I Just Wanted To Live but I Somehow Became Better Than the Protagonist

In the past, Zhou Suren thought it was normal for young people to be a bit arrogant; after all, what was youth without a touch of recklessness? But now, observing Ye Yong’s demeanor and actions, he realized that without comparison, there could be no pain. His son, who had once satisfied him in every regard, now seemed to be nothing but flaws from head to toe.

“Father.” Zhou Feifan wanted to say something more, but upon seeing Zhou Suren’s frown, he immediately fell silent.

His father had never frowned at him before. Zhou Feifan felt a surge of anxiety—was he disappointed in him?

“Your Majesty, I must respectfully disagree with your words.” As Ye Yong reached the third stage of his pretentiousness, he was ready to deliver his final performance: “Since I began refining my sound and painting, I have had no opportunity to spar with anyone. It is my honor that Prince Feifan is willing to practice with me; it is certainly not a frivolous endeavor. Prince Feifan has pointed out my shortcomings in melody and artistry, and now I should help him grasp the essence of sword intent.”

Zhou Feifan was bewildered by Ye Yong’s unexpected support. All he knew was that this was his last chance to salvage his dignity and restore his father’s mood: “Once I comprehend and break through to the Yuan Ying sword intent, Ye Yong, I am willing to swear brotherhood with you.”

No longer was he the scornful “Ye Tianjiao,” but rather he addressed Ye Yong directly, and his feelings toward him grew significantly.

“Alas…” Zhou Suren sighed as he watched his son climb the ladder of pretense. It made sense; as a prince and a prodigy, he need not concern himself with the opinions of others. People only needed to either flatter him or keep their distance. Zhou Suren believed Ye Yong was truly giving face to their royal family; such a measured young man was indeed rare: “Very well, since Young Master Ye does not mind, let him indulge a bit longer. Feifan, remember not to harm Young Master Ye.”

—

“Rest assured, Father!” Zhou Feifan was elated. He turned to Ye Yong: “You may attack as you wish, without concern for me.”

“No, this time, listen to me. I ask Prince Feifan to come at me with all your strength.” Ye Yong smiled, drawing forth a mysterious iron sword: “Do not worry; I have many protective treasures. It won’t be so easy to injure me.”

“Alright!” Zhou Feifan wanted to showcase his recent training results to his father, and after the lessons learned from the previous encounters, he had no intention of holding back. He aimed to display his true strength.

With that, Zhou Feifan closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and suddenly opened them wide, launching a straight sword strike.

The sharp metallic cry rang out, the sword intent of the late Golden Core stage, terrifyingly potent, combined with the newly learned Earth-level sword technique, “Returning Spirit Sword,” shining like a flash in the night, dazzling and brilliant.

Ye Yong maintained his smile, showing no sign of panic. The mysterious iron sword in his hand was drawn, and a crisp, melodious sword sound echoed, instantly suppressing the sharp cry of Zhou Feifan’s sword. In the next moment, the heavy momentum of the sword strike completely dissipated.

The ministers present all gasped in shock, while Zhou Suren and Ye Wen held their breath, disbelief etched on their faces.

As the two swords clashed, the mysterious iron sword shattered. Zhou Feifan halted, not advancing a single step further. His eyes widened, pupils trembling, limbs quivering slightly, and after a long moment, he rasped, “You… how is this possible…”

“Everything is possible. Zhou Feifan, you believe yourself to be exceptionally talented, but have you ever considered that others might be even more gifted than you? You just said I am unworthy to call you brother? I return that sentiment to you; you are not yet qualified to swear brotherhood with me.” No longer addressing him as Prince Feifan, Ye Yong spoke his name directly, his voice tinged with a hint of arrogance and coldness as he sheathed the hilt of the sword that had lost its blade. Standing tall in the center of the hall, Ye Yong seemed to expand infinitely in that moment. No one would know he was gritting his teeth against the pain in his arm, forcing himself to hide the mask of suffering.

—

In truth, relying solely on strength, Ye Yong could not hope to match Zhou Feifan. After all, Zhou Feifan’s steady and solid cultivation at the seventh level of the Golden Core was that of a prodigy, possessing the ability to transcend ranks, easily viewing Ye Yong as just another ordinary Golden Core practitioner at the tenth level. Yet Ye Yong was merely at the first level of Foundation Establishment; even if he could rival a practitioner at the tenth level of Crystallization, the gap in cultivation between him and Zhou Feifan remained vast.

The suppression of realms was unavoidable; he could only seek ways to narrow the divide.

