"What do you want to talk about?" Her voice dropped like a pebble into still water.

Nana Toki slowly drew her hand from her pocket, like a cat easing out its paw, showing she meant no harm.

No wonder someone whose instincts shoved her here could survive—fox-sly under a moonlit hedge.

"The mastermind stepping out from behind the curtain to find me—do you have a job you want me to do?" Her words edged like a blade in frost.

"Ah... it’s not a big thing." The reply came soft, like mist sliding over reed marshes.

The robed figure scratched their head, embarrassment ruffling like wind across wet canvas. "I just want Nana to help with a test."

"A test?" Nana narrowed her eyes, wary as a cat in tall grass. "What kind of test?"

"Mm, a simple test. If Nana does it, it’ll be light as paper on a breeze." A smile hid under the hood like fireflies under leaves.

"As long as Nana keeps finishing tasks while you shuttle between planes, that’s all. Simple as rain on tiles."

"That’s it?" Nana froze, like a deer catching a hunter’s scent. "Nothing else?"

Hadn’t she been doing tasks all along? The ask felt crooked, like a bent branch over dark water.

"You think my request is strange, don’t you?" The hooded one’s tone slid in, keen as starlight on glass. "It’s not strange. What if one day Nana finds a way home early?"

"......"

"Of course I won’t make Nana do it for free. I’ll pay you." They waved lightly, like a gull shooing clouds.

"Nana, do you like Nesting Phoenix?"

"What do you mean?" Her face sank, storm-dark over ocean.

"Don’t make that scary face. It’s just a normal question," the robed one said, ignoring the flash of bloodlust like lightning behind her eyes. "Just answer yes or no."

"What are you after?" Nana slid her hand back into her pocket. Her gaze sharpened like a knife drawn at dusk.

"Oh-ho-ho, changing the subject? That’s so Nana." Their chuckle rustled like dry bamboo.

The robed figure stepped close, the hard-to-place voice landing like a hammer on her chest. "I can let Nana see Nesting Phoenix again."

"So, will you help?" The words hung like baited hook over dark water.

Images of Nesting Phoenix flickered across Nana’s mind, fireflies stuttering in summer dark.

"......"

"Silence counts as yes." The hooded one glided past her, a shadow crossing a pale path. "Don’t worry. As long as Nana doesn’t run, you’ll keep seeing Nesting Phoenix."

"Touch a single hair on Nesting Phoenix, and I’ll kill you." Her threat was cold rain on iron.

"......"

"Of course not. We’re partners. Right?" After a brief hush, the robed figure clapped, two stones knocking under a stream, then called to the System, "Little One, send Nana to the next plane."

"Eh?! Eh?!" The System jolted like a startled bird. "We’re... already starting the next plane?"

"Of course. We need to show Nana our sincerity." The hooded one bowed with a gentleman’s grace, like willow bending to river. "Let’s send her to a Stage Two plane."

"Eh?!" The System’s panic spiked like sparks from flint. "Can we really do that?!"

"Of course."

"I... I understand!" The System’s voice steadied like a lantern in wind.

From start to finish, Nana watched them with cool eyes, like winter light on ice.

"I look forward to your performance in the next plane." A pale white halo washed over her like dawn fog, and that was the last voice she heard before night swallowed her.

......

Drip... drip... The sound of liquid beading and falling, like rain leaking through a broken eave.

Nana pried her eyes open, weak as a moth against a window.

Her whole body screamed, as if her organs had been shattered like clay pots on stone.

Crimson seeped around her lower abdomen, a thin river winding through ash.

Cough... cough... A tearing pain ripped her heart and chest, as if a claw dragged through green bark. She nearly blacked out again.

Where is this place... The broken walls and scattered rubble lay like bones under a gray sky.

A sour gunpowder smell smudged the air, smoke-stripes curling like snakes.

She braced an arm and slid down the wall, sitting hard, mind a bird’s nest in a storm.

Wasn’t it supposed to be a Stage Two plane? Why am I dying the moment I appear, again? The System is playing me like a reed pipe.

System: "Uh... because the plane’s level went up, its difficulty spiked like a tide. Mm... its freedom rose too. Host, you got this!"

Nana Toki: "......" You left that out in your pretty brochure.

Quick... heal...

Her sight doubled and blurred, two moons smearing in the same sky—likely blood loss.

Hurry, or I’ll die on the roadside like a lantern gone out. She pressed her lower belly and spoke to her System.

System: "......" It quietly triggered Healing, warm light settling like sunlight through leaves.

While the System mended her, Nana combed through fresh memories, fingers through wet reeds.

It’s an urban story—streets lit like veins, shadows thick as ink.

The plane’s backdrop is X City, riddled with underground gangs like roots under old paving.

A penniless loser, Yiwei Yang, as the chosen son, stumbles into a cheat System by chance—flint catching spark.

