The trek back from the Beast's castle was significantly less stressful than the trip there, though the atmosphere was heavy with unspoken thoughts. Belle and Maurice hadn't exactly been keen on staying for the "friendship dinner" the Beast had awkwardly offered. When a giant lion-man with goat horns asks if you want to stay for soup, most sane people take the exit—especially a disheveled Maurice, who looked like he'd aged ten years in a damp cell.
As for what would happen to the "Prince" and his collection of haunted home decor? Huang Wen couldn't care less. Whether the guy found an "average-looking girl" to love him or ended up as a permanent rug was no longer on his to-do list.
Maurice rode Philippe slowly, his back hunched but his eyes bright with the relief of a man who had cheated death. He turned his head slightly, catching Huang Wen's eye.
"I don't know how to repay you, Huang Wen," Maurice said, his voice thick with emotion. "You've saved my life twice now. I'm beginning to think you're my guardian angel."
"Twice?"
The word came from Belle, and it wasn't a gentle inquiry. Her eyebrows shot up, and she leveled a sharp, suspicious gaze at Huang Wen. He hadn't mentioned a "first time."
"Oh, yes!" Maurice chirped, oblivious to the sudden drop in temperature. "Back in the forest, before I ever found that cursed castle. I was cornered by a pack of wolves. I thought it was over, but Huang Wen appeared out of nowhere and drove them off like they were stray cats! If it weren't for him, I'd be wolf-food by now."
Belle stopped walking. She turned her full attention to Huang Wen, her expression shifting from relief to a very specific type of displeasure that usually precedes a long conversation.
"You didn't mention the wolves," she said, her voice dropping an octave. "And more importantly... that lecture you gave the Beast earlier. You told him he shouldn't be looking for 'beauties' like me. Were you implying that I'm just a pretty face with nothing else going on inside? That I'm lacking in 'inner goodness'?"
Huang Wen felt his brain short-circuit for a microsecond.
'Wait, what?' He had literally just saved her father from a life sentence and her from a forced marriage to a furry, and she was zeroing in on a hypothetical dating tip he'd given a monster to trick him? This was the legendary "Woman Logic" he'd heard about in his previous life. He had been complimenting her beauty to the Beast, but somehow, in the translation to Belle-speak, it had become an insult to her character.
"Uh... no? Not even a little bit?" Huang Wen scrambled, his hands coming up in a defensive gesture. "Belle, listen. From the second I met you, I saw your courage. Most girls would have stayed home and cried; you went out into a blizzard to find your dad. I saw your fearlessness and that spark of wanting something more than just a quiet life in a boring village. That's what I meant."
He took a breath, trying to smooth over the "wolf" incident too. "As for saving Maurice from the wolves... I didn't think it was worth bringing up. He was safe, and I didn't want to worry you with 'what-ifs.' I figured it was better if you just knew he was okay."
Belle stared at him for a long beat, her eyes searching his face for any hint of insincerity. Then, the tension broke. A satisfied, almost triumphant smile bloomed on her face.
"Hmph. That's more like it," she said, a playful lilt returning to her voice. She skipped ahead, catching up to Philippe and patting the horse's neck.
Huang Wen let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. 'Crisis averted,' he thought, wiping a metaphorical bead of sweat from his brow. However, he missed the glance Maurice threw back at him—a deep, knowing look that suggested the old man understood exactly what kind of "self-inflicted trouble" Huang Wen was wading into.
The walk back was slow, but Belle seemed to enjoy every second of it. For a girl who had spent her entire life dreaming of the world in books but never stepping foot past the village outskirts, this was an odyssey. She hopped between walking with her father and buzzing around Huang Wen, peppering him with questions.
"How do you walk so fast without sounding like you're stepping on the leaves?" she asked. "Is that the Qinggong you mentioned? Can you teach me to jump onto the roof?"
Huang Wen chuckled, answering her with half-truths and vague explanations of internal energy. By the time they reached the cottage, the sun was a bleeding orange stain on the horizon.
"Belle, it's late," Maurice said gently as they entered the workshop. "You've had a long day. You need to rest."
"But I'm not even tired yet!" Belle protested, though a yawn betrayed her. She looked at Huang Wen, clearly wanting to talk more, but her father's firm gaze won out. "Fine. Goodnight, Dad. Goodnight, Huang Wen."
She retreated to her room, leaving the two men in the workshop. Maurice looked at the small pile of bedding near the fireplace. "I'm sorry, Huang Wen. This is the best I can offer. It's not a palace, but the fire is warm."
"It's perfect, Maurice. I've slept in far worse places," Huang Wen replied.
In truth, he didn't need much sleep. His cultivation had reached a point where a few hours of meditative breathing did more for him than eight hours of unconsciousness. As Maurice retired to his own bed, Huang Wen sat cross-legged by the dying embers, sinking into a state of heightened awareness.
