The Mad Villain Driven to Death - Chapter 25

Shen Zhaoxue’s breath hitched, and he struggled violently, desperate to escape the man’s restraint and the forced kiss. Still burning with fever, his limbs felt weak and heavy; he gripped the man’s wrists with soft hands but lacked the strength to push him away. He could only twist his head frantically, trying to avert his face.

In response, the man’s hand slid upward, pinching his cheeks to hold him still. When their lips finally parted, Shen Zhaoxue felt a cold trail of moisture left behind. Filled with a shuddering revulsion, he felt his stomach churn. Finally gathering a burst of strength, he tore himself free.

His body tilted as he rolled twice across the floor. Shen Zhaoxue propped himself up, kneeling, and delivered a sharp, stinging slap across the man’s face.

Slap!

His palm stung, but it was nothing compared to the fury blazing in his heart. He panted heavily. The cave fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the pitter-patter of rain outside and the crackling of the fire. From beginning to end, the man never spoke, nor did he utter a single sound.

Shen Zhaoxue’s suspicion began to outweigh his anger. He calmed his breathing and rubbed his fingers together. He hadn’t noticed before, but thinking back now, that man’s skin felt smooth and refined not like someone who spent his days in hard labor.

He had been kidnapped, brought to a valley, and ambushed by bandits; his appearance must be a wretched mess, and being blind, he certainly wasn’t much to look at. If it weren’t someone he knew, who would act this way toward him? Several names flashed through his mind, but none quite fit.

As he drifted into thought, the man suddenly rose. Startled, Shen Zhaoxue scrambled backward, but being unable to see, he quickly fell back into the man’s grasp. The man seized his arm and placed the back of his hand against Shen Zhaoxue’s forehead, checking his temperature.

Feeling a wave of unease, Shen Zhaoxue turned his head away, loathing this involuntary exposure of his weakness. The man finally spoke as he steadied Shen Zhaoxue’s face.

“Don’t move.”

Shen Zhaoxue froze. The voice was unfamiliar—one he had never heard before. Is he truly a stranger?

Panic flared within him, sparking a streak of rebellion. The more the man tried to restrict his movements, the more he wanted to escape. His exhausted body exploded with a sudden, startling strength, successfully shoving the man away. He scrambled to his feet and rushed toward the cave exit, choosing a path at random.

The man’s voice trailed after him, sounding neither hurried nor worried, merely offering a warning: “It is still raining, and you are blind. Be careful not to slip and fall off a cliff. I am not kind enough to collect your corpse.”

Shen Zhaoxue told himself he didn’t need a collector. He pressed on into the darkness, his clothes immediately drenched by the rain. He felt along the rock wall as he moved upward. The mountain path was treacherous and slick; after only two steps, he proved the man’s “crow’s beak” prophecy true. His foot slipped on the wet mud, and he tumbled forward with a heavy thud, landing in a puddle where he went silent and still.

The rain lasted until the third day. The mountains outside the capital suffered sudden flooding due to the torrential downpours, and low-lying areas were completely submerged. It wasn’t until imperial officials arrived for disaster relief that the existence of the small village in the valley became widely known—though by then, there were no survivors.

Chen Shi, the youngest prince in the palace, had recently celebrated his eleventh birthday. Though still a playful child, he had taken the initiative to petition Emperor Yuanshun to personally oversee the relief efforts in the outskirts and neighboring affected cities.

He sat in a carriage, lifting the curtain to observe the now-clear and warm sky. He spoke to the man who had secretly slipped into the carriage with him: “It was only two or three days of flooding. How could it possibly affect me?”

“Since Your Highness has already petitioned to come, there is no use saying more,” the man replied lazily, his eyes closed. “Your Highness has a smooth destiny; someone else will always block the disasters for you.”

Chen Shi glanced at the middle-aged man sitting beside him with no regard for protocol or status. Disdain filled his heart, and he turned away, ignoring him. The carriage continued toward a small town in the mountains. Rarely allowed out of the palace, the young prince felt a spark of excitement at the scenery.

After a moment, he spoke again. “Master Zhang Shu, how long do you think this disaster will last?” He truly wanted to stay away from the palace’s intrigues for as long as possible.

The man beside him finally opened his eyes. Zhang Shu looked at the sky indifferently and said, “Your Highness had better pray that the rains cease for good.”

“Why?” Chen Shi pressed. “You can read the bagua; calculate if it will rain in the coming days.”

“I cannot calculate that,” Zhang Shu said calmly. “Some things cannot be cleared up with a single divination. If the will of Heaven were so easily known, everyone would be the master of their own fate.”

He spoke in riddles that Chen Shi couldn’t grasp, so the boy stopped asking. The carriage wound up the mountain and entered a small town. Located on the mountainside, it had escaped the floods. This relief mission was merely a political stunt to allow the princes to earn merit; being of “gold and jade” status, they wouldn’t actually enter a disaster zone, only pose in a nearby town.

