Villain: Manipulating the Heroines into hating the Protagonist Chapter 965: Breaking Hua Yimei Entirely (1)

High in the clear blue heavens over the Isle of Whispering Petals, the sun blazed, sending colorful rays through the see-through rose-quartz barriers of the Sect's Grand Hall. This space stood as a marvel of refined design, a haven of quiet dominance where the forebears of the Fragrance Melody Sect had ruled across countless years. Normally, the atmosphere brimmed with the aroma of smoldering spirit-incense alongside the gentle, deferential whispers of elders handling sect matters.

Yet today, the hall resembled a prison more than anything.

Sect Leader Hua Yimei occupied the elevated throne, hewn from one solid chunk of pink spirit-jade. Her attire consisted of the grandest ritual garments—thick layers of dark purple silk adorned with golden phoenix motifs, the tall neckline pressing rigidly against her throat, the broad sleeves draping over the chair arms. A weighty jade crown secured her hair in a complex, austere arrangement. She embodied the majestic, distant leader of an ascending force in every way.

However, under those thick silk layers, her frame shook uncontrollably.

In her grasp lay a jade slip, her gaze fixed on the sect's recovery logistics, though the symbols swam out of focus. Concentration eluded her. Thoughts repeatedly pulled her back to the cavern. To the touch of coarse palms against her flesh. To the invasion that stuffed, expanded, and shattered her.

'Stay sharp, Yimei,' she scolded inwardly, gnawing her cheek's inner side until metallic bitterness filled her mouth. 'As Sect Leader, you command. A Middle Stage Core Formation powerhouse, no less. He won't shatter your spirit.'

Still, her form rebelled. The Stellar Yang Qi Wang Jian had thrust deep into her core pulsed through her bloodstream, a steady, subtle buzz signaling her bondage. This energy chain tied her cultivation to his control. Whenever she guided her Qi for solace, his presence invaded her senses.

"Sect Leader," a youthful female deacon announced, advancing from the platform's foot with a tea tray in hand. "That report has held your attention for a full hour. Take a brief pause, please. Our sect stands secure at last, all owing to Hero Wang."

Hua Yimei jerked at the mention. The deacon's gaze sparkled with worship as she uttered Wang Jian's name. Among the followers, he appeared as the savior who rescued their Young Mistress and guarded their wealth. None suspected the beast who had forced their superior into yielding through violation.

"I'm alright," Hua Yimei replied, tone fragile. "Set the tea down."

CREAK.

The enormous twin doors of the Grand Hall, fortified by spirit-iron, creaked as an unseen force nudged them apart.

Hua Yimei's gaze shot upward. Her pulse thundered in her chest, like a panicked creature caged within. She recognized the intruder before his foot crossed the entry. His aura reached her first—that oppressive, choking pull that buckled her legs.

Wang Jian entered the hall with bold steps.

Clad in the deep blue garb of the Chief Guest Elder, silver star patterns on the cloth gleamed as he moved. His stride carried a casual, hunter's prowl, fingers linked behind him. Rays from the parted doors appeared to curve near him, framing his form in an illusory glow of godhood.

The women—disciples and deacons alike—halted their tasks instantly in the hall. Faces turned toward him, blooming with awe.

"Elder Wang!"

"Our Hero has arrived!"

Deep bows followed, cheeks coloring under his scanning look.

Wang Jian offered a grin—warm and alluring, yet failing to warm his icy, shadowed eyes. He proceeded directly along the central path, bypassing the custom requiring visitors to await summons. His stare rose to the platform, meeting Hua Yimei's directly.

'He's come,' Yimei reflected, clutching the throne's arms until the material protested. 'Right in the Grand Hall... under the open sky... he can't possibly intend...'

Wang Jian halted at the stairs' base. A shallow nod mimicked courtesy.

"Sect Leader Hua," his tone echoed, velvety and deep. "Forgive my unannounced entry."

