Raising the Villain in Wrong Way

"This is going to be amazing! I haven’t had a proper meal in months!"

Ji’an turned to retrieve the plates of thinly sliced boar meat and spiritual lotus root when the ambient temperature of the courtyard violently and drastically plummeted.

The spicy, weaponised steam hanging in the air instantly crystallised, falling to the ground like red snow.

The water in the nearby koi pond froze solid with a loud CRACK.

The bamboo gate didn’t open.

The shadows parted, and Xie Wangchen stepped into the courtyard.

The transformation from the Ice Demon into an ascended immortal was still breathtaking.

His flowing silver hair caught the light of the fire pits.

He wore pristine, immaculate white robes that seemed to reject the very concept of dirt.

His face was a mask of flawless, carved ice.

But it was his ruby eyes that commanded the space.

Wangchen did not look at the table.

He didn’t look at Zhiwei, who was waving happily at him.

He didn’t look at Shiru, whose jade eyes instantly narrowed with sharp, calculating hostility.

Wangchen looked exclusively at Ji’an.

The dark, bottomless devotion in his crimson gaze was intense.

He walked slowly across the courtyard, entirely ignoring the other two prodigies, stopping right beside the cutting board where Ji’an was arranging the meat.

"I have arrived, Brother Ji’an," Wangchen murmured, his voice a low, vibrating melody that was entirely too intimate for a casual dinner party.

"I can see that, Wangchen. The sudden onset of an ice age was a dead giveaway," Ji’an replied, frantically trying to suppress the heat rising in her cheeks. She pointedly refused to make direct eye contact with his overwhelmingly beautiful face. "Take a seat. We are having hotpot tonight."

Wangchen turned his head, finally acknowledging the other occupants of the courtyard.

His ruby eyes swept over Gu Zhiwei with mild, dismissive indifference.

But when his gaze landed on Wen Shiru, the absolute aura of the Flawless Ice Root violently flared.

Wangchen was not a fool.

He had the sharpest, most sociopathic instincts in the sect.

He saw the way the merchant in the green robes was looking at Ji’an.

He saw the dark, calculating, possessive hunger in Shiru’s eyes.

A shard of pure killing intent radiated from Wangchen, so potent that the wooden table groaned under the pressure.

’He is looking at what is mine,’ Wangchen’s internal monster roared, the urge to summon a glacier and impale the merchant heir nearly overriding his logical restraint.

Shiru, possessing his own formidable cultivation, did not flinch.

He adjusted his silver spectacles, meeting Wangchen’s lethal glare with a cool, mocking, deeply arrogant smile.

The staring contest began.

It was a silent, apocalyptic war.

The air between the silver-haired immortal and the emerald-clad merchant crackled with suppressed spiritual energy.

Frost began to spread across the wooden table from Wangchen’s side, while Shiru subtly deployed a repelling array to stop the ice from touching his robes.

"Wow, it got really chilly all of a sudden!" Zhiwei laughed obliviously, rubbing his arms. "Good thing we are having spicy broth! Are you guys excited?"

Neither Wangchen nor Shiru answered him. They remained locked in a death glare, mentally planning hundreds of different ways to murder each other and hide the bodies.

"Alright, sit down!" Ji’an ordered, slamming a massive platter of raw meat onto the table, shattering the lethal tension with sheer culinary authority. "Wangchen, stop trying to freeze the table. Daoist Shiru, stop glaring at Wangchen. We are here to eat, not to measure our spiritual pressure. Chopsticks up, or I throw the food to the cat."

Wangchen instantly retracted his killing intent, his gaze snapping back to Ji’an, softening into absolute obedience.

He gracefully glided to the table, taking the seat directly to Ji’an’s left.

Shiru maintained his smug smile, leaning forward on his cane, occupying the seat to Ji’an’s right.

Zhiwei sat happily across from them, blissfully unaware that he was sitting in the crossfire of a violent, possessive love triangle.

"The rules are simple," Ji’an announced, taking her seat between Wangchen and Shiru. She gestured to the violently bubbling, radioactive-red broth on the left side of the cauldron. "This side is for you three. It is heavily spiced to purge impurities. The clear side is for me, because I am the chef and I don’t need to prove my fortitude. You can cook your own meat. Let’s eat."

Zhiwei, eager and ravenous, was the first to strike.

He picked up a thick slice of the Iron-Bristle Boar belly with his chopsticks and plunged it into the boiling red broth.

He swished it around for a few seconds, pulled out the glistening, spice-coated meat, and popped it directly into his mouth.

He chewed.

For two seconds, the Holy Son’s face was a picture of pure, culinary bliss.

And then, the Ghost-Peppers detonated.

Zhiwei’s eyes bulged out of his head.

His entire face, from his neck to the roots of his golden hair, turned a brilliant, violent shade of crimson.

A literal plume of steam shot out of his ears.

He slammed his hands onto the table, tears violently cascading down his cheeks as he gasped for air, looking like a man who had just swallowed a live coal.

"IT’S SO GOOD!" Zhiwei croaked, his voice cracking by three octaves, desperately shoving a handful of plain rice into his mouth to douse the flames. "BY THE HEAVENS, IT HURTS, IT’S SPICY AS THE FIRE OF HELL! BUT IT’S SO, SOOO GOOD!"

Shiru watched the golden retriever’s meltdown with a look of mild, aristocratic disdain.

"A true cultivator maintains their composure, regardless of the physical stimuli," Shiru mocked softly.

He elegantly picked up a slice of lotus root, dipped it gracefully into the red broth, and placed it into his mouth.

He chewed with slow, refined precision.

Ji’an watched him, a wicked, vindictive smirk playing on her lips. ’Wait for it. The Demon-Horn chilli has a delayed fuse.’

Shiru swallowed.

Three seconds later, the merchant’s flawless, jade-like composure violently fractured.