The Mad Villain Driven to Death - Chapter 29

Husband?

Shen Zhaoxue pricked up his ears, listening intently. It was indeed a woman’s voice; it seemed Master Li had brought his fiancée over to live with them.

He felt a sense of awkwardness and curiosity, thinking that if this manor was meant to be their bridal home, his presence as an outsider was likely inappropriate. He had sent a letter to Chen E and the others earlier, but he had no way of knowing if it had reached them.

Tracing the patterns on his sleeves, Shen Zhaoxue slowly rose and walked to the window. The manor was secluded, far from the town, and its daily silence made it a fitting place for him to stay. He stood by the window for a while, listening to the pair talk; the woman was warm and enthusiastic, while Master Li was noticeably cold, offering only half-hearted, distracted responses to her questions about the wedding.

They spoke a few more words at the gate before their footsteps moved away and faded into the distance.

“A man of shallow feelings and thin loyalty,” Shen Zhaoxue whispered. From the sound of it, the man didn’t seem particularly eager to marry, which was a waste of the young lady’s youth. But marriage was their own affair; without parents pushing from behind, it was likely a case of one person being willing to strike and the other willing to endure the blow. An outsider had no business interfering.

He pushed the matter to the back of his mind and went to bed.

Over the next few days, the girl lived in the manor. Shen Zhaoxue occasionally encountered her while out sunning himself. She was a local embroiderer named A-Wu, an orphan who had reportedly grown up with Master Li.

Master Li’s given name was Li Mu. Originally a farmer, he had struck a streak of luck two years ago, earning a fortune through trade and becoming the most prominent wealthy man in town. As for the nature of his business, Shen Zhaoxue had pressed for details, but A-Wu didn’t understand trade and hadn’t been interested enough to ask. Li Mu, naturally, would not tell him the truth. Eventually, Shen Zhaoxue lost interest and stopped caring.

He only felt that the atmosphere in the manor was becoming increasingly awkward. Even though he never witnessed the “couple” being intimate, the internal discomfort remained, and he desired to leave as soon as possible.

Two days later, Wan Shenghan went out, leaving A-Wu to care for Shen Zhaoxue. When he returned, he brought a doctor with him.

“I’ve brought a doctor to look at your leg,” he told Shen Zhaoxue.

When Shen Zhaoxue had fallen down the slope, his injuries had been hastily bandaged, but he had never been properly examined. While he could walk, the leg would throb with a dull ache whenever it rained.

Wan Shenghan had been away for two days to return to the capital and deal with the matter of Wan Jingyao’s poisoning. His father, who had initially wanted to maintain the peace, had changed his mind. He severed ties with Wan Rong’s family and gave Wan Shenghan full authority over the matter. Consequently, Wan Shenghan had sent Wan Jingyao to the judicial prison (Zhaoyu).

The doctor he brought was a retainer of the Wan family. Wan Shenghan had conducted several sweeps to ensure no one followed him out of the city before rushing back to the small town.

Shen Zhaoxue’s expression remained calm, as if he didn’t care where Wan Shenghan had gone. Wan Shenghan felt a bit stifled by this, but considering he was currently using the youth’s blindness to stay by his side as a different person, he found these moments precious. If Shen Zhaoxue knew the truth, his reaction would likely involve something far more dangerous than a wooden pillow.

Years of neglect and indifference had clearly soured the youth’s heart, causing a total loss of trust.

Wan Shenghan led the doctor inside and signaled him with a look. The doctor examined the leg first, performing acupuncture for a while, then took Shen Zhaoxue’s pulse.

“Young Master, were you poisoned previously?” the doctor asked.

Shen Zhaoxue tilted his face slightly, revealing his clouded eyes. He dazed for a moment before answering truthfully, “That is correct.”

“It seems the previous attempt to clear the toxins used the wrong needle on the wrong acupoint. The residual toxins surged and blocked the meridians, which is why your eyes were damaged.” The doctor removed the needles from the youth’s leg and packed his tools. “I will come often in the coming days to clear the remaining poison. Your eyes will likely recover much faster than your leg.”

Shen Zhaoxue felt a surge of joy. “Thank you.” Truly, there is always a way out.

Wan Shenghan saw the doctor out, then said as if casually, “While I was in the capital these past few days, I heard the Wan family ran into some trouble.”

“What trouble?” Shen Zhaoxue asked. He felt a flicker of tension, wondering if his strike with the pillow had actually broken Wan Shenghan. In the palace, he had hit people with pillows before; a jade pillow could certainly kill, but a wooden one was soft and light, usually only causing a period of unconsciousness. It shouldn’t have caused a major problem.

“It seems the second young master of their cousin’s family injured someone and was reported to the authorities,” Li Mu said. “After many days, a verdict was reached, and he is now being held in the judicial prison.” He paused. “I also heard the Wan family has split from the cousins and will no longer associate with them.”

Shen Zhaoxue was stunned for a moment. Wan Shenghan actually went that far? He thought the man might let it go. He had worried that if a death sentence was given too early, the fun would be over too soon.

Shen Zhaoxue leaned against the bedpost, eyes curving with a smile. He toyed with the tassels on the bed curtains, laughing softly with genuine pleasure. “They should have split long ago. That family’s downfall is their own doing.”

