Raising the Villain in Wrong Way

The dark, bottomless voids she had known for the past year were gone, replaced by those brilliant, radiant, crystalline rubies.

And right now, those ruby eyes were fixed unblinkingly upon her.

There was no hostility in his gaze.

There was no icy indifference, no calculation, and no arrogant superiority.

There was only a soft, devastatingly gentle, and unimaginably heavy devotion.

It was a look that stripped away all the noise of the universe, focusing on her as if she were the only true, vibrant, living entity in a world composed entirely of gray ash.

When he looked at her, his eyes seemed to say: I am here. I have always been here. And I will burn the cosmos to the bedrock before I let you fall.

Ji’an swallowed hard, her throat suddenly feeling incredibly dry despite the tea.

She was a transmigrator.

She had spent months hiding behind a thick, impenetrable wall of sarcastic humor, culinary arrogance, and avoidance.

She had rationalized every single one of Wangchen’s intense, borderline-yandere behaviors as the actions of a fiercely loyal, socially maladjusted "sworn brother."

She had convinced herself that he clung to her simply because she was the first person to treat him like a human rather than a slave or a weapon.

But sitting here in the quiet isolation of the pavilion, stripped of the adrenaline of the swamps and the chaos of the imperial capital, the wall of denial finally shattered.

’He’s not looking at me like a brother,’ Ji’an realized, the thought echoing in the silence of her mind, carrying the weight of a falling mountain.

It was an undeniable, terrifying epiphany.

The way he had held her on the balcony, burying his face in her hair.

The way he had tracked her down to the mortal town was just to buy her favorite street food.

The way his ruby eyes tracked her every micro-expression, lingering on her lips, her neck, her hands, with a quiet, starving intensity that he was barely managing to keep chained beneath his flawless ice.

’Does he really have those feelings for me?’ Ji’an concluded, her heart giving a violent, panicked flutter against her ribs.

The realization should have been flattering.

It should have been the triumphant climax of a romance novel.

The ultimate, unapproachable ice god had melted exclusively for her.

Instead, it plunged Ji’an into a dark, suffocating abyss of panic and guilt.

’He thinks I am a man,’ Ji’an’s internal monologue shrieked, a cold sweat breaking out across her collarbones beneath her tight linen chest binder. ’He thinks he has fallen in love with a male cook. The Ice Demon of the Celestial Sword Sect, the epitome of orthodox perfection, is currently battling a monumental internal crisis of sexuality, and he is doing it all for a lie!’

The sheer magnitude of her deception crashed over her.

Since the very first day she had kicked down the door to his closed heart with a plate of spicy chicken, she had been wearing a mask.

She used an artifact to hide her gender.

She had lowered her voice.

She had adopted the swagger of a young master.

She had built the entire foundation of their relationship on a fundamental, biological falsehood.

If she told him the truth now... what would happen?

Ji’an stared into the swirling green liquid of her teacup, her stomach twisting into painful knots.

Would he feel betrayed?

Would the sociopathic, volatile monster that lurked beneath his calm exterior view her disguise as a malicious, calculated manipulation of his trust?

He hated liars.

He hated the political machinations of the elders.

If he discovered that the one person he had allowed past his defenses had been lying to him every single time she opened her mouth... would his Flawless Ice completely fracture?

Would he hate her?

Or worse... what if his feelings were entirely tied to the persona she had created?

What if he loved the arrogant, male "brother" who cooked for him, and the revelation that she was actually a fragile, transmigrated woman completely shattered his attraction to her?

’I can’t tell him. Not yet,’ Ji’an panicked, her grip on the teacup tightening until her knuckles turned bone-white. ’If I drop the gender bomb on him right after he just broke through his mortal bottleneck, the psychological shock could trigger a catastrophic Qi deviation. I could literally kill him with the truth. Or he could kill me. Or he could freeze the entire sect.’

She looked up, stealing a glance at his breathtaking, serene face.

He was pouring himself a cup of tea, his silver hair cascading over his shoulder like liquid moonlight.

He looked so happy.

So quietly at peace, just sitting across from her.

To destroy that peace right now felt like an unforgivable crime.

’I will let nature take its course,’ Ji’an resolved, forcing her lungs to expand, violently shoving her guilt into a heavily warded box in the deepest, darkest corner of her mind. ’I cannot control the variables right now. If the universe forces my hand, if my artifact breaks in the middle of a duel, or if a truth-telling artifact is deployed... I will deal with the fallout then. But for now, I cannot afford the distraction. We have a tournament to survive.’

With the romantic crisis temporarily, stubbornly shelved, Ji’an’s pragmatic survival instincts seized control of her brain.

Her expression, which had been soft and conflicted, slowly hardened into a mask of grim calculation.

The Official Sect Martial Ranking was no longer a distant, looming threat.

It was here.

The sect was overflowing with returning disciples.

And that meant the overarching plot of the web novel she was currently trapped in was about to enter its most volatile, explosive arc.

’Gu Zhiwei,’ Ji’an thought, her silver-flecked eyes narrowing as she stared out into the mist-shrouded abyss beyond the pavilion.

The Holy Son.

The golden retriever.

The undisputed, ordained protagonist of this reality.

According to the fragmented memories she possessed of the original web novel, Gu Zhiwei’s return from his southern border mission marked the true beginning of his ascension.