After Transmigrating into a Book as Cannon Fodder, I Pampered the Villain - Chapter 34

Chapter 34: Younger Sister

Fang Yuetong accepted Yan Huaixi’s warning. She took every well-intentioned reminder seriously. However, in her eyes, Yan was merely a mortal making a judgment based on limited information; she had no idea that when Yan spoke those words, she had already begun a countdown for her.

Two days prior, Fang Yuetong had tracked the corpse-refiners to their meeting point: a wine cellar beneath an ordinary restaurant. Because of the Tianqiu Sect’s recent crackdown, they had switched to bi-monthly gatherings. Tonight was one of those nights. Fang intended to catch them all in one fell swoop to ensure no more innocents were harmed.

But her movements had been detected. If she had arrived at the scheduled time, she would have found only an empty cellar. The cultists had changed the time and location, believing they had made a fool of the high-and-mighty Tianqiu Sect. They didn’t realize that as they revelled, a new lute player had joined the musicians.

The seductive music gradually shifted into a haunting, eerie melody of the Underworld. The men drinking and eating noticed nothing until one man suddenly dropped his cup and slumped onto the table.

“What’s wrong? Too much to drink?” the leader laughed. “After all these years, his tolerance hasn’t improved a bit. I told him to use spiritual energy to dissipate the alcohol, but he’s too stubborn. Ignore him, keep drinking!”

As soon as he spoke, the “drunk” man sat bolt upright. His eyes were vacant and staring.

“Don’t push yourself,” someone teased. “Want us to help you clear the wine? If not, just stay down…”

The speaker’s voice caught in his throat. His mocking expression turned to pure terror.

Crack! Someone dropped a wine cup, but no one cared about the shattered glass. Every eye was fixed on the “drunk” man. He was frantically clawing at his own throat with both hands. His eyes bulged as he strangled himself, his grip tightening as he actually channeled his own spiritual energy to reinforce the chokehold!

Bang! The leader stood up, drawing his blade to slice off the man’s arms—it was the only way to save him. He didn’t care about the limbs; they could always harvest new ones from a living corpse later.

The leader was powerful. One strike of his blade cracked the reinforced floor and ceiling, but he didn’t see the severed arms fall. Instead, his own perspective suddenly dropped.

His head hit the floor and rolled. He saw his own body still standing there, holding the blade that had just decapitated him. Blood dripped into his eyes, staining his vision a visceral red. Even in death, he couldn’t comprehend how his own hand had turned the blade upon his own neck.

He tried to scream “Enemy attack!” but his mouth was full of blood.

The banquet hall was already in chaos. Everyone had gone mad hacking at each other or committing suicide. The scene of luxury had turned into a slaughterhouse of flying limbs and blood. Yet, the music did not stop.

A figure in a black cloak, face hidden in shadow, continued to play the lute. Her slender fingers plucked the strings, shifting the melody to something soft and gentle. As the blood spread to her feet, the contrast between the gore and the beautiful music was horrific.

The survivors finally stopped, their eyes glazed like puppets on a string. One by one, they took jade slips, letters, and various items from their storage bags and laid them before the musician. Then, they returned to their places.

The musician smiled slightly. Her fingers swept across the strings, replacing the gentle tune with a sharp, piercing discordance.

The puppets regained a flash of clarity, only for their faces to contort in agony. Those still conscious clawed at their skin until their faces were a bloody mess, unable to stop their souls from being forcibly peeled from their bodies.

A blood-red butterfly emerged from each person’s head, carrying their filthy, distorted souls toward the musician. She looked at them with disgust; she could smell the stench of their souls from a distance.

Lately, she had been spoiled by the woman at home. Aside from the medicinal scents, she felt as if she had been marinated in peach blossom fragrance. It’s easy to move from frugality to luxury, but hard to go back. She had forgotten what it was like to live in such a foul-smelling world.

“Stay away from me. Find bottles and pack them yourselves,” the musician ordered.

The blood butterflies bobbed up and down as if nodding. The musician stood up, her clothes pristine. Not a single drop of blood had touched her.

At dawn, Fang Yuetong finally found the location. She stood frozen outside the restaurant for a long time.

The corpses were tied neatly in a row outside the building. Every face was twisted into an identical expression of absolute horror. As the first ray of sunlight hit the town, screams of terror from the townspeople followed.

The sound was so piercing that it woke Yu Yingxia. She rubbed her eyes, her mind foggy. Was that a noise, or was I dreaming?

She washed up and pushed open her door. The morning sun cast a golden glow over the courtyard. Yan Huaixi was sitting at the stone table reading a book, the light giving her an ethereal, softened aura.

Yingxia held her breath, afraid to disturb the scene. Yan, though reading, had been monitoring her. “Why are you standing there like a fool? Come here.”

The lack of coldness or sarcasm in Yan’s voice made Yingxia feel even more dazed. She walked over, and at Yan’s signal, leaned in closer.

Yan reached out and adjusted Yingxia’s collar. “Still half-asleep? Look at you, your clothes are a mess.”

Yingxia blushed, feeling a mix of embarrassment and bewilderment. “I can do it myself, Master,” she whispered.

“It’s done.” Yan’s movements were swift.

