Raising the Villain in Wrong Way

"Brother Zhaoyu came to my courtyard screaming about a theft," Ji’an said calmly. "But he had no proof. He brought armed guards to attack a family member over a servant. If the neighbors heard? If they saw the Heir of the Lin family acting like a bandit leader raiding a village?"

Ji’an shook her head sadly. "I had to stop him quickly. Before he said something that would truly damage the Lin family’s reputation. I used a wooden spoon because I didn’t want to hurt him with a blade. I was... holding back."

"Holding back?!" Zhaoyu looked ready to cough up blood.

General Lin looked at Zhaoyu’s bruised face. Then he looked at Ji’an’s slender arms.

A small, barely perceptible snort escaped the General’s nose.

"Zhaoyu," the General barked.

Zhaoyu jumped. "Yes, Father?"

"You are a cultivator at the Qi Condensation stage. Ji’an has barely formed a core. And yet... You were beaten by a spoon?"

Zhaoyu went red. "I... he... it was a surprise attack!"

"In war, the enemy does not announce their attack," General Lin said coldly. "You lost. You were humiliated. And you came here to cry to your mother."

The General stood up. The pressure in the room doubled.

"Zhaoyu, go to the ancestral hall. Kneel for three hours. Reflect on why your martial arts are so pathetic that you cannot defeat a cook."

"Father!" Zhaoyu gasped.

"Go!"

Zhaoyu scrambled away, shooting a look of pure hatred at Ji’an before disappearing.

General Lin turned to Madam Lin. "Madam. You manage the household. Why are guards breaking down doors in the inner courtyards? Fix this disorder."

Madam Lin gritted her teeth, her nails digging into her palms. "Yes, General. I have been... negligent."

Finally, the General looked at Ji’an. His gaze lingered for a long moment. He saw the cleverness there. He saw the defiance.

"And you," he grunted.

Ji’an tensed.

"Your rhetoric is sharp. But your cultivation is weak. If you have energy to fight, use it to train. Next time, if you use a spoon, at least infuse it with Qi."

It was a reprimand, but to anyone with ears, it was barely concealed approval.

"Yes, Father. This son understands," Ji’an bowed.

"Dismissed."

Ji’an turned and walked out. She kept her head lowered respectfully until she reached the heavy doors.

As she passed Madam Lin, who was glaring daggers at her profile, Ji’an didn’t look at her. But just as she crossed the threshold, hidden from the General’s line of sight by the doorframe, she turned her head slightly toward the Head Wife.

She pulled down her lower eyelid and stuck out her tongue, a childish, mocking bleh! before slipping out into the sunlight.

Behind her, she heard the sound of a porcelain teacup shattering as Madam Lin finally lost her grip.

Walking back to the West Courtyard, Ji’an felt her knees go weak. She slumped against a pillar, exhaling a breath she felt she’d been holding for ten minutes.

[System Alert: Host Performance Rating: S-Rank.]

[Effect: General Lin’s Favor +10. Madam Lin’s Hatred +20. Lin Zhaoyu’s Trauma +50.]

[Current Status: You have successfully established a foothold. But be warned: The Head Wife will not use brute force next time. She will use poison.]

"Let her try," Ji’an muttered, straightening up. "I’m the one who cooks the food around here."

She hurried back to her courtyard. She was hungry. And if Xie Wangchen had overcooked those dumplings, there was going to be another beating, this time, purely verbal.

Back in the kitchen, Xie Wangchen was waiting for Lin Ji’an. The water was boiling, and the dumplings were folded, imperfectly, but were acceptable.

He looked up as she entered, his eyes scanning her for injuries.

"You’re back," he said, stating the obvious.

"Of course I’m back. Did you think I’d let them kill me before lunch?" Ji’an grabbed the tray of dumplings and dumped them into the pot.

"The General...?"

"The General is a reasonable man," Ji’an said with a grin that showed far too many teeth. "He appreciates the strategic application of kitchenware."

Xie Wangchen watched the steam rise, obscuring her face. He didn’t understand what had happened in that hall. But he knew one thing: Lin Ji’an had walked into the lion’s den to defend the fact that he beat the Heir for a servant... and walked out unscathed.

For the second time that day, the future Villain picked up a pair of chopsticks, feeling a strange, unfamiliar emotion settle in his gut.

It wasn’t quite loyalty. But it was certainly... interesting.

.

.

.

The sun was setting, casting long, bloody shadows across the Lin Mansion, but the West Courtyard was currently brighter than a lantern festival.

A procession of servants, led by the General’s personal adjutant, had been marching in and out of Lin Ji’an’s humble gate for the past hour.

They carried lacquered boxes made of red sandalwood, bolts of shimmering cloud-silk, and jars of medicinal pills that smelled faintly of sulfur and mint.

Xie Wangchen stood by the kitchen door, a cleaver loosely held in his hand, watching the spectacle with an expression that could only be described as a "system error."

"This..." the adjutant announced, placing a small, heavy box on the stone table, "is ’Snow Lotus Ointment’ from the Northern Peaks. The General heard that the Third Young Master exerted himself greatly during the... incident this morning and feared you might have strained your wrist."

Lin Ji’an sat on her veranda, sipping tea with the air of a retired emperor. She suppressed the urge to laugh. Strained her wrist? She had strained it beating the General’s heir with a soup ladle.

"Father is too kind," Ji’an said, her voice smooth. "Please tell him this son is deeply moved and will apply the medicine diligently."

"Also," the adjutant continued, ignoring the twitch in his own eye, "The General has doubled your monthly allowance of spirit stones. He said... he said that a man must eat well to have the strength to ’defend his reasoning.’"