I Transmigrated Into the Script and Married the Villain - Chapter 3

That night, Zhang Xingxing and Chen Che met by the lake, both furtively carrying bundles on their backs, their eyes darting around as they searched for a way out.

“This real Pan Lake Sword Manor is way more impressive than that shabby set the production team built,” Zhang Xingxing remarked, gazing around the manor in awe.

“No duh,” Chen Che retorted. “That was just a temporary set for filming the main scenes. They’re not going to build a real lakeside mansion for us, are they?”

Pan Lake Sword Manor, as its name suggested, was a manor built around Pan Lake. Its lord, Cao Chengyong, had spared no expense in securing this picturesque location within the river basin, a place surrounded by mountains where the river flowed through a narrow gorge. The terrain caused the river to momentarily pause and swirl, and Cao Chengyong had invested immense resources to dam the calmest stretch of the river, creating an artificial lake. Around this lake, he had constructed several residential courtyards and pavilions to house the 181 disciples and elders of the Pan Lake Sword Sect.

Zhang Xingxing analyzed, “There are two ways out. One is by water. See that small stone bridge in the distance? There’s a boat moored beneath it. If we take it downstream, we can leave the manor’s territory.”

Chen Che nodded in agreement. “Then let’s go. We’ll take a boat.”

“I’m not finished yet!” Zhang Xingxing hurriedly stopped him. “Inner sect disciples guard both ends of the bridge, and every boat leaving the manor is logged daily. The waterway is impassable. Why are you being so reckless?”

Chen Che nearly wanted to strangle him.

“So, what’s your plan for getting out?”

“Ah, that’s the second way I was going to mention.” Zhang Xingxing pointed to the upper right. “Tell me, what do you see?”

“Mountains.”

“Exactly! Pan Lake Sword Manor is surrounded by the lake on the inside and mountains on the outside. To escape, we have to climb the mountains. So, my second plan is this: we climb onto the roof of this house, then climb down the other side, hide deep in the mountains for a while, and then descend from a different direction. Voila! We’re out!”

Zhang Xingxing finished explaining his grand scheme with great enthusiasm, then turned to Chen Che. “Well?”

Chen Che remained silent for a moment before saying sincerely, “If I’d known you were this unreliable, I never would have suggested you audition for the role. If someone else had played Shen Zhijing, at least I’d have a dependable teammate right now.”

Zhang Xingxing waved off his concerns. “Are you climbing or not?” he asked. “If you’re not, I’ll go ahead. Don’t regret it later when I’m out and you’re still stuck in the sword manor.”

Chen Che nodded toward the roof. “Go ahead.”

“Tsk, you’ve got no sense of adventure,” Zhang Xingxing muttered, rolling up his sleeves and hiking up his pants legs. He took a few steps back, sprinted forward, and scrambled up a nearby tree, using both hands and feet. Perched precariously on a swaying branch, he leaped upward with all his might, launching himself into the air. With a thud, he hooked himself onto the roof’s edge in a crow-like, upside-down position.

Chen Che stared in disbelief. I didn’t realize he actually had some skills.

But Zhang Xingxing’s current position was far from comfortable. Half his body was pressed against the hard roof tiles, while his long legs dangled uselessly in mid-air. He struggled to grip the roof tiles with his hands, desperately trying to avoid slipping and losing all his progress.

“Hey, lend a hand!” he gasped, glaring down at Chen Che, who stood by the wall below.

“I would if I could!” Chen Che replied helplessly. “But I can’t reach you.”

Zhang Xingxing shot him a resentful glare before grunting and straining to pull himself upward. The cumbersome, layered robes of ancient times greatly hampered his climb.

“Young Master Zhang, where are you headed? Would you like me to lend you a hand?” A familiar voice drifted down from above.

Zhang Xingxing stiffly craned his neck upward. He saw Shen Zhijing sitting on the rooftop, a wine flask in hand, his long hair cascading down his back, the moonlight bathing his figure in an ethereal glow—a stark contrast to Zhang Xingxing’s clumsy climb up the wall.

Why is this villainous mastermind everywhere I go?!

