The next morning, the small courtyard buzzed with activity. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon, painting the sky in shades of pale orange and grey.

Wang Jian stood in the center of the yard, adjusting his robes. He wasn’t wearing his usual attire, nor the flamboyant robes of a sect elder. He was dressed simply, in the rougher, practical garb of a wealthy rogue cultivator.

He looked at his women. They were ready.

“Veils,” he commanded, tossing lengths of fine, semi-sheer silk to them. “Put them on. We aren’t hiding your beauty because I’m jealous. We’re adding mystery. Men are stupid. They chase what they can’t fully see.”

Qiu Yun, Su Ning, and Bai Xue caught the silk. They draped the veils over their faces, obscuring their features but leaving their alluring eyes visible. It somehow made them look even more tempting.

Wang Jian beckoned them closer. His expression was serious, the playful lover gone, replaced by the cold tactician.

“Listen up,” he said, his voice low. “You three have the most important job today. I need you to head into the city ahead of us. Use whatever contacts you have left. I want to know exactly where the Azure Sword Clan disciples and the Silent Puppet Guild members are hanging out.”

He paused, looking each of them in the eye.

“Find the tension points,” he instructed. “These two factions are allies of convenience. They don’t like each other. They’re just working together because Fu Yan is paying them. I want you to find the cracks in that alliance.”

Qiu Yun nodded, her eyes flashing behind her veil. “We understand, Master.”

“Good,” Wang Jian said. “We need to turn Fu Yan’s allies against him. And the best way to do that is through their disciples. Young cultivators are full of three things: Jealousy. Lust. And Pride.”

He grinned, a wolfish expression. “And you three are going to be the spark that lights the powder keg.”

He pointed a finger at them. “You are the bait. Find the highest-ranking disciples you can from both factions. The arrogant ones. The ones with something to prove. Make them fight over you. Create a diplomatic incident so messy that their elders can’t ignore it.”

He reached into his own storage pouch and pulled out three shimmering jade talismans. He handed one to each of them.

“These are high-grade escape talismans,” he explained. “I crafted them myself. If things get dangerous, if they try to force themselves on you, crush these. You’ll be teleported randomly three miles away. Do not let them touch you. You belong to me. Your bodies are my property. Understand?”

“Yes, Master,” they chorused, their voices filled with a mix of excitement and devotion. They tucked the talismans into their robes, close to their skin.

“Go,” Wang Jian dismissed them. “Make me proud.”

The three women turned and vanished out the gate, moving with the fluid grace of cultivators, eager to serve their new master and prove their worth.

Wang Jian watched them go, then turned to the two women remaining.

Liu Ruyan stood beside him, dressed in elegant, flowing robes that hinted at the curves beneath without giving everything away. She looked every inch the favored concubine of a powerful young master.

And then there was Sect Mistress Lianhua.

She was dressed simply, almost plainly, in the robes of a servant. She held a large cloth bag in her hands. It wasn’t heavy—Wang Jian kept all the real treasures, the spirit stones and artifacts, in his own interspatial pouches. This bag just contained a few changes of clothes and some mundane supplies.

It was a prop. A symbol.

“Ready?” Wang Jian asked, looking at her.

Sect Mistress Lianhua looked down at the bag in her hands. A few weeks ago, the idea of carrying luggage like a common servant would have been a mortal insult. She was a Core Formation expert! The leader of a sect!

But now?

She felt a strange, twisting thrill in her gut. She looked up at Wang Jian, her eyes shining with a submissive eagerness. She wasn’t humiliated. She had accepted her new reality. She was his. If he wanted her to be a queen, she would be a queen. If he wanted her to be a servant, she would be the best servant in the world.

“I am ready, Master,” she said softly, clutching the bag tighter. “I am honored to carry your things.”

Wang Jian smiled, reaching out to stroke her cheek through the veil she wore. “Good girl. Let’s go.”

They left the courtyard and headed towards the city.

The walk was a performance. Wang Jian strode down the center of the road, projecting an aura of arrogant confidence. Liu Ruyan walked right beside him, her arm linked through his, her body pressing against him occasionally, acting the part of the spoiled, beloved woman.

Sect Mistress Lianhua walked two steps behind them, head bowed slightly, carrying the bag. She kept her pace even, her eyes fixed on Wang Jian’s back. She felt a strange sense of peace in this role. No decisions to make. No sect politics to worry about. Just follow him. Just serve him.

They reached the city gates. The place was bustling. This market city, sitting in the shadow of the Crimson Pill Sect, was a hub for trade. Cultivators from all over the region, mortal merchants, wandering mercenaries, and spies were everywhere.

