NTR Villain: All the Heroines Belong to Me!

There were no weapons here.

No swords, no pills, no talismans.

Only walls of smooth obsidian, a sky that pulsed like the inside of a heartbeat, and a floor of liquid memory that rippled beneath every step.

This was the Mirror Sanctum — an ancient battlefield outlawed by most sects. Here, battles were not fought with force…

But with truth.

And today, at Yan Yiren's request, the Empress opened its gates for the first time in centuries.

The Rules Were Simple:

Only those with a bond to Hei Long could enter.

Only truths once shared could be summoned.

And only one could walk out without having their connection broken.

Qingxue arrived first.

Swordless, but radiating iron discipline.

Zhao Yuran came second — pale, tight-lipped, the scent of burnt alchemy clinging to her robes.

Mu Yexin appeared last — veiled in a shifting illusion, her face flickering between grief and laughter.

Yan Yiren stood at the center.

Eyes burning softly. Hands open.

"Here," she said, "there is no flattery. No seduction. No persistence."

She turned, meeting each of their gazes.

"Only what he gave you… and what he took."

Hei Long Watched From Above

He did not enter.

He was not allowed.

That was the sanctum's law.

What had been shared was no longer his to control.

But his shadow stretched across the memory-floor — tall, motionless, and inescapable.

The Trial Began

The mirror beneath their feet shimmered.

A scene surfaced — a small mountain temple, half-destroyed, rain pouring outside.

Inside stood Hei Long and Qingxue.

His hand wrapped tightly around her wrist.

Her eyes defiant, bleeding.

A memory neither had spoken of… but both had lived.

"You should've left me," he'd said.

"I follow orders," she'd replied.

"You're not a weapon."

"I'd rather be useful than forgotten."

The scene froze.

Then shattered.

Qingxue staggered.

Yan Yiren's voice cut through the stillness:

"He didn't love you. He pitied your discipline."

Qingxue's hand clenched.

But she said nothing.

The mirror shifted again.

Scene Two – Zhao Yuran

A back room in a half-burned apothecary.

Hei Long sat across from her, ash in his hair, blood on his coat.

She handed him a jade vial — and paused as their fingers touched.

He looked at her then.

But not like a man.

Like a survivor who wanted to believe in soft things.

"Don't," she whispered.

"I wasn't going to."

"Then why did you look at me like that?"

"Because I didn't expect to be saved."

The image froze.

Yuran turned her back.

But Yan Yiren stepped forward.

"He let you believe he needed you. But he was never broken."

"And he never drank what you gave him."

The memory broke.

And Yuran's knees shook.

A rooftop beneath a fake moon.

Hei Long laughing.

Yes, laughing.

Yexin beside him, illusion butterflies dancing through the air, mimicking old constellations no longer in the sky.

He turned to her, smile fading.

"You're dangerous," he said.

"I like danger," she replied.

"You could ruin me."

"I'd ruin myself first."

He leaned close, almost whispering:

"Don't."

The image stuttered.

Flickered.

Paused.

Then Yan Yiren stepped through it — uninvited.

"He never looked at your illusions."

"He watched the sky."

Yexin's hand twitched — the image in her mind crumbling like wet paper.

"I know," she whispered.

Then the Floor Went Still

No more scenes.

No more echoes.

Only the memory-slick surface reflecting them all now — broken, breathless, and inwardly bleeding.

Yan Yiren stood tall.

Alone.

Undefeated.

But not triumphant.

Because she didn't want them to lose.

She wanted them to understand.

"You were chosen for your strength," she said quietly."But I was chosen first. Before his pride. Before his purpose. Before he wore the name Hei Long."

The mirror shimmered again.

But this time, her memory surfaced.

A nameless battlefield.

A younger Hei Long — bloodied, gasping, nothing but a shattered blade in his hand.

And her.

Yan Yiren.

Holding the line.

Cut after cut. Wound after wound.

Until she collapsed on top of him — shielding his body with her own.

"You will live," she whispered, breath catching.

"Even if I don't."

His arms wrapped around her.

He didn't beg.

He swore.

"I'll burn the sky for you."

He did.

But he forgot.

Until now.

The Mirror Shattered

The Sanctum dissolved.

The four women stood in silence on the polished stone floor.

Qingxue closed her eyes.

Yuran turned her back.

