The Mad Villain Driven to Death - Chapter 3

The early summer showers continued without pause. Shen Zhaoxue was being carried on someone’s back; through a daze, he caught sight of a pair of pristine white boots, untainted by even a speck of dust. For a moment, it felt as though he had returned to that bitter winter.

He was a villain who deserved ten thousand deaths. Countless lives had been lost at his hands. His thunderous, ruthless methods were despised by many, yet he knew that to rapidly establish a new and stable regime, someone had to be sacrificed.

Shen Zhaoxue did not fear sacrifice; he only feared that from then on, no one would remember him. Therefore, whether he was labeled a treacherous official or a loyal minister made little difference in his eyes.

The only pity was Wan Shenghan.

Shen Zhaoxue’s lips parted slightly as he voiced soundlessly: “What a pity.”

Wan Shenghan’s career setbacks were indeed related to him, but not for the reasons Wan Shenghan imagined. He had simply said the wrong words and made the wrong choice by accident. And for that, he had paid the price.

The world spun before him. He could not distinguish between dream and reality. The high fever clouded his thoughts, and in the next instant, he fell unconscious.

The candlelight crackled softly, mingling with the occasional sound of turning pages, making the room feel even more silent. Wan Shenghan sat at the desk reading. He wasn’t reading a scholarly text, but rather a detailed explanation of divination signs.

He remembered that when Shen Zhaoxue was first sent to the Wan household, Madam Shen had given his father a divination regarding the boy’s fate. The signs said his life would be full of misfortune that it was his destiny and could not be altered. Only Shen Zhaoxue himself could save himself.

Every newborn in the Great Yan would receive a divination, but Wan Shenghan did not believe in the truth of such things. Thus, he merely flipped through it and stopped reading. He closed the book, walked to Shen Zhaoxue’s bedside, and lifted the bed curtain to check his complexion.

Shen Zhaoxue was likely not sleeping peacefully; his brows were knit tight, and his lips were slightly parted to aid his breathing. Wan Shenghan gave a light sneer, dropped the curtain, and left.

Shen Zhaoxue did not wake until nightfall. His throat was parched and painful, as if it had been shredded by a blade. He reached out with difficulty to grab the bed curtain, murmuring in a daze, “Zhang Shun, water…”

A hand pulled back the curtain and perfunctorily handed him a cup, pressing it against his lips. Shen Zhaoxue nearly choked and hurriedly turned his head away, struggling to open his eyes and look.

It was Wan Shenghan.

Of course. He was no longer in the palace. After dying and being reborn, his former eunuch, Zhang Shun, was naturally no longer by his side.

Fortunately, he hadn’t made a sound just now. The matter of his death and resurrection was so bizarre and supernatural; it would be bad if outsiders found out. Shen Zhaoxue breathed a silent sigh of relief and looked up again, meeting Wan Shenghan’s indifferent gaze.

He didn’t know what this body had done before he returned, or why Wan Shenghan’s attitude was so strange. And back then by the pond, Wan Shenghan had actually stood by and watched him be bullied.

It didn’t used to be like that.

Shen Zhaoxue felt his mind wander as he stared at Wan Shenghan for a long time. Wan Shenghan frowned. Shen Zhaoxue used to like looking at him this way, but the expression today was strange—more like he was investigating something.

Feeling bored, Wan Shenghan placed the cup on the desk, stood up, and said, “Useless fellow.”

Shen Zhaoxue was not wearing his ear covers and heard this sentence clearly. He couldn’t help but feel dissatisfied. “You…”

He opened his mouth but suddenly realized something was wrong. At twenty years old, how could he say anything harsh? He could only suppress his stifled frustration, closing his eyes and pretending he hadn’t heard.

What on earth did I do for Wan Shenghan to have such an attitude? It’s completely illogical.

Shen Zhaoxue thought to himself that tomorrow he should test Chunya and ask clearly about everything so that he could proceed with his plans. The sound of footsteps echoed outside the curtains; Wan Shenghan left his courtyard and closed the door tightly.

Shen Zhaoxue dozed for a short while. As his head cleared, he realized that no one seemed to have brought him medicine. Did Wan Shenghan actually want him to die of illness?