The noise was a wall of sound—shouting vendors, the clatter of carriages, the roar of beasts pulling carts.

They passed the guards without issue, Wang Jian tossing a few low-grade spirit stones as a ‘tip’ to ensure no questions were asked.

They entered the market district.

Immediately, Wang Jian’s senses went into overdrive. The Verdant Eternal Spring Essence within his body began to hum. It vibrated in his veins, reacting to the presence of potent plant life nearby.

He could sense them. Rare herbs. Powerful roots. Things that weren’t on the display tables.

“This way,” he murmured to Liu Ruyan, steering them towards a row of apothecaries and herb stalls.

He stopped at a stall run by a grizzled old man with one eye. The table was covered in common spirit grass and low-level ginseng.

Wang Jian ignored the display. He looked straight at the old man.

“You have something better in the back,” Wang Jian said, his voice low. “Something that smells like thunder and earth.”

The old man’s single eye widened. He looked around nervously, then reached under the table. He pulled out a wooden box. Inside was a gnarled root that crackled with faint static electricity. “Thunder-Root Ginseng.”

“Sharp nose, young master,” the old man rasped.

“How much?” Wang Jian asked.

“Five hundred spirit stones.”

“Two hundred,” Wang Jian countered instantly. “It’s dry. It’s been out of the ground too long. The potency is fading.”

The old man scowled. “Three hundred.”

“Two fifty. And you throw in that bag of Star-Anise seeds.”

“Deal.”

Wang Jian paid the man, tossing the root and the seeds into his spatial pouch. He moved on, a shark in the water.

Sect Mistress Lianhua followed silently, watching him work. She admired his sharpness. He wasn’t just strong; he was shrewd. He knew value.

They moved through the market for an hour. Wang Jian bought rare seeds, peculiar ores, and strange beast bloods. He haggled aggressively, enjoying the game.

Liu Ruyan pointed out a few alchemical ingredients she recognized, whispering their uses to him, reinforcing their cover as a cultivating couple shopping for supplies.

Eventually, the midday sun began to beat down.

“I’m thirsty,” Wang Jian announced, stopping in the middle of the street. He looked around. “That place looks decent.”

He pointed to a large, multi-story building with carved wooden balconies. The ‘Fragrant Cloud Teahouse’. It was an upscale establishment, popular with wealthy cultivators.

“Let’s find a private room,” he said, a dark glint entering his eyes that Sect Mistress Lianhua recognized instantly.

Her heart skipped a beat. She tightened her grip on the bag.

They entered the teahouse. A waiter rushed over, bowing low seeing their fine clothes (and Wang Jian’s arrogant demeanor).

“A private room,” Wang Jian demanded. “Top floor. Best tea you have. And I don’t want to be disturbed.”

“Of course, Young Master! Right this way!”

They were led up the stairs to a lavishly decorated room on the third floor. It had a balcony overlooking the street, thick carpets, and a low table surrounded by plush cushions.

The waiter brought a pot of steaming, fragrant tea and retreated, closing the heavy door.

Wang Jian didn’t sit immediately. He walked around the room, inspecting the walls. He tapped a few spots, checking the soundproofing arrays embedded in the wood.

“Decent,” he muttered. “Not perfect, but good enough for privacy.”

He sat down at the head of the low table, spreading his legs wide.

“Tea, Ruyan,” he commanded.

Liu Ruyan knelt gracefully beside the table and began to pour the tea, her movements fluid and practiced.

Wang Jian looked at Sect Mistress Lianhua, who was standing by the door, still holding the bag.

“Put the bag down, Lianhua,” he said softly.

She obeyed, setting it in the corner.

He looked at the table, then at her. “The table is a bit… cramped,” he mused, tapping his fingers on the wood. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable underneath it?”

Sect Mistress Lianhua froze. She looked at the low table. There was barely enough room for a person to fit underneath.

She looked at Wang Jian. His eyes were hard, expectant.

She looked at Liu Ruyan, who was calmly sipping her tea, acting as if this was the most normal request in the world.

Sect Mistress Lianhua took a breath. She walked over to the table. She didn’t argue. She didn’t hesitate. She dropped to her knees.

She crawled under the table.

It was tight. The tablecloth hung down on all sides, creating a dark, intimate tent. Wang Jian’s legs were spread wide in front of her.

“Comfortable?” his voice came from above, muffled slightly by the wood.

“Yes, Master,” she whispered into the darkness.

“Good. Then serve me.”

She reached out. Her hands trembled slightly as she undid the sash of his trousers. She pulled the fabric down.

His cock sprang free, already semi-hard, twitching in the dim light under the table.