Yexin didn't speak — but her illusions stopped moving.

Yan Yiren stepped forward.

Not toward them.

But toward the exit.

Then stopped beside the sanctum gate and turned.

"You still matter," she said. "But you weren't the start of his story."

And then she left.

Above – Hei Long Sat Alone

Watching the floor below.

Eyes darker than night.

Jaw tight.

Because some victories don't feel like triumph.

They feel like debt.

And she remembered everything.

. . . . . .

The doors to the Empress's inner sanctum had not opened in a decade for any man.

But they did today.

For Hei Long.

He entered in silence, robes unadorned, sword left at the threshold as tradition demanded. The corridors were dim — lit not by lanterns, but by glowing threads of golden script floating through the air: fragments of history, discarded visions, memories not yet born.

At the center of it all—

Sat the Empress.

She did not wear her crown here.

No makeup.

No guards.

Just her.

And the three dragons sleeping on the floor beside her throne, ancient beasts so still they looked carved from obsidian.

She opened one eye.

And said:

"You've remembered her."

Hei Long nodded.

They Spoke Without Titles

No "Your Majesty."

No "Commander."

Only as those who had both walked the fire and outlived it.

"She wasn't supposed to return," he said.

"She was never gone."

"You told me she was sealed."

"I told you what you needed to hear," the Empress replied coolly. "To survive. To move on."

"She wants me to choose."

The Empress poured tea into a jade cup — then stopped before handing it over.

"You already did," she said.

Hei Long's jaw tightened.

"I broke that promise."

"No," the Empress whispered. "You delayed it."

She Turned to the Wall

A tapestry there — woven in threads of night and gold — began to glow.

It showed a phoenix, wings spread, eyes weeping flame.

And below it—

A man with no face.

And four shadows behind him.

Not five.

Four.

Hei Long frowned.

"There are five now."

"There were only ever meant to be four," the Empress said. "Until you tried to outrun the prophecy."

He stared at the tapestry.

The faceless man.

The phoenix above him.

The four shadows at his back.

Then asked, quietly:

"What is the final bond?"

The Empress Took a Long Time to Answer

Then she said:

"It is the one that ends you."

"The bond that cannot be broken, not even by time. Not by death. Not by your will."

"It is the first vow — the one made when your name was still your own."

Hei Long looked at her.

"You mean Yiren."

"I mean the you that existed before Hei Long was born."

Silence Hung Like a Blade

The Empress drank her tea.

"It was foretold," she continued, "that the Black Phoenix would return once your path fractured too many lives. Once the orbit of hearts around you became a storm."

She looked him in the eyes now.

Cold.

Clear.

Unforgiving.

"She is not here to be loved again."

"She is here to collect."

Hei Long Said Nothing

But the dragons beside her stirred — sensing the shift in his breath.

"You are no longer the boy she died for," the Empress said softly.

"No."

"But you are the man she remade herself for."

He looked down.

At his hands.

At the seal still burned faintly into his palm — a mark from that other life, that other vow.

"I have responsibilities now," he murmured. "An empire. A war coming."

"She knows."

"And the others—"

"She's not asking to replace them," the Empress said.

Then leaned forward, voice like thunder coiled in silk:

"She's demanding that you finish the story you started."

Outside – A Black Feather Floated Into the Courtyard

Unaffected by gravity.

It landed at the feet of Qingxue, who had waited there all night.

She picked it up.

Felt it pulse.

And her blade trembled in its sheath.

Elsewhere – Zhao Yuran Cried Out in Her Alchemy Chamber

The flames had turned black.

The fire spoke to her now.

But not in her voice.

In Yan Yiren's.

"You knew you weren't first. You just hoped he'd forget."

Mu Yexin Watched From an Illusion

She saw Hei Long kneeling beside a dying woman.

She saw him kiss her hand.

And promise the stars.

"I'll come back for you," he said.

The illusion cracked.

Because it wasn't memory.

It was a vow.

And Yexin was never the one holding his hand.

Back in the Empress's Chamber

Hei Long stood to leave.

But the Empress spoke one final time:

"Three paths lie ahead," she said.

"Choose none, and you will lose all."

"Choose one, and the rest will turn on you."

"Choose her…"

She looked up.

And for once, there was sorrow in her eyes.

"And you will finally be who you were always meant to be."