Shen Zhijing rose, wine flask in hand, and approached the edge of the roof, gazing down at Zhang Xingxing clinging to the eaves. Seemingly slightly drunk, he tilted his head in a dazed manner and extended a hand. “Come, let me pull you up.”

Shen Zhijing’s hand was exquisitely beautiful, his slender fingers like finely carved jade, radiating a pearly luster.

For reasons Zhang Xingxing couldn’t explain, whether bewitched by some malevolent spirit or simply captivated by Shen Zhijing’s allure. He found himself placing his hand in Shen Zhijing’s palm before he could fully process what he was doing.

Just as he was about to use the leverage to pull himself up, Chen Che’s startled cry erupted from below.

A sudden, immense suction force materialized behind Zhang Xingxing, seizing him mid-air and violently yanking him off the eaves. Helpless against the force, Zhang Xingxing plummeted from the roof, his momentum carrying him several meters before he slammed into a stone.

Chen Che rushed forward and helped him up. “Zhang Xingxing!”

Zhang Xingxing lay curled on the ground, his body feeling like it had been torn apart. Agonizing pain shot through his shoulder blades and the back of his head. A pair of tall boots came into view, followed by the hem of a black robe. The newcomer stopped before him.

Chen Che abruptly rose to his feet, stepping in front of Zhang Xingxing. “What do you want?” he demanded.

With a casual wave of his hand, the newcomer effortlessly sent Chen Che sprawling to the ground.

Zhang Xingxing gritted his teeth against the pain and looked up at the man. His face was as cold as ice, his sword-like eyebrows and piercing eyes radiating an aura of righteous authority. A sword hung at his waist, and his posture was as straight as a pine tree, revealing his formidable martial skills. This was the man who had used his inner energy to yank Zhang Xingxing off the roof from afar.

Zhang Xingxing hissed through clenched teeth, forcing himself to speak. “Who are you?”

The man remained silent, his expression unchanging as he ruthlessly seized Zhang Xingxing by the collar and hoisted him to his feet. The force of the grip made Zhang Xingxing inwardly curse his misfortune, had he run into one of the original owner’s enemies?

The man dragged him to the base of a wall before finally speaking. “Stand properly!”

The command didn’t sound like a vengeful threat, but rather like an elder scolding a disobedient child.

Zhang Xingxing hunched over, struggling to straighten up. Chen Che hurried after him, calling out anxiously, “Great hero, what offense has my brother Zhang committed? He’s still young. Please show mercy!”

A true friend in times of trouble, Zhang Xingxing thought, deeply moved. I’ll dedicate “My Good Brother” to Chen Che when we get back.

“And who are you?” The great hero turned to Chen Che, his brow furrowed, radiating an imposing aura.

“I’m his friend!” Chen Che retorted, his neck stiff with defiance, refusing to yield an inch.

The great hero dismissed him with a glance and turned back to Zhang Xingxing. “Why did you flee?”

Because I don’t want to die.

Before Zhang Xingxing could formulate an answer, Chunxiao came running up, her voice frantic. “Young master, you scared this servant half to death! I went to refill your tea and found you gone. You didn’t return all night, and I feared something had happened, so I sought out Lord Wei.”

Girl, what could possibly happen to a grown man like me? This situation is far more dangerous!

Still, Chunxiao meant well, so Zhang Xingxing couldn’t bring himself to scold her.

“It’s fine,” Zhang Xingxing said, waving his hand to change the subject. “Who is Lord Wei?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, silence fell. The crowd exchanged bewildered glances, and the small corner of the wall was enveloped in an eerie stillness.

Zhang Xingxing was utterly baffled. What had he said wrong?

After a long moment, Chunxiao burst into tears. “Young Master! Are you alright, Young Master? Don’t scare Chunxiao like that!”

The great hero chimed in, “I think his brain might have actually fried from the fever.”

Zhang Xingxing: ? Great hero, why are you resorting to personal attacks?

“Young Master, this is Lord Wei Yu, your godfather,” Chunxiao sobbed, pointing at the great hero before them.

Wei Yu?

