The Mad Villain Driven to Death - Chapter 1

Heavy winter snow fell in flurries, blanketing the imperial city that had already been ravaged by the fires of war.

Once the most prosperous city in the Great Yan Empire, it was now a landscape of desolation. Streets were barren, houses lay in ruins, and the thick layer of white snow concealed the bloodstains and bones that had littered the ground just days prior, erasing every trace of its former glory.

The “creak” of a prisoner’s cart echoed from the distance, slowly approaching the main street. A troop of soldiers marched in the lead, dragging the cart behind them. The man inside once a figure of boundless elegance and prestige at court—now knelt in a state of utter wretchedness.

The passing commoners dared not move or look directly at the man in the cage, yet every one of them felt a deep-seated hatred for him.

He was the Right Envoy of the palace, a man who had constant access to the Emperor. Originally a mere court historian recording the daily life of the sovereign, he had somehow amassed monstrous power and colluded with the Crown Prince to incite rebellion.

The former Emperor, Emperor Yuanshun, had been fatuous and incompetent; his overthrow was inevitable. However, the people blamed the Right Envoy for a single word he had once uttered: “Noisy.” Because of that word, the depraved Emperor had ordered the tongues of over ten people to be ripped out, turning them into silent ghosts unable to voice their grievances.

There were many other ruthless acts. The world knew to some extent that he committed these atrocities to help the Crown Prince depose the useless Emperor, but his methods were too cruel and base. He had played the part of a sycophantic dog before Emperor Yuanshun while simultaneously slaughtering the innocent.

Long-standing resentment and oppression finally drove the commoners to revolt. During that period of chaos in the capital, the Crown Prince seized the opportunity to topple the old regime. Tragically, the parents of the man who was now the newly appointed Prime Minister had died innocently during that very riot.

Furthermore, because of a single sentence once spoken by the Right Envoy, the top scholar of the imperial examinations had been neglected by the court for ten years. Had it not been for the change in dynasties and a mentor who recognized his talent and raised him to the rank of Prime Minister, his brilliance would have been permanently stifled.

With such deep-seated blood feuds, it was no wonder the Prime Minister had ordered such a public humiliation.

As the cart moved toward the Imperial City, a few citizens breathed sighs of relief and whispered, “The former Emperor fled before the city fell. This Right Envoy is, after all, the State Uncle; why didn’t he flee with the Emperor?”

“You think he didn’t want to?” another whispered back. “I heard that before the former Emperor fled, he had the Right Envoy tied up, dressed in dragon robes, and trapped on the dragon throne. When His Majesty led the troops inside, he nearly stabbed him to death through a screen.”

“The blade missed by a hair, and so he kept his life.”

The wheels rolled over a small stone, causing the cart to jolt violently.

Shen Zhaoxue’s body could no longer withstand such tremors. Pain radiated from the places where he had been tortured, and his arms, bound to the wooden bars, had long since gone numb. He could not move. His head hung low, and his disheveled hair masked a face flushed crimson with fever.

He coughed heavily, but his ears were met with total silence.

He could no longer hear.

The sound of the lashes in the dungeon had been too loud for him; his ears could not bear the assault, and during that time, he had gradually lost his hearing. Perhaps there were other reasons, but he didn’t know and couldn’t be bothered to guess. In the end, he had become a broken man.

Shen Zhaoxue looked down, staring blankly at the hem of his filthy robes, thinking that perhaps this was for the best. The hypersensitive hearing that had tormented him for over twenty years was now a useless relic. He no longer had to feel burdened by the minute sounds of weeping or suffer through the empathy of others’ pain.

It was only a pity that he had been separated from Wan Shenghan for ten years. He had hoped they might meet again one day, but now he would never be able to hear his voice again.

Then again, if Wan Shenghan were willing to see him, it would likely only be for insults and curses. There would be no kind words to hear.

Shen Zhaoxue’s breathing became rapid and shallow. He longed to see Wan Shenghan, yet he feared the meeting. A faint, thin smile gradually appeared on his face. He thought: To have him hate me to the bone is also quite good.

As a treacherous official and a villain, history books would likely barely spare a word for him in the future. But as long as someone hated him, he was still alive in a way—remembered through a different kind of lens.

Wan Shenghan would never be able to forget him in this lifetime.

He still remembered the youthful voice of that boy when they first met. Knowing that Zhaoxue could not handle loud noises, the boy had always spoken in soft, gentle whispers. As the years passed and the boy grew into a man, he remained as tender as ever, loving to lean into Zhaoxue’s ear to whisper secrets known only to the two of them.

