Villain: Manipulating the Heroines into hating the Protagonist

Chapter 933: Sect Mistress Lianhua’s Request

The atmosphere in the small, rented courtyard was thick, heavy with a scent that was part incense, part lust, and part the musky aftermath of conquest. The sunlight filtering through the lattice windows did little to dispel the intimate, twisted dynamic that had settled over the room like a fog.

Sect Mistress Lianhua sat perched on Wang Jian’s lap, her back pressed flush against his chest. She was no longer the regal, robed figure of authority who had commanded thousands.

She was wearing her new "uniform," a scandalous, shimmering two-piece bikini made of the finest, most diaphanous silk. It was a garment fit for a mortal dancer in a pleasure house, not a cultivation master.

The top was barely a strip of fabric, straining to contain the sheer, overwhelming mass of her breasts, leaving the deep valley of her cleavage and the soft under-curves completely exposed.

The bottom was even more daring, a tiny triangle of silk that clung to her hips with thin strings, leaving her long, smooth legs and her vast, creamy midriff completely bare to the air and to his touch.

It was a stark, humiliating contrast to her former sect robes, a physical manifestation of her new reality.

Wang Jian’s hands were busy. They snaked around her slim waist, his fingers digging into the soft flesh before moving up to knead her breasts aggressively. He squeezed the heavy globes, his thumbs finding her nipples through the thin silk, teasing them into hard points.

"Mmm... Jian..." Sect Mistress Lianhua gasped, her head falling back onto his shoulder.

He kissed her neck, his lips hot and demanding, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. Every breath she took, every small movement, caused her curvaceous, heavy buttocks to grind against the rock-hard ridge of his erection beneath her.

Liu Ruyan sat nearby on a cushion, completely unbothered by the brazen display. In fact, a small, satisfied smile played on her lips as she watched her Master being handled like a favorite pet. She had a large map spread out on the low table before her.

"According to the intelligence from Senior Sister Bai," Liu Ruyan began, her voice calm and professional, a stark contrast to the heavy breathing coming from the pair on the bed, "Fu Yan has consolidated his defenses. But he is paranoid."

She pointed to the outer ring of the sect map. "He has placed the Azure Sword Clan and the Silent Puppet Guild members exclusively on the outer perimeter. He doesn’t trust them near the core. He fears they might turn on him if they see the true wealth of the sect."

"Smart of him," Wang Jian murmured against Sect Mistress Lianhua’s ear, nipping the lobe. "And the core?"

"The central peak," Liu Ruyan continued, tapping the center of the map, "where the legacies, the main vault, and the medicinal garden are located... that is guarded exclusively by his own elite disciples and the few elders who defected to him. He’s keeping the family silver close."

Sect Mistress Lianhua, despite the distracting sensations flooding her body, spoke up. Her voice was husky, breathless. "If... if I can recover my Core Formation strength... perhaps there is a chance. I could... ah... I could sway the remaining neutral elders. Appeal to their honor. Their history. We could... retake the sect by force."

Wang Jian scoffed, a harsh sound against her skin. He bit her earlobe, hard enough to sting. "Impossible. You’re dreaming, Lianhua."

"But..."

"Fu Yan has the Azure Sword Clan," Wang Jian interrupted, his voice cold and pragmatic. "He has the Puppet Guild. He has array formations we haven’t even seen yet, probably traps laid on top of traps. Even if you were at your peak right now, we’d be three against an army. A frontal assault is suicide. It’s stupid."

He squeezed her breast hard, punishing her naivety. "We aren’t heroes in a storybook. We are outmatched."

"Then... what?" Sect Mistress Lianhua whispered, leaning back into him, accepting his chastisement. "Do we just... leave it?"

"Taking control isn’t the only way to win, Lianhua," Wang Jian murmured, his hands sliding down to her stomach, his fingers tracing the line of her bikini bottom. "Sometimes... ruining something so your enemy can’t have it is just as good. Better, even."

He paused, posing a question. "Tell me. What makes the Crimson Pill Sect a sect? Is it the mountain? The stone buildings? The fancy gates?"

Sect Mistress Lianhua thought for a moment, her mind fighting through the haze of pleasure. "No. It is the legacies. The recipes handed down from the ancestors. The Crimson Dragon Cauldron. The rare herbs that exist nowhere else in this region. Without those... we are just people living on a hill."