The village was quiet—too quiet. It lacked the constant hum of Chinatown, the distant sounds of cars or the rhythm of a city that never slept. Here, every snap of a twig felt like a gunshot.
Suddenly, Huang Wen's eyes snapped open. His sensory power, an invisible web extending from his body, had caught a ripple. Two people were approaching the house. Their footsteps were heavy, clumsy, and filled with a jagged, nervous energy.
He didn't need to see them to know who it was. The "malice" radiating off them was like a foul smell. He sensed the weight of metal—muskets. Gaston and LeFou.
What Huang Wen didn't notice, however, was a third presence. High up in the dark canopy of a nearby tree, a pair of eyes watched with cold, analytical precision. It wasn't someone wanting to help; it was someone observing a specimen.
Huang Wen stood up silently. He didn't want a firefight inside the house where Belle and Maurice were sleeping. He slipped out the door like a shadow, standing in the middle of the moonlit path.
A few moments later, Gaston and LeFou rounded the corner. When Gaston saw the tall, lean figure standing there, bathed in the pale light, he nearly dropped his gun.
"You..." Gaston hissed, his handsome face twisting into something ugly. "You knew we were coming?"
"It wasn't exactly a secret," Huang Wen said, his voice cold and flat. He didn't waste time. He tapped into his internal energy, his eyes locking onto Gaston's. Hypnotic Illusion. The air seemed to shimmer. Gaston's grip on his musket loosened, his pupils dilating until they were black voids. Beside him, LeFou slumped into a similar trance.
"What are you doing here, Gaston?" Huang Wen asked, his voice echoing in the men's minds like the voice of a god. "Tell me the truth."
"Kill you," Gaston droned, the words spilling out without a filter. "Kill the old man. Put Belle in a cage until she learns to love me. She's a prize. I want my prize."
A flash of icy disgust surged through Huang Wen. This wasn't just a "rivalry." This was a predator. If he hadn't been here, Maurice would be dead, and Belle would be living a nightmare.
"If that's your plan," Huang Wen said, a cruel smile touching his lips, "then why wait? Fire your weapons. Kill the man standing in your way."
"Alright," they whispered in unison.
They raised the muskets. But in their hallucination, Huang Wen wasn't standing in front of them. Gaston saw Huang Wen's face where LeFou was standing, and LeFou saw the same.
BANG! BANG!
Two shots rang out, shattering the silence of the village. The muzzle flashes lit up the street for a fraction of a second before both men crumpled to the ground, shot by the very person they had come to "hunt" with.
Huang Wen looked down at the bodies, his expression impassive. "You reap what you sow," he muttered. He hadn't pulled a trigger, but he had directed the intent. In a village this small, with no forensic science and a history of Gaston being a hothead, two men shooting each other in the dark would be ruled a drunken brawl gone wrong.
With a wave of his hand, he used a burst of kinetic energy to slide the bodies further down the road, away from Maurice's doorstep. He didn't want Belle waking up to a corpse on the porch.
He clapped his hands, clearing the dust, and walked back inside. The village stayed dark. No one came out to check the noise. It was a stark contrast to the community of Chinatown; here, people minded their own business out of fear, not respect.
Inside, the door to Belle's room creaked open. She looked pale, her hair tousled from sleep. She didn't go to her father; she ran straight to Huang Wen.
"What was that? I heard shots!" she whispered, her hands trembling as she grabbed his arm. She looked him over frantically, checking for blood. "Are you hurt? Did something happen?"
Huang Wen looked at her. He could lie. He could say it was a hunter in the woods. But he looked at the trust in her eyes and decided against it.
"It was Gaston," Huang Wen said softly. "He and LeFou. They came here with muskets. They wanted to kill me and your father."
Belle gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Where are they? Are they...?"
"They're dead, Belle," he said, choosing his words carefully. "I used a trick to make them lose their aim. They ended up shooting each other. It's over."
Belle's eyes widened. She didn't scream, and she didn't thank him. Instead, a look of profound shock and something like grief—not for Gaston, but for the loss of the world she knew—crossed her face. She looked at Huang Wen as if seeing a stranger for the first time, then turned and bolted back into her room, slamming the door.
Maurice, who had been watching from the shadows of his workshop, let out a long, weary sigh.
"You shouldn't have been so honest, son," Maurice said, shaking his head. "She's a dreamer. She reads about knights and battles, but the reality of blood... she's not ready for that. She doesn't have the stomach for it yet."
Huang Wen stood in the dim light of the fireplace, feeling a strange weight in his chest. "Maybe. But I'd rather she knows the truth of who I am than love a version of me that doesn't exist."
Maurice didn't answer. He just looked at the closed door of his daughter's room, knowing that the "freedom" Belle craved came with a price she hadn't yet learned how to pay.