NTR Villain: All the Heroines Belong to Me!

The torches dimmed.

The music fell silent.

And for the first time in a hundred years, the Imperial Banquet's grand floor transformed — not into a ballroom, but into a dueling stage, ringed with floating jade sigils and carved starlight tiles.

The Empress raised a hand, and the crowd leaned forward as one.

"Tonight," she said, her voice echoing through the stillness, "we witness the revival of an old rite — the Twin Flow Form."

A ritual dance once reserved only for cultivation partners who had fought side by side in life-and-death combat.

A dance where motion was truth.

Balance was trust.

And the final movement could kill.

Hei Long and Xue Lian Stepped Forward

No words exchanged.

No explanations given.

They simply walked to the platform, the crowd parting around them like water around stone. Even the sect masters said nothing. Even the illusionists did not blink.

This was no performance.

This was history resurfacing.

And every woman watching knew — this wasn't about status.

It was about what he remembered.

The First Movement – Breath

They began with breathwork.

Simple.

Synchronized.

Inhale. Exhale.

Shoulders aligned. Spines straight.

One heartbeat.

Two souls.

Three steps.

They moved in mirror — not by watching, but by knowing. A step forward, palm raised, fingers extended, a spiral shift into defensive flow, arms sweeping through the air as glowing trails of qi followed like brushstrokes on an invisible canvas.

Zhao Yuran, from her seat beside the High Table, felt her throat tighten.

Because this wasn't rehearsed.

This was muscle memory.

And she was not part of it.

The Second Movement – Clash

With a sharp turn, the tempo surged.

Xue Lian spun, heel pivoting, right hand forming a saber-cut across the air. Hei Long met it, not blocking — but catching the movement, twisting around her momentum, pushing it through his body and out again in a flowing arc.

Their blades — conjured from pure spiritual force — struck without striking.

Every step they took echoed across the floor like thunder wrapped in silk.

The jade sigils around the platform lit up.

Ancient script glowed:

"When two warriors no longer doubt, the sword need not swing."

A hush spread.

Even the Empress leaned forward.

The Third Movement – Memory

This part… was slow.

The dance became storytelling.

Hei Long reached forward — not to strike, but to gesture. A memory in motion.

Xue Lian circled him, slower now, her hands creating symbols in the air — scenes from battles long erased from history: a snowy cliff, a shattered temple, her back pressed to his as spectral beasts closed in.

No one else could read the signs.

But Hei Long nodded.

He remembered every one.

And the final movement—

The Final Form – Break

Xue Lian leapt.

He caught her by the wrist mid-air.

She pivoted, using his arm as anchor, twisting downward with a sharp spin—

—and their palms met at the exact center of the arena.

A blast of spiritual wind exploded outward.

The tiles cracked.

The air vibrated.

And for a single heartbeat, everyone saw it:

Two figures suspended in a beam of coiled golden light, like a seal etched across time.

Then—

Silence.

They landed.

Facing each other.

Breathing calm.

The dance was over.

The Audience Reaction

The crowd stood.

No applause.

Just stunned reverence.

Because the Twin Flow Form wasn't meant to impress.

It was meant to reveal connection.

And Hei Long had revealed one… that still existed.

Even now.

Zhao Yuran Couldn't Move

Her hands gripped the table.

Her eyes burned — not with hatred.

But with doubt.

Because for all her triumph, all her calculated restraint…

She'd never shared anything like that with him.

Qingxue, above, whispered under her breath:

"…He trusted her that much?"

Mu Yexin, beside her, folded her arms.

"Or maybe… she never gave him a reason not to."

After the Dance – Behind the Platform

Hei Long and Xue Lian stood beneath the cherry blossom arch.

She spoke first, voice quiet.

"You remembered every step."

"So did you," he replied.

"You didn't forget me."

"I couldn't."

Her breath caught.

But he placed a hand on her shoulder — firm, but not possessive.

"You're not mine, Xue Lian," he said. "And I'm not yours."