Hua Yimei compelled her spine to straighten, drawing on her role's poise. "Deacon Wang. Administrative tasks occupy us now. Does an urgent issue demand your presence?"

"No crisis, Sect Leader," Wang Jian responded, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Rather, a pressing concern. I've completed the assessment of resources for the fresh pill production. Plus, I carry... confidential ideas on bolstering the Isle's boundary formations. These demand your prompt, secluded review."

The disciples nodded wisely. Naturally. Their Hero labored without cease for their protection.

"Those fresh pills matter greatly," one deacon murmured to a companion. "Elder Wang's devotion shines through."

Hua Yimei fixed her eyes on him. She caught the sly spark in his glance. She understood precisely the "safety measures" he aimed to address.

"Couldn't this hold for the night assembly?" she inquired, voice strained.

"Regrettably, no," Wang Jian countered, his pitch lowering to a commanding timbre. "The moment proves essential. And... this hunger gnaws at me to settle it. I dislike delaying when desire stirs."

The hidden intent struck her like a strike. Hungry.

She glanced at the disciples. They awaited her directive, anticipating approval for his meeting. Denial would spark doubt. It would invite scrutiny. Wang Jian wielded the decisive leverage—evidence of her humiliation.

Yielding, Hua Yimei exhaled unsteadily.

"So be it," she uttered, tone empty. "All of you, depart. Seal the doors. No interruptions allowed until my summons, no exceptions."

"Understood, Sect Leader!"

The disciples inclined in respect and exited swiftly, buzzing with thrill over their superiors' vital endeavors.

The ponderous doors closed with a booming THUD, locking the chamber. Daylight vanished, the expansive area lit solely by ceiling-embedded spirit-pearls' radiance.

Once the lock engaged, the hall's vibe transformed in a flash.

Wang Jian lifted his palm. A finger snap followed.

HUMMMMMM.

Gray energy surged from his gesture, sweeping across barriers and entrances. This advanced sealing array blocked sound and spirit alike. Only a Nascent Soul strike might breach it.

The gracious savior faded. The hunter surfaced.

Wang Jian ascended the platform stairs, paces measured and intent.

"You sent them away fast," he observed, a sly curve on his mouth. "So compliant."

Hua Yimei rose, knees quaking under her burdensome attire. "This is the Grand Hall, Wang Jian! My forebears' sacred domain! You can't proceed here! Lacking any decency?"

"Decency?" Wang Jian's laugh boomed darkly through the space. "I command this sect, Yimei. The island, its treasures, the followers... and the throne's occupant. Why feign remorse for savoring my holdings in my domain?"

He crested the platform. He loomed above her.

"I beg you..." Hua Yimei retreated until the throne blocked her, tumbling back into it. "Not in this place... any other spot but here..."

"This spot is my choice for you," Wang Jian snarled. "Atop your exalted seat. Overlooking all... as I tear you apart."

He positioned himself between her thighs.

No preliminaries came from him. No tender phrases. His hand seized the rigid, elevated collar of her ritual garb.

"Such cumbersome robes," he grumbled, gaze devouring the gilded patterns. "They conceal too much."

RIIIIIP!

A savage tug rent the silk. The noise rang like thunder in the hushed expanse.

"No!" Hua Yimei gasped, fingers scrambling to hold the cloth.

Wang Jian swatted her hands aside. He clutched the bodice's front and wrenched it open with brute force. The costly silk wailed as it tore. Fastenings flew, clattering on the floor. Golden strands frayed.

Moments later, the Sect Leader's splendid attire dangled in shreds from her shoulders. He shredded the underlayer, baring her torso to the hall's chill.

Her enormous breasts spilled forth, rising and falling with panicked breaths. Full, pale orbs of yielding tissue, their size breathtaking. They swayed with her shivers, the broad, rosy nipples tightening in the draft.