Oh ho! He knew this guy well—Wei Yu, one of the top ten martial artists in the script, renowned throughout the martial world. His sword could shatter a thousand pounds of force, his qinggong was unparalleled, and in the early stages of the story, he was deeply infatuated with the female lead, willingly serving her every whim. He always appeared at critical moments to protect her, and he even tried to capitalize on the heroine’s arguments with the male lead. But in the end, the heroine belonged to the male lead, and Wei Yu died protecting her at the hands of Shen Zhijing, his devotion unwavering to the very end, earning him a flood of readers’ tears.

So, he’d transmigrated into the godson of the devoted male second lead?

The original owner of this body was Wei Yu’s adopted son. There seemed to be such a character in the script, the youngest son of the Zhang family, the wealthiest clan in Jiangnan. Spoiled since birth, he was a pampered young master raised in a mountain of gold, spending his days either drinking and carousing in brothels or causing trouble outside.

When the original owner reached fourteen or fifteen, Master Zhang grew desperate. If he continued to let this little rascal run wild, the Zhang family’s century-old legacy would crumble before his eyes.

By chance, Wei Yu was traveling through the region that year when he fell into an enemy’s trap, collapsing by the roadside with severe injuries. Master Zhang happened to pass by and, moved by compassion, took him home to recover.

As Wei Yu recuperated at the Zhang residence, Master Zhang was astonished to discover that this man was not only steady and reliable but also a martial arts prodigy, a righteous hero the likes of which appeared only once in a century.

Comparing Wei Yu’s extraordinary qualities to his own wretched son, who was as different from him as heaven and earth, Master Zhang hatched a plan. He earnestly begged Wei Yu to mentor the original owner. To repay his benefactor’s kindness, Wei Yu readily agreed, teaching the young man basic breathing techniques and fundamental martial arts skills daily.

Unexpectedly, the original owner developed a genuine passion for martial arts. He abandoned brothels and wine, dedicating himself entirely to training at home.

A prodigal son’s return is worth more than gold, and Master Zhang was as joyous as if every day were the New Year.

Yet he worried that Wei Yu, a wandering martial artist who called the world his home, would never stay with the Zhang family for long. Having heard of Wei Yu’s renowned loyalty and righteousness, Master Zhang decreed that Young Master Zhang should perform the three kowtows and nine bows to formally recognize Wei Yu as his godfather, with heaven and earth as witness. This way, Wei Yu would be bound to care for his new ward, whether he liked it or not.

Unfortunately, Wei Yu was a man of rigid principles and stern demeanor, and his martial arts instruction was equally rigorous. The original owner never grew close to him. Later, when the original owner inherited the family business and became a merchant, Wei Yu continued his solitary journey through the martial world. Their master-disciple or father-son bond, which had lasted for over a decade, eventually dissolved, a truly regrettable end.

Zhang Xingxing’s mind raced. Wei Yu had ultimately escaped Pan Lake Sword Manor alongside the male and female leads. As Wei Yu’s adopted son, if he could cling tightly to Wei Yu’s coattails, could he join the protagonist group, complete the plot, and escape the manor alive?

As these thoughts swirled through his mind, Zhang Xingxing’s expression shifted rapidly. Before he could even crack a relieved smile, a sharp rap landed on his head. “Ow! What was that for?!”

Wei Yu said coldly, “Feigning amnesia won’t work. Answer me first: why did you run away?”

Zhang Xingxing made a pained expression. “I couldn’t adjust to the environment.”

“What do you mean by ‘couldn’t adjust’?”

“The food tasted bland, I couldn’t sleep at night, my head was splitting, nightmares plagued me, it felt like a fish stranded on land or a dragon beached on the shore. Everything felt wrong.”

Chen Che knew Zhang Xingxing was spouting nonsense again. If he hadn’t chosen acting and instead pursued stand-up comedy, his looks alone would have made him famous by now.

“Utter nonsense!” Wei Yu roared.

“It’s true, Godfather! Why would your son lie to you?” Zhang Xingxing clutched his aching back from the fall, groaning in pain. Of course I’m stressed! First, I get transported to a completely unfamiliar place, then I witness a madman’s killing spree and immediately discover I won’t survive past the tenth episode! Who wouldn’t break down? My mental state is already remarkably stable.

Wei Yu grabbed Zhang Xingxing and spun him around, his voice icy. “Still can’t adjust?”