She looked at him.

Long and hard.

Then nodded.

But her voice cracked slightly.

"I know."

Elsewhere – In the Shadows of the Banquet Hall

A servant girl carried a tray of wine past the imperial curtains.

She turned the corner—

And her eyes flashed red.

From her sleeve, she pulled a talisman marked with inverted script.

"If the bond survives," she whispered, "the world breaks."

. . . . . .

The banquet had ended in a chorus of bowed heads and silent stares.

Servants cleared shattered tiles from the Twin Flow Form's echo. The sigils had yet to dim. Some guests lingered, whispering, pretending to sip from empty wine cups — just to see where Hei Long would go next.

But he didn't return to his seat.

He followed a silent attendant through gilded corridors.

Until they reached a private chamber lit by a single lantern of black jade and starlight.

Waiting for him—

Was the Empress.

She Did Not Sit

Empress Yushuang stood before the balcony, robes of flame-colored silk trailing like mist.

No crown adorned her brow — only a thin circlet of woven moonlight, too modest for her true station, yet unmistakable.

Her back was to him.

But she spoke first.

"I watched the dance."

Hei Long said nothing.

She turned, her expression unreadable.

"And I saw the girl's eyes. The one from the North."

He inclined his head. "Xue Lian."

"Yes," the Empress said. "The Ghost-Faced Blade."

She stepped forward.

Paused just in front of him.

And said:

"Which one do you love?"

The Air Tightened

Not from power.

Not from threat.

But from the weight of the question.

It wasn't phrased as curiosity.

It was a test.

A door.

And a warning, hidden in silk.

Hei Long looked at her.

Truly looked.

Then said:

"None."

She raised an eyebrow. "Not even the phoenix alchemist?"

"She wants purpose," he said. "Not affection."

"And the sword?"

"She needs victory more than company."

"The illusionist?"

"She hasn't decided if she's real yet."

"…And the Northern girl?"

Hei Long was quiet for a long time.

Then answered:

"She was never mine to begin with."

The Empress Stepped Closer

She gazed at him — not as ruler to subject.

But as one legend to another.

"You're building something," she said softly. "A storm disguised as silence. And they're orbiting you like comets around a star."

"They move on their own," Hei Long said.

"But you gave them gravity."

She tilted her head.

"And when they fall?"

"I'll catch the ones who deserve it."

She Smiled

"Cold. Honest. Dangerous."

She reached into her sleeve and drew a small, obsidian seal — unmarked, undecorated.

"Then hear me, Hei Long. Not as Empress, but as keeper of the balance."

She placed the seal in his hand.

"A storm like you cannot be allowed to pass unnoticed."

"What is this?" he asked.

"A key," she said. "To the Tower of Mirrors."

He blinked.

"…That place was sealed five dynasties ago."

"It was sealed for a reason."

She leaned close.

And whispered:

"Because only one man ever reached the top. And he destroyed every woman who followed him."

Hei Long Looked Down at the Seal

It pulsed once.

Not with qi.

But with memory.

He closed his hand around it.

The Empress turned away.

"You're walking toward a throne no one dares name," she said.

"I don't want a throne," he replied.

She laughed.

It was not a kind sound.

"Then you'll be the most dangerous kind of ruler," she said, voice fading behind her retreating steps.

"One who conquers hearts without meaning to."

Later That Night – Hei Long's Pavilion

He stood alone on the balcony, seal in hand, watching the moon cast silver lines across the koi pond.

Below, the three women moved through the night.

Zhao Yuran, pacing in her chambers, staring at a single question carved into jade: "Would he have picked me if she hadn't come?"

Leng Qingxue, sharpening her blade… and replaying the dance again and again in her mind.

Mu Yexin, building an illusion of the banquet, trying to replay it… only to realize the one thing missing was him.

And in the garden—

Xue Lian stood beneath the blossom tree, hands behind her back, staring up.

She didn't knock.

She didn't speak.

She just watched the window.

And waited.