"Exactly," Wang Jian said, his voice dripping with approval. "We don’t need the hill. Let Fu Yan have the rocks. We steal the soul of the sect. We take the cauldron. We take the recipes. We strip the gardens bare. We leave Fu Yan with nothing but empty buildings, angry disciples, and hungry allies he can’t pay."

He outlined his vision, his voice low and dangerous. "We scorch the earth. We bankrupt him. We destroy his reputation. We turn his allies against him. By the time we’re done, he won’t be a Sect Master. He’ll be a hunted man, chased by debt and betrayal."

Sect Mistress Lianhua listened, her eyes widening. It was brutal. It was vicious. And it was perfect.

She leaned back against him, her submission complete. "So be it," she whispered. "If we cannot save the shell... we save the spirit. And we burn the rest."

She turned her head, looking him in the eye. "What should we do then, Master?"

Wang Jian smiled, a dark, terrible smile. "We destroy him from the inside out. We make him toxic."

The conversation shifted, the air growing heavy with a different kind of intensity. Wang Jian paused his fondling for a moment, his hands resting heavy and possessive on her hips.

"You seem... surprisingly okay with this, Lianhua," he noted, his eyes searching hers. "Destroying your home. Burning down your legacy."

Sect Mistress Lianhua turned her head fully to look at him. Her eyes were dry, hard. "My home died when my elders died defending me in that arena," she said, her voice flat. "Fu Yan killed it. The Crimson Pill Sect is dead. I only want the maggot feeding on its corpse to suffer."

She leaned in and kissed him, a deep, searing kiss filled with a desperate resolve.

"If you do this..." she whispered against his lips. "If you ruin him... if you make him pay... I will serve you for eternity. I don’t care about your tricks. I don’t care how you forced me, or the drugs, or the arrays. I don’t care about my dignity as a Sect Mistress."

She looked deep into his eyes. "I will be your woman. Your alchemist. Your slave. Whatever you need."

Wang Jian smirked, bringing his hand up to slap her bare thigh with a stinging smack. "Good. Your skills are useful, Lianhua. But this..." he squeezed her thigh, his fingers digging in, "...this body is what I really want."

"This body is yours," she vowed, her voice trembling with sincerity. "Not because I have to. But because I choose to give it to the man who will avenge my sect. Use it. Break it. It belongs to you."

Wang Jian grinned, a flash of white teeth in the dim light. "I have plans for us, Lianhua. Big plans. We’ll build a new sect. But not just for pills."

He leaned close, whispering his dark vision. "A harem sect. We’ll gather beauties from all over the continent. Talented, beautiful women. And you, my dear Sect Mistress... you will manage them for me."

Her eyes widened slightly.

"You will be the Matriarch," he continued. "You will train them. You will guide them. You will teach them cultivation and alchemy... and slowly, subtly, you will push the best ones into my bed. You will prepare them for me."

Sect Mistress Lianhua stared at him. A sect built for his lust? With her as the madam?

She chuckled, a dark, amused sound that surprised even her. "A sect built for your lust? It is fitting. You are a demon, Wang Jian. But... I will do it."

"Good," he said.

"To aid the plan," she said, her mind turning to strategy, "there are secrets Fu Yan doesn’t know. Secrets only the Sect Mistress is privy to."

"Tell me," Wang Jian commanded.

"There are passages," she explained. "Ancient escape tunnels built by the founder. They lead directly to the Crimson Dragon Cauldron’s secret chamber beneath the main hall. And another set leads to the core of the medicinal garden, bypassing the outer arrays entirely."

Wang Jian’s eyes lit up. "Direct access?"

"Yes. And the cauldron... it can be shrunk," she revealed. "There is a specific mudra, a spiritual key. Only the Sect Mistress knows it. I can take it right out from under his nose, and he won’t even know it’s gone until he tries to use it."

"And the herbs?"

"There are secret cold-storage caves," she continued. "For the rarest herbs, the ones that need centuries to mature. Fu Yan doesn’t even know they exist. We can empty them."

"Perfect," Wang Jian breathed, leaning in to kiss her neck, his excitement palpable. "We will strip him bare. We will leave him with nothing but dust."

Throughout the conversation, his hands never stopped. He slipped them under her bikini top again, teasing her nipples, pulling them, pinching them. His erection pressed against her back, a constant, throbbing reminder of who was in charge.

Liu Ruyan watched them, smiling. The three of them were united now. United in purpose, in vengeance, and in depravity.

