At the rear mountain of Twin Peak Hill in the Hanz Clan Estate, an elegant two-story pavilion gazebo stood like a jewel in the southeast residence district, its lacquered wood gleaming under the midday sun. Cradled by a vast, sprawling lake, the pavilion gazebo surface choked with water lilies—thick emerald leaves and delicate pink blooms stretching as far as the eye could see.
Shirley Quinn lounged against the gazebo’s carved railing, her beauty a sultry spell woven into the scene. Her crimson dress clung to her curves, the fabric teasingly sheer, catching the light as it danced with her movements. The slit of her dress parted just enough to reveal the teasing curve of her round thigh. Long, moon-white legs dangled over the edge, toes skimming the lake’s surface with a naughty, languid sway, each motion dripping with allure. Her twin-tailed hair, woven into intricate braids, gleamed like polished onyx, framing a face of delicate, lustful charm—crimson lips parted slightly, eyes half-lidded with a smoldering gaze. She fanned herself lazily with a colorful feather fan, its gentle arcs barely veiling her exquisite features, radiating a siren’s grace that held her Suicide Squad in thrall.
A young female cultivator in a pink skirt hurried to her side, bowing deeply. "Senior Sister," she said, brow furrowed, "we’ve scoured every inch of this pavilion and probed the soil with caged spirits. Nothing."
Nearby, the Suicide Squad stood empty-handed, their faces carved with frustration, sweat beading under the oppressive heat.
Shirley’s yawn unfurled like a slow, attractive promise, her body arching in a stretch that accentuated every lush curve. The fabric of her dress clung just a little tighter as she sighed, her voice a velvet purr, dripping with lazy desire. "Mmm... I’d much rather take a nap... preferably with company." Her lips curved into a teasing smile, eyes half-lidded with temptation.
But then her gaze slid back to the lake—where the water lilies swayed, their petals trembling like the flushed skin of a lover. The choked surface shimmered, a decadent tapestry of greens and pinks, inviting, begging to be disturbed.
"If the Treasury isn’t in the pavilion..." she murmured, twirling a braid around her finger with deliberate slowness, her touch light but suggestive. "Then it must be buried deep... beneath all these delicious flowers." A slow, wicked grin played on her lips as she eyed the water, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "Such a shame they’re in the way... Don’t you think someone should pluck them?"
With a flick of her wrist, she tossed her feather fan aside. Her double-tailed red fox leapt with grace, catching it between sharp teeth. The pink-skirted female cultivator helped Shirley Quinn rise, while a blushing young male cultivator hurried to kneel, reverently slipping red stiletto sandals onto her feet, his hands trembling under her gaze.
Delicate fingers wove through the air, crimson nails leaving faint trails of light. The wind itself seemed to obey her, lifting her beautiful twin tails as an eerie green glow kindled in her eyes.
A sudden gale roared over the lake!
Shirley Quinn’s red dress billowing, clinging to her form like a lover’s caress. Red water lilies trembled. Green leaves shuddered. And then—life itself was ripped free. Tiny emerald lights—essence, vitality—wrenched violently from the plants. Countless emerald light specks tore free from the water lily leaves, drawn to Shirley’s outstretched palms in a shimmering stream, like a river of stolen life.
The pink-skirted cultivator’s eyes widened. "Brilliant, Senior Sister Quinn! The Life Absorption Art, meant for healing, used to clear the lake’s foliage in an instant? You’re a genius!"
The squad murmured fervent praise, captivated by their captain’s cunning and allure.
But at that moment, the red fox’s jaws parted, the feather fan clattering to the ground.
A sharp, bone-chilling yowl sliced the air.
Shirley’s smirk froze and her gaze snapped back to the lake, her seductive poise fracturing.
Blood began to weep from a few water lily blooms, staining the blue water crimson.
As the Life Absorption Art drained the vitality of the plants, the swaying water lilies revealed their true form.
Where flowers once floated, severed heads now bobbed—hundreds, thousands of them, flesh bloated and eyes milky. Their slack jaws yawned open, waterlogged hair clinging to peeling skin.
Then—a slow, deliberate shift on the bloodied water.
The severed heads turned one by one, unnatural, unhurried, their sodden faces turning toward the gazebo. Lifeless pupils dilated, then ruptured, thick black blood oozing from their sockets.
Bleeding eyes fixed at Shirley Quinn and her Suicide Squad.
Atop the rear mountain, the Hanz Clan Ancestral Shrine descended into pandemonium.
Heavy gates of the main hall slammed shut in deafening cascades on their own. Candlelit lanterns snuffed out in unison. And a suffocating, pitch-black darkness engulfed Thorn Squad.
Lordi Payne’s hand shot to the Blade of Life Hater strapped to his back, its bone-white edge catching a faint, eerie gleam in the dark.
The abrupt chaos jolted Thorn Squad, but as all of them were late rank Qi Refinement Stage cultivators, they held their nerve despite the shock. Carl Murphy reacted first. With a sharp incantation, he summoned a sickly green ghostfire, that flared to life, casting a ghastly glow across the hall...