Villain: Manipulating the Heroines into hating the Protagonist

Chapter 962: Hot Daughter’s Massage

The morning sun bathed the Isle of Whispering Petals in a wash of pale gold, illuminating the mist that clung to the spirit-bamboo groves and the cascading waterfalls. To the disciples of the Fragrance Melody Sect, it was a beautiful, peaceful morning, a symbol of their sect’s miraculous recovery and newfound strength. They moved through the stone pathways with light steps, their zithers and flutes strapped to their backs, greeting each other with smiles that had been absent during the dark days of the Iron-Blood Hall’s invasion.

But for Wang Jian, walking along the white jade path that spiraled up toward the central peak, the morning air tasted not of peace, but of anticipation.

He wore the formal robes of the Head Male Guest Elder—deep indigo silk embroidered with silver constellations that shifted subtly as he moved, a testament to his cultivation technique. His hands were clasped behind his back, his stride measured and confident. Every disciple he passed stopped, bowed deeply, and waited for him to pass before daring to breathe. To them, he was the hero who had held the treasury gates, the savior who had taken a blood arrow for their Young Mistress.

He nodded to them benevolently, playing the part of the righteous protector to perfection. But his mind was focused on the summit.

He reached the plaza before the Orchid Palace. The residence of the Sect Leader was a masterpiece of architectural grace, built from translucent rose-quartz and draped in thousands of yards of enchanted silk that usually billowed invitingly in the wind.

Today, however, the palace was a fortress.

The massive double doors, carved from thousand-year-old Spirit-Iron wood, were shut tight. More tellingly, the ambient spiritual qi around the palace was thick and agitated. The air shimmered with a violet hue—the Violet Mist Locking Array. It was the sect’s highest-level privacy restriction, usually reserved for when the Sect Leader was in deep secluded cultivation or facing a tribulation.

Wang Jian stopped ten paces from the gate. He could feel the array’s rejection pushing against his skin, a silent, stubborn wall of energy.

’So,’ Wang Jian thought, a slow, amused smile curling his lips. ’She thinks she can hide.’

He didn’t need to guess why the formation was active. Hua Yimei, the proud Sect Leader who had reached the Middle Stage of the Core Formation Realm, was terrified. She was hiding from him. She was hiding from the memory of the cave, from the phantom sensation of his hands on her body, and from the humiliating reality that her cultivation was now shackled to his essence.

’Does she truly believe a formation can stop me? Or is this just a desperate attempt to salvage a shred of dignity? Cute.’

He extended his spiritual sense. It bumped against the barrier. The array was strong, fueled by the sect’s main ley line. Breaking it would require brute force—a Stellar Severing Slash or a bombardment that would shake the entire island.

He wouldn’t do that. It would ruin the game. It would shatter his image as the gentle hero.

Wang Jian stood there, unmoving, letting his presence weigh on the array. He knew she was watching. Inside that quartz palace, Hua Yimei was undoubtedly staring at a monitoring mirror, her heart pounding, praying he would just walk away.

He didn’t walk away. Instead, he casually flipped his hand, and a blank communication jade slip appeared in his palm. He held it up to his lips, infusing his voice with a specific frequency of spiritual energy that would ensure only the intended recipient could hear the recording once the seal was broken.

"Sect Leader," Wang Jian began, his tone pleasant, almost conversational, though his eyes were cold as ice. "I see you have activated the Violet Mist Locking Array. A formidable defense. It certainly stops me from coming in."

He paused, letting the silence stretch. He turned the jade slip over in his fingers, the sunlight catching the smooth surface.

"But I wonder, Yimei... is this array strong enough to stop your dear daughter, Hua Ling, from coming out?"

He chuckled darkly.

"You see, Ling’er messaged me earlier. She insists on visiting the Cloud-Peak Pavilion tonight. She wants to... ’reward’ me for saving her life. She was quite insistent."

Wang Jian’s thumb brushed the surface of the jade.

"If you try to stop her, if you forbid her from coming, she might get upset. She might wonder why her mother is keeping her away from her hero. And if she asks me... well, I might have to explain the true nature of our relationship."

He injected a thread of his Stellar Qi into the slip, adding a second layer of information to the message—not audio, but a visual projection. It was a memory file he had recorded using a Photo-Stone during their three days in the cave. It was a short clip: Hua Yimei, disheveled and weeping, her Sect Leader robes torn open, her hips moving in rhythm with his thrusts as she begged him to stop—or perhaps, begged for more.

"I have attached a small memento of our time in the cave," Wang Jian whispered into the slip. "A beautiful recording. If Ling’er doesn’t come to my chamber tonight... or if you try to intervene openly... I might accidentally drop a copy of this recording in the disciple plaza. Imagine the look on your daughter’s face when she sees her dignified mother riding the Guest Elder like a common bitch."