"Now," Wang Jian said, pushing Sect Mistress Lianhua off his lap. She stumbled slightly, catching her balance.

"Show me," he commanded, leaning back against the headboard. "Show me you really belong to me. Dance for me."

The small courtyard bedroom had transformed. The air was no longer just the air of a resting place; it was heavy, thick with a tangible, smoky lust. It was a stage now, a private theater for an audience of one.

Wang Jian sat back against the headboard of the large bed, his legs spread wide, looking every inch the conquering emperor on his throne. His eyes were dark, hooded, and fixed with a laser-like intensity on the center of the room. Beside him, Liu Ruyan sat on the edge of the mattress, peeling a grape with delicate fingers, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of anticipation and a servant’s eagerness to please.

In the center of the room stood Sect Mistress Lianhua.

She stood in a pool of sunlight that streamed through the window, illuminating her disgraceful, magnificent new attire. The tiny strips of silk that made up her bikini did nothing to hide her; they only framed her nakedness, turning her body into a present waiting to be unwrapped.

"Music, Ruyan," Wang Jian ordered, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in the quiet room.

Liu Ruyan smiled, a knowing, complicit curve of her lips. She reached into her storage ring and produced a small, elegant zither made of dark wood. She settled it on her lap, her fingers hovering over the strings.

She began to play. It wasn’t a classical sect melody. It was a low, sultry tune, a slow, rhythmic beat that seemed to pulse in the air like a heartbeat. It was the kind of music played in the darkest, most expensive pleasure houses of the mortal world, designed to strip away inhibition and induce a trance of desire.

Thrum... thrum... pling...

Sect Mistress Lianhua stood there, the music washing over her. For a split second, a ghost of her old self flickered in her mind—the dignified leader, the powerful cultivator. Dancing? Like a common entertainer? For a man?

But then she looked up. She met Wang Jian’s eyes.

She saw the hunger there. It was a raw, bottomless pit of desire that wanted to consume her whole. She saw the expectation, the absolute certainty that she would obey.

And she remembered her vow.

’This body is yours.’

The thought wasn’t a resignation; it was a trigger. A key unlocking a cage she hadn’t known she was in.

She took a deep, shuddering breath, her massive chest rising and falling, straining the thin silk straps of her bikini top. She let go. She took the image of the Sect Mistress—the cold, aloof, untouchable woman—and she strangled it in her mind. In its place, she let the woman—the slave, the slut he had forged in that bed—take over.

She didn’t hesitate. In fact, a jolt of electricity shot through her veins. She was excited to do it. She wanted to show him. She wanted to see that hunger in his eyes burn hotter.

She began to move.

At first, she was stiff. Her movements were jerky, mechanical. Her cultivator’s dignity was warring with her new reality, her muscles fighting the unnatural commands of her brain. But the music was hypnotic, dragging her in. And Wang Jian’s gaze was a physical weight, a heat that melted her reserve like wax near a flame.

She closed her eyes for a second, finding the rhythm, and then snapped them open, locking her gaze onto his crotch.

She began to sway her hips.

Left. Right. Left. Right.

Slowly at first, then with more confidence. The movement was exaggerated, designed to showcase the incredible, devastating curve of her waist. As her hips moved, her vast, creamy midriff—totally exposed, soft, and feminine—twisted and stretched. Her navel, a small indentation in the smooth plain of her stomach, danced in the light.

But it was her buttocks that drew the eye. With every sway of her wide, child-bearing hips, the fullness of her ass shifted. The tiny silk triangle of her bikini bottom clung desperately to her crack, leaving the vast majority of her pale, plush cheeks exposed. They rubbed against each other with a soft, friction-heavy sound, the flesh trembling with every shift of her weight.

Liu Ruyan picked up the tempo. The zither’s notes came faster, sharper.

Sect Mistress Lianhua matched it. She raised her arms high above her head, her armpits exposed, her long hair cascading down her back. She began to shimmy her shoulders.

And then, the chaos began.

Her massive breasts, barely contained by the silk bikini top, jiggle wildly. They were heavy, so incredibly heavy, and they carried their own momentum. As she shook her shoulders, her breasts swayed and bounced with a life of their own. They surged against the thin fabric, threatening to spill out the sides, threatening to pop over the top. The silk strained, digging into her soft flesh, creating deep valleys and mounds of pale skin.