And it isn’t over yet.

He stretched his neck. Having been confined to the bed for so long, his shoulders felt stiff, so he rose to climb down. Out of boredom, he asked, “When are you and your wife getting married?”

“In a few days.”

“You said ‘in a few days’ the last time I asked.” Shen Zhaoxue said tonelessly. “From what I see, you don’t actually want this marriage. Why keep the girl hanging?”

Wan Shenghan found it strange to hear this from him. “You sound so indignant; I’d think you were the one who liked A-Wu.”

Shen Zhaoxue went still for a beat. “I have no interest in women.”

Wan Shenghan didn’t reply, but he continued to look at him with a strange expression. He thought of Chen E; Shen Zhaoxue was so intimate and trusting with her—hardly the behavior of someone “uninterested.” Shen Zhaoxue’s mouth was full of lies; nine out of ten words had to be carefully weighed, or one would be tricked.

The night passed in a heavy, stagnant silence.

The next day, autumn rain once again enveloped the small town. Outside the window, the wind howled and the rain fell fitfully, tapping against the frame.

Shen Zhaoxue slept fitfully. On damp, rainy nights, the pain in his leg was relentless. He was no stranger to such pain; during his time in the palace, his body had been ruined by kneeling through the night. The physical agony that haunted him day and night began to erode his will, allowing nightmares to take hold in the dark.

Most of his dreams were forgotten upon waking, but some persisted, returning with the rainy nights. He often felt as if he had seen Wan Shenghan during his most difficult days in the palace. The man would look as he did before they were separated, staying by his side and accompanying him.

In his daze, Shen Zhaoxue would see the man standing near him, leaning over to read the words he had written at his desk.

The youth would blink and lower his face, whispering, “Look at this calligraphy. Did I write it well?”

Wan Jingyao had once crushed his fingers. Now, even holding a pen was a struggle. The words and poems that used to flow effortlessly now required all his strength to produce, and even then, they were no longer beautiful.

The blurred figure beside him seemed to part his lips, but Shen Zhaoxue couldn’t hear what was said.

He gasped, then whispered softly, “I didn’t hear you. Could you say it again?”

The man, who was nothing more than an illusion, spoke once more, but not a single sound reached his ears.

Shen Zhaoxue moved slowly, setting the pen aside. With downcast eyes, he gathered the pages and letters, organizing them one by one into a small box. He murmured to himself, “I’ll keep them here. When you come, take them with you. Don’t lose them.”

Several palace servants passed by the hall, whispering, “The Right Envoy seems possessed lately. He’s always talking to himself; it’s terrifying.”

“No wonder the Emperor has him confined to the hall and forbidden from leaving.”

“Shh! Stop talking. He’ll hear you.”

Shen Zhaoxue acted as if he heard nothing. He rose, his white robes falling in layers around him, swaying slightly as he walked. He moved slowly toward the bookshelf and placed the box reverently on the top shelf.

Only then did he speak, his voice soft: “They can’t see you…” He laughed gently, his eyes curving. “That’s for the best. You should belong to me alone.”

the phantom stood not far away. As the candlelight flickered, the shadow waxed and waned as if it were about to vanish. Shen Zhaoxue hurried toward him, murmuring, “Don’t go. Stay with me a while longer.”

He didn’t notice the step beneath him. He missed his footing and fell heavily to the floor.

He couldn’t even tell where it hurt anymore. He could barely lift his head; it felt as if his back were under a thousand pounds of pressure. He could only crawl on the ground.

Face stained with tears, Shen Zhaoxue reached out, trying to grab the hem of the man’s robe. The pain he had suppressed for so long suddenly exploded. He sobbed, “I’m sorry…”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know…”

He didn’t know a single sentence from him would ruin Wan Shenghan. He didn’t know why they had drifted apart step by step until they stood on opposite sides, ending in a fatal fall.

Shen Zhaoxue crawled forward, but the dream shattered like a bubble at the sound of thunder. He tumbled off the bed with a thud and curled up on the floor, weeping in agony.

Outside, the shadows of the trees swayed; inside, the candle flame jumped. His sobs echoed through the room, as relentless as the autumn rain.

Wan Shenghan stood outside the door, listening for a long time. He clenched his fists tight, but he didn’t go in. He knew Shen Zhaoxue’s character—he hated showing his true vulnerability to anyone and was not used to relying on others. In times of crisis, he always gritted his teeth and endured alone.

He couldn’t go in; he couldn’t comfort him. He could only wait for the youth to calm himself.

“It hurts,” Shen Zhaoxue murmured. “Wan Shenghan… it hurts so much.”

He covered his injured leg. After a moment, he lifted his head, revealing tear-streaked cheeks and red, swollen eyes the picture of wretchedness and fragility. But his expression soon turned cold and calm. His ears twitched.

The man called Li Mu was currently outside the door.

Shen Zhaoxue knelt upright, a plan forming in his mind. He rose, stumbling toward the door, and yanked it open.

The man outside seemed to catch his breath, caught off guard by the sudden opening.

Shen Zhaoxue spoke tonelessly: “I have a favor to ask.”