The Mad Villain Driven to Death - Chapter 17

The night wind howled through the narrow paths, causing the red lanterns beneath the eaves to sway violently. The crown of the banyan tree rustled, occasionally dropping a leaf that drifted gently onto the grass.

When Zhang Shu arrived at the side courtyard, Wan Shenghan was standing beneath the veranda, looking up at the swaying trees, seemingly deep in thought. Zhang Shu’s grip on his medical chest tightened slightly, but his expression remained unchanged. He stepped forward, intending to bypass the silent youth and enter the room to diagnose Shen Zhaoxue.

As they were about to cross paths, Wan Shenghan suddenly shifted his gaze and caught the man’s arm, blocking his entrance.

Zhang Shu stopped. “Is Young Master Shen not bedridden with poisoning? The Eldest Young Master summoned me in a hurry, so why stop me now?”

“My father summoned several other doctors first,” Wan Shenghan said plainly. “It was an ordinary poison, not particularly potent, and easily neutralized. He has already been given the antidote.”

He no longer appeared as panicked as he had earlier; it was as if that frantic version of him had never existed. He stood outside the room with a cold, detached air, making no move to go inside and check on Shen Zhaoxue.

He looked at the sky. Before Zhang Shu could speak, he added, “The weather is changing. If Mr. Zhang has no other business tonight, he may stay at the Wan residence.”

Zhang Shu understood; the man had something to say that could not be voiced here. The Head of the Wan family had always been displeased with Wan Shenghan’s contact with him, but the Eldest Young Master was fiercely independent and refused to be controlled. Seeing they couldn’t restrain him, the father had eventually let it be.

Wan Shenghan knew well that his father cared only about Zhang Shu’s background—before becoming his retainer, Zhang Shu was a traveling mystic and charlatan. If not for his skill in medicine and divination, Wan Shenghan wouldn’t have associated with him either.

Wan Shenghan glanced through the open window at the doctors busy clearing the residual poison from Shen Zhaoxue and at the seemingly lifeless figure on the couch. After a long moment, he looked away indifferently.

“Young Master Shen’s constitution is unlike ordinary people,” Zhang Shu remarked. “If the toxins aren’t cleared promptly, it may leave permanent damage.”

He pulled a set of silver needles from his chest and explained, “The doctors your father hired will likely only use a standard oral antidote, which is slow to act. Since I am already here, I would rather not have made a wasted trip. It is better if I go in.”

Wan Shenghan looked at him without giving a clear answer, but Zhang Shu read his true intent from that look. He took his needles and entered the room, dismissing the other doctors.

The Resistance of a Puppet

The room was brightly lit, the candles illuminating every corner. As Zhang Shu approached the couch, he realized Shen Zhaoxue was not entirely unconscious. The antidote had likely restored some of his awareness, and his eyes were open, staring vacantly.

His face was still deathly pale, a trace of dried blood at the corner of his mouth. He was enveloped in an aura of sickness and death, his breathing so weak he looked like a lifeless porcelain doll. The noise of the previous doctors had caused a painful ringing in his ears, making his temples throb.

“Young Master Shen,” Zhang Shu said softly.

Shen Zhaoxue finally felt the chaotic, tentacle-like voices in his head recede. The world became quiet. His fingertips shifted slightly on the quilt. His lashes fluttered like butterfly wings as he turned his head a fraction. His vision was blurred, his body felt heavy, and his limbs were cold and numb.

He had overheard the other doctors whispering that the poison wasn’t severe—just frightening in appearance. It was as if the poisoner wanted to send a warning rather than take a life. Shen Zhaoxue did not agree. He knew exactly who the poisoner was. Had he not his own plans, he would have torn that person into a thousand pieces to satisfy his hatred.

He closed his eyes in exhaustion.

Zhang Shu pulled out a silver needle. “The residual poison will linger in the blood. Standard medicine takes time, and your body may not endure it. Acupuncture can clear the meridians and flush the toxins sooner.”

As he checked the pulse and prepared to insert the needle, Shen Zhaoxue suddenly caught his wrist. The “lifeless” youth opened his eyes again, his gaze cold and unreadable. He said nothing, but his resistance was clear—he was using what little strength he had to determine if this man was sincere or deceptive.

“Young Master Shen, you may rest easy,” Zhang Shu said, resigned. He inserted a needle into his own hand to prove his point. “The needles are not poisoned. As a healer, I do not commit murder.”

