a smile from the villain ( ASV)

trapped in a fevered dream?

“Shen Feixiao…” The name hung in the air, a whispered plea. Qin Kaiyi’s mind raced, piecing together the fragments of this twisted tableau. Why had the plot veered into such treacherous territory? What had gone awry? Shen Feixiao’s next words provided the chilling answer.

The once-youthful Shen Feixiao had metamorphosed into a man—a predator with eyes like violets, harboring secrets. His smile was a blade sheathed in silk. “Shixiong? Or should I address you as the masked man?”

“Shen Feixiao, you must listen to my explanation!” Panic surged through Qin Kaiyi. “Things are not as they seem! You have to believe me!”

Shen Feixiao’s response was a whisper that sent shivers down Qin Kaiyi’s spine. “I care little for the truth. What matters is this—I have finally found you.”

Qin Kaiyi’s reality wavered. Was he trapped in a fevered dream? He stared at Shen Feixiao’s chiseled features, teetering on the precipice of collapse. “What cruel jest is this? I am a man! How can you harbor such thoughts, Shen Feixiao? Have you lost your sanity?”

Shen Feixiao’s gaze bore into him. “Of course, I know you are a man, shixiong. But what does that matter?”

Qin Kaiyi’s mind spun. Either Shen Feixiao had succumbed to madness, or reality itself had fractured. He watched, disbelieving, as Shen Feixiao shed his layers—the armor of reason, the veneer of restraint. The room pulsed with tension, desire, and vengeance.

“I am a man,” Qin Kaiyi repeated, clinging to the last vestiges of sanity. But Shen Feixiao’s touch ignited a fire within him, blurring the lines between adversary and accomplice. The bed awaited them, a tangled web of sheets—a battleground where secrets would be laid bare.

As Shen Feixiao pressed closer, Qin Kaiyi’s heart raced. Was it hatred or hunger that fueled this collision? The room held its breath, and the world tilted on its axis. Fate, like a blade poised at their throats, demanded its due.

“Save my life, ah!” Qin Kaiyi’s desperate cry echoed through the room, a plea hurled into the abyss.

“Why the cacophony?” Whose voice was this? The edges blurred, reality slipping like sand through his fingers.

“Hey, are you deliberately ignoring my words? Are my skills truly that abysmal?” Shen Feixiao’s face wavered, a mirage of menace.

“Hey, beauty, if you’re still breathing, give me a sign.” The familiarity of that voice sent shivers down Qin Kaiyi’s spine.

“… Who are you?” Shen Feixiao’s features morphed into another visage—a face entwined with his own twisted fate. Qin Kaiyi’s knees buckled. “You’re the flower thief!”

“Hey, hey, beauty, you remember me.” Wei He’s shy smile belied the danger lurking beneath. He smeared oil across Qin Kaiyi’s waist, tracing patterns of possession. “It’s been days. How’s life treating you?”

“…” Reality blurred, and Qin Kaiyi questioned his sanity.

“Don’t play dead. I haven’t even avenged my apprentice’s death.” Wei He tugged at Qin Kaiyi’s clothes, eyes wounded. “Let me honor his final wish—to devour you.”

“… Shen Feixiao?” The line between dream and reality frayed.

“Who’s that?” Wei He feigned ignorance, but frost edged his gaze at the mention of that name.

“… It doesn’t matter.” Agonizing pulses throbbed through Qin Kaiyi’s skull. He curled into himself, exhaustion pulling him under. Sleep beckoned—a refuge from the maelstrom of fate.

“Hey, beauty, don’t drift into slumber just yet…” Wei He’s aggrieved gaze bore into Qin Kaiyi’s fading consciousness. The Hehuan Sect’s first doctrine—“Be gentle with beauties; cruelty warrants expulsion”—loomed over him. If not for his aversion to necrophilia, he would have ensnared this duck already.

As Qin Kaiyi succumbed to sleep, Wei He’s attention shifted to the silent form of his apprentice in the corner.

“Remarkable,” Wei He murmured, tracing his chin. “A thousand miles apart, yet he wields mind control. Shen Feixiao, what manner of man are you?”

Unbeknownst to Qin Kaiyi, his escape was owed to Wei He’s intervention.

Meanwhile, in a remote town thousands of miles from Kaiyang, Shen Feixiao stirred. Cross-legged on a bed, his eyes smoldered with murderous intent. He breathed, steadying his heart. The corners of his mouth twisted into a cold smile. “Shixiong, your luck astounds me…”

To encounter salvation even in this abyss—Hehuan Sect, was it? One day, he would shatter every obstacle that dared obstruct his path. Threads of crimson blood trailed from his clenched fist as Shen Feixiao stepped onto the windowsill. He retrieved a paper crane from his robes, raised it high, and released it into the night.