He sealed the jade slip with a snap.

"Make the right choice, Sect Leader. I’ll be waiting."

With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the jade slip. He didn’t throw it at the gate. He used a precise burst of wind force to slide it through a tiny ventilation gap in the array’s sensory node—a weakness Yue Lingshan had pointed out to him days ago.

The slip vanished into the violet mist.

Wang Jian didn’t wait for a response. He turned on his heel, his robes swirling dramatically, and walked away with the leisurely pace of a man who owned the world.

Inside the Orchid Palace, the atmosphere was suffocating.

Sect Leader Hua Yimei sat on the edge of her cultivation mat, her hands gripping the fabric of her robes so tightly her knuckles were white. Her face was pale, devoid of the rosy vitality that usually accompanied a Middle Stage Core Formation cultivator.

When the jade slip flew through the barrier and landed on the floor with a soft clack, she flinched as if it were a bomb.

She stared at it for a long minute, her chest heaving. Finally, with trembling fingers, she reached out and picked it up. She injected a sliver of her Qi to activate it.

Wang Jian’s voice, smooth and terrifyingly familiar, echoed in her mind.

"...is this array strong enough to stop your dear daughter, Hua Ling, from coming out?"

Hua Yimei’s breath hitched. "No..." she whispered. "Leave her alone..."

Then, the visual projection activated within her mind’s eye.

The image was grainy but unmistakable. The damp cave. The stone slab. And herself—naked from the waist down, her legs wrapped around Wang Jian’s waist, her head thrown back in a rictus of pleasure and pain while his large hand gripped her breast.

Hua Yimei screamed, throwing the jade slip across the room. It skidded across the floor, but the image was burned into her retina.

She curled into a ball, burying her face in her hands. The shame was a physical weight, crushing her organs. He had recorded it. He had proof.

"He... he is a demon," she sobbed, rocking back and forth. "He will destroy everything."

She thought of her daughter. Hua Ling, so innocent, so full of adoration for that monster. Hua Ling, who was planning to go to him tonight.

"I have to stop her," Hua Yimei gasped, standing up on shaky legs. "I have to tell her... I have to forbid her..."

But the threat echoed in her ears. If you try to stop her... I might accidentally drop a copy of this recording in the disciple plaza.

If that happened, the Fragrance Melody Sect would collapse. Her authority would evaporate. Her daughter would look at her with disgust. The shame would kill her.

Hua Yimei sank back onto the floor, defeated. She was trapped. If she stopped Hua Ling, Wang Jian would destroy her life. If she didn’t stop her... Wang Jian would ruin her daughter.

"What do I do?" she wept, looking at the silent, oppressive walls of her palace. "What choice do I have?"

Time flowed differently for the predator and the prey. While Hua Yimei spent the day in a hell of indecision and terror, Wang Jian spent it in relaxed preparation.

He returned to the Cloud-Peak Pavilion and dismissed his other women. He sent Yue Lingshan to inspect the eastern arrays and told Chen Ying and Liu Ruyan to supervise a night patrol. He wanted the pavilion quiet. He wanted the stage set for a private performance.

He lit sticks of Deep-Ocean Musk, a rare incense that didn’t just smell pleasant; it acted as a mild stimulant for the blood, heightening sensitivity to touch and lowering inhibitions. He adjusted the lighting crystals in his meditation chamber to a warm, dim amber.

He sat on his expansive divan, wearing a loose robe of black silk that was tied loosely at the waist, exposing the hard muscles of his chest and abdomen. He closed his eyes and meditated, not on the Dao, but on the anticipation of the night.

He had indeed messaged Hua Ling earlier that morning, shortly before visiting her mother.

"Ling’er," his message had said. "The moon will be full tonight. I find myself weary from my duties. You mentioned once that you wished to repay me. Come to my chamber at the Hour of the Pig. And wear something... suitable for a hero’s eyes. Don’t disappoint me."

He knew she would come. He had groomed her for months. The massage, the touches, the promise of marriage... she was a fruit so ripe it was falling off the branch.

In the quarters of the Young Sect Mistress, the air was thick with nervous excitement.

Hua Ling stood before her full-length bronze mirror. Her cheeks were flushed with a natural rouge, her eyes sparkling with a mix of anxiety and thrill. She had dismissed her handmaidens hours ago, claiming she needed to meditate on her cultivation breakthrough.

’Tonight,’ she thought, her heart fluttering like a trapped bird. ’Tonight, I go to him.’

