs and basic alchemy, detailed maps of the region he needed to explore, and confirmed information about the Seven Stars Pavilionʼs role. The path towards the Serpentʼs Spine, towards Blackstone Peak, and towards the elusive world of cultivators was becoming clearer.

The only missing piece was Spirit Stones, the currency of the powerful. That, he suspected, would require venturing much closer to the fire. Perhaps the Seven Stars Pavilion held more secrets than Ma Liu knew, or perhaps the mountains themselves held the key.

His time in Yueyang City was drawing to a close. It was time to move towards the true wilderness.