Then starts the revenge-and-face-slapping trip, drumbeats rolling down an alley.

From that single line, Nana could picture the future like brushstrokes on rice paper.

Likely he gets dumped by a gold-digger girlfriend, wallowing like a fish in drying mud, then finds the System chose him.

The System tells him: finish its tasks, and he’ll get all kinds of superpowers—x‑ray sight, stamina like ten times a night—moonshine promises in a jar.

A gift falling from the sky—of course he’ll take it, hands up like a man in rain.

Pushed by Plot, he meets all kinds of beauties on the road, slaps all kinds of rich heirs—sparrows pecking peacocks.

He sings all the way, climbs the mountain to the so‑called peak—flags snapping in wind.

It’s a modern urban stallion novel, plain as neon on wet asphalt.

If it’s that type, then heroines, villains, and cannon fodder will swarm like a flock, or the Protagonist Lord’s charm won’t glow.

Villain Qingyu Si—hardest heroine to conquer, both antagonist and crown jewel—ice and flame in one jade.

She’s a mid‑stage character, because early on, while chasing some harem conquest, the Protagonist Lord accidentally wrecks a secret auction held by the Si Family—glass shattered under quiet moon—earning her lasting hatred.

So after the midpoint, every new harem conquest turns steeper, thorns thick on the climb.

In the end, the Protagonist Lord uses cheat after cheat, plus other haremettes’ assist, to drug Qingyu Si and force a conquest—storm pinned under a tarp—and then the book calls it done.

This kind of play, Nana had barely heard—wives helping their man hunt more wives—open as a window in winter.

Truly, a stallion novel—are the heroines all big‑chested and light‑headed, balloons tugging at strings?

Now, Nana’s role in this plane.

Original host: Shutong An, a small maid in the house of the mafia heiress antagonist—dew on a narrow leaf.

Kind and gentle by nature, loved by those in the residence, longing for a pure love like clear spring.

While the Protagonist Lord pursues Qingyu Si, thanks to Plot’s mysterious hand, she falls for him, then begins helping him conquer her own lady—sparrow aiding a hawk.

The Protagonist Lord of course knows she likes him; as a stallion who thinks with the lower half, he confesses fast, a firework under low clouds.

But with too many women already, he won’t make it public. Their tie stays a shadow, alley-light behind shutters.

Luckily, Shutong An has some sense. Fearing his roving nature, that he’ll play her and toss her aside, she makes three rules—ink lines across a contract.

If he won’t go public, she won’t share his bed—door latched against easy storm.

That thought runs against the stallion genre’s instant thunderclap fun, so she gets few scenes—lantern dimmed after midnight.

Her last appearance: lured out by his sweet words like fireflies, then killed in a nameless explosion—flower burned to ash.

Afterward, the Protagonist Lord lives like nothing happened, wind clean on his face, ignoring her death like old snow.

He even uses it to approach Qingyu Si—stepping stones across a black river. Cold to the bone.

So the original host has only one wish—revenge—iron forged in a mountain stream.

......

Ding! Main Quest Triggered: God‑Tier Self‑Cultivation of the Ultra‑Perfect Maid.

Stage One: Swift as Wind, Fierce as Thunder—banners snapping in storm.

Task Description: A maid’s self‑cultivation can only be grasped, not told—tea fragrance behind a closed lid.

Nana Toki: "......" Could you issue tasks people can actually understand? Stop playing word games like magpies.

System: "......" It wasn’t me! The Master sent the description like a sealed letter.

"......" Your Master’s taste runs perverse, honey over chili.

Nana’s mouth twitched, half laugh, half sigh, like reeds bending in rain.

The plot already made her speechless—stones stacked on her chest.

Didn’t expect a freak to make her even more speechless—extra sand in the rice.

Too much to complain about, and nowhere to start—knots in a fisherman’s net.

Let’s go home first. The wounds were healed by the System’s light, warm as dawn.

She patted dust off her dress, ash drifting like moths, and saw a crowd gathering outside the ruin, moths to a burnt lamp.

She reached into the hidden space for clean clothes, then paused—moonlight caught like a blade.

The Protagonist Lord wants to court her lady. This is a perfect chance to sabotage—stone in a river’s throat.

Right then, Nana tore a few more rents in her already ragged dress—threads snapping like dry grass—and smudged dust on her face, a warpaint of ash.

She ran for home under the moon, footsteps tapping like rain on tiles.

Heh, framing and planting evidence—she’s an old hand—fox prints in fresh snow.

She won’t just stop the Protagonist Lord from conquering Qingyu Si; she’ll break apart every woman orbiting him—stars scattered by storm.

If you love sleeping with women, I’ll make sure you sleep with none—bed cold as winter stone.

Want a rise? Impossible. Reincarnate and try again—autumn leaf drifting back to root.