Chapter 2: The Villain’s Embrace

​The Shadow Peak Sect Master, Fu Xuan, was not a man built for fatherhood. He was built for intimidation. When I was ushered into his private study, the room felt like the interior of a very expensive coffin: high ceilings, minimal light, and an overwhelming scent of parchment and cold blood.

​Fu Xuan sat behind an obsidian desk large enough to land a small aircraft. He was exactly as described in the novel: impossibly handsome, with razor-sharp features and a permanent expression of aristocratic disdain. He wore robes of dark charcoal that somehow managed to look both simple and menacing. He looked up, and his gaze—sharp and cold as polished steel—snapped straight onto my tiny figure.

​I instinctively froze, the four-year-old body locking up in fear. This was the man who had personally flayed several rival Sect Elders! I was terrified. But I was also the only person in this entire novel he loved.

​Execute Operation Adorable.

​I abandoned my practiced, steady walk and wobbled slightly, forcing my eyes to shimmer with just a hint of dewy moisture. "Daddy!" I cried, a sound that was somehow both pathetic and utterly precious, thanks to my ridiculous voice box. I pushed off my little feet and bolted across the vast carpet, stumbling perfectly before colliding with his knee.

​The imposing figure of Fu Xuan stiffened immediately. The two heavily armored guards flanking the door didn't even twitch, but I saw the micro-movement in their eyes. No one ran at the Sect Master.

​Fu Xuan’s expression, usually set in granite, fractured. He slowly lowered the stack of gruesome-looking intelligence reports he’d been reviewing. One large, pale hand, the same hand that could deliver a killing blow to an Immortal, cautiously reached out and rested on the top of my head.

​“An’er,” his voice was a low, resonant rumble, utterly devoid of the usual fury or malice he reserved for the rest of the world. It was a bizarre vocal contrast to the man himself. “You are late. Did you sleep poorly?”

​I tilted my head up, displaying my massive amethyst eyes to their maximum effect. “An’er dreamt of tigers, Daddy. Big, scary ones with sharp teeth.” I squeezed my arms around his leg, doing my best impression of an utterly helpless, precious child. I wasn't just acting; a part of the real me was definitely terrified of the tigers (and the man I was currently hugging).

​His jaw tightened. The novel mentioned Fu Xuan was terrified of anything hurting his son. It was his single, fatal weakness.

​“Tigers?” he echoed, the word a dangerous hiss that was definitely not meant for me. He gently picked me up, placing me on his lap. His movements were awkward, like handling a ticking, delicate clock. "There are no tigers in Shadow Peak. Only foolish mortals who think they can touch what is mine.”

​I knew that meant rivals, spies, and possibly disgruntled servants. I also knew that his current preoccupation with "touching what is mine" was why he missed so many crucial signs of the protagonist's rise.

​I snuggled into his expensive robes, which smelled faintly of ozone and something burnt. “I feel safe now, Daddy. You’re big and warm.”

​Fu Xuan stared down at my head, then ran a hand—a little less cautiously this time—down my back. He let out a sigh, a sound the entire Sect probably hadn't heard in a decade.

​"Good. Stay here." He returned his gaze to the reports, though his eyes seemed unfocused. The message was clear: my presence acted as a strange sort of emotional dampener on his villainous activities.

​Perfect, I thought, settling into his lap, the softest spot in the entire Fortress. I might be the villain’s son, but if I played my cards right, I could survive this. And perhaps, just perhaps, I could influence the man who held all the power to be a slightly less villainous, slightly more survivable father. I had four years, and I was holding all the chips—all ridiculously cute, amethyst-eyed chips.

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