Dual Cultivation System: The Villainous Servant’s Rise

“The Vice Chief Minister? Put a pin in that for now.”

Han Lie rubbed his chin, his expression grim. “Unless Mu Feng spills some truly explosive secrets, approaching a political rival is meaningless.”

If they couldn’t get dirty laundry on the Mu family, the best they could hope for was clearing the Zhuo Family’s name. But to drag the Minister of War down from his high horse? Without damning evidence, that was a pipe dream.

Qin Lianyi nodded in agreement.

Politics was a zero-sum game. It was always life and death. Without leverage—without a guarantee of victory—no seasoned politician like the Vice Chief Minister would risk his neck to ally with them. They needed ammunition first.

Two days passed in tense silence.

In the early hours of the morning, Mu Feng arrived at the Gentle Fragrance Pavilion, right on schedule.

Han Lie watched from the shadows until he confirmed Mu Feng had entered the building. Only then did he lead Qin Lianyi into Qian’er’s private dressing room.

“Young Master Mu is here, Miss Qian’er.”

Han Lie’s sudden appearance made Qian’er jump. She was already strung tighter than a bowstring.

Tonight, Qian’er had transformed. Gone was the reserved artist; in her place was a vision of unparalleled seduction. She wore a loose, deep crimson gauze gown that clung to her curves like mist. Her makeup was exquisite, her lips painted a glossy vermilion that begged to be tasted.

Most dangerously, the gown was secured by a single butterfly knot at her waist. One gentle tug, and the silk would fall away, revealing her proud, snowy figure completely.

This was her armor for the battle ahead.

She knew she was walking a tightrope. If she gave her chastity to Mu Feng, her value as a Songstress would crash instantly—she would be no better than the common streetwalkers in the lower districts. But if she refused him again, the consequences would be fatal.

Against the titanic power of the Mu family, she and the Gentle Fragrance Pavilion were nothing but mayflies trying to shake a tree—insignificant specks in a vast ocean. Her only hope was to escape Mu Feng’s control entirely.

Seeing it was Han Lie, Qian’er pressed a hand to her heaving chest. “Daoist… you nearly stopped my heart.” She hesitated, biting her lip. “There is one thing I must ask before I go out.”

“Speak,” Han Lie said.

“I am ready to risk everything tonight. Regardless of whether we succeed or fail… can you promise to get me out of the Great Qin Dynasty safely?”

“Done,” Han Lie agreed without a second thought. “Once this night is over, I will arrange for your departure immediately. However, one condition: if I need you to testify later, you must return.”

“I… I understand.” Qian’er lowered her head. She had no leverage to negotiate. Her fate was now entirely in Han Lie’s hands.

Knock, knock, knock.

A frantic rapping came from the door. “Qian’er! Young Master Mu is waiting! Hurry up!”

“Coming!”

Qian’er checked her reflection one last time, steeling her nerves. Then, with the grace of a woman marching to the gallows, she opened the door.

The private suite was thick with incense and ambiguity.

Mu Feng sat on the plush divan, legs crossed, wearing a smile that hovered somewhere between arrogance and lust.

Creak.

The door opened, and Qian’er glided in. When Mu Feng saw her attire—the translucent crimson silk, the way the light played on her skin—his eyes lit up with predatory hunger.

“Qian’er greets Young Master Mu.” She curtsied deeply, offering a glimpse of porcelain skin.

Usually, this would be the time for the high arts—zither, chess, poetry. But tonight, Qian’er’s performance was different. As she moved around the room, pouring tea and arranging instruments, every gesture was laced with deliberate provocation. A brush of her sleeve here, a lingering glance there.

Mu Feng was soon shifting uncomfortably, his patience wearing thin.

Finally, they sat down for wine. Mu Feng didn’t waste time.

“Qian’er,” he said, his voice thick. “The three days are up. Give me your answer.”

Qian’er didn’t panic. She picked up the wine pot, her movements slow and languid.

“Young Master Mu,” she purred, filling his cup. “I have thought about nothing else these past few days. I know that I am who I am today only because of your favor. You are my benefactor.”

She sighed softly, a sound designed to melt resolve. “But… Young Master knows the rules. Once a Songstress loses her purity, she is worthless. I do not wish to be discarded like a common whore.”

She looked up at him through her lashes, vulnerable and pleading. “If Young Master is willing to give this humble girl a future… even if it is only as a lowly maidservant in your household… then Qian’er is willing to give you her body and soul tonight.”

Mu Feng paused, considering.

To him, a woman from a brothel—even a high-class one—was unworthy of being a concubine. That required status. But a personal maidservant? A plaything kept in his manor? That was acceptable.

“Fine,” Mu Feng nodded magnanimously. “I promise you. You can enter the Mu Residence as my personal maid.”

Qian’er beamed, a smile of apparent relief and joy. She pushed a cup of strong liquor toward him.

“Thank you, Young Master, for your mercy. To serve you is a blessing I must have cultivated over three lifetimes.”

She picked up her own cup—filled with weak, watered-down wine.

“However… this is my first time,” she whispered shyly. “Could Young Master drink a few cups with me? To give me courage?”

“Hahaha! Good! Drink!”

Mu Feng laughed heartily. Guided by Qian’er’s soft hands, he linked his arm with hers—the traditional ‘cross-cupped wine’ usually reserved for weddings.

He drained the cup in one gulp.

Qian’er smiled sweetly and refilled it.

One cup. Two cups. Three cups.

What Mu Feng didn’t know was that Qian’er had tampered with the serving vessel. The chamber pouring his drink contained potent liquor laced with the Truth Serum. Her chamber contained only water and light wine.

After the third cup, the Truth Serum slammed into Mu Feng’s system.

The world began to spin. His thoughts grew fuzzy, his inhibitions dissolving like sugar in hot water. He assumed it was just the kick of the strong spirits.

Seeing his eyes glaze over, Qian’er moved. She gently pulled him toward the bed.

Mu Feng groaned and tried to lunge at her, his hands grabbing for the knot at her waist.

Qian’er caught his hands, stopping him with a gentle but firm grip. “Young Master, wait… wait just a moment. I have some questions… can you answer me first?”

“Questions?” Mu Feng slurred, his head lolling back. A goofy, arrogant grin plastered his face. “No problem! Ask! Ask anything! There is nothing I don’t know!”

Qian’er’s heart hammered against her ribs. She took a deep breath, glancing at the wall where she knew Han Lie was listening.

“I heard…” she started, her voice trembling slightly before she smoothed it out. “I heard rumors in the city. People say someone is planning a rebellion. Is it true?”

“Rebellion?” Mu Feng let out a loud, mocking snort. “You mean the Zhuo Family?”

He laughed, a cruel, hacking sound. “Heh! Of course it’s fake! That old bastard Zhuo Cheng… he didn’t know his place. He dared to ally with that demonic cultivator to humiliate me! To make me lose face!”

Mu Feng’s expression twisted into ugly vindictiveness. “I couldn’t let him get away with that, could I?”

“A demonic cultivator?” Qian’er leaned in, her voice a soft, coaxing whisper. “That sounds terrifying. Can Young Master tell me more? How did you… fix them?”