In their first two sparring sessions, Ye Yong advanced step by step, dragging the matches to a draw, which caused Zhou Feifan’s confidence to waver, planting seeds of doubt in his heart. In the third bout, when Zhou Feifan unleashed his full strength, it was no longer necessary for Ye Yong to fight earnestly; a mere display of unexpected advanced sword intent would be enough to shatter him completely.

The psychological defeat often proved far more potent than a physical one.

Had he unleashed his sword intent from the outset without the groundwork of the previous encounters, the effect would not have been nearly as profound. Zhou Feifan might have stubbornly insisted on competing with Ye Yong, unwilling to concede. But with the buildup, each spar chipped away at Zhou Feifan’s pride and confidence.

Ye Yong had not employed his Nascent Soul sword intent earlier; instead, he wielded the peak of the late Golden Core stage, sufficient to suppress Zhou Feifan’s sword intent, which had yet to reach its zenith. Forcing out the Nascent Soul sword intent would have been too fearsome; a touch of arrogance was acceptable, but overreaching could lead to disaster.

“…” The shift in Ye Yong’s tone and demeanor left Zhou Feifan feeling utterly unsettled. Anger boiled within him, yet those words were his own. Clenching his fists, his face turned ashen, eyes ablaze with fury, Zhou Feifan turned sharply and strode out of the grand hall without a word, not even a farewell.

“My sincerest apologies, Your Majesty.” At this moment, Ye Yong bowed slightly, clasping his fists. “The lofty demeanor of Prince Feifan reminds me of my former self, and I truly wish for him not to sink deeper into this path, hence…”

“There is no need for apologies; you have done no wrong.” Zhou Suren waved his hand, a hint of melancholy in his voice. “Feifan is a natural holy body, gifted and smooth in his cultivation. I, too, have been blinded by his growth, unable to see his flaws. Now that you have pointed them out, I owe you my gratitude.”

“I dare not accept such praise.”

“You, young man, lack the fiery passion of youth, instead appearing as shrewd as a court official.”

Of course, only the protagonist, that indomitable figure, deserved such fervor; for a villain, to be impassioned would only hasten their descent into the grave.

“I, too, was once arrogant, but I found that such pride only shackled my growth, yielding no benefit. Thus, I have awakened. I hope this small setback can illuminate Prince Feifan’s path.”

“Small setback? You have nearly shattered his resolve!” Zhou Suren remarked, not in anger but with a tinge of mockery. “Yet, as a member of the Zhou family, if he crumbles at the first sign of adversity, well, perhaps he is not worth keeping.”

At this, Ye Yong finally breathed a sigh of relief, reaffirming that he was indeed playing the role of the villain.

Had the protagonist been in his place, Zhou Feifan would have likely charged in a frenzy, desperate to prove himself. Once subdued, Zhou Suren would have intervened, chastising the protagonist for being too harsh on his son, nearly breaking his spirit, and so forth. After all, the hatred meter could always be filled by various means.

Now, Zhou Feifan, feeling inferior, retreated with reason. The emperor expressed gratitude for the blow dealt to his own son. Such an encounter was one the protagonist could never enjoy.

“Your Majesty, you exaggerate. Prince Feifan will surely be fine. Perhaps by the next time you see him, he will have undergone a transformation.” As a young master of the Ye family, Ye Yong could not simply eliminate those he found displeasing as the protagonist might; all he could do was seek a roundabout way to save his family.

To be honest, Ye Yong had no idea what would become of those villains destined to die in the novel after being influenced by him, but there was no choice. To distance the Ye family from the protagonist, he had to ensure that those closely tied to the Ye family also kept their distance.

“Does Young Master Ye have a beloved?” Zhou Suren asked, his tone strikingly direct, without a hint of subtlety.

At this, all the princesses present turned their gazes toward Ye Yong, and Qin Shimeng paused her chewing of fruit, her eyes fixed on Ye Yong’s silhouette.

Ah, this…

Ye Yong hadn’t anticipated Zhou Suren’s bluntness. If it had been a private inquiry, it would have been one thing, but in front of so many people, if he answered no, they might immediately thrust a princess—or several—upon him. If he answered yes and named someone, the other female leads would surely feel hurt; after all, it was impossible to name multiple beloveds in such a situation.

What Ye Yong desired was a natural unfolding, where the female leads subtly accepted one another, rather than having one occupy a significant place in his heart, causing them to hesitate, fearing they could never find their way into his affections and thus choosing to distance themselves.

Ah, you dog of an emperor! I help you discipline your rebellious son, save your Zhou family, just as I’ve quelled the greatest threat, and you turn around to stab me in the back?

Ye Yong’s blood pressure surged in an instant.

—