Yingxia was overwhelmed. Ever since she woke up, Yan’s attitude had shifted she was gentler and more attentive. Yingxia couldn’t help but wonder: I didn’t do anything wrong, did I? Is this… end-of-life care?

She thought of her kitchen duties. She had been unconscious for so long that the fresh produce was spoiled. “Master, the food in the kitchen is no longer good. I need to go buy more.”

“Don’t go out today. You might see some… frightening things,” Yan said, gesturing for Yingxia to sit beside her.

“Did something happen?” Yingxia asked, hearing the commotion outside. “Is there a sale going on or something?”

“Not a sale. People are going to look at the dead.” Yan flipped a page. “A wall’s worth of corpses have been hanging out in the wind all night.”

Yingxia gasped, the vivid image making her skin crawl. She instinctively leaned closer to Yan for protection, and a satisfied look crossed Yan’s face.

“Was it… those corpse-refiners? Did you do it?” Yingxia guessed. She knew Fang Yuetong wouldn’t have such a macabre sense of humor. That was pure Yan Huaixi.

“Mm,” Yan replied casually, as if she were being asked what she had for breakfast.

Suddenly, Yan felt a hand at her collar. Yingxia was trying to pull the fabric aside. Yan stiffened, her fox-like eyes narrowing.

“Let me see your injuries! You were too impulsive! Fang Yuetong was here yesterday—you should have let her handle it. Why go yourself? Your wounds haven’t fully healed!” Yingxia began a long-winded nag.

Yan Huaixi went silent, allowing Yingxia to check her bandages. “Jiang Li is a good doctor; my external wounds are fine. They won’t reopen.”

“And your cultivation? Your meridians? Your Dantian? Those are important! You fought how many people last night? What if you relapsed? And you know the old man from Tianqiu Sect is looking for you, plus Yan Zheng… the consequences of exposure are unthinkable!”

Yan turned her head away, trying to escape the verbal onslaught. In the kitchen, Jiang Li watched through the window, so shocked that she didn’t notice the water overflowing from her cup.

The Master is actually enduring a lecture? Jiang Li thought. I’m the doctor, and if I say two extra words, she throws me out! Yingxia has said more in a minute than I’m allowed in a week! How is she an exception? Master, you are far too biased!

“I couldn’t take Fang Yuetong last night,” Yan finally said when Yingxia stopped for breath. “I warned her, but she was too slow. If I had waited, they would have escaped.”

Yingxia sighed, defeated by Yan’s logic. She could only hope the villainess would prioritize her safety. After all, if Yan died, Yingxia’s life would end too. It sounds like a romantic tragedy, Yingxia thought with a twitch of her lips, but it’s actually just a doomsday villain and her unlucky cannon-fodder subordinate.

Yan placed a hand on Yingxia’s head, seemingly enjoying messing up her hair. “Relax. They were small fry. They died without even knowing who killed them. I gathered all the evidence and left a copy for Fang Yuetong. I made sure it’s too obvious for even her to lose this time.”

Yingxia felt relieved. Leaving it to the “Child of Destiny” was smart—Fang’s luck would likely do the rest of the work.

“Can you stop nagging now?” Yan teased.

“I only nag for your own good—” Yingxia’s mouth was promptly covered by Yan’s hand.

“I know, I know. Next time I’ll make Fang Yuetong do the running,” Yan said. “Are you younger than me? Why do you nag more than I do? How old are you, anyway?”

“Twenty-seven…” Yingxia blurted out, before realizing she had given her actual age, not the body’s. “I mean… I’m about six or seven years younger than you, Master. I don’t remember the exact number.”

Yan Huaixi ignored the correction. She had guessed twenty-seven was the truth. So young, she thought. For a cultivator, that was barely the beginning. Yingxia always looked after Fang Yuetong, so Yan thought she was older, but she was only half of Fang’s age—and much younger than Yan herself.

“Master?” Yingxia asked, seeing Yan’s odd expression.

Yan snapped back. “You really are about the same age as A-Wu.”

“A-Wu?”

“Yan Zhaowu. My sister,” Yan whispered.

Yingxia’s eyes widened. She knew that name from the system’s text. Yan Zhaowu was one of the victims of the Guanyue Villa massacre. “My apologies, Master,” Yingxia said, realizing she had poked a wound.

“It’s fine. It’s in the past,” Yan waved it off.

Yingxia didn’t believe her. The hatred wouldn’t pass until every enemy was dead. Yan was just comforting her.

“Don’t be nervous. I won’t eat you,” Yan said, taking Yingxia’s hand. It was stiff with tension. “You’re about the same age as A-Wu, and I view you as a younger sister. You don’t need to be so tense. You get along with Yang Xunzhou just fine, don’t you?”

A… younger sister?

Yingxia was stunned. Was she serious? As for being tense Yan was the one who made every day feel like dancing on a knife’s edge since Yingxia arrived!

“You and Sister Yang are different,” Yingxia began, but Yan’s cold gaze cut her off. “I mean… she is a friend I made, so I can be casual. But you are my Master. I remember your instructions I dare not overstep.”

Yan Huaixi felt a bit choked by her own words. She remembered saying exactly that to Yingxia when she first arrived and had no affection for her.

Tsk… I threw a stone, and it landed right on my own foot.

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