Wan Shenghan’s love had been so pure and innocent. Even now, Shen Zhaoxue remembered it clearly, often savoring the memory.

It was Zhaoxue himself who had said the wrong things and done the wrong deeds. The calamity of the capital had started because of him. He had learned of the destruction of the Wan family even earlier than Wan Shenghan had.

Perhaps there were once nights of sleepless guilt and longing, but over these ten years, as he drifted alone through a sea of blood and countless perils, he was no longer the kind-hearted Shen Zhaoxue of the past.

Throughout history, the struggle for power has always been paved with the flesh and blood of countless people. Shen Zhaoxue was even willing to sacrifice his own life and reputation to secure a lasting, stable world.

No one in this world understood his hidden troubles. Therefore, Wan Shenghan would not understand either. Because of this, he had never imagined what the other man would say to him when they finally reunited.

The face that frequently appeared in his dreams had long since become blurred. Shen Zhaoxue had once tried to find traces of him, but all his letters had vanished like stones dropped into the ocean.

It was likely that Wan Shenghan simply did not want to see him. Just like now.

He struggled to lift his head. The white snow reflected the sunlight, making it difficult for him to open his eyes. This was a place he knew well. He had waited here for Wan Shenghan for ten years.

Waiting for him to come and pronounce his death sentence.

But from the moment he was imprisoned until now, even as the new Emperor ascended the throne, Wan Shenghan had never come to see him.

Shen Zhaoxue had been proud his entire life, but now he felt a rare sense of pain and grief. He and Wan Shenghan were so close in proximity, yet the man refused to see him, as if he had already issued a death warrant in advance.

Shen Zhaoxue’s throat was sore and hoarse. He began to laugh quietly, his voice raspy and pitiful, like that of a madman. Unaware that his volume was too low, he asked, “Wan Shenghan… where is he now?”

There was no response from ahead.

The cold wind, laden with snow, whipped against his face like a blade. Shen Zhaoxue knew his physical condition well. Although he had been kept alive by medicinal soups for a few years, the new Emperor’s sword had pierced his abdomen when they entered the palace. Combined with the torture in the dungeon, he was now at the end of his rope.

If Wan Shenghan didn’t come soon, he wouldn’t be able to wait any longer. He would never see him again in this life.

And he still had a gift he hadn’t given to Wan Shenghan yet.

At this thought, his eyes crinkled slightly. He paused to catch his breath, but as he prepared to speak again, he felt a strange sensation in his throat. A surge of blood welled up. Shen Zhaoxue clenched his teeth, but he couldn’t suppress it. He vomited a large amount of blood. The churning blood choked him, causing a fit of coughing that pulled at his wounds, turning his vision white.

After a long time, as the intense pain began to fade, Shen Zhaoxue slowly regained his senses and looked up.

The prisoner’s cart had stopped. His vision was blurry, but he saw a pair of clean black boots enter his field of view.

Shen Zhaoxue closed his eyes and spoke again. “Tell that coward to come see me…”

“Tell that coward Wan Shenghan… to come see me…”

The tall, young man standing before the cart lowered his head slightly, looking down at the blood-stained traitor in the cage. He showed no emotional reaction to the words.

After a moment, he spoke in a cool, indifferent voice: “I am here.”

Shen Zhaoxue went still, only his shallow, ragged breathing remaining.

“Shen Zhaoxue,” Wan Shenghan said, a sudden wave of irritation washing over him. “What else do you want to say to me?”

The youth in the cart kept his head lowered. That face, which had not been seen for ten years, remained downturned.

Wan Shenghan had prepared extensively before coming to see him. He thought he would be furious, that he would lash out in revenge, but standing before him now, it felt like a lifetime ago. Everything felt as surreal as a dream.

His parents and the entire household had died in the riots—all because of a careless remark Shen Zhaoxue had once made to Emperor Yuanshun.

Shen Zhaoxue was such a brilliant man; he should have known which words could be said and which could not. There were clearly other ways to let the Crown Prince justify his rebellion, yet he had chosen the most cruel path.

Wan Shenghan had not visited Shen Zhaoxue since returning to the capital. He was not unaware of how cruel the punishments in the Judicial Prison were; he simply wanted Zhaoxue to feel the same heart-wrenching pain he had felt.

