Transmigrated as the Villain and Driven Crazy by the Vengeful Male Lead - Chapter 24

Chapter 24: Ninety-Nine Thousand Ninety-Nine Tribulations — It’s Raining.

“Are you really not going back with me?”

On the outskirts of Yangshuo City, the sun had been out for several days following the snow. Among the swaying shadows of the trees, Su Qingyang’s voice was both loud and filled with concern.

“No, Brother, you go on ahead.”

Su Qingyang’s sword-like brows remained furrowed, his mind torn: “I wanted to wait for you. You and…” He cast a glance at Lyu Shuyao. “Both you and Ayao have damaged cultivation. I don’t feel easy leaving you out here alone.”

Su Cheyue offered comfort: “There is no need to worry, Brother. We are simply finding a place with good feng shui to bury the cat’s remains. We won’t be getting into anything dangerous.”

“Hmm. If it weren’t for my concern for that youth… what was his name again?”

“Qingsang.”

“Right, right, Qingsang,” Su Qingyang repeated. “I’m worried about his condition back at the sect, whether he’s out of danger.”

“I understand. The greater good comes first. Please, go ahead with an easy mind.”

Su Qingyang looked helplessly at Lyu Shuyao and exhorted: “Take good care of him.”

The two bid him farewell in the woods, watching the green-clad figure with the sword at his waist recede until he vanished from sight.

Lyu Shuyao, cradling the cat, tilted his head and asked Su Cheyue in the wheelchair, “Where to next?”

Su Cheyue mused, “The outer forest of the Baoshan Sect. Fly the sword slowly; don’t let my brother notice us.”

Only after Su Qingyang had entered the sect did the Zhanquan Sword quietly touch down outside the mountain gate.

Today was overcast; the woods seemed draped in a veil of grey gauze, and low clouds hung heavy in the sky. Bereft of the sun’s heat and brightness, the entire forest was bathed in a soft, dim light. Nevertheless, the mountains still exhaled a peaceful, ethereal aura that drew one in.

“The Baoshan Sect is rich in spiritual energy, a blessed land chosen by heaven,” Su Cheyue said. “After I subdued Tangyuan last time, I suppressed it here, hoping it would sooner sense the realm of reincarnation, ascend to the Western Paradise, and be reborn.”

Hearing this, Lyu Shuyao agreed it was a good place. Without a word, he found a relatively clean patch of open ground, knelt down, and began to dig a hole.

Su Cheyue: “…”

Su Cheyue: “This is a sacred land of the immortal sects, yet you’re digging with your hands?”

Lyu Shuyao looked back, his clear, harmless eyes gazing at him in confusion.

“…My spiritual power is insufficient. Use yours to break the earth. Once you sense the spiritual vein underground, bury it there and establish a barrier.”

Lyu Shuyao thought this was a perfect chance to test the ten percent of spiritual power the system had returned.

He felt the spiritual breath surging within his body and opened his palm. A glow of luminous blue-purple light rose from his hand. Fearing it wouldn’t be enough, he gave it a forceful shove forward!

A patch of dirt about ten feet square exploded upward, instantly forming a round pit. Simultaneously, a tall, thick tree outside the pit crashed to the ground.

…That effective?

If he got all one hundred percent back, wouldn’t he be invincible?

“You’ve built it a grand tomb.” Su Cheyue, unaware of the system’s existence, assumed Lyu Shuyao’s cultivation was simply recovering after rest. “The Baoshan Sect’s pills are indeed useful for you.”

However, Su Cheyue found it slightly strange. Usually, the spiritual power of cultivators was a transparent blue light, but Lyu Shuyao’s blue was laced with a streak of deep, haunting violet. Looking at it for too long made one’s heart skip a beat.

This wasn’t the first time he’d seen it; he had noticed it back when he was guiding him at Xifeng Crossing. Su Cheyue had asked Lyu Qingsong about it, but even he couldn’t say when Ayao’s spiritual power began to differ from others.

Lyu Shuyao used his long fingers to carefully comb the cat’s fur, asking casually, “What happened to Meng Shijie?”

“It is much like what Miss Luo said. It is the harshest punishment for him.”

“This world of yours isn’t half bad,” Lyu Shuyao remarked. “The laws are quite strict, and women can have minds of their own.”

Su Cheyue caught the keyword: “Yours?”

“Where I come from, intentional murder is paid for with a life. As for children who cannot yet fend for themselves—regardless of gender—to kill them, or even just to abandon them, is a grave crime met with universal condemnation.”

“…” Su Cheyue seemed to understand but didn’t know where “there” was. Xifeng Crossing in Luzhou?

Lyu Shuyao didn’t explain further and solemnly placed the cat into the shallow pit. Su Cheyue asked, “Do you like cats very much?”

Lyu Shuyao instinctively wanted to say yes, but after a thought, he chose to shake his head: “I don’t.”

“…Lies.”

