Raising the Villain in Wrong Way

It was a dead zone, like a void.

"Rest while you can, Ling’er," Ji’an murmured, her eyes scanning the shadows flitting between the rotting houses. "We are not staying here a second longer than we have to. As soon as the sun rises, we are leaving this place, even if I have to carry you all the way to the exit portal."

Because Lin Ji’an knew one universal truth about cultivation worlds: Villages that beasts refused to enter were never safe.

They were just hiding something far, far worse.

***

The decision to stay in the deserted, fog-choked village was not made lightly.

If Lin Ji’an had her way, she would have strapped Princess Zhao Ling’er to her back, thrown Tang Bo over her shoulder like a sack of rice, and sprinted until her legs gave out just to escape the oppressive, dead energy of the place.

But reality in the cultivation world was rarely so accommodating.

As the adrenaline of the Mountain-Crag Turtle chase faded, the physical toll on the squad became glaringly obvious.

The female disciples were entirely spent. Princess Ling’er’s ankle, despite the poultice, was throbbing violently from the jostling.

Liu Liu was pale and shaking, her Qi reserves hovering dangerously near empty. Even Su Wan, who usually masked her fatigue with graceful poise, was leaning heavily against a rotting wooden pillar, her breath coming in ragged, exhausted gasps.

The boys weren’t faring much better.

Tang Bo looked ready to vomit, and the Class 6 guards had collapsed onto the dusty cobblestones the moment they realized they weren’t actively being hunted.

"We are not moving," Ji’an declared, her voice slicing through the eerie, suffocating silence of the village. She drove her Black Iron Spatula into the dirt, drawing a harsh line in the dust. "If we go back into that fog right now, we’re just going to become a walking buffet for beasts. We should rather hold the line here."

Zhang Min, the battered leader of the Class 7 group, let out a long, shuddering sigh of relief. "Thank you, Senior Brother Lin. Our inspection team was lucky to find you. We still have one more team out there, the foraging group. They went to the northern edge of the village perimeter to find edible roots. Once they return, we will have our full numbers."

"Foraging in a dead zone," Ji’an muttered under her breath, her eyes scanning the dilapidated, sagging roofs of the ancient huts. "What a brilliant tactical decision. If they come back with glowing mushrooms, do not let them eat them."

With her decision made, Ji’an immediately shifted from "Combat Commander" to "Mother of Camping."

She commandeered the most structurally sound hut in the vicinity, a relatively large, stone-reinforced building that looked like it used to be a village elder’s home.

She didn’t trust the rusted, ancient warding talismans plastered to the doorframe, so she created her own.

Using a mixture of crushed garlic, spirit-salt, and a heavy infusion of her Five-Grain Qi, she drew a thick, unbroken line across the threshold and the windowsills.

"It won’t stop a high-level demon," Ji’an explained to a wide-eyed Tang Bo, "but it completely masks the scent of human blood and sweat. To anything outside, this hut just smells like a very aggressive Italian restaurant."

She arranged the dry mats inside, placing the girls in the most protected corner. She boiled water using a small, controlled flame from her fingertips, brewing a restorative tea using the Thunder-Root Ginger she had harvested earlier.

"Drink," Ji’an ordered softly, kneeling beside Princess Ling’er and pressing a warm wooden cup into her hands. "It will burn a little, but it will clear the damp cold from your meridians."

Ling’er took the cup, her fingers lightly brushing against Ji’an’s before she retracted them quickly.

The Princess looked up, her haughty facade completely dismantled by exhaustion and gratitude. "Thank you, Senior Brother," she whispered, her cheeks coloring slightly in the dim light of the hut.

Ji’an offered a warm, reassuring smile, patting Ling’er’s shoulder before moving on to hand cups to Liu Liu and Su Wan.

Her movements were brisk, efficient, and deeply comforting. In a village that felt like an open grave, Lin Ji’an was a localized sun of domestic security.

However, not everyone in the hut was looking at Ji’an with simple gratitude.

From his spot leaning against the far wall, Mo Wuchen watched the gray-robed cook with calculating, amber eyes.

The Shadow Assassin was currently maintaining his "frail, sickly" persona flawlessly.

He coughed softly into his sleeve, his pale face catching the faint light of the small fire Ji’an had built in the hearth. He looked tragically beautiful, like a dying poet.

But internally, Wuchen was experiencing a profoundly unfamiliar emotion: profound irritation.

He was used to being the center of gravity. His charm, his carefully crafted vulnerability, and his devastating good looks were weapons that had never failed him.

Men and women alike usually fell over themselves to offer him a cloak, a comforting word, or a protective arm.

But Lin Ji’an was treating him like a piece of slightly annoying furniture.

When Ji’an handed out the ginger tea, she didn’t linger by Wuchen’s side; not once did she look deeply into his eyes.

She shoved a cup into his hands, said, "Drink it while it’s hot, it clears mucus," and walked away to check the perimeter wards.

’He is deliberately ignoring me,’ Wuchen’s inner thoughts hissed, a dark, competitive thrill curling in his chest. ’He always protects the Princess, flirts with the Su girl, and even coddles that idiot Tang Bo, spares time for other disciples. But he treats me with the cold, sterile efficiency of an apothecary. He is acting as if I don’t exist at all! This is unacceptable!’

Wuchen’s lips curved into a faint, dangerous smile. If this cranky guy wanted to play hard to get, the assassin lord was more than willing to raise the stakes.

’No matter what, today, I’ll definitely conquer this guy! I’ll definitely charm him to death!’