Shen Zhaoxue squeezed the man’s wrist with fading strength before finally letting go. Zhang Shu lowered his head and began the treatment.

The dizziness worsened. Shen Zhaoxue’s weak body could only sustain consciousness for so long; he soon slipped back into the void.

The Hidden Prophecy

The late night brought wind and rain. Lightning flickered on the horizon, followed by distant, muffled thunder. A torrential downpour washed over the Capital, drumming against the plantain leaves outside Wan Shenghan’s study.

A draft squeezed through a gap in the window, causing the candle flame to flicker and pop. Shadows danced across Wan Shenghan’s face, half of which was hidden in the gloom. He looked idle, toying with the little parrot on his desk.

Zhang Shu opened a book of divinations and placed it before him. Wan Shenghan shifted his gaze to the pages.

“The birth chart and the celestial omens at the time are as follows,” Zhang Shu said. “It is hard to say if it will change in the future, or if it will remain this way forever.” He paused. “A prophecy is only a prediction, not a certainty. The Eldest Young Master need not worry too much, so long as no outsider learns of it.”

“The Shen family relatives are all dead,” Wan Shenghan said, closing the book as if uninterested. “Aside from the original mystic, no one else knows what his prophecy truly was. Given Shen Zhaoxue’s nature, he will eventually walk the path the omens showed.”

Zhang Shu’s expression turned strange, but he did not press further. Their conversation was too sensitive to risk eavesdropping, so they spoke only in riddles.

Wan Shenghan put the bird back in its cage. “The poison Shen Zhaoxue took—where would one find such a thing?”

He lost interest in the answer as soon as he asked. “Forget it. I know who the poisoner is.”

Shen Zhaoxue likely knew as well, which was why he had sent Chunya to “borrow” the bird. Wan Shenghan had not expected Shen Zhaoxue to return the bird and use himself as bait instead.

I still underestimated the depth of his madness, Wan Shenghan thought. He sat in deep thought as the rain began to taper off. “I will trouble Mr. Zhang to write a prescription for me to use as evidence.”

The Confrontation

Wan Shenghan stayed awake all night, organizing evidence and medicinal residues. At dawn, he left the study and sought out his father in the front hall, summoning Wan Jingyao as well.

Wan Jingyao sat in a chair, looking guilty and unable to meet his cousin’s eyes. Wan Shenghan knew this useless cousin couldn’t hide a secret, yet his heart was wicked and his methods vile.

He spread several sets of medicinal residues on the table. “This is the poison I found in your room. It is identical to what was in Shen Zhaoxue’s meal.”

Wan Shenghan’s voice was ice-cold, devoid of emotion. “Your parents caused a scene in this residence, and my father softened his heart, allowing you to return to the Capital. Is this how you repay us?”

Seeing the truth exposed, Wan Jingyao panicked and stood up, still trying to lie. “How would I have the ability to get such medicine? Cousin, you can’t push the blame on me just to protect an outsider!” He turned to his uncle for help. “Uncle, I never did such a thing! You can’t just watch my cousin frame me!”

The Elder Wan pressed his brow in a headache. He did not speak. The household affairs were in Wan Shenghan’s hands, and he did not want to interfere. Furthermore, he knew Wan Jingyao had always bullied Shen Zhaoxue; the boy was far from innocent.

“You knew Shen Zhaoxue was not to be provoked, yet you chose this time to poison him,” Wan Shenghan continued. “Word of your previous actions has already spread. If people find out you poisoned him, the authorities will charge you with attempted murder, and the entire Wan family will suffer with you.”

Wan Jingyao began to tremble, his legs shaking. Wan Shenghan intended to use this to expel him from the estate forever, but Wan Jingyao’s lackey had already fetched Wan Rong. The scoundrel rushed into the hall, wailing and shouting that they were family and should “spare people where possible.”

The Elder Wan, unable to endure the badgering, looked ready to let the matter go. Wan Shenghan’s voice sharpened. “Father.”

The room went silent. “Shen Zhaoxue has been sickly since birth. A dose that isn’t lethal to an outsider could be fatal to him,” Wan Shenghan said coldly. “Today he was lucky. If Wan Jingyao has the nerve to do this once, there will be a second time. If a life is actually lost—”

“What ‘second time’?” Wan Rong interrupted loudly. “The boy is fine, isn’t he? Stop your blind guessing!”

Before he could finish, a servant burst into the courtyard, frantic and breathless. He shouted before even entering the room: “Eldest Young Master! Someone has come from the side courtyard they say Young Master Shen has gone blind!”