Why is My System Glitching

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.

Then—she moved.