She recalled Wang Jian’s message. Wear something suitable for a hero’s eyes.

She bit her lip, looking at the pile of robes on her bed. The standard sect uniforms were elegant but conservative. They hid the body. That wasn’t what he wanted. She knew what he liked. She remembered how his hands had roamed over her curves, how his eyes had darkened when he looked at her chest.

She reached into the bottom of her wardrobe, pulling out a small, silk-wrapped bundle she had bought secretly from a mortal merchant ship months ago. She had never dared to wear it. It felt scandalous. It felt... right.

She let the silk unfurl.

It was a dress of deep, blood-red crimson. The fabric was diaphanous, almost sheer in the right light. It had no sleeves, only thin straps that held it up. The neckline plunged aggressively deep, designed to showcase cleavage rather than hide it. The midriff was cut out in a diamond shape, exposing her navel and the soft curve of her waist.

Hua Ling took a deep breath and shed her inner robes. The cool night air touched her skin for a moment before she slid the crimson dress on.

She gasped as she looked in the mirror.

The dress clung to her like a second skin. Her large, heavy breasts were pushed up and together, creating a deep, snowy valley that drew the eye instantly. The sheer fabric hinted at the dark circles of her areolas. The skirt was long, but it had slits on both sides that went all the way up to her hip bone. With every step, her long, fair legs were completely exposed.

"Is this... too much?" she whispered, covering her mouth. She looked like a courtesan, not a Young Sect Mistress.

But then she remembered Wang Jian’s face. She remembered the way he looked at her when she was vulnerable. She wanted to see that look again. She wanted to be the woman who could satisfy a hero like him.

’I am not a girl anymore,’ she told her reflection, straightening her back. ’I am his.’

She applied a dab of Moon-Scent Perfume—a rare extract that smelled of night-blooming jasmine and rain—to her wrists, her neck, and deeply between her breasts. It was the scent he had complimented once.

Knowing she couldn’t walk through the sect looking like this without causing a scandal, she grabbed a heavy, dark grey outer robe. She wrapped it around herself, tying the sash tightly, completely concealing the sinful red dress and her voluptuous body.

She checked the time. It was almost the Hour of the Pig.

’Mother...’ she thought guiltily, looking towards the Orchid Palace. ’Forgive me. But I love him. You will understand when we are together.’

She slipped out of her window, using a wind-step technique to land silently in the garden. She moved through the shadows, avoiding the patrols, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs.

The Cloud-Peak Pavilion loomed ahead, silent and imposing against the starry sky.

Hua Ling approached the side entrance. The guards were nowhere to be seen—Wang Jian had cleared the way. She slipped inside, the familiar scent of the pavilion calming her nerves slightly.

She walked down the corridor to his private meditation chamber. The door was slightly ajar, a sliver of warm amber light spilling out onto the floor.

She stopped, smoothing her outer robe, checking her hair. She took a deep, trembling breath.

’Do not be afraid, Ling’er. He is waiting.’

She pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The room was warm, the air heavy with the scent of musk and sandalwood. It felt intimate, enclosed, a world away from the rest of the sect.

Wang Jian sat on the large central divan. He was leaning back against a pile of silk cushions, one leg drawn up, the other extended. His black robe was open, revealing the sculpted muscles of his chest and abdomen, his skin glowing faintly in the dim light. He looked powerful, dangerous, and incredibly handsome.

He looked up as she entered. His eyes swept over her cloaked figure, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

"You came, Ling’er," he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in her chest.

Hua Ling closed the door behind her, locking it with a soft click. She turned to face him, her hands clutching the sash of her outer robe.

"Young Master..." she whispered. "You called... I answered."

"Come closer," he commanded gently.

She walked forward, stopping a few feet from the divan. She felt heat radiating from him.

"You said you wished to reward me," Wang Jian said, tilting his head. "I am waiting."

Hua Ling swallowed hard. She gathered her courage. "You saved my life, Young Master. More than once. I... I have nothing of value to give you. No treasure that compares to your kindness. Except..."

She paused, her breath hitching.

"Except myself. I wish to serve you tonight."

Wang Jian’s smile widened. "Serve me? How?"

"I... I have learned the Soft-Bone Spirit Technique," she stammered, reciting the excuse she had practiced in her head. "It is... a massage technique. To relax the meridians and muscles. I wish... to ease your fatigue."

Wang Jian chuckled. "A massage? From the Young Sect Mistress? That is a rare honor indeed."

He gestured to her. "Very well. Show me."

Hua Ling nodded. Her hands went to the sash of her grey outer robe. She pulled the knot. The sash fell away.

She shrugged her shoulders, and the heavy robe slid down her arms, pooling on the floor around her feet.