“If I like something, it never lasts long,” Lyu Shuyao explained earnestly. “The things I put effort into and hope to get a return from always end up leaving me behind.”

He filled the pit with earth and idly snapped a few stalks of foxtail grass to plant on the small mound, muttering under his breath.

“Grass grows on the grave, bringing deep blessings.”

Su Cheyue paused, then followed with: “Green grass grows upon the tomb; I pray the road to the underworld is free of gloom.”

“Su Cheyue,” Lyu Shuyao sat before the grave with his back to him, “we’re already here. Why don’t you go home?”

Su Cheyue countered, “Do you want to go back?”

“I want to go back even in my dreams,” Lyu Shuyao said without thinking. “But I’m also afraid to go back.”

“Afraid?”

“You’re the same as me, aren’t you? Home is clearly right there, yet it feels like it isn’t.”

Su Cheyue said, “I am not afraid.”

“I’m not talking about being afraid of death or injury,” Lyu Shuyao interjected immediately. “I’m talking about being afraid of a broken heart.”

“The Soul-Shifting Knot was given to the cat-ghost by Su Xun and Yang Yuan. They knew your cultivation was severely damaged, so they had it seek revenge by using the knot to possess you, intending to force the Pearl of Desires out. The original plan was for Su Qingyang to mistakenly bring it back to the sect to get close to you—that way, they could remain uninvolved. But they didn’t expect you to go down the mountain to find it yourself, and they didn’t expect it to mistake the target. Right?”

Su Cheyue remained silent for a while, his voice slow as if falling into a memory.

“My uncle was very good to me when I was little. His health was poor then. Seeing me crawling on the ground and crying, he would rush over anxiously to pick me up and coax me. He was weak; if I cried or made a fuss, he couldn’t stay steady even while crouching. He’d fall right over backward, taking me down with him. He wouldn’t even stop to wipe himself off before checking if I was hurt.” He lowered his gaze. “That’s what my father told me.”

Lyu Shuyao didn’t like seeing him with downcast eyes; he always felt that Su Cheyue looked particularly fragile like that—fragile in a way that hurt to see.

Lyu Shuyao said, “My mom and dad were also very good to me when I was small. My dad would wait in line all night without sleeping just to buy me the best, hardest-to-get egg tarts in the city. My mom would knit me a sweater vest with Ultraman on it every year; no other kids had one.”

Su Cheyue asked, “What are ‘mom and dad’? What is an ‘egg tart’? And what is an ‘Ultraman’?”

Lyu Shuyao froze for a second. “Mom and dad are just mother and father. An egg tart is a kind of dessert made with eggs and flour. Ultraman… Ultraman is a legendary superhero who saves the world, specifically by fighting monsters. Just like you.”

Suddenly feeling something was off, he corrected himself: “No, no, no, he’s not as good-looking as you.” He pointed to the Zhanquan Sword nearby. “Ultraman looks like a Zhanquan with eyes, a nose, arms, and legs. His head is rounder and bigger than Zhanquan’s.”

Su Cheyue couldn’t imagine it, but he found the analogy amusing, and his lips curved slightly.

Lyu Shuyao was momentarily speechless: “You smiled.” He really saw it this time, saw it clearly. Su Cheyue couldn’t deny it.

The smile was instantly pulled back into a thin line.

The afternoon wind swept through the forest, bringing a humid dampness. In almost the blink of an eye, the first rain of late winter drizzled down, wetting the leaves and waking the long-dormant soil.

“It’s raining?”

Lyu Shuyao stood dazed, looking up. Raindrops rolled off his lashes like the secret tears of a youth.

“Su Cheyue, it’s raining.” The voice that had been clear just moments ago suddenly sounded sad.

Su Cheyue said, “Cultivators do not idle through the seasons, nor do they fear wind, rain, thunder, or lightning.”

“But I’m afraid,” Lyu Shuyao murmured. He wrapped his arms around himself, his face almost buried in his knees. “I’m very afraid of the rain.”

After this rain, the egg tarts were gone, Ultraman was gone, Juanjuan was gone, and his mom and dad were gone too.

If he were in his own world, he would never mention these things to anyone. If it rained, he would just run into the shadows to hide by himself, with no emotions that had to be voiced.

Perhaps because he was in a strange world—much like meeting someone online—no one knew him or who he really was, so he could occasionally leak a long-suppressed secret.

Su Cheyue watched him silently for a moment and sighed. It was faint, so faint it almost didn’t exist. He pushed his wheelchair closer to this man who, for some reason, looked as if he were about to be shattered by the rain.

Lyu Shuyao was truly different from before. He was no longer that youth who appeared quiet but was deep and hardened inside. Instead, he had become an adult who seemed heartless and indifferent to everything.

Yet sometimes, he acted more fragile and helpless than a three-year-old.

