NTR Villain: All the Heroines Belong to Me!
Chapter 107: Netori...

Chapter 107: Netori...

The sun crept over the horizon like it had no idea the emotional devastation it was about to witness.

Birds chirped.

Wind rustled leaves.

A lone squirrel scampered across a stone path, paused, and sprinted the other way as if it sensed something foul.

And something was foul—namely, the expression on Lin Fan’s face.

He stood in the middle of the Royal Azure Sect’s training fields, fists clenched, eye twitching.

"Today’s the day," he muttered to himself, striking a dramatic pose beneath a blossoming peach tree.

"I, Lin Fan, will turn over a new leaf. I’ve trained, I’ve endured humiliation, I’ve survived the Spirit Realm. Now..."

He inhaled slowly, puffed his chest, and grinned.

"Now, I find love."

A butterfly fluttered past. Ominous drums began to play—entirely in his head.

Enter the Flame Garden Fairy

Her name was Yan Yue’er.

Daughter of the Phoenix Pavilion’s Grand Elder, known for her fiery temperament, blinding beauty, and a cultivation technique that left entire duel arenas drenched in rose-scented flames.

She appeared that morning on a phoenix carriage drawn by two shimmering fire beasts, her robes fluttering as she descended like a goddess come to earth.

The moment she stepped into the arena grounds, half the male disciples fainted. The other half got nosebleeds and were dragged off by the sect’s "No Drooling" enforcement division.

Lin Fan saw her.

And fell.

Not just emotionally.

He literally tripped over his own feet and faceplanted into the gravel.

But she was already walking past.

She didn’t notice him.

Phase One: Operation Woo and Win

Lin Fan spent three days straight planning.

A bouquet of spirit-infused roses? Too common.

A handwritten poem composed of exactly 88 characters to signify longevity and prosperity? Too nerdy.

Finally, he decided on a dramatic sword dance, with fiery petals exploding at the climax, spelling out her name in the sky.

It took twelve spirit talismans, three cracked ribs, and a temporary fire ban from the sect elders.

But he did it.

In the middle of the sect courtyard, as disciples gathered around, he leapt into the air, sword in hand, petals bursting behind him.

"FOR YOU, YAN YUE—"

BOOM.

The sky turned golden. Music played.

Everyone turned.

Descending from a nearby cliff was a black-robed figure standing atop a gliding obsidian sword.

Hei Long.

Of course.

Hei Long, the "Accidental" Charmer

He wasn’t trying to show off. Really.

He was just heading to the alchemy hall, when an old granny on the mountain trail screamed about a rogue goat demon.

He stepped in, subdued it with a flick of his wrist, and now the grateful villagers were throwing flowers at him from baskets.

And somehow, the path he took just so happened to pass by Yan Yue’er.

Their eyes met.

"Thank you for saving our village!" cried one girl, tossing petals in the air.

Hei Long blinked, confused. "Wait, what village? I was—"

Yan Yue’er watched, eyes glittering.

Lin Fan crashed into a tree.

Again.

The Misunderstanding of the Century

Later that evening, Hei Long sat in the garden, nursing a cup of tea and looking confused.

Yan Yue’er sat across from him.

"I’ve heard of you," she said, voice like soft embers.

"Hei Long. The quiet demon slayer of the Southern Wastes. The man who battled the Nine-Tailed Mist Vixen with only a wooden spoon."

"That was exaggerated," Hei Long muttered. "It was half a spoon."

He had no idea what she was talking about...

She giggled.

Lin Fan, in the bushes, choked on a pinecone.

’Why is this happening again!?’ he screamed internally. ’She was supposed to fall for me!’

Then, to make things worse, Yan Yue’er pulled out a small embroidered handkerchief.

"I made this for you. I hope you’ll wear it in battle... for protection."

Hei Long looked like a man who’d just been handed a magical chicken and wasn’t sure if he was supposed to raise it or fight it.

"Um... sure?"

From the bushes, a low sobbing could be heard.

Phase Two: Operation Spirit Chicken

Lin Fan wasn’t giving up.

No.

He’d heard of a divine beast residing in the far outskirts of Azure Forest—a Flame-Feathered Spirit Chicken whose down was said to melt the coldest of hearts. If he plucked one and gifted it to Yan Yue’er, she’d surely swoon.

He left that night.

Three days later, he returned covered in burns, peck marks, and with a chicken feather jammed up one nostril.

He presented it dramatically before her as she walked by the training yard.

"This... is for you!" he declared, falling to one knee, offering her a charred, angry-looking feather that was twitching ominously.

"Oh," she said, glancing up.

"Thanks," came a voice behind Lin Fan.

Hei Long was standing there. Somehow, inexplicably, again.

The feather flew out of Lin Fan’s hand.

Straight into Hei Long’s.

"I’ll... keep it for good luck?" Hei Long offered.

Yan Yue’er smiled warmly.

"I like men who appreciate effort."

Lin Fan fell over.