But now, he felt a faint trace of regret. His heart ached incessantly, as if he were feeling the pain alongside him.

Shen Zhaoxue had been in the palace for over ten years. He had gone from a minor Right Envoy to a powerful, treacherous official. From the day he helped the former Emperor seize power, he was no longer the obedient, innocent Shen Zhaoxue of the past.

He would no longer sit quietly in the courtyard reading books. He would no longer softly call his name.

The Shen Zhaoxue who was once aloof and proud in his eyes was now a villainous wretch, kneeling miserably before him. Everything was different from the past.

Wan Shenghan had once thought that perhaps Shen Zhaoxue, alone in the palace for so many years with no one to rely on, had some hidden reason. But even after the jailers had interrogated him relentlessly, Zhaoxue maintained that same indifferent attitude. Instead, he had said: “Go ask your Lord Prime Minister—in this world, what is right and what is wrong?”

Ever since he entered the prison and faced those predatory eyes, Shen Zhaoxue had maintained a smile that was hypocritical to the extreme. He said that many people in this world were wrong, and if one looked deep enough, everyone deserved to die. He claimed he had only done what he believed was right.

Thinking of this, Wan Shenghan’s hand at his side curled into a fist. After a long silence, he gritted his teeth and couldn’t help but say hatefully: “You madman.”

They were once lovers who grew up side by side, inseparable, yet they had ultimately diverged due to greed and vanity.

“I wish I could cut you into a thousand pieces and scatter your ashes!” Wan Shenghan opened the cage and dragged Shen Zhaoxue out. “I wish I could skin you alive and make you see for yourself this world filled with mourning.”

“Shen Zhaoxue, you are a heartless, cold-blooded person.”

Shen Zhaoxue collapsed onto the snowy ground. His fingers twitched, but he had no strength left to get up, nor had he heard Wan Shenghan’s words. Large amounts of blood seeped from the numerous wounds on his body, staining the snow red.

This man, who was usually so sharp-tongued and had reportedly remained defiant even while being broken in prison, was now completely unresponsive.

“Shen Zhaoxue?” Wan Shenghan finally realized something was wrong. He knelt down and pulled Shen Zhaoxue into his arms.

Shen Zhaoxue’s breath was weak, and his body was burning hot, as if his life were already slipping away. Wan Shenghan’s heart throbbed with a sudden sharp pain. He brushed aside Zhaoxue’s matted hair, revealing a face flushed with a high fever.

Shen Zhaoxue had been born with sensitive hearing; he hated noise and could not tolerate loud volumes, or else he would fall ill with a fever just like this.

Wan Shenghan’s cold palm touched the other’s cheek. He couldn’t help but soften his voice, calling out: “Shen Zhaoxue.”

Shen Zhaoxue’s eyes were half-closed. There was no response.

He could not hear.

Emotions that couldn’t be named surged forth. Wan Shenghan felt a sudden sense of absurdity and helplessness. He withdrew his hand in a daze.

Shen Zhaoxue’s ears the ones that had caused him so much pain could now hear nothing. Not the insults, not the sweet words, not the accusations, and not the promises.

Wan Shenghan stood up blankly. Shen Zhaoxue remained slumped on the snowy ground, his white clothes so soiled with blood and mud that no trace of his former elegance remained.

Wan Shenghan suddenly couldn’t even distinguish who he was supposed to hate anymore.

Lost in soul, Wan Shenghan turned to leave, unaware that the youth behind him was slowly and painfully standing up. His vision was a blur, his body swaying.

It was like a final burst of energy before death. Shen Zhaoxue suddenly found a bit of strength, as if he were standing on the threshold of life and death, detached from the world.

He wanted to see Wan Shenghan. From the day they parted ten years ago, through every morning and evening, every month and year, he had never stopped longing for the past he could never return to.

The chains on his ankles clinked. In a daze, he saw Wan Shenghan standing before him, seemingly appearing as he did in their youth, though his face was hard to remember. He opened his arms, inviting him into an embrace.

“I’m sorry…” Shen Zhaoxue murmured soundlessly. “I…”

“I can’t leave…”

He had been forcibly held in the past by countless hands, standing forever in the center of that crossroads.

Shen Zhaoxue stumbled toward the figure in front of him. Then, he reached out and grabbed the sword hanging at Wan Shenghan’s waist.

As the sword left its scabbard, it let out a clear, ringing hum. Shen Zhaoxue held the blade against his own neck and drew it across in a final act of suicide.