Lust shadowed Wang Jian's eyes. "Stunning," he whispered. "Behold you. The poised Sect Leader, set to be mounted like livestock on her sacred chair."

His hands claimed her breasts, palms roughly molding the pliant mounds. He pressed them close, plunging his face into the valley between, drawing in her floral and fearful essence.

"Cease..." Hua Yimei mewled, palms batting feebly at his frame. "They could overhear..."

"The barrier holds firm," Wang Jian murmured into her flesh, tongue tracing the curve. "Cry freely. The ancestors alone witness now. And they observe."

He drew away, peering down. A blush crept up her throat. Her peaks stiffened amid terror.

"Your form recognizes its ruler," he mocked.

His reach dropped to hike her dense skirts, gathering them at her midsection. Ankles in his grip, he forced her limbs wide, hooking them over the throne's ornate arms.

She lay exposed. Creamy inner thighs revealed, trailing to the shadowed curls at her core. To her utter shame, moisture gathered there. The Stellar Yang Qi within responded to his nearness, readying her body against her will.

Wang Jian loosened his sash. His robes parted.

His enormous member leaped out, rigid and pulsing eagerly. A girthy, ridged length of flesh, slick with readiness.

Hua Yimei's stare locked on it, eyes flaring wide. Days in the cave hadn't dulled the awe. It seemed impossibly large.

"Part for me," Wang Jian ordered.

He advanced, aligning between her splayed form. No games. No caresses. He aimed at her opening.

Hips seized to steady her.

THWACK.

One fluid, savage plunge seated him fully.

"AAAAH!" Hua Yimei wailed, skull snapping back into the throne's pink stone support. Her crown skewed, locks tumbling across her features.

He occupied her utterly. Walls yielded to his girth, his claim absolute and bold.

Wang Jian moaned at her cultivation-forged grip. "Such constriction... despite it all... you clench like iron."

Motion commenced.

A merciless pace launched at once. Upright as she perched, he gained ideal angle to hammer her. Slap. Slap. Slap. Flesh met flesh, resounding through the holy space.

"Name me Master," he demanded, teeth clenched as he nearly withdrew then rammed deep.

"N-no..." Hua Yimei wept, fingers digging into the arms until nails risked splitting.

Wang Jian's palm struck her breast, flesh quivering. "Declare to the watching ancestors your true owner! Speak it!"

He plunged fiercer, battering her depths.

"Ah! Master! Master, mercy!" she shrieked, defiance crumbling under the assault. "You possess me! You possess me!"

Wang Jian's laughter rang victorious. He bent near, reclaiming her vast breasts. Obsession fueled him. He mashed them, drawing peaks to his lips, nursing them amid his drives.

Hua Yimei's thoughts splintered. Sensation overwhelmed. Stellar Yang Qi surged her channels with each impact, igniting her veins, heightening every fiber. Revulsion targeted him. Self-loathing surged. Yet her pelvis lifted, chasing his rhythm, craving the blaze.

"Yes, just so," Wang Jian rumbled, releasing her peak to nip her throat sharply. "Draw me in. Accept every drop."

The hall's time blurred away.

Wang Jian pressed on without mercy. Hours passed in his ravaging. Positions shifted, the throne his toy. He hauled her from the seat, folding her over the arm so her cheek met chill stone as he claimed her rearward.

SMACK.

His hand cracked her rounded, weighty rear. Pale skin bloomed crimson.

"See that sway," he jeered, pounding in the primal stance. "The Sect Leader... rear raised... devouring shaft like a street harlot."

Over the Isle of Whispering Petals, the sun blazed in the vivid blue expanse, a golden blaze hurling rainbow beams via the sheer rose-quartz sides of the Sect's Grand Hall. Far beyond a mere structure, this chamber pulsed as the Fragrance Melody Sect's soul, a quiet bastion of rule where ancestral figures had dominated through eras. Here, the breeze customarily saturated with spirit-incense's burn—a soothing mix of sandalwood and lotus—plus the subdued, courteous exchanges of elders plotting endurance and growth. Gleaming floors mirrored the colored glass above, spawning a swirl of hues that frolicked across vacant benches, ascending to the raised platform bearing the throne of total command.