Sect Mistress Lianhua leaned forward. She opened her mouth and took him in.

Above the table, Wang Jian picked up his teacup. He took a slow, deliberate sip. His face was perfectly impassive, the picture of a young master enjoying a quiet afternoon break.

Under the table, wet, slurping sounds began.

“This tea is excellent, Ruyan,” Wang Jian said conversationally. “What is it? Mist-Mountain Peak?”

“I believe so, Jian,” Liu Ruyan replied, her voice steady, though her cheeks were slightly flushed. “It has that characteristic aftertaste of pine needles.”

Under the table, Sect Mistress Lianhua worked her tongue around the head of his cock. She bobbed her head, taking more of him in, her throat opening to accommodate his length.

Wang Jian felt the warmth of her mouth, the suction. He let out a small, contented sigh that could have just been appreciation for the tea.

He nudged Sect Mistress Lianhua gently with his knee.

“Use your tits,” he commanded softly, his voice barely a whisper, directed downwards.

Sect Mistress Lianhua obeyed instantly. She pulled back. She loosened the top of her robes, freeing her massive breasts. She pressed them together, creating a deep, soft valley of flesh.

She slid his cock between them.

She began to slide up and down. Her breasts were so large, so soft, they enveloped him completely. The friction was incredible.

Above, Wang Jian leaned back slightly on his cushion. “So, Ruyan,” he said, his voice a little tighter than before. “Tell me more about the local pill market prices you noticed downstairs.”

“Well,” Liu Ruyan said, setting her cup down. She avoided looking under the table, focusing on his face. “The price of Spirit-Mending Grass has spiked. It seems the conflict between the factions is disrupting supply lines from the south.”

“Is that so?” Wang Jian grunted. Under the table, he reached down with one hand. He grabbed a handful of Sect Mistress Lianhua’s hair, guiding her rhythm. Faster. Harder.

The thrill was intoxicating. Just outside the door, waiters were walking past with trays of food. In the next room, he could hear the muffled laughter of other cultivators.

And here he was, getting titty-fucked by a Sect Mistress while her disciple drank tea across from him.

He closed his eyes for a moment, extending his spiritual sense. He pushed it outwards, past the walls of the room, filtering through the noise of the teahouse.

He wasn’t just here for pleasure. He was here to listen.

He picked up snippets of conversation from the floor below.

“…heard Fu Yan is getting paranoid…”

“…doubled the guards on the treasury…”

“…Azure Sword guys are getting restless… haven’t been paid the full amount promised…”

“…Puppet Guild freaks are creeping everyone out… saw one staring at a wall for three hours…”

Wang Jian smirked. The cracks were already there. He just needed to pry them open.

Under the table, Sect Mistress Lianhua was working hard. She switched between her mouth and her breasts, eager to please, desperate to be useful. She licked the tip, swirled her tongue around the sensitive ridge, then buried him in her cleavage again.

Wang Jian felt the pressure building.

He grabbed her head firmly with his hand under the table. He stopped her movement.

“Mouth,” he hissed. “Now. Deep.”

Sect Mistress Lianhua opened wide. He thrust his hips forward, driving deep into her throat.

She didn’t gag. She took him. She let him use her face.

He moved his hips, short, sharp thrusts. His breathing quickened.

“Ruyan… pour me… another cup…” he gasped.

Liu Ruyan reached for the teapot, her hand shaking just a little. She poured.

Wang Jian groaned, his body tensing. He thrust one final time, burying himself to the hilt. He climaxed, pumping hot, thick seed down the throat of the Sect Mistress.

She swallowed. She kept sucking until he was dry, cleaning him thoroughly.

He slumped back, exhaling a long breath.

After a moment, he tapped her head. “Good. Clean me up.”

She used her own silk handkerchief to wipe him down. She adjusted his trousers, re-tying the sash.

Then, she crawled out from under the table.

She stood up, smoothing her robes. Her face was flushed, her lips slightly swollen and red. She wiped a stray drop of saliva from the corner of her mouth. She looked thoroughly used, but completely composed.

“Is there anything else, Master?” she asked quietly.

“No,” Wang Jian said, standing up and stretching. He felt refreshed, energized. “That will do.”

He tossed a spirit stone onto the table for the tea.

“Let’s go,” he said. “Now. Let’s see what our little spies have found.”

They left the teahouse and walked deeper into the city, towards the seedier district where the taverns and gambling dens were located. This was where the mercenaries and the rougher cultivators hung out.

They turned into a secluded, narrow alleyway that smelled of old rain and shadows.

Three figures stepped out of the gloom to meet them.

Qiu Yun, Su Ning, and Bai Xue.