They bounced up and down, left and right, colliding with each other, separating, then crashing back together. It was mesmerizing. Heavy and hypnotic.

Wang Jian watched, his mouth slightly open, enraptured. The sight of the dignified Sect Mistress, the woman he had broken, dancing for him in a slutty bikini... it was more intoxicating than any wine.

"Beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "Look at her, Ruyan. A natural slut. Look at how she moves."

"She learns fast, Jian," Liu Ruyan agreed, giggling as she strummed the zither faster, her fingers flying. "Look at those hips. She knows exactly what you like."

Encouraged by his voice, Sect Mistress Lianhua ramped up the intensity. This wasn’t a slow, seductive dance anymore. It was fast-paced, frantic, a display of raw, kinetic sexuality.

She began to incorporate her legs, stomping her bare feet lightly on the rug in time with the music. With every impact, a shockwave traveled up her legs. Her thighs, thick and soft, jiggled. Her ass cheeks quaked violently, rippling like water disturbed by a stone. Her breasts jumped, slapping against her chest with audible, wet thwacks.

The silk of her bikini bottom struggled to hold on. As she moved, the fabric shifted, riding up higher, revealing the smooth, curved under-cheek of her buttocks, teasing the dark shadow between her thighs. The strings dug into her soft hips, creating luscious indentations in her flesh.

She adopted poses no righteous cultivator should ever know, let alone perform.

She spun around, putting her back to him. She bent forward at the waist, keeping her legs straight. She looked back at him through her legs, her hair falling forward.

From this angle, the view was devastating. Her bikini bottom became a mere string between the massive, spreading globes of her ass. Her pussy lips were just a breath away from being visible, the silk pulled taut. And below her, hanging heavy and pendulous, he could see the tops of her breasts, swaying with gravity.

She shook her ass at him, a rapid, vibrating motion that made the flesh blur.

Then she spun back around. She arched her back violently, thrusting her chest out towards him. Her ribcage expanded, her stomach sucked in, highlighting the impossible size of her breasts. Her nipples, hard as stones, pushed aggressively against the silk, two distinct points aimed right at his face.

Sweat began to bead on her skin, making her shine in the sunlight. A drop rolled down her neck, tracked through the valley of her cleavage, and disappeared into the fabric of her top.

She dropped to her knees on the rug with a soft thud.

The music slowed down, becoming heavy, grinding.

She rolled her hips in a circle, grinding her groin against the air, her eyes locked on the bulge in Wang Jian’s pants. Her expression was one of pure, focused seduction—lips parted, eyes half-lidded, breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

She began to crawl towards him.

She moved like a cat, a predator in her own right. Slow. Deliberate. Every movement emphasized the sway of her breasts, which hung low and heavy as she crawled. They brushed against her arms, swung side to side, the nipples grazing the fabric with every shift of her weight.

Her ass, high in the air as she crawled, was a beacon. The movement of her legs caused her cheeks to separate and close, a rhythmic, hypnotic motion that made Wang Jian’s throat go dry.

She reached the edge of the bed.

She didn’t stop. She rose up on her knees, towering over the seated Wang Jian. She pressed her chest towards his face, so close he could smell her scent—sweat, arousal, and the faint, floral perfume of her skin.

She grabbed his hands and placed them on her waist. Then, she began to grind her hips. Not against him, but against the mattress itself, right between his spread legs. She humped the bed, her eyes rolling back in her head, a low moan escaping her throat.

"Master..." she whispered, her voice husky, broken, filled with a desperate need. "Do you like it? Is your slave doing well?"

Wang Jian couldn’t take it anymore. The sight of her heaving chest, her sweating midriff, the desperate, slutty look in her eyes... it snapped his control.

He reached out and grabbed her wide, soft hips, his fingers digging into the flesh until she gasped.

He pulled her onto him, dragging her off her knees and onto the bed. He ended the dance with a rough, possessive kiss, his mouth devouring hers, tasting the sweat on her upper lip.

He buried his face in her chest, inhaling her scent, rubbing his nose against the soft, yielding mountains of flesh.

This act, more than the sex, solidified her transformation. She had debased herself for his entertainment. She had performed for him like a common dancer. And she had enjoyed his approval. She had craved it.

"Enough dancing," Wang Jian said, his voice rough with desire, vibrating against her skin. He pushed her down onto the bed, pinning her beneath him. "Now... we plan the war."