“Mm,” Su Cheyue hummed in response. He raised his hand and used a bit of spiritual power to create a rainbow-colored shield over Lyu Shuyao’s head.

The rain abruptly stopped.

Lyu Shuyao’s face was still wet, but the heavy sensation of a thousand swords falling straight down from above had vanished. He looked up dazed again. What met his eyes were soft colors: red, orange, yellow, green, cyan, blue, and violet.

Su Cheyue’s expressionless face was reflected outside the rainbow, ethereal, beautiful, and delicately hazy.

Because he had used some spiritual power, his lips were pale, making the rise and fall of his crimson lip line even more distinct.

To Su Cheyue, Lyu Shuyao’s features, washed by the water, looked even deeper. His brow bone was high, and the inner corners of his eyes hooked slightly when he looked up—stunningly handsome.

A bolt of thunder slashed down from the sky. At the same instant:

[Congratulations, visitor! Male lead Su Cheyue’s Hatred Value has decreased by 200. Current Hatred Value: 1200. Keep up the good work!]

Lyu Shuyao inexplicably thought of a mushy poem he’d learned as a child:

“When the mountains are peaked no more, when the river waters run dry, when the winter thunder rumbles, and when the summer snow falls. Only when heaven and earth unite will I dare to part with you.”

…

The scent of dry branches after the rain was bitter, drifting faintly from the inn’s backyard into the guest room.

Lyu Shuyao dried Su Cheyue’s hair on the bed. As he was leaving, he asked, “Are you really okay sleeping alone?”

Su Cheyue gave him a sidelong glance.

“Fine, I won’t ask.” Lyu Shuyao re-hung the wind chime he’d brought earlier by the head of the bed. “Call me if you need anything. I’m right next door.”

He returned to his room and lay on the bed, but sleep didn’t come.

The Hatred Value was still at 1200. Though Su Cheyue still constantly threatened to kill or beat him, it was clear that their relationship wasn’t as tense as before.

This was a good thing, of course, but he didn’t know how long it would be until Su Cheyue recovered. This cat arc wasn’t in the book, so who knew what other “ninety-nine tribulations” were waiting for them…

“System?”

[System online. What does the visitor wish to ask?]

“When will Su Cheyue meet the female lead?”

[One moment, the system is calculating… Hmm. Upon review, the male protagonist still needs to go through 99 ‘evil intent’ side-stories before entering the main plot.]

“??? What the hell, are there that many??” That was more than the legendary eighty-one tribulations! His big mouth!

[Yes. On one hand, it’s because the visitor skipped too many chapters while reading, missing many important plot points. On the other hand, the novel itself had detailed and brief parts, but a real world cannot be like that—it needs to be experienced in every detail.]

…Are you sure the parts I skipped could be called “important”? Weren’t they just the author padding the word count?

If everything is a key point, then nothing is a key point!

When a task is something you can calculate and finish by just standing on your tiptoes, you’ll be spirited and roll up your sleeves to work.

But when you find the result is unreachable—even if you hanged yourself, you couldn’t touch the edge—you’ll only procrastinate more and more.

For instance, right now, this is what Lyu Shuyao was thinking: Since things have come to this, I’ll deal with it tomorrow. Sleep first!

…

The next morning, the sky was bright. Lyu Shuyao went downstairs to get some food and then knocked on the door next door.

No one answered.

“I’m coming in.” Wondering if the Second Young Master was studying some “Soul-Shifting Knot” or “Affection-Shifting Knot,” he pushed the door open directly.

He found Su Cheyue just sitting there silently, doing nothing at all.

His black hair hung down, his profile buried in shadow, his expression unreadable. The pillows and quilt were tossed aside, and his thin inner garment was gripped so hard it was wrinkled.

“What’s wrong?” Lyu Shuyao sensed something was wrong. When he moved to touch him, he was shoved away.

“Go away.”

Lyu Shuyao narrowed his eyes: “Second Young Master.”

“Su Cheyue.”

“I am Lyu Shuyao. Time to eat.”

Su Cheyue grabbed something blindly—a bowl of porridge—and threw it without hesitation.

With a clatter, the bowl shattered at the foot of the bed. Shards flew toward the bed; Lyu Shuyao swiftly caught one, gripping it in his palm.

“Su Cheyue, are you going to self-harm again?”

“Do you like the thrill of destroying flesh, or do you like the scent of blood overflowing?”

He opened his bloodied palm and held it near Su Cheyue’s lips, then picked up Su Cheyue’s fingertips, leading them to slowly stroke his own palm.

Bit by bit, the slightly hard pads of fingers calloused from years of sword practice brushed over the split skin, causing a hot, itchy sting.

Lyu Shuyao closed his eyes, his voice slightly raspy.

“Does this satisfy you? Hmm?”

Su Cheyue suddenly yanked his hand back.

After a long time, he finally turned his face, his deep brown eyes empty and helpless.

He said, “Lyu Shuyao, I can’t see again.”