Shen Zhaoxue was truly a bit angry. He struggled to climb up from the bed, leaned over to put on his shoes, and moved slowly to the door. He reached out his hand, but he could not push the door open.

Shen Zhaoxue was bewildered for a moment and tried again, only to find that the door had been locked from the outside by Wan Shenghan, effectively cutting off all his paths of escape.

He nearly laughed out of spite, thinking that Wan Shenghan really did want him to die of illness. He hadn’t entered the palace yet, held no official post, and was merely a homeless, helpless orphan living under another’s roof. He had no enmity with Wan Shenghan. First, the man watched him suffer humiliation, and now he had done this.

Could it be that I recognized the wrong person in my previous life?

Shen Zhaoxue clenched his fists tightly, his nails sinking deep into his palms until they nearly drew blood. He remained silent, returning to the bedside to sit by the window and watch the rain.

This dream was too real, yet so very strange. He felt unaccustomed to it and could find no way to leave. Shen Zhaoxue’s gaze shifted slightly, staring at the dancing candlelight in a trance. He thought that if he knocked over the candle and set the room on fire, perhaps he could burn this dream away completely.

Then, he would be free.

So he stood up and reached his hand toward the candlestick. The flame scorched his finger, and he suddenly snapped back to his senses. He remembered that the person who threw his jade pendant into the pond today—he had yet to take his revenge.

He could not die yet.

So he withdrew his hand, lay back on the bed, closed his eyes, and went to sleep.

The next day, the rain passed and the sky cleared, yet Shen Zhaoxue’s windows remained tightly shut. The room was silent and pitch black. Chunya opened the door quietly to ventilate the room for him, but there was no sign of the person on the bed waking up.

Chunya stepped forward softly and pulled back the curtain, only to find Shen Zhaoxue’s cheeks flushed a deep red while his lips were deathly pale. His forehead was covered in cold sweat, and he was panting heavily with his eyes shut.

Chunya was startled and reached out to check his temperature. It was scalding.

Last night when the Eldest Young Master left, the fever had clearly subsided. Why had it recurred after only one night? Chunya anxiously took a handkerchief to wipe his sweat, then hurried to the front courtyard to inform Wan Shenghan.

Wan Shenghan had not gone to the academy today. Hearing the news, he turned his head to check the sky. Outside, the sunlight was bright, the sky was blue, and the clouds were white—a tranquil summer day.

He toyed with his teacup and said coolly to his attendant, “Go and invite the Wan family’s guest, Mr. Zhang Shu.”

“Eldest Young Master,” the attendant hesitated, “The Master said you aren’t allowed too much contact with Mr. Zhang.”

“No matter. Go invite him.”

“Yes.”

Wan Shenghan closed his book. His tone carried a trace of coldness as he spoke to Chunya: “Your master is certainly difficult to raise. One who didn’t know better would think he was a distinguished guest from afar, requiring my Wan family to serve him with such dedication.”

Chunya felt a surge of anger and signaled: If the Eldest Young Master dislikes my Young Master so much, we will leave. There is no need for the Wan family’s false kindness.

Wan Shenghan sneered, “You’d better mean what you say. Don’t let it just be talk.”

Shen Zhaoxue had been sickly since childhood. This was not the first time such an incident had occurred; he would fall ill whenever the weather changed or his emotions fluctuated significantly. Being so “difficult to raise,” it was no wonder the Wan family disliked him.

Wan Shenghan tossed the book on the table, lifted his sleeves, stood up, and went to the side courtyard.

By then, Shen Zhaoxue was awake. He lay dazed on the bed, staring at the swaying bed curtains. His blank mind could not think; it only kept repeating that day of the heavy snow. He felt his body was in pain, as if his heart had been pierced with countless holes by the icy frost, cold wind whistling through the emptiness.

His vision was a bit blurred. He heard light footsteps walking to his side and spoke softly, asking, “Am I dead?”

The footsteps paused. After a moment, Wan Shenghan’s voice sounded from beside him, carrying a hint of harshness: “Seeing as you can still talk nonsense, you are clearly still alive and well. Perhaps you’ll even live to be a hundred.”

Shen Zhaoxue closed his eyes irritably.

