Villains Aren't Stepping Stones!

The atmospheric pressure in the Grand Hall of a Thousand Stars shifted from festive luxury to a suffocating, lethal cold at Haoran’s arrival .

Just then, Ye Fang immediately scrambled to his feet, smoothing his torn robes with hands that trembled, half from the thrill of his own acting and half from the genuine terror of being so close to a living anomaly.

He bowed low, his forehead nearly touching the jade floor.

"Young Master Shen!" Ye Fang’s voice was a masterpiece of wavering, pitiful indignation. "I apologize for the disturbance on your glorious day. This commoner... this barbarian who somehow shamelessly slithered into this prestigious hall... he actually attacked me without provocation! He has no respect for the sanctity of your home. I humbly plead that you kick him out before he stains the floor further with his presence."

Ye Fang was genuinely scared, but at the same time, he was confident that he wouldn’t get implicated, after all, he is also a villain just like Shen Haoran.

Since they are both villains, then naturally they would target the protagonist!

Of course, he will remember this. Right now, he was just a third rate villain, so he can only lower his head to his superior, but one day, he will definitely stand over this guy.

But that would be far away in the future, after all, in the original web novel, "The Abandoned Prince’s Counterattacks", Shen Haoran was the ultimate, overarching antagonist—the final boss who stood at the peak of the world.

He was the one who had given the protagonist, Xiao Chen, more despair than any other character.

While reading the book back on Earth, Ye Fang had been driven to the brink of insanity by Haoran’s character, that is because while most villains were arrogant idiots who gave the protagonist room to grow, Shen Haoran was different.

Not only was Haoran so incredibly powerful with god-like background, he was also incredibly smart!

He had toyed with Xiao Chen like a puppet on a string, predicting his every "fortuitous encounter" and turning his allies against him, with Xiao Chen only being able to survive thanks to god-like plot armor.

And in the final arc of the original story, if Xiao Chen hadn’t been gifted the title of Supreme Elder of the Three Schools of Thought, using that transcendent political authority to unite every faction in the Central Region against the Shen Clan, the story would have ended with Xiao Chen’s head on a spike.

Just then, Shen Haoran’s golden eyes drifted toward Xiao Chen, whose face was currently a violent shade of crimson from anger and humiliation.

He then glanced at the two girls standing nearby.

"Luo Mingye. Xia Mengyao," he said, his voice like the low hum of a tuning fork. "Is what this branch disciple says true? Did he initiate the violence?"

But before the heroines could form a coherent sentence, the dam broke.

"SHUT UP!" Xiao Chen roared, pointing a shaking finger at Ye Fang. "How dare you frame me!? You’re the one who started with the insults! Don’t act so innocent and hypocritical, it’s disgusting! You’re just a parasite hiding behind a name!"

He then turned his blazing, red-rimmed eyes toward Shen Haoran. "And you! Shen Haoran! You act like you’re some high-and-mighty gentleman, but you’re just a snake in silk! You just want an excuse to kick me out because I’m a ’commoner,’ don’t you? What’s the matter? Is the great and powerful Heir of the Shen Clan afraid of sharing the same air as someone who actually had to work for their power!?"

N

"Xiao Chen!" Xia Mengyao stepped forward, her voice sharp and filled with a rare, burning anger. "Apologize. Right now! You are in the heart of the Shen Clan, insulting the Young Master to his face! Have you lost your mind!?"

"That’s right! How dare you say those things after we brought you here?!" Luo Mingye added, her brow furrowed in deep displeasure.

She felt a wave of nausea; the "Diary" was right. This man was a self-destructive liability who didn’t care whose reputation he burned.

Xiao Chen stared at the two girls, and for a moment, he hesitated, seeing the genuine disappointment in their eyes.

But the Protagonist’s Pride, that stubborn, unyielding ego that had allowed him to survive two lives, wouldn’t allow him to bend.

"No way!" he snarled. "You want me to apologize to these silver-spooned toddlers? Over my dead body! A scholar can be killed, but he cannot be humiliated!"

Shen Haoran remained silent throughout the outburst, his expression as calm and unreadable as the surface of a deep, frozen lake.

Just then, he raised his hand slowly, his fingers slightly curled as if he were preparing to flick away a speck of dust.

But just as he made the move...

"What a fine line! Indeed! A scholar can be killed, but not humiliated! As expected of you, Brother Xiao! Your backbone is a credit to our kind!"

The crowd parted yet again as a group of scholars marched into the hall.

They were dressed in austere, white ceremonial robes with jade-green embroidery, their movements were measured, their faces masks of serene, self-righteous morality.

"Those clothes... They are from the Confucius School of Thought," someone whispered in the crowd.

"Those annoying guys again?" a young master grumbled. "Bunch of cowards who are good at barking about ’ethics’ but can’t bite a fly."

The Confucius School was one of the Three Schools of Thought that governed the intellectual and moral fiber of the Tian Yuan Empire.

They were the self-appointed pillars of karma and righteousness.