But on this day, the hall evoked a lavish trap over a refuge.

Sect Leader Hua Yimei perched on the lofty throne, sculpted from one immense pink spirit-jade slab. She donned her prime ritual attire—dense folds of rich purple silk stitched with soaring golden phoenixes amid the light's play. The rigid collar dug into her neck, lifting her jaw, while vast sleeves flowed over the rests like silken falls. A hefty jade crown, studded with spirit gems, bound her raven tresses in a intricate, harsh coif that tugged her skin.

Every aspect portrayed the noble, remote head of an emerging might. Her stance stayed firm, face calm and inscrutable, a flawless jade facade.

Yet below the dense silk, her physique quivered in shattered tension.

A jade slip rested in her palm, eyes scanning sect revival logs—the influx of fresh botanicals, pill supply shares, outer barrier fixes. Symbols stood sharp, yet swam in her vision. Focus slipped away. Her typically ironclad mind faced invasion. It wandered ceaselessly to the cave's dank gloom. To callused grips seizing her body. To the stuffing, widening, core-shattering penetration.

'Sharpen up, Yimei,' her inner tone cracked, laced with dread. Cheek's lining bore her bite till blood's sharp bite grounded her. 'Sect Leader you are. Middle Stage Core Formation master. Bearer of three thousand fates. He shan't conquer your will.'

Yet her physique turned traitor. Stellar Yang Qi, rammed into her essence by Wang Jian, thrummed her vessels, a persistent hum marking her chains. An energetic fetter, it lashed her growth to his dictate. Circulating Qi for peace always summoned him. That alien blaze now fused to her base, sustaining strength while enforcing thralldom.

"Sect Leader," a gentle tone pierced her trance.

From the dais base, a young female deacon approached, bearing hot spirit tea, concern and veneration in her stare. "An hour you've fixed on that report, Sect Leader. Pause briefly, I urge. Safety envelops the sect once more. Barriers endure, trade paths flow, courtesy of Hero Wang."

Hua Yimei twitched at the title. An involuntary jolt of body and soul she couldn't quell. The deacon overlooked it, chalking to command's strain if noted. Adoration lit her eyes naming Wang Jian. Disciples viewed him as the holy rescuer of their Young Mistress from Crimson Shark peril, the lone defender of riches from demon elites. Unaware he was the fiend who violated their chief to forge his realm.

"I'm well," Hua Yimei stated, her words ringing vacant to herself. "Place the tea. Call Elder Lan. Coastal wards need my eye."

"As you wish, Sect Leader." The deacon dipped profoundly, settling the brew aside and withdrawing in reverse.

As the deacon neared the grand twin portals, they rumbled.

CREAK.

The weighty portals, spirit-iron braced and intrusion-sealed, parted gradually, urged by a palm admitting no barrier.

Hua Yimei's skull jerked high. Heart pounded her cage of ribs, a wild fowl ensnared. Identity dawned pre-entry. His aura struck—that murky, smothering force weakening knees and stirring blood in forbidden, trained fervor.

Wang Jian marched into the hall.

Indigo robes of Head Guest Elder draped him, silver astral motifs flashing with motion, echoing his stellar art. His gait blended ease and stalker's menace, hands folded rearward. Inflowing sunbeams warped about him, haloing in sham sanctity. Handsome, mighty, command incarnate.

Hall's female disciples and deacons froze mid-duty. They pivoted, awe igniting features. Like lambs hailing the wolf vowing to devour rivals.

"Elder Wang!"

"The Hero graces us!"

Bows plunged deep, faces heating under his sweep.

Wang Jian smiled—a benevolent, charming smi