In the midst of the raging wind and snow, he saw Wan Shenghan open his arms to him, as if asking for a hug. But Shen Zhaoxue did not give him what he wanted. He drew his sword and, with indescribable guilt, longing, and a sense of vengeful pleasure and hate, he committed suicide going to find the Wan Shenghan he had discarded in the past.

He did not live to be a hundred, nor did he live a peaceful life. Neither life nor death was within his control; his only moment of freedom was the eve of his death.

Wan Shenghan knew Shen Zhaoxue would not give any reaction. The boy seemed to lack the ability for independent thought, which was truly boring; he didn’t even want to say another word. Seeing that the boy wouldn’t die anytime soon, he gave a light sneer, turned, and left.

Shen Zhaoxue opened his eyes tiredly and looked out the empty door. He asked Chunya softly, “Have I done something wrong? Why does he treat me this way?”

Chunya nearly burst into tears, signing: Young Master is very good. Young Master treats the Eldest Young Master with sincerity, but he is the one who doesn’t appreciate it. He has never been willing to get along with Young Master properly.

She grabbed Shen Zhaoxue’s hand, then let go after a moment and asked: Young Master, can we leave the Wan estate together?

Shen Zhaoxue was stunned for a moment. Never willing? Could it be that Wan Shenghan had always been indifferent to him? This had no similarity to his previous life at all.

For a moment, Shen Zhaoxue didn’t know what to think. He felt the high wall he had built in his heart collapse in an instant. He had thought that before his death, Wan Shenghan likely hated him to the bone, and that by being reborn he could see the pure, former version of the man. He hadn’t expected this.

Then, his previous hidden thoughts had all been one-sided.

Shen Zhaoxue suddenly felt resentful, yet he couldn’t show too much of a change in personality. He could only endure it, recalling his former self’s manner and tone, and said softly, “We shall see, Chunya. If we leave the Wan estate now, we might have no way to survive.”

The matters of his previous life were not yet fully resolved. He had to enter the palace again to intercept certain events in advance. If he couldn’t stop them, he had to at least be fully prepared. Only then would he be worthy of this hard-won chance at a new life.

Shen Zhaoxue still did not know the true reason Emperor Yuanshun summoned him into the palace. It was neither for his looks nor his talent; the Emperor just kept him nearby, almost as if to personally monitor him.

Many things about his previous life were slightly bizarre. He had been too involved back then to notice, but now, thinking deeply, he found the events terrifying—he vaguely sensed that something was amiss.

After he was summoned into the palace, Wan Shenghan had once sent him a letter saying he had found a way to take him away. Shen Zhaoxue waited with a heart full of joy for Wan Shenghan to rescue him. They had agreed to live in seclusion together. In the end, he only waited for the moment the plot was exposed and Emperor Yuanshun casually announced a punishment.

He knelt in the winter hall for an entire day. His weak body could not withstand such a penalty. Afterward, he fell gravely ill and was bedridden for a whole year, leaving him with permanent health issues. From beginning to end, Wan Shenghan never contacted him again.

He struggled in the treacherous palace for over six months. The letters he had tried so hard to send out were handed back to him; Wan Shenghan had only left him a single sentence: “A clean break.” Their paths of destiny had diverged completely.

Shen Zhaoxue’s life had never been smooth. He hated this whole world, and he hated Wan Shenghan even more. If the man hadn’t made that promise to him, perhaps he would never have encountered such piercing pain and regret. And he would never have become the treacherous minister Shen Zhaoxue, whom all of Great Yan hated to the bone.

Shen Zhaoxue gave a light cough, endured his physical discomfort, and got out of bed. He asked Chunya, “Where is the Second Young Master?”

Chunya checked the time: The Second Young Master is likely at the academy right now.

Shen Zhaoxue lowered his eyes and coughed. “Stay here. Do not let anyone enter the room.”

He went out through the main door, turned left and right, and finally disappeared into the depths of a small path.

Wan Jingyao had no interest in his studies. He had often played truant in the past, and even the Wan family head’s repeated scoldings hadn’t made him behave. Shen Zhaoxue did a circuit of Wan Jingyao’s study and found some gunpowder on the desk—likely left over from when the boy and other noble sons were blowing up bird nests.

Shen Zhaoxue rubbed the grey powder between his fingertips, lowered his eyes, and expressionlessly dropped a flame.