Raising the Villain in Wrong Way

Without the external distractions of the sect, without the daily, agonizingly brief visits from the gray-aproned cook, the obsession had nothing to dilute it. It concentrated.

It crystallized into something devastatingly pure, overwhelmingly potent, and incredibly dangerous.

When a cultivator at the peak of their realm experiences such a profound, violent disconnect between their chosen Dao and their true, underlying desires, the universe does not offer comfort.

It offers a tribulation.

An Inner Demon.

The Xinmo did not attack from the outside.

It slipped through the microscopic fractures in Wangchen’s icy composure, born from the very depths of his own suppressed, violent lust and desperate longing.

It bypassed his conscious defenses entirely, wrapping its dark, hallucinatory tendrils around his spiritual sea, plunging him violently into a tribulation of the mind.

The transition was seamless, a terrifyingly smooth warping of reality.

The absolute, freezing darkness of the cavern abruptly shattered, melting away like sugar dissolving in boiling water.

The biting, localized blizzard that constantly surrounded his physical body vanished, replaced by a sudden, oppressive, and intoxicating heat.

Wangchen’s eyes snapped open.

He was no longer sitting on a slab of Glacial Marrow.

The cold, jagged stone beneath him had been replaced by the plush, yielding softness of a massive mattress covered in dark, heavy crimson silk.

The air was thick, humid, and heavy with a scent that instantly made his pulse skyrocket, the sharp, unmistakable aroma of crushed pine, roasted spices, and the incredibly distinct, sweet undertone of Ji’an’s natural Yin Qi.

It was a scent that bypassed his brain entirely and struck directly at the predatory core of his nervous system.

He slowly rose to his feet.

He was standing in the center of a massive, circular cage.

The bars were forged from thick, gleaming, unyielding gold, stretching twenty feet high to form a domed roof.

The cage was utterly inescapable, locked from the outside with heavy, intricate mechanisms that possessed no keyhole.

Beyond the golden bars, the world was a hazy, indistinct void of swirling shadows.

There was no world outside. There was only the cage.

And he was not alone inside it.

Huddled at the far edge of the vast, silk-covered floor, her back pressed desperately against the gleaming golden bars, was Lin Ji’an.

Wangchen’s breath hitched, a harsh, jagged sound that tore through the heavy silence of the dream.

She was not wearing her formal, heavy Third Generation robes.

She was not wearing her soot-stained gray apron.

She was draped only in a thin, incredibly loose, diaphanous white inner tunic.

The fabric was practically translucent, clinging to the sweat-sheened skin of her collarbones.

The collar gaped dangerously wide, slipping off one pale, slender shoulder, offering a maddeningly tantalizing glimpse of the smooth skin beneath.

Her dark hair was completely unbound, spilling in a chaotic, beautiful mess over her shoulders and pooling on the crimson silk beneath her.

But it was her face that completely, utterly shattered the last remaining fragments of Wangchen’s restraint.

She wasn’t looking at him with the arrogant, untouchable confidence of the Head Chef. She wasn’t looking at him with the warm, exasperated fondness of a sworn brother.

She was looking at him with pure, unadulterated, and intoxicating fear.

Her dark, silver-flecked eyes were wide, her pupils dilated. Her chest heaved with rapid, panicked breaths, her lips parted slightly as she stared at the monster standing in the center of the cage.

In the real world, Wangchen would have loathed that fear.

He had spent weeks meticulously crafting a facade of serene, brotherly perfection just to ensure she never looked at him with that expression again.

But this was the Inner Demon tribulation.

The realm of suppressed, taboo desires stripped of all morality, all logic, and all restraint.

And the demon inside Wangchen, the dark, suffocating, intensely territorial yandere entity he kept chained beneath the ice, reveled in it.

’He is trapped,’ the dark, euphoric thought flooded his mind, a wave of liquid fire burning through his veins. ’There is no Golden Retriever to run to, no Drunken Sovereign to pull rank. There are no doors. There is no escape. Here, he is completely, utterly at my mercy.’

Wangchen took a slow, deliberate step forward.

His own attire had shifted. He was no longer wearing his heavy, restrictive outer robes.

Like Ji’an, he wore only a loose, thin inner tunic of dark, midnight silk that hung open at the chest, exposing the pale, heavily muscled planes of his torso.

The formal silver crown that usually bound his hair was gone, allowing his silver-bell-like, silky locks to fall wildly around his face, framing a visage that was completely, terrifyingly feral.

As his bare foot pressed into the crimson silk, Ji’an flinched.

"Wangchen, stop," her voice trembled, a breathless, panicked whisper that sounded like a symphony to his starved senses.

She pressed her hands flat against the golden bars behind her, her knuckles turning white, desperately searching for an exit that did not exist. "Don’t come any closer. Open the cage. Let me out."

"There is no way out, Ji’an," Wangchen murmured. His voice was a low, gravelly vibration, thick with a dark, heavy lust that he made absolutely no effort to conceal. "We are sealed within. It is just you. And me."

He took another step.

The suffocating, predatory tension in the air was so dense it was practically a physical weight pressing down on them.

The heat in the cage was agonizing, a slow, simmering boil that made Wangchen’s skin flush, the tips of his ears burning with a feverish, crimson heat.

Ji’an’s survival instincts finally shattered her paralysis.

With a frantic, terrified scramble, she threw herself to the side, intending to crawl along the perimeter of the cage to put distance between them.

Her bare feet scrambled for purchase on the slippery crimson silk.

Wangchen did not run, nor did he lunge at her directly. He moved with the slow, devastating, inevitable grace of an apex predator that already knew the hunt was over.