Sensing danger, Zhang Xingxing was about to reply when Wei Yu struck him hard across the back.

“Agh! I adjust! I adjust! Godfather!”

To avoid seriously injuring him, Wei Yu refrained from using his internal energy, instead gripping Zhang Xingxing’s shoulders and striking his back and waist. Even so, Zhang Xingxing could barely endure it. In all his years, his parents had rarely laid a hand on him, and his good looks had always shielded him from consequences at school.

But Wei Yu was clearly a parent who believed in corporal punishment, a ruthless disciplinarian who mercilessly struck him over a dozen times before finally releasing him. Zhang Xingxing collapsed against the wall, stiff and aching, unable to move as the teary-eyed Chunxiao and the indignant Chen Che each supported him down.

“Get back to bed!” Wei Yu growled, his face dark. “Tomorrow, you’ll resume your martial training. No slacking!”

Zhang Xingxing mumbled a dazed acknowledgment, half-dead as Chunxiao and Chen Che dragged him away. He had barely taken two steps when a sudden gust of wind whipped past his ear. His mind snapped awake, and he whirled around.

Wei Yu’s reflexes were lightning-fast. He blocked with a backhanded strike, his sword hilt colliding with a folding fan that had been hurled through the air. The fan, infused with maximum internal energy, had moved with blinding speed. When its initial strike failed, it instantly teleported back into the hand of the hidden assailant.

Shen Zhijing descended from the rooftop with a graceful leap, his robes fluttering and his folding fan swaying as he strolled toward Wei Yu.

This man moved with the lightness of a swallow, yet his inner strength was as deep as the sea. His attacks were ruthless and left no room for error. Had Wei Yu not reacted swiftly, he might have lost his life to that fan tonight.

A formidable opponent, Wei Yu thought, turning to Zhang Xingxing and the others. “You guys go ahead.”

With a sweeping gesture, he drew his longsword. Moonlight glinted brilliantly off the blade as Wei Yu asked in a low voice, “Who are you, and why did you attack without provocation?”

Zhang Xingxing and Chen Che exchanged glances. The villain and the second male lead are about to fight? A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity! There was no reason to leave now; they’d naturally stay to watch the spectacle.

Wei Yu had no time to worry about the three young pups beside him. His focus remained fixed on Shen Zhijing, who was approaching step by step. He noticed the man’s unsteady gait, even a slight stumble. His thin, rosy lips were pressed into a faint line, and his deer-like eyes, brimming with moisture, were veiled in a hazy, drunken haze.

Is he drunk? Wei Yu frowned. He had no desire to tangle with a drunkard, but the power Shen Zhijing had displayed with that single fan strike couldn’t be underestimated. Wei Yu dared not let his guard down.

Shen Zhijing strode up to Wei Yu, stopping just before him. He stared intently for a few seconds before, without warning, slashing his fan across Wei Yu’s throat. With a swift twist of his wrist, he deflected Wei Yu’s blocking sword, the fan’s edge now pointed directly at Wei Yu’s chest. Wei Yu was forced back several steps by Shen Zhijing’s relentless assault. As soon as he regained his footing, he executed a defensive sword flourish, shielding his vital points. The fan’s edge clashed against the sword’s blade, emitting a terrifying grinding sound.

Cold light flashed, the chilling aura of the blades intertwining and scattering.

Wei Yu retreated, drawing his sword back as he simultaneously unleashed a palm strike. His surging inner energy coalesced into a massive wave of force, crashing forward with overwhelming power.

To his surprise, Shen Zhijing neither dodged nor blocked. Instead, he casually flipped his palm, presenting the fan’s face to meet the attack. With a single hand, he controlled the fan, using its handle as a pivot to spin it into a whirling defense. The fan perfectly absorbed Wei Yu’s palm strike, then Shen Zhijing swung it back with tremendous force!

Bang!

The force of that single swing erupted outward. The once tranquil lake within the Sword Manor instantly erupted into towering waves. Columns of water shot skyward before crashing back into the depths with violent force!

Wei Yu’s expression shifted dramatically.

Support I Transmigrated Into the Script and Married the Villain