They were universally hated by almost every Cultivators due to their hypocritical behaviour and how they like to insult people and even ruin their reputation.

Unfortunately, cultivators can’t even do anything against them.

This is because they manage records, laws, educations, and imperial legitimacy.

If you kill one, then it would be seen as an attack on the entire moral structure of the realm, which would make you an enemy of most forces as even powerful sects rely on that structure to maintain territory and avoid chaos.

There’s also the issue of karma and fate.

Scholars proclaimed to cultivate righteousness, virtue, and "Heavenly Mandate", and killing someone who is aligned with moral order invites backlash—bad karma, suppressed luck, or even direct rejection by Heaven.

A demonic cultivator might ignore that, but orthodox cultivators won’t risk their future breakthroughs over one life.

At this moment, man leading the group of scholars was a youth with long, flowing green hair and a scholarly fan, stepped forward and faced Shen Haoran.

"Young Master Shen," the man said, offering a shallow, perfunctory bow. "My name is Kong Xu, the successor of the Confucius School. We have witnessed the tension here. Brother Xiao Chen is a man of rare integrity and wisdom. Can you give me ’face’ and leave my brother alone? Surely the Shen Clan isn’t so petty as to bully a wandering intellectual?"

"Brother Kong!" Xiao Chen’s eyes lit up with relief.

The two had met a year ago when Kong Xu was traveling the Central Region and challenging anyone in a debate, and happened to got into an argument with Xiao Chen.

But Xiao Chen, using the philosophical insights of 21st-century Earth, had dismantled Kong Xu’s traditional arguments, leading to a deep, mutual respect.

Xiao Chen secretly breathed a sigh of relief. With the "Moral Authority" of the Three Schools standing behind him, even the Shen Clan would have to hesitate before acting.

But he had fundamentally miscalculated the man he was facing.

Shen Haoran’s hand, which had been raised mid-air, didn’t drop. Instead, he brought it closer to his own forehead, his golden eyes narrowing until they were mere slits of lethal light.

He then looked at Kong Xu and the hundreds of "righteous" scholars behind him.

"You know what I hate the most in this world?" Haoran asked, his voice dropping into a register that made the liquid starlight in the fountains freeze. "Being told what to do by people who think their ’face’ has value in my domain."

*Flick.*

It was a simple motion—a literal flick of his index finger against the air, but the physics of the room screamed, and a shockwave of pure, kinetic force, condensed into a point, slammed into Xiao Chen’s chest.

The protagonist didn’t even have time to scream and he was immediately blown away like a leaf in a hurricane, his body smashing through the reinforced, rune-shielded walls of the hall.

He flew a hundred meters, crashing into the stone pagodas of the garden outside.

Xiao Chen’s body twitched once in the dirt before he fell into a deep unconsciousness, blood leaking from his ears, eyes, nose, and mouth—a total internal collapse of his meridians.

"Brother Xiao Chen!" Kong Xu’s eyes widened in horror before he turned back to Haoran, his face contorted with scholarly fury. "You—! How dare you! To strike a defenseless scholar during a peaceful gathering! This is a violation of the Imperial Peace! This is—"

"Ah," Haoran sighed, a sound of genuine, weary annoyance. "I was originally in a good mood. The tournament was a success, the wine is excellent... but you people just had to ruin the atmosphere with your barking."

He turned to face them, "Alright, I’ll give you face. If you kneel down and beg for mercy right now, I might allow you to leave with your tongues intact."

"Impossible!" Kong Xu shouted, his long green hair swaying as he stood his ground.

The scholars behind him braced themselves, their Qi rising in a collective, "righteous" wall.

"Just like my brother said, a Scholar can be killed, but not humiliated! We represent the morality of the Empire! You cannot silence the truth with violence!"

"In fact, you should be the one to apologize!" a scholar from the back cried out, emboldened by the numbers.

"That’s right! Apologize for your tyranny!"

"Apologize!"

The scholars began to step forward, their faces twisted in masks of "noble" defiance, thinking their status as intellectuals would protect them from the tyrannical lineage that is the Shen.

But...

*Splash!*

A fountain of hot, crimson blood sprayed across the pristine white robes of the front row, as one of the scholar’s head, still wearing an expression of righteous indignation, was suddenly separated from his neck.

It spun through the air before landing with a wet thud on a tray of delicacies not far away.

The entire hall suddenly went into a vacuum of silence.

Every breath was held.

Every eye was wide with a shock so profound it bordered on madness.

Haoran stood there, his hand resting on the hilt of his Black Imperial sword, Azathoth.

The blade didn’t even have blood on it; the swing had been so fast the liquid couldn’t cling to the steel.

He stared at the remaining scholars, his gaze cold and flat.

"What’s wrong? Whyy have you gone quiet?" Haoran asked, his voice chillingly polite. "Preach more. Tell me more about your ’face’ and your ’integrity.’ Didn’t you just say a scholar can be killed but not humiliated?"

He took a step forward, the black blade humming with a hunger that seemed to echo from the void.

"Let’s see which is tougher, your dignity or my sword?"