The Mad Villain Driven to Death - Chapter 13

A summer breeze brushed past the window, grazing Shen Zhaoxue’s face. After a night, his fever had finally broken, but his face remained a flushed crimson. He frowned slightly, unable to find peace even in sleep. Sweat dampened the hair at his temples, causing strands to stick messily to his skin.

Perhaps the chirping of birds outside was too noisy, for Shen Zhaoxue let out a soft groan and slowly woke. The moment he moved, a strange, overwhelming sensation surged within him. He let out a muffled moan and looked down, startled by the sound of his own voice, and immediately bit his lip.

His arms trembled as he tried to prop himself up. Unable to bear it any longer, he attempted to lift himself to remove the “item” causing his distress. But even a slight movement caused it to roll repeatedly; he was driven nearly to the brink of madness, unable to even touch it himself.

Shen Zhaoxue did not know where Wan Shenghan had obtained such things. They were more agonizing than any torture in the Imperial Prison, a constant, living death. In this state, he truly could no longer act or move freely.

His lashes were wet with sweat, his expression a blur of pain and pleasure. He lay there with vacant eyes, his lips parted, gasping for air. He cursed the ruthlessness of Wan Shenghan. In his past life, he had died too early to see the “Chancellor Wan” in full power; perhaps the man was no different from himself.

The Price of a Drink

He lay there for a long time, his mind consumed by physical agony. It wasn’t until he heard the wooden door close that he slowly tilted his head. Seeing it was Wan Shenghan, Shen Zhaoxue’s lips moved, mouthing a silent curse: “Bastard.”

“You still seem to have some strength left,” Wan Shenghan said calmly. “Do you find these ‘little things’ to your liking?”

He poured a cup of water from the table and walked to the couch. He sat down and pulled Shen Zhaoxue into a sitting position. Shen Zhaoxue’s body began to tremble violently; he pulled away from the water and hissed, “Take it out.”

“Drink first. After you drink, I will remove it for you.”

Now merely a piece of meat on Wan Shenghan’s cutting board, Shen Zhaoxue had no choice but to obey. He opened his mouth. After feeding him water, Wan Shenghan added a condition, producing a bottle of medicine. “First, we apply the ointment.”

Shen Zhaoxue’s expression flickered with humiliation, but he said nothing. Wan Shenghan’s fingertips, calloused from years of holding a brush, brought a tingling sensation as he applied the ointment to the youth’s forehead. Shen Zhaoxue took a sharp breath, enduring the fingers sliding across his face.

Finally, Wan Shenghan retracted his hand and stood. “Lie facedown.”

The Chancellor’s Ambition

Later, Shen Zhaoxue was placed in a bath barrel. As the hot water enveloped his skin, he slowly regained some strength. He stared coldly through the screen at the blurred silhouette of Wan Shenghan. The man was sitting at the table reading, seemingly oblivious to the resentful gaze.

How boring, Shen Zhaoxue thought, closing his eyes to focus on his own plans.

He could not live under Wan Shenghan’s thumb forever. He had to proactively contact the Royal Family to see Emperor Yuanshun as soon as possible. Chen E and Liu Wuyou were his only connections, but in his past life, he hadn’t known Liu Wuyou well.

Great Yan did not favor “sleeve-cutting” (homosexuality). Though Chen Luo liked men, he hid it well to maintain his reputation before the Emperor. In secret, however, he kidnapped and abused many young men, including Liu Wuyou. In the previous life, while Chen E was away at war, the Liu family was ruined for corruption, and Liu Wuyou was sold to a brothel. Chen Luo bought him under the guise of “saving” him, and before long, the elegant Young Master Liu was a corpse.

Shen Zhaoxue felt his arrow had been too kind a death for Chen Luo. In this life, he would skin the man alive.

“I heard the doctor brought you food, but you didn’t eat,” Wan Shenghan’s voice drifted through the screen.

“I had no strength,” Shen Zhaoxue replied irritably.

The figure behind the screen rose and walked around to stand before him, looking down. Shen Zhaoxue instinctively tried to cover himself, then remembered there was nothing left to hide. He tilted his chin up to meet the man’s eyes.

“Do you know,” Wan Shenghan said, “that because of the message you had Chunya spread, everyone says the Wan family allows its relatives to bully a helpless scholar?”

“You only care because it affects your career,” Shen Zhaoxue replied.

“That is what you think, Shen Zhaoxue,” Wan Shenghan sneered. “You believe my career is everything to me, but that is not the case. I never once said I wanted an official position.”

The Prophecy

Shen Zhaoxue’s heart skipped a beat. He realized he was biased by his past memories. He remembered a single mistake ruining Wan Shenghan’s career, but in this life, he had never heard Wan Shenghan express a desire for office. The man had even been avoiding the Academy.

Shen Zhaoxue was momentarily speechless. Wan Shenghan continued, “My father has returned. He is arguing with my uncle and aunt; he wants to sever ties with them.”

“Will they agree?”

“Of course not.” Wan Jingyao was a useless waste. They had to rely on Wan Shenghan. “Wan Rong insists that a prophecy says I will achieve great wealth and success. They’ve been causing a scene all day because of it.”

Prophecies. Every newborn in Great Yan received one, but Shen Zhaoxue didn’t believe in fate. He laughed. “A single prophecy kept them clinging to the Wan family for ten years? How amusing.”

Wan Shenghan was silent for a long time. “You don’t believe in them either, do you?”

“I don’t.” If life were decided by a single sentence, he wouldn’t be here now.

Sharing the Couch

“The water is cold. Get out,” Wan Shenghan ordered.

“You go out first.”

“Shen Zhaoxue,” Wan Shenghan sneered, “there is no room for negotiation.” He grabbed the youth’s arm and lifted him out like pulling a white radish from the ground.

“Wan Shenghan! Give me some respect!” Shen Zhaoxue cried in anger.

“I have given you plenty,” the man replied calmly. “The pittance your parents gave the Wan family barely covered your food and lodging. The family has supported you unconditionally for years, including your constant fevers.”

“If you hate it so much, throw me out!”

“So you can go and blacken the Wan family’s name further?” Wan Shenghan wrapped him in a large towel. “I know your methods well.”

“You haven’t seen the half of them,” Shen Zhaoxue spat back.

After dinner, it grew late. Shen Zhaoxue went to the couch, only to see Wan Shenghan removing his outer robe. “What are you doing?”

“I am sleeping with you to ensure you do not run away tonight.”

“I don’t need it!”

“Don’t need it? Or are you embarrassed to share a bed with me?” Wan Shenghan laughed coldly. “Two choices: either I sleep here, or you swallow that little bell again.”

Shen Zhaoxue’s face burned. “Enough!”

“It isn’t enough. Or perhaps you want a third option—both.”

Shen Zhaoxue nearly threw his pillow, but he endured. He turned his back to the man. Soon, he felt the couch sink beside him. A source of warmth pressed against his back, carrying the scent of sandalwood.

Sleepiness finally took him. He had never shared a bed with Wan Shenghan in his past life. Back then, they were too shy to even speak of their feelings. A single glance made their hearts race. Their boldest act was secretly holding hands in a crowd during the Lantern Festival.

Now, everything was different. He was someone who had already died once. Sometimes, he felt like an ant, waiting for a foot to crush him. He had once begged Emperor Yuanshun until his forehead bled to spare Wan Shenghan. But a single mistake had led to total collapse.

Deep in his dreams, Shen Zhaoxue wanted to wail in agony, but his emotions felt stolen from him. He could only part his lips in a silent, fruitless cry.