The Final Blow

The next day, a notice appeared on the sect bulletin board:

NOTICE:

Senior Sister Yan Yue’er has invited Hei Long to accompany her to the Phoenix Pavilion for dual cultivation consultation and flame-seed harmonization.

No, Lin Fan, you are not invited.

—Sect Management

Lin Fan read it.

Twice.

Then he screamed so loud a passing hawk exploded in mid-air.

Elsewhere, Later That Night...

Lan Yinyin lay in her bed, sipping tea while watching magical surveillance footage projected on her wall. Beside her, two of her illusion clones whispered and giggled.

"Hei Long stole another one."

"Lin Fan’s soul is cracking like bad ceramic."

Yinyin smirked.

"Another success for Team Seduction Defense. Begin Phase Two."

Her clones saluted.

In the distance, Lin Fan accidentally set his room on fire trying to burn a love letter.

. . . . . .

Su Rou found Lin Fan collapsed beside a flower cart, unconscious and pale.

The scent of crushed azaleas drifted up to her nose as she leaned over him.

"You’re bleeding," she murmured. "You poor thing."

Delicate fingers with the scent of sandalwood brushed his brow.

The girl was young, her presence calming, with gentle eyes like spring rain. A soft green robe adorned with lotus threads revealed she was from the Su Clan—famous for its alchemical expertise.

Lin Fan woke to warmth and light.

A clean bed.

Bandaged wounds.

And the girl—Su Rou—kneeling beside him, grinding herbs in a jade mortar.

His breath caught.

For once, someone hadn’t laughed. Someone hadn’t mocked him.

"Where am I?"

"In my family’s healing house," she said softly. "You were on the verge of collapsing. I’m Su Rou."

He blinked, then looked away. "I’m... I’m Lin Fan."

Something in her expression changed—curiosity, not mockery.

"I’ve heard of you," she said. "You were a genius once, weren’t you?"

He flinched.

"Sorry," she added quickly. "I didn’t mean to offend. I just—"

"No," he whispered. "You’re right. I was."

And just like that, she smiled. A little sad, a little hopeful.

"I don’t believe a spark like that ever dies."

The next few days were quiet.

Lin Fan stayed to recover. He helped sweep floors, fed spiritual turtles, and learned to help mix low-grade elixirs.

Su Rou treated him kindly but never pitied him.

She laughed at his jokes.

She smiled at his awkward attempts to fix her garden wall.

She clapped when he managed to balance three spirit vials without dropping one.

His heart began to stir again.

Not with delusions of grandeur.

Just... hope.

Meanwhile, deep in the forests outside Yunhe, Hei Long was hunting.

Not beasts. Not treasures.

He was searching for something more elusive: opportunity.

The spirits whispered of a hidden alchemist’s line, a girl born under a Pill Moon, said to have hands that could harmonize yin and yang energies with but a touch.

When he reached the city gates and saw the cherry blossoms fluttering in the air, his eyes gleamed with promise.

"Lin Fan!"

Su Rou called out from behind the apothecary.

He turned around with a smile.

"I made tea," she said, holding a tray of spirit-leaf cups.

They sat in the courtyard, sunlight trickling through silk canopies.

Lin Fan’s hand brushed hers as he reached for the cup.

She didn’t pull away.

His breath hitched. For the first time in a long while, he believed he might matter again.

That evening, as Su Rou hummed a lullaby to her spirit vines, a black-robed figure arrived at the gates of the healing house.

His presence was calm.

His smile, magnetic.

His eyes? Too deep to measure.

Hei Long had found her.

The days that followed blurred into slow chaos.

Hei Long presented himself as a traveler, humble and gracious.

He spoke of philosophies with Su Rou’s father.

He offered rare spirit seeds as gifts. He complimented Su Rou’s herbal instincts with casual precision.

Lin Fan noticed.

He tried to dismiss it as paranoia.

Until he saw Su Rou laugh.

Not at his jokes.

At Hei Long’s.

A week later, Lin Fan walked into the back garden just in time to see Hei Long teaching Su Rou a new technique—how to transfer heat evenly through a pill cauldron using spirit threads.

Her eyes shone with excitement.

Lin Fan stood in silence. Watching.

Unnoticed.

The final blow came during the Yunhe Spirit Fair.

Su Rou invited Lin Fan to walk with her. Just the two of them.

He accepted, heart pounding.

They strolled through lantern-lit streets, shared sweet lotus dumplings, and watched fireworks.

But then Hei Long appeared—"coincidentally"—and joined them.

The next hour became a blur of stories, laughter, and casual intimacy between the two.

Lin Fan trailed behind.

When they stopped by the river, Hei Long gently adjusted a flower in Su Rou’s hair.

She blushed.

Lin Fan turned away.

That night, he wrote her a letter.

A confession.

He left it on her windowsill.

The next morning, the letter was gone.

But so was she.

Hei Long and Su Rou left the city together.

"To explore rare medicinal springs," someone said.

Lin Fan stood at the city gates, alone.

In his hand, the petals of the flower Hei Long had adjusted in her hair.

They crumbled.

And with them, the last of his hope.