She stood revealed in the crimson silk dress.

The effect was instantaneous. The red fabric contrasted beautifully with her pale skin. Her cleavage was displayed like an offering, rising and falling with her rapid breath. Her legs, visible through the high slits, were long and perfectly shaped. She looked like a goddess of desire, hesitant yet willing.

Wang Jian’s eyes darkened. He scanned her from head to toe, lingering on the cutout at her midriff and the swell of her hips.

"Beautiful," he murmured. "Truly suitable for a hero."

Hua Ling flushed with pleasure at his praise. She stepped out of the pile of robes and approached the divan.

"May I?" she asked, gesturing to his shoulders.

"Please," Wang Jian leaned forward slightly, presenting his back to her.

Hua Ling climbed onto the divan behind him. The mattress sank under her weight. She coated her hands in a scented oil she had brought, warming it with her Qi.

She reached out and placed her hands on his broad shoulders. Her touch was tentative at first, then grew firmer as she began to knead the muscles.

"Your strength... it is incredible," she whispered, feeling the hardness of his trapezius muscles. "So tense."

She moved closer. She needed leverage. She shifted her position, kneeling directly behind him. As she leaned forward to press her thumbs into his neck, her chest pressed against his back.

The sensation was electric. Her large, soft breasts flattened against his hard muscles, separated only by the thin silk of her dress. She could feel his heat seeping into her nipples. She gasped softly, but she didn’t pull back. Instead, she pressed harder, using her body weight to drive the massage.

Wang Jian closed his eyes, a groan escaping his lips. "That... feels good, Ling’er. Use your weight."

Encouraged, Hua Ling grew bolder. She moved her hands down his back, tracing the line of his spine. She let her body slide against his, the friction of her breasts against his skin sending shivers of pleasure through her own body.

She moved around to his side. She was no longer just massaging; she was worshipping him. She ran her hands over his arms, marveling at the definition.

Then, she moved in front of him.

She knelt between his spread legs on the divan, not touching him yet, but close. Her face was level with his chest.

"Young Master," she breathed, looking at his exposed torso. The scent of the musk incense and his own masculine pheromones was making her dizzy.

She placed her hands on his pecs. She circled her palms over the muscle, her fingers grazing his collarbone. She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his sternum.

Wang Jian looked down at her. The top of her head, the exposed expanse of her cleavage as she leaned forward—it was a feast.

But he wasn’t just watching her.

His spiritual sense expanded, shooting out of the pavilion like an invisible arrow. It swept the garden outside.

There.

Hiding in the shadows of a spirit-willow tree, concealed by a high-grade stealth artifact, was a figure.

Hua Yimei.

She had come. Of course she had come. The mother couldn’t stay away. She was hovering outside the window, peering through a small gap in the heavy velvet curtains that Wang Jian had intentionally left open just a crack.

Wang Jian smirked. He sent a concentrated pulse of spiritual energy directly at her location. It wasn’t an attack; it was a ping. A distinct, mocking acknowledgment.

I see you watching, Sect Leader.

Outside, in the dark garden, Hua Yimei flinched violently as the mental touch grazed her. She bit her knuckle to keep from crying out. She was trembling, her face burning with shame and rage.

She could see through the gap. She saw the warm amber light. She saw her daughter, dressed in that... that whore’s rag of a dress. She saw Hua Ling kneeling between Wang Jian’s legs, her hands on his chest, looking up at him with eyes full of love and lust.

’Ling’er... no...’ Hua Yimei thought, tears streaming down her face. ’Don’t do this... don’t let him touch you...’

Inside the room, Wang Jian felt the mother’s distress ripple through the air like a sweet perfume. It excited him far more than the girl in front of him.

He looked down at Hua Ling.

"You are good with your hands," Wang Jian praised, his voice husky. "But you are still too far away."

Hua Ling looked up, her lips parted. "Young Master?"

Wang Jian leaned back against the cushions, spreading his legs wider, opening his posture completely. He looked like a king waiting for tribute.

"Lower, Ling’er," he commands softly, his eyes flashing with a dark light.

Hua Ling obeyed instantly. Her hands slid from his chest, trailing down over his ribcage, moving towards his abdomen. As she lowered her body to follow her hands, she leaned forward further.

The neckline of her crimson dress gaped open. Her massive, heavy breasts swung forward, almost spilling out of the fabric. Her deep, pale cleavage was put on full display, perfectly angled towards the window where her mother was watching.

Wang Jian glanced at the window, his eyes cold and triumphant, before looking back down at the girl who was about to sell her soul to him.

"Show me," he whispered. "Show me how much you want to thank me."