1.5.Evil Uncle Of Villain

Wu Zixuan swallowed hard, then nodded. "Yes… I believe you."

The stranger's smirk widened. He pushed back the hood, revealing an androgynously beautiful man in his mid-twenties—eyes the same midnight black as Zixuan's, only colder, older.

"Good," the future self murmured. "Because I have one more thing to tell you: tonight, Uncle Mu will abandon you."

"What?!" Zixuan's tiny fists clenched. "He promised he never would!"

The older Zixuan raised a brow. "Has anything I've told you been wrong so far?"

A reluctant, shaky "…No," slipped out. "But—Uncle Mu—really?"

"He'll have no choice." The older Zixuan patted the mattress. "Come. Watch."

Zixuan climbed beside him. With a flick of his wrist, the man produced a sleek tablet from thin air.

"H-how did you—?"

"Science and tech," he answered lightly, eyes never leaving the screen.

The tablet lit with a live feed: Mu Xiao, escorted by the Wu-clan head butler into a black Maybach. Minutes later the car stopped at the ancestral estate. The butler led him straight to Old Master Wu's study.

Inside, the patriarch sat like a stone idol. He gestured for Mu Xiao to sit, then barked, "Hands."

Mu Xiao obeyed—and, exactly as the older Zixuan had predicted, the cane hidden beneath the desk lashed down. Once. Twice. Again. Skin split; bright blood dotted the polished floor. Yet Mu Xiao made not a sound.

On the bed, both present and future Zixuan flinched with every blow, toes curling, eyes burning.

After nearly an hour the cane stilled. Old Master Wu, breathing hard, shoved a phone across the desk: on its screen, a photo of little Zixuan kissing Mu Xiao's cheek.

"This is your punishment for defying me," the patriarch hissed. "A gutter-rat like you stays ten feet from my prince. Am I clear?"

Mu Xiao, hands bleeding behind his back, bowed his head. "Yes, Sir."

"Have you found dirt on that wench Yu Qiran?"

"Still investigating."

"Don't forget your promise, Mu Xiao—or I can end your mother's life with a word."

"I won't forget," Mu Xiao whispered.

"Leave."

The feed went dark.

Both versions of Zixuan sat in mute shock, cheeks streaked with tears they hadn't felt falling.

After a long silence, the younger whispered, voice trembling, "What promise is Grandpa Wu talking about…?"

Future Wu Zixuan didn't flinch at the younger version's tear-streaked question. With calm eyes and a voice laced with an emotion hard to define, he replied,

"The answer to every question you have… is in the emerald green diary Mu Xiao keeps. You must find it. And read it with your own eyes."

Young Wu Zixuan nodded slowly, his heart already weighed down by sorrow too heavy for a child to bear.

Meanwhile, inside the sleek Maybach gliding silently through the city, the atmosphere was suffocating. The driver gripped the steering wheel tightly, sneaking glances at the rearview mirror every few seconds.

Behind him sat Mu Xiao—hands resting limply on his lap, crimson-stained bandages wrapped around raw, torn skin. Though Mu Xiao's expression was perfectly composed, the driver could feel the silent pain radiating from his usually unshakable third master.

He wanted to say something.

Third Master, should I buy ointment for you…?

But the words died in his throat.

Just then, Mu Xiao's voice quietly cut through the silence.

"Pull over at the next pharmacy."

The driver blinked in surprise but quickly nodded. "Yes, Third Master."

In Mu Xiao's mind, Kiwi was going berserk.

"Host! That geezer—how dare he! I swear, if I wasn't bound to the storyline I would've ripped that cane out of his bony hands and strangled—!"

"Calm down," Lu Xiao's mental voice interrupted softly, the serenity of a monk in the midst of turmoil. "Don't stir unnecessary chaos."

Kiwi fumed. "Host, I know I tease you often but… I genuinely felt bad seeing you like that. Just—please buy the Healing Plus Ointment. I'll deduct the points later. You're bleeding, dammit!"

A soft laugh echoed in Kiwi's interface.

"I appreciate the offer," Lu Xiao replied, gazing out the car window at the blurred neon lights, "but no."

"Host—"

"I've seen what debts do to people, Kiwi. In the real world, I spent years clawing my way out of hidden thorns wrapped in a pretty ribbon. I will endure pain… but I won't ever be shackled again."

Kiwi went silent.

For the first time since their bond was formed, the little AI didn't have a comeback.

The Maybach rolled to a stop, and servants lined the drive in neat rows. Head Butler Steve, always first, stepped forward—only to blanch at the sight of blood seeping through the hasty bandages on Mu Xiao's hands. He caught his master's wrists with trembling care.

"Third Master, who dared do this?"

Mu Xiao's reply was quiet, the pain plain in his voice. "Steward Steve—" He let the name hang; every servant understood the true culprit. Gasps rippled down the line.

On the grand staircase, Wu Zixuan appeared with tear-stained cheeks. "Uncle Mu!" he cried, and ran straight toward him, arms stretched for a hug—

—but just as he neared, Mu Xiao instinctively stepped back. Once. Twice. Three steps.

Grandfather Wu's warning echoed in his mind like a curse: "From now on, you will maintain 10 feet of distance from him."

Wu Zixuan froze mid-step. His arms slowly dropped to his sides.

His lips parted slightly, confused. Then pain bloomed across his face—raw, visible.

His small frame trembled.

His heart cracked.

Tears began falling again, fast and soundless, like a dam bursting.

► Villain blackening +10 % → 38 %

Mu Xiao's chest clenched, but he couldn't move forward. He stood there—helpless.

The head butler moved quickly, crouching in front of the boy. "Young Master Wu," he said gently, "Third Master is ill. He's hurt and must be treated. Please don't be upset—come, let's go to the garden."

Wu Zixuan bit his lip, eyes never leaving Mu Xiao. After a long pause, he nodded faintly and let the butler lead him away.

Mu Xiao watched them go, hands still bleeding beneath the messy bandages.

That moment was the beginning of the growing distance between them.

.

.

.

Nine Years Later

Time blurred; distance solidified. At sixteen, Wu Zixuan masked the hurt behind two faces: inside Mu Mansion he remained bright for the staff who loved him; outside, he was Yaxian Elite Academy's untouchable Ice Prince.

A midnight-black Hyperion sports car purred to the curb. Zixuan stepped out, uniform impeccable, beauty startling. Students halted mid-stride—some squealed, some simply stared, and more than a few swooned.

He ignored them, expression carved from frost.

An arm slung over his shoulders. "Morning, Ice Prince," chirped Yan Xiang, the school's golden "Sun Prince," all easy smiles and tousled hair.

Zixuan rolled his eyes. "Save it."

Yan Xiang clutched his chest theatrically. "Tragic. You wound me, An—"

One glacial glare cut him short.

"Don't call me that," Zixuan warned. "Only—"

"Only your dear Third Master Mu can call you An'an," Yan Xiang finished with a grin. "I know." He sobered, nudging Zixuan's arm. "Closed the gap with him yet?"

Zixuan's shoulders slumped the tiniest bit. "No."

Yan Xiang's smile turned sly. "Then keep trying. And if gentle won't work…" He winked. "Dark methods can cage a heart just as well. Everything's fair in love and war, right?"

Zixuan said nothing, but his eyes—storm-dark and longing—looked beyond the courtyard walls, toward a man who still felt three steps too far away.

There he stood the man of his dream Mu Xiao.