The local magistrate personally welcomed Chen Shi’s carriage. Feeling weary from the journey, Chen Shi was eager for a meal. Zhang Shu lowered his bamboo hat to hide his face and followed behind, but he suddenly stopped. He stared at the back of a man entering a fabric shop a short distance away.

“What are you looking at, Master?” Chen Shi asked from ahead.

“Nothing,” Zhang Shu replied, withdrawing his gaze. “I thought I saw a familiar face, but I likely misidentified him.”

The Eldest Young Master Wan should currently be in the capital preparing for the imperial examinations, guarding his dodder-flower-like Young Master Shen. Why would he appear in such a remote town, dressed in the simple clothes of a farmer? It was likely just a similar silhouette. He relaxed his guard and entered the magistrate’s manor.

A moment later, the man who had entered the fabric shop stepped out, staring expressionlessly at the carriage parked outside. Wan Shenghan lowered his gaze, adjusted the roll of red fabric in his arms, and headed to a tailor shop. He handed the cloth over along with Shen Zhaoxue’s measurements.

Afterward, he bought some fruits and vegetables at the market and left the town, heading toward a manor in the countryside. This estate was part of the Wan family’s hidden assets; Wan Shenghan had purchased it long ago but never sent anyone to manage it. He hadn’t expected it to actually become useful.

The previous night, he had carried Shen Zhaoxue here on his back. He had spent the entire night cleaning a room that was barely habitable and laid Shen Zhaoxue on the bed. Currently, the boy’s illness had not subsided, and he had yet to wake.

Upon returning to the manor, Wan Shenghan checked on Shen Zhaoxue. There were no new complications, though the scrapes from rolling down the slope had gone untreated for too long and were now slightly inflamed. Wan Shenghan put the groceries in the small kitchen, brewed the medicine first, and held Shen Zhaoxue to feed it to him before returning to cook.

The weather had been strange lately. Though the sun might shine brightly during the day, by noon, clouds would gather. Muffled thunder rolled across the sky, and massive black clouds pressed down, turning the town as dark as dusk. Suddenly, a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, followed by a deafening crash of thunder.

Shen Zhaoxue gasped in terror and snapped his eyes open. Everything was pitch black. He was in a daze, his consciousness still trapped in a nightmare of his previous life—memories etched into his soul.

“I want to see Wan Shenghan,” he murmured, his breath coming in short gasps.

He hallucinated that he was still in the judicial prison, enduring unbearable torture. The sound of every whip strike whether hitting flesh or the wooden post—was a piercing agony to his ears, sounding no different from the thunder outside. His ears buzzed under the weight, causing a sharp, throbbing pain in his temples.

He could hear nothing. Terrified that he had gone deaf again, he reached out, searching for anyone nearby. “Zhang Shun… Chunya… is anyone there?”

Even his own voice sounded faint and distant. Panic surged. He propped himself up but suddenly tumbled off the bed, hitting his wrists and elbows hard. The pain cleared his head slightly. He lay on the floor for a moment until the ringing in his ears faded. He slowly remembered: he was no longer in prison.

He was dead. This was a new world, a new Shen Zhaoxue—one not yet stained by court struggles. He closed his eyes, calmed down, and felt around, trying to stand.

Before he could, the door was pushed open. Footsteps approached. Startled, Shen Zhaoxue felt himself being seized by the arm. The person hoisted him up, and in an instant, he was being carried in a horizontal hold.

Shen Zhaoxue remembered the strange man from the cave. He had tried to escape him, but his weak body had given out after one fall. He was no longer in the cave—where had he been taken?

He resisted the man’s embrace, struggling. “Please put me down.”

The stranger remained unmoved, carrying him out of the bedroom. As they stepped out, a blast of cold wind rushed over him, slipping into his collar and sleeves. Wearing only thin inner robes, Shen Zhaoxue shivered instinctively. He suddenly found the man’s body warmth comforting and felt a subconscious urge to press closer.

He immediately suppressed the thought. “You don’t listen to a word I say,” he snapped, his voice sharp to hide his vulnerability. “How much longer do you intend to hold me?”

“If I don’t hold you, with that bad leg of yours, you’d fall after two steps.”

Shen Zhaoxue remembered his leg injury. Was I judging a good person by my own twisted standards? He felt a bit stifled, then realized something else. “There are chairs, tables, and beds in the house. I haven’t broken my backside; I can sit. Why must you hold me?”

“If you don’t want to eat, I can take you back and let you starve to death.”

Feeling a pang of hunger, Shen Zhaoxue realized the man was taking him to a meal. He bit back his retort and let it be. After a moment, he asked, “Why didn’t you bring the food to the bedroom? It would save you the effort of carrying me.”

“This isn’t an Eldest Young Master’s manor, and I am not your servant to wait on you hand and foot.”

The man’s voice was raspy, as if his throat were uncomfortable. He coughed twice and fell silent. Shen Zhaoxue found it strange and asked, “What is it? Have you caught a cold as well?”