They looked different. They had changed their clothes. They were wearing the outfits Wang Jian had ordered them to buy—daring, provocative robes that hinted at everything and promised even more. They wore heavy perfume, and their veils were sheer, revealing the beauty of their faces.

“Master,” Qiu Yun stepped forward, bowing low. “We found them.”

“Report,” Wang Jian said.

“There is a tavern called the ‘Drunken Immortal’,” Qiu Yun said, her voice low and excited. “It’s neutral ground, but it’s crowded. We found a group of Azure Sword elites occupying the main tables on the second floor. And a team of Puppet Guild handlers are in the corner.”

She grinned beneath her veil. “There is already tension. They are glaring at each other. The Azure Sword disciples are drunk and loud. The Puppet Guild members are quiet and creepy. It’s a powder keg.”

“Excellent,” Wang Jian said. “Did you identify targets?”

“Yes,” Su Ning spoke up. “The Azure Sword leader is a young man. Very arrogant. He wears the crest of Deacon Jiao’s family. He’s likely his nephew. He’s been loudly bragging about his sword skills and eyeing the serving girls.”

“And the Puppet Guild?”

“The leader is a strange one,” Bai Xue piped up. “His name is Mo Li. I heard the others call him that. He’s a genius, they say, but he treats everyone like dirt. He’s been playing with a small wooden spider on his table, ignoring everyone.”

Wang Jian’s mind raced, formulating the specific steps. “Perfect. We have an arrogant brute and an antisocial genius. Oil and water.”

He looked at his three agents. “Here is the plan. Listen closely.”

“Qiu Yun,” he pointed to the fiery redhead. “You take the Azure Sword brat. Deacon Jiao’s nephew. He’s your target. Flatter him. Stroke his ego. Make him feel like the king of the world. And then… make him feel like Mo Li disrespected you.”

“Su Ning,” he turned to the gentle scholar. “You take Mo Li. Approach him with curiosity. Ask about his puppets. Feign admiration for his ‘art’. Get close to him.”

“And Bai Xue,” he looked at the innocent-faced girl. “You are the catalyst. You play the victim caught in the middle.”

He outlined the scene in brutal detail. “Bai Xue, you will walk past Mo Li’s table. You will ‘accidentally’ bump into him. Spill a drink. Make a mess. Then, act terrified. Pretend he grabbed you. Pretend he tried to take advantage of you.”

He turned back to Qiu Yun. “When that happens, you make sure your Azure Sword hero sees it. Tell him that the creepy puppet master is assaulting a helpless girl. Demand he do something. Demand he defend the honor of women.”

“And Su Ning,” he added, his voice turning dark. “You will support Mo Li at first, but you will actually be fueling the conflict. You will use that special ‘Berserker Sage’ incense I gave you. Light it near their table. It makes tempers flare. It makes men irrational.”

He reached into his pouch and handed Su Ning a tiny, needle-like dart. It glistened with a greenish liquid.

“And this,” he said. “This is for insurance. If they just shout at each other, it’s not enough. We need blood. If swords are drawn… use this. Prick the Azure Sword disciple. Or Mo Li. It doesn’t matter who. Just make sure someone gets hurt badly enough to scream.”

“The goal,” he said, his voice hard, “is a death. Or a maiming. I want an Azure Sword disciple dead by a Puppet Guild hand, or vice versa. Make it public. Make it messy. Make it impossible for their leaders to ignore.”

“Once the fighting starts in earnest,” he commanded, “vanish. Use the escape talismans immediately. Do not get caught in the crossfire. Do not let them touch you. You belong to me.”

“I will be watching from the shadows,” he finished. “If they need a little… extra push… I’ll provide it.”

The three women nodded, their eyes shining with the thrill of the mission. “We understand, Master.”

“Go,” Wang Jian said. “The show is starting. We need to be ready to reap the benefits.”

The three sluts turned and headed towards the ‘Drunken Immortal’ tavern, their hips swaying, ready to tear an alliance apart with nothing but a few words and a lot of beauty.

Wang Jian, Liu Ruyan, and Sect Mistress Lianhua moved to a rooftop vantage point overlooking the tavern’s balcony.

They settled in to watch.

Through the open windows of the tavern, Wang Jian could see the three beauties enter. The reaction was immediate. Heads turned. Conversation stopped. Lust flared in the eyes of the men inside.

Within minutes, the shouting started.

Wang Jian watched as the Azure Sword disciple stood up, shoving his table aside, pointing his finger at the Puppet Master in the corner.

He smiled a cold, terrible smile.

“The alliance is about to crack,” he whispered.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep