The sun had already slipped low behind the hills, painting the estate in shades of amber and iron. Dust motes floated lazily in the air, stirred by a draft that whispered through the cracked window panes. Inside, the house smelled of old timber, ink, and the faint tang of earth—a place where every corner had been measured, every wall accounted for, every object placed with purpose. He lay in his bed, thin, pale, and quiet. The body had grown tired; ninety-one years had left it brittle. Yet his eyes, when they opened, still carried the careful weight of a lifetime spent tallying, managing, and correcting.
He had never been a man of ambition, not in the conventional sense. He had built no armies, conquered no lands, left no monuments to his name. His victories were quiet: a fence repaired before the rain came, a mismanaged ledger corrected in time, a young apprentice taught to respect not just the work, but the cost of neglect. His hands, once steady and exacting, now trembled slightly, yet he smiled faintly, remembering each small success. There was satisfaction in it, a deep, steady joy that had carried him through decades of mundane labor. He had loved the work—not for power, not for glory—but because it was necessary, because it endured.
The house was silent except for the slow rhythm of his breathing. He thought of the apprentices he had guided, now old themselves, scattered across the countryside. Of the mistakes he had allowed, and the mistakes he had corrected. His mind, sharper than his body, traced the ledger of his life. Each choice, each correction, each patient year filed away neatly. In that quiet moment, he felt the faintest tug at the edges of his consciousness, a pull he could not explain.
He closed his eyes, not with fear, not with regret, but with the same calm certainty he had carried through life. Everything had been accounted for. Everything had been balanced. And yet… a feeling lingered, not unlike the slight tremor in a foundation he had once corrected too late: something was shifting.
Outside, the wind rustled through the orchard, shaking loose the last of the autumn leaves. The scent of wet soil drifted in, mingling with the smoke from the hearth, now cold. Each beam of the house bore a mark of age, each floorboard a history of careful walking. Even death, it seemed, had to wait for the small details to settle: the lock turned just so, the kettle on the stove emptied, the windows closed against the night.
He was not afraid of leaving. He had made peace with the end decades ago, watching the years slip by as though they were pages in a ledger he could finally close. There was pride, yes, but also a quiet sorrow: for the hands he had guided that stumbled, for the small corners of the world he could not fix, for the people who had passed through his life and were gone. And yet, even here, on the edge of death, a faint curiosity stirred. A question, almost too subtle to name: What comes after all this careful work?
His breath slowed. The orchard darkened. The faint tug at the edge of his mind grew, a whisper beneath the fading pulse of life. And then, as his chest fell still, as the house held its final breath alongside him, the world shifted.
A single light, small and precise, blinked somewhere in the distance of consciousness. A ledger not yet written. A balance not yet struck. And in the faintest, quietest way, he felt it: another chance to do it all again.
The first thing he noticed was the pressure. It wasn't just air; it felt like standing at the bottom of a deep lake, a heavy, vibrating weight that made his teeth ache. He didn't look at the violet sky or the two suns—he was too busy trying not to vomit. His new lungs felt like they were trying to breathe wet wool.
He rolled onto his side, his hand sinking into dirt that felt unnaturally cold. Instinctively, his fingers sifted through the soil, rubbing it between thumb and forefinger. It was coarse, over-saturated with some kind of shimmering mineral that bit into his skin like glass shards.
Poor drainage, he thought automatically, the habit of ninety years kicking in before his brain even processed that he was supposed to be dead. The silt is too heavy. Nothing but weeds will grow here. Then, a flicker appeared in the corner of his left eye. It wasn't a glowing screen or a majestic voice. It was a dull, grey box that looked like a poorly inked tax receipt.
[Current Asset: 1.2 Hectares (Arid/Saturated Mix)]
[Infrastructure: None]
[Condition: Critical Decay]
He blinked, but the box stayed. It didn't offer him a "Quest" or a "Level Up." It didn't tell him he was a hero. It just listed his current surroundings like a bankruptcy notice from a lawyer he'd worked with in a previous life.
"Is that it?" he rasped. His voice was higher than it used to be—younger, but cracked from disuse.
He waited for a tutorial. He waited for a starter weapon. Instead, he got a small, flickering notification at the bottom of the ledger:
[Observation required. Patterns incomplete.]
He stared at the dirt under his fingernails—blood was starting to bead where the soil had sliced his skin. A "genius" would have looked at the mountains and shouted at the heavens. A "hero" would have checked his stats.
He just stood up, wiped the bloody mud on his tunic, and looked for a source of water. If the soil was this saturated, there was a leak or a spring nearby that was being wasted. He couldn't build a life, let alone "cultivate," if the foundation was a swamp.
He did not rush. He ignored the hum in the air and the strange birds overhead. He had a plot of land that was failing, and he had never been able to stand a messy ledger.
He crouched by a shallow depression in the ground, pressing his palms against the cold, wet soil. Fingers tracing invisible lines, he mapped out drainage paths, noticing the subtle slope toward the western edge of the property. A small trickle of water pooled there, barely moving, suffocating under a tangle of weeds and mud. Left unchecked, it would rot everything around it, encourage pests, invite mold.
He knelt longer than necessary, tracing the contours, calculating the minimal effort needed to divert the water without tearing up more soil than required. One wrong cut, one misplaced stone, and the foundation would be unstable for years. His back ached, but he ignored it. Every shift of weight, every bruise from the jagged mineral in the soil was logged in his mind. Pain had never stopped him before; it would not start now.
At last, he stood and surveyed his little domain. Not a blade of grass had been moved, not a stone shifted—but already, in the subtle lines of drainage he had envisioned, the land whispered possibilities. The ledger in his mind hummed faintly, almost approvingly, but it did not speak. That was fine. He did not need accolades. Observation was enough.
His stomach growled. He ignored it, letting his mind wander to tools and materials. No infrastructure. No buildings. No waterwheel. No shelter. Nothing but soil, rocks, and weeds. Most cultivators would panic at the scale of the problem. He barely blinked. He had managed estates before. He had turned neglected orchards into thriving farms. He knew patience. He knew planning
.
He bent down again, this time plucking a handful of the coarse soil and letting it crumble between his fingers. The minerals glimmered faintly in the twilight. Interesting. Perhaps there was value here after all, something most would overlook. He made a mental note to test the composition later, maybe even set a small fire to see how the minerals reacted to heat. A tiny spark of curiosity bloomed, but it was carefully restrained. Observation first. Action later. Always foundation first.
The faint hum in the air persisted, but he ignored it. The ledger box blinked again, listing assets and conditions, still brutally honest, still indifferent. It did not praise. It did not threaten. It simply existed. Perfect. That was exactly the kind of partner he preferred: quiet, patient, precise.
He knelt once more by the trickle of water, letting it run over his fingers. If he moved just the right stones, dug just the right channels, he could save most of this patch. He would not rush. There was no glory in haste. Each adjustment, each minor correction, would compound over days, months, years. By the time the world noticed him, the foundation would be unshakeable.
And that was all that mattered.
The grey ledger in his vision flickered, responding to his intent.
[Proposed Action: Irrigation/Drainage Diversion][Projected Labor: 14 Hours][Projected Outcome: Soil Saturation reduced by 15%, Arability increased by 4%]
He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead with the back of a hand that still felt too small, too thin. The memories of this body—young Lu Jinhai—were like damp parchment, sticking together in clumps.
He saw a father, a man with ink-stained fingers and a hunched back, a Quartermaster who had spent his life counting spirit stones for men who didn't know his name. He saw the "Internal Dispute"—a polite term for a massacre—where the Sect's higher-ups needed a scapegoat for missing funds. His father hadn't stolen them; he had simply found the ledger where the theft was recorded.The compensation for his father's "accidental death" had been this: 1.2 hectares of the "Spirit-Sinking Barrens." To the Sect, it was a joke—a death sentence wrapped in a legal deed. To the old man now inhabiting Jinhai's body, it was simply an asset with high overhead and poor initial valuation.
"A ledger is only as good as the man holding the brush," he whispered to the silence.
He stood up and walked toward the western edge of the plot. He needed a tool. His eyes scanned the debris of the "estate"—a collapsed lean-to made of rotted cedar. He didn't look for a sword or a mystical artifact. He looked for a sturdy piece of wood and a flat stone. He found a rusted iron strap from a broken crate. It was jagged, discarded. To anyone else, it was trash. To him, it was a primary tool. He began to lash it to a sturdy branch using the tough, fibrous weeds he had pulled earlier.
[Tool Created: Crude Hoe/Mattock (Quality: F-)][Note: Tool durability is low. Use with precision].
He ignored the warning. He knew how to handle fragile things. He returned to the trickle of water. He didn't just start digging. He stood for nearly an hour, watching the way the water pooled. He noticed that the "shimmering minerals" didn't just sit in the dirt; they seemed to repel the water, causing it to stagnate in odd, oily bubbles.
He struck the first blow. Clack.
The iron hit the mineral-heavy soil, and a spark of violet light flew off the ground. A sharp, stinging vibration traveled up his arms, making his teeth rattle.
[Warning: Ambient Qi Interference detected in Mineral Silt.][Physical Strain: 2% Increase.]
"Inefficiency," he grumbled, his voice like dry leaves. He adjusted his grip, shifting his center of gravity. He didn't fight the earth; he angled the blade to slip between the mineral shards.
Hours passed. The two suns dipped lower, their light turning the violet sky into a bruised plum color. His back screamed. His new lungs burned. But as the moon rose, a thin, clean line had been cut through the muck. The stagnant pool shivered, then began to move. It followed the path he had laid—a gentle, sloping curve that bypassed the heaviest mineral deposits and led toward a natural basin at the far end of the property.
As the water began to flow, the ledger box turned a faint shade of green.[Milestone Achieved: Basic Resource Management][Asset Condition: Improving][Cultivation Manual: "Standard Bureau of Records – Qi Circulation" (Fragmented) – Detected.]
Jinhai paused, leaning on his makeshift hoe. The "Manual" his father had left him was a pathetic thing, designed for clerks to keep their eyes sharp while counting gold. It wasn't meant for immortality. It was meant for productivity."Perfect," Jinhai breathed.
He sat cross-legged in the dirt, closing his eyes. He didn't try to "absorb the heavens." Instead, he visualized his body as a warehouse. The Qi he had spent digging was a withdrawal. The air he breathed was a fresh shipment. He used the fragmented manual not to grow "stronger," but to audit his exhaustion.
He traced the flow of energy. He found the "leaks"—the places where his posture was poor, where his muscles were tensing unnecessarily. He began to "re-file" the energy, smoothing it out, tucking it into the corners of his Dantian with the neatness of a master filer.
Suddenly, the Ledger blinked rapidly.
[Efficiency Threshold Crossed.][Internal Foundation: Adjusted for Maximum Output.][Status: Initial Qi Refining (Consolidated).]
Most cultivators fought for years to "consolidate" their power. Jinhai had done it in an evening simply because he couldn't stand a messy internal system.
He opened his eyes. The "Spirit-Sinking Barrens" looked different now. The shimmering minerals in the soil weren't just obstacles; in the moonlight, he could see they were glowing with a steady, rhythmic pulse.
He reached down and picked up one of the violet shards.
[Asset Identified: Low-Grade Star-Iron Silt.][Market Value: High (Raw Material).][Condition: Hazardous to Flora.]
A faint, dry smile touched his lips. The Sect had exiled him here because the soil killed everything. They thought the land was worthless because it couldn't grow grain. But they had forgotten the first rule of accounting: An asset's value is determined by its use, not its appearance.
They had given an expert accountant a field of raw metal and told him it was a wasteland."Tomorrow," he whispered, looking at the water flowing perfectly down his trench, "we begin the inventory."
He lay down on the cold earth, his mind already calculating the cost of a furnace, the yield of the silt, and the exact amount of "interest" the Sect owed his family. He would pay them back, eventually. He just had to make sure the books were balanced first.
He awoke the next morning to the harsh, vibrating thrum of ambient Qi. The air here wasn't silent; it was screaming with wild, chaotic energy that grated against the meticulous order of his mind. He ignored it.
[Status: Qi Refining Realm, Initial Stage (Consolidated)]
The nuance was logged and filed away. The previous occupant of this body, Lu Jinhai, had been stuck here, unable to break past the 'Initial' bottleneck because his meridians were inefficient, like a highway clogged with traffic.
"Time for an adjustment," he muttered.
He reached for the crude hoe and returned to the field. He didn't start digging the main trench immediately. Instead, he reached for the memories of the body's muscle memory. The Sect had taught all its stewards basic "Arts"—utility spells for farming and construction.
[Memory Retrieval: 'Minor Earth-Moving Art' (Sect-Standard, Low-Grade)]
The memory surfaced not as a feeling, but as a technical manual of energy circulation. It was inefficient, a messy loop of Qi that wasted more energy than it used. He mentally edited the manual, trimming the unnecessary loops and directing the flow with the precision of a master accountant managing a budget.
He didn't speak the spell. He simply willed the optimized energy flow into existence.
He pointed a finger at a stone the size of his fist. The stone didn't fly through the air; it simply wiggled slightly. A tiny gray box appeared in his vision:
[Casting 'Minor Earth-Moving Art' (Optimized)][Energy Cost: 1 Qi Unit (Standard)][Actual Cost: 0.4 Qi Units (Optimized)]
"Forty percent efficiency," he noted, a sliver of satisfaction passing through his usually stoic demeanor. "Acceptable starting point."
He spent the next hour practicing, moving dirt clods and small rocks with tiny, precise nudges of energy. He wasn't building a weapon; he was refining a process.
As he worked, a memory surfaced—a sharp, hot flash of the previous Jinhai being beaten by a senior steward for spilling a crate of "raw spirit ore." The senior man had screamed that it was a capital offense.
He looked at the dirt under his fingernails, covered in the shimmering violet silt.The older Jinhai treated the memory as an audit. [Emotion: Fear, recorded at time of incident.] [Asset Identified: Raw Spirit Ore.]
"Raw Spirit Ore," he confirmed. The "shards of glass" were unprocessed Qi stones. The very currency of this world's cultivation. The Sect hadn't exiled his father and him to a wasteland; they had exiled him to a gold mine they considered useless because they couldn't figure out how to farm it.
He smiled faintly, a complex expression. The administrative error was even greater than he thought.
He continued his work, now with dual purpose. He used his optimized 'Minor Earth-Moving Art' to finish the primary drainage trench. The water diverted perfectly.
Next, he needed the second Art: 'Moisture Sensing'.
He activated the memory, running an energy current through the ground. The inefficient default energy loop of the standard sect Art made him nauseous for a second. The young body's muscle memory rebelled, wanting to follow the old, wasteful path. He forced it back in line.
Balance the books, he thought. Efficiency over habit.
[Casting 'Moisture Sensing Art' (Optimized)][Energy Cost: 2 Qi Units (Standard)][Actual Cost: 0.8 Qi Units (Optimized)]
He sensed not just water, but the flow of energy itself in the earth. The mineral silt pulsed with concentrated, raw Qi, which was exactly why plants couldn't grow here—it was too much, too fast, a fire burning the roots.
He stood up straight, wiping his brow. He had his inventory:
1. A failing foundation of land.
2. A highly valuable, raw material asset (Star-Iron Silt).
3. Basic utility arts that he could optimize into powerful tools.
4. A perfect cover story: "The failed steward's son trying to farm a wasteland."
He looked at the horizon. It was time to start phase one: extraction and processing. He needed to build a kiln, not a farm.
The world hummed with power he was now beginning to quantify.
Observation required. Patterns complete. The thought arrived unbidden in his mind, echoing the system prompt from the day before.
He ignored his hunger and the fatigue in his young body. He walked back to the collapsed lean-to. He needed a furnace design. And for that, he needed more knowledge—he needed to audit a blueprint.
Foundation first. Always foundation first.
Jinhai sat in the dirt, the cold wind of the Barrens whipping at his frayed tunic. He didn't feel the chill; he was too busy conducting a Total Asset Audit.
He pulled the items from his worn storage pouch. He handled the pouch delicately—the spatial stitching was fraying, leaking Qi like a cracked pipe. To a normal cultivator, it was trash. To him, it was a failing container that needed a maintenance schedule.
He laid everything out on a flat stone: the dry cakes, the moldy roots, the seven spirit stones, and his father's ledger fragments.
The grey box flickered to life, scanning the pile with cold, bureaucratic efficiency.
[Current Inventory Registered]
[Consumables: 4x Grain Cakes (Status: Stale/Low-Grade)]
[Liquid Assets: 7 Low-Grade Spirit Stones, 23 Copper]
[Infrastructure: 1x Iron Soil Knife (Dull), 1x Broken Spirit Compass]
[Security: 1x Expired Warming Talisman (Critical Instability)]
[System Note: Total Wealth Valuation — Deficit. Survival Probability without Infrastructure: 12 days.]
"Twelve days," Jinhai whispered, his voice steady. "Plenty of time for a restructuring."
He stood up, his uneven boots crunching on the Star-Iron silt. He didn't eat the grain cakes yet. Instead, he used his charcoal stick and bark paper to sketch a blueprint. He wasn't drawing a home; he was drawing a High-Efficiency Smelting Kiln.
The Construction: Earth and Precision.
Using the Minor Earth-Moving Art, he began to shape the ground. His hands moved with the muscle memory of a boy who had watched masons build sect storehouses, but his mind provided the structural physics of a ninety-one-year-old manager.
He dug a deep, circular pit, using the lime powder to mark perfect geometric boundaries. He didn't just pile dirt; he used the Earth Art to compress the soil until it was as dense as stone.
[Project: Primitive Smelting Kiln][Status: Under Construction][Observation: User is utilizing 'Lime Powder' to stabilize internal thermal lining. Efficiency +5%]
As he worked, the suns beat down. He felt the hunger gnawing at his stomach, a physical debt he couldn't ignore. He took a single Salted Root strip, scraped the mold off with his soil knife, and chewed slowly.
[Asset Consumed: 1x Salted Root][Registered Asset Update: 12 kg Grain (Unsecured / Environmental Risk: High)]
The System's warning about the grain bothered him. In his previous life, a warehouse with a leak was a firing offense. He looked at the collapsed lean-to. He used the rope and the spare inner shirt to create a rudimentary "sealed" hanging rack for his food, keeping it off the damp, mineral-heavy ground.
[Asset Status Updated: Grain moved to 'Semi-Secured' storage.]
While digging the kiln's air intake—a tunnel that had to be angled perfectly to catch the western drafts—the iron soil knife struck something that didn't sound like rock. It sounded like glass hitting a bell.
He cleared the dirt away with his fingers. Buried deep beneath the silt was a cluster of translucent, jagged crystals growing out of a dense slab of dark rock.
[Asset Identified: Raw Qi Stone Formation (Underdeveloped)][Quality: Low-Grade / Unrefined][Estimated Value: 50-80 Spirit Stones (If extracted without damage)]
Jinhai didn't celebrate. He looked at the broken spirit compass in his pocket. The needle, which usually twitched randomly, was now pinned toward the crystals.
"The compass isn't broken," he realized. "It's just tuned to high-density deposits. This entire plot isn't a wasteland—it's a misclassified resource node."
The Refinement: Balancing the Internal Ledger.
Night fell. The temperature dropped sharply. Jinhai felt the "Body" starting to shiver—a physical liability. He looked at the Expired Warming Talisman.
Risk Analysis: If he used it now, it might fail and leave him with nothing. If he didn't, the cold would decrease his labor efficiency tomorrow by 30%.
He chose a third option. He sat by the half-finished kiln, which still held the residual heat of the day's sun. He began his cultivation—the Qi Refining (Initial Stage).
He treated the "Internal Qi" like a workforce. He didn't let the energy wander. He used the "Standard Bureau of Records" manual to audit every breath. He funneled the warmth of his own blood into his extremities, using the Breath-Masking Talisman not to hide, but to "insulate" his Qi from leaking out into the cold air.
[Internal Audit Complete][Optimization Success: Core Temperature stabilized without Resource Expenditure.][Progress: Qi Refining (Initial Stage) — 14% to Early Stage.]
Three days later, the kiln was finished. A thin trail of smoke, filtered through a charcoal-and-lime scrub he'd designed to mask the scent, rose into the sky. Jinhai was feeding the first batch of Star-Iron silt into the fire when he felt a vibration in his Identity Token.
A figure appeared at the edge of the property. It was a man in the grey robes of a Sect Junior Steward—one of the lackeys who had helped "escort" Jinhai to this exile. His name was Chen, a man whose primary talent was bullying those who couldn't balance their own books.
"Still alive, Lu?" Chen shouted, his voice dripping with mock pity. He stepped onto the land, his boots scuffing the carefully leveled drainage lines Jinhai had spent days perfecting.
Jinhai didn't stand up immediately. He finished adjusting the kiln's airflow. He checked the System.
[External Actor: Chen (Sect Personnel)][Cultivation: Qi Refining (Mid Stage)][Current Mood: Arrogant / Bored][Risk Level: Moderate]
Jinhai stood and bowed—not the bow of a terrified boy, but the shallow, professional nod of a Senior Manager greeting a troublesome client.
"Steward Chen," Jinhai said, his voice rasping but calm. "You've arrived just as I was finishing my first quarterly assessment of the land's liabilities."
Chen blinked, confused by the terminology. He looked at the kiln, then at the neatly organized rows of marked stakes. "What is this? Are you building a tomb for yourself?"
"A processing unit," Jinhai corrected. He reached into his pocket and pulled out one of his seven spirit stones. It was a "Minor Asset," but he threw it toward Chen with the indifference of a man throwing away a copper coin.
"A fee for your travel," Jinhai said. "I would hate for the Sect's records to show that an inspection was conducted without proper... administrative compensation."
Chen caught the stone, his eyes widening. He looked at the boy, then at the stone, then at the strange, humming kiln.
[System Update: Relationship Logged][Target: Chen — Status: Informal Non-Disclosure Agreement (Pending)][Cost: 1x Low-Grade Spirit Stone][Risk Mitigated: Immediate Harassment.]
"You... you've found something here?" Chen whispered, his greed warring with his fear of the "cursed" Barrens.
Jinhai looked him dead in the eye. "I've found a way to balance the accounts, Steward. I suggest you keep your name off this ledger for now. It would be... inefficient for your career if the Sect wondered why you were visiting a 'dead' asset."
For the first time in his life, the bully Chen felt like he was being audited by someone much, much higher in the chain of command. He backed away, clutching the stone.
"I saw nothing," Chen muttered, turning to leave. "You're still a ghost to the Sect, Lu."
Jinhai watched him go. He turned back to the kiln.
[Relationship: Informal Non-Disclosure — Confirmed][Available Spirits Stones: 6][Urgency: High. Move processed assets to 'Buried Cache' immediately.]
"Good," Jinhai said, reaching for his charcoal stick to mark the entry. "The first liability has been settled. Now, let's see what this Star-Iron is really worth."
The heat radiating from the kiln was not merely physical; to Jinhai's refined senses, it was a chaotic surge of thermal energy that threatened to crack the very foundation he had built. He sat before the air intake, his hands steady despite the trembling of his young, overworked muscles.
[Project: First Smelting Cycle — ACTIVE][Current Internal Temperature: 1,420°C][Warning: Structural Integrity of Kiln at 88%. Ambient Qi Interference: High.]
Jinhai didn't panic. Panic was a luxury for those who didn't understand the math of their own survival. He closed his eyes, activating the Minor Earth-Moving Art. Instead of moving the earth outside, he focused on the microscopic level of the kiln's inner lining. He used his Qi to "stitch" the heat-stressed clay together, reinforcing the weak points as they appeared.
Simultaneously, he ran the "Standard Bureau of Records" manual. He began to draw the waste heat back into his own body—not to burn himself, but to "audit" the energy. He channeled the excess fire into his bone marrow, using the kiln as a massive, external tempering tool.
[Internal Audit: Breakthrough Imminent][Progress: 98%... 99%...][Status: Qi Refining Realm (Early Stage) — REACHED.]
The air around him hummed as his meridians expanded, their "carrying capacity" increasing by thirty percent. With this new efficiency, he forced the kiln's temperature one final notch higher.
Inside the furnace, the Star-Iron silt finally surrendered. The impurities—the "bad debts" of the mineral—were burned away, leaving behind a glowing, liquid silver that pulsed with a deep violet light.
Six hours later, Jinhai stood over a small, cooling ingot. It was the size of a brick, heavy enough to make his arm ache, and perfectly smooth.
[Asset Created: Refined Star-Iron Ingot (Grade: Standard+)][Purity: 94.2%][Market Valuation: 45 Low-Grade Spirit Stones]
"A successful harvest," Jinhai whispered. He didn't rest. He used his soil knife to dig a hole directly beneath the kiln's cooling rack. He lined the hole with the remaining lime powder and a few flat stones, creating his first Hidden Cache. He placed the ingot inside.
[Registered Infrastructure: Hidden Cache (Unclassified)][Security Level: Low (Camouflaged)]
He then turned his attention to his Spatial Pouch. It was leaking Qi so badly now that the "ledger" in his mind showed a constant red flickering.
"Time to liquidate a failing asset," he decided.
The nearest trade hub was a "Grey Market" on the outskirts of the Iron-Silt Sect territory—a place where disgraced disciples and mortal merchants traded in the shadows. Jinhai walked for half a day, his boots held together by hemp rope, his face hidden beneath a hood.
He entered a shop labeled 'Old Zhang's Sundries & Salvage'. The air inside smelled of dust and stale incense. A thin man with a goatee looked up from a counter, his eyes scanning Jinhai's tattered clothes with immediate disdain.
"I don't give charity, boy," Zhang grumbled.
Jinhai didn't flinch. He walked to the counter and placed his Fraying Spatial Pouch on the wood. Beside it, he placed three small, thumb-sized nuggets of his Refined Star-Iron.
The merchant's eyes fixed on the iron. He reached for a magnifying lens. "Where did you get this? This isn't sect-issue slag. The tempering is... unusually precise."
"I am an administrator," Jinhai said, his voice carrying the weight of a man who had commanded boardrooms for decades. "I am clearing out an old inventory. The iron is a sample. The pouch is for sale as-is—spatial stitching is at 40% integrity, suitable for a beginner or a repair-hobbyist."
Zhang looked at Jinhai, confused by the boy's clinical tone. "The pouch is junk. I'll give you two spirit stones for the iron and five copper for the bag."
Jinhai smiled—a cold, thin line. "The iron has a 94% purity rating. Current market scarcity for Star-Iron in this district is up due to the Sect's internal disputes. The spatial pouch, while damaged, still contains a Sect-Standard Anchor Point, which is worth ten stones in scrap parts alone. My counter-offer: Twelve Spirit Stones for the lot, and a trade-in credit for a Medium-Capacity Stable Pouch and a Grade-A Whetstone."
The merchant froze. No teenager spoke like a trade-guild auditor.
[Target: Merchant Zhang — Status: Negotiating][Probability of Success: 85%]
"Ten stones," Zhang hissed, "and you take a used Stable Pouch. No whetstone."
"Ten stones," Jinhai countered, "the used pouch, and you throw in a bundle of High-Quality Charcoal Sticks and Three Grade-A Bark Paper Scrolls. I have a lot of records to keep."
Zhang sighed, defeated by the sheer professional pressure radiating from the boy. "Fine. You're a demon for the details, kid."
Jinhai left the shop an hour later. His "Total Wealth" had shifted dramatically.
[Asset Audit Update:]
[Liquid Assets: 15 Low-Grade Spirit Stones (Net Gain: +8)][Infrastructure: 1x Stable Spatial Pouch (Capacity: 1 Cubic Meter)][Supplies: High-Grade Ink/Paper, Professional Whetstone, 12kg Fresh Grain]
He walked back toward his wasteland, his mind already moving to the next quarter.
"The pouch no longer leaks," Jinhai noted, patting his hip. "The foundation is stabilized. Now, we begin the expansion."
As he crossed the border of his land, the System flickered with a new, urgent notification.
[Warning: External Influence Detected][Observation: A 'Tracking Mark' was placed on your Identity Token during the transaction.][Source: Merchant Zhang / Unknown Third Party]
Jinhai stopped. He pulled out his Identity Token and looked at it with the eyes of a man who had dealt with corporate espionage for fifty years.
"A security breach," he whispered, his eyes narrowing. "A costly mistake for whoever made it. I believe it's time to draft a 'Termination Policy'."
Jinhai sat by the dying embers of his kiln, the cooling Star-Iron inside clicking softly as the metal contracted. In his hand, the Administrative Identity Token felt unusually warm. To a normal Qi Refiner, it was just a piece of iron; to Jinhai, the tracking mark appeared as a jagged, unauthorized entry in a ledger that was supposed to be closed.
[Security Alert: Unauthorized Tracking Sequence Active][Target: User Identity Token][Signal Strength: Increasing (Proximity: 1.2 Kilometers)]
"A sloppy entry," Jinhai murmured, his voice as cold as the autumn wind. "Merchant Zhang's greed has exceeded his risk-assessment capabilities. He believes a boy in a wasteland is a 'low-risk' target. He has failed to account for the overhead of my retaliation."
He didn't run. He didn't hide. Instead, he began to implement his Risk Mitigation Strategy.
He walked toward the western edge of his property, where the stagnant, toxic pool of diverted water sat—a thick, oily sludge of mineral waste and suffocating Qi. Using his Minor Earth-Moving Art, he carved a small, hollow niche into the side of a jagged rock directly overhanging the sludge.
He placed the Identity Token inside.
[Strategic Setup: Decoy Asset Deployed][Environmental Hazard: Saturated Toxic Silt (Lethal to Flora / Corrosive to Qi)]
He then retreated thirty paces, sinking into the darkness of a pre-dug drainage trench. He activated his Low-Grade Breath-Masking Talisman.
[Consumable Activated: Breath-Masking Talisman][Status: Active (Duration: 4 Minutes)][Note: User must remain stationary for maximum efficiency.]
The intruder arrived twenty minutes later. He wasn't a corporate spy; he was a "Collector"—a mid-level thug with thick arms and a notched sword. He wore the ragged cloak of a bandit, but his boots were Sect-issue. This was a man who lived on the margins of the law, likely Merchant Zhang's "enforcement department."
The thug crept toward the rock, his eyes fixed on the faint violet glow of the token. "Got you, little rat," he hissed, reaching into the niche.
Jinhai didn't wait for him to touch it. He triggered the Earth-Moving Art, not to strike the man, but to liquidate his foundation.
The ground beneath the thug's feet, loosened by days of Jinhai's "precision irrigation," turned into a slurry of mud and glass-sharp Star-Iron silt. The man let out a strangled yelp as he plunged waist-deep into the toxic drainage pool.
"The silt is over-saturated with Star-Iron," Jinhai said, stepping out of the shadows. He didn't draw a weapon; he simply stood with his hands behind his back, looking like a headmaster observing a failing student. "The more you struggle, the more the mineral shards will lacerate your Qi-circuits. It is a very inefficient way to die."
The thug scrambled to draw his sword, but the toxic Qi in the water was already "poisoning" his meridians, causing his energy to stutter and fail.
"Who... who are you?" the man gasped, his face turning a sickly shade of grey.
"I am the current holder of this deed," Jinhai replied. "And you are an unauthorized entry in my books. We are going to conduct an audit. If your answers are accurate, I might consider you a 'depreciated asset' and let you live. If you lie, I will simply write you off."
[Interrogation Phase: START][Target: Unnamed Thug (Qi Refining — Mid Stage)][Condition: Critical Mineral Poisoning]
Under the clinical pressure of Jinhai's gaze, the man broke in seconds. He wasn't just working for Zhang; he was part of a small "Scavenger Ring" that targeted exiled sect members. He revealed the location of their nearby camp and the fact that Zhang had already sent word to a "Buyer" about the high-purity Star-Iron Jinhai had sold.
Once the "Collector" was tied up and neutralized—hidden in a dry drainage pipe for later "processing"—Jinhai returned to his kiln. The sun was beginning to rise.
He pulled out his new Grade-A Whetstone and his Iron Soil Knife. He sat cross-legged and began to sharpen the blade, but his focus was internal. Using his newly reached Qi Refining (Early Stage) power, he used his Qi like a whetstone against his own meridians.
He "filed away" the rough edges of his energy flow, sharpening his Minor Earth-Moving Art until it was no longer a blunt tool, but a surgical instrument.
[Internal Optimization: COMPLETE][System Update: Skill 'Minor Earth-Moving' evolved into 'Precision Tunnelling'.]
With this new skill, he didn't just dig; he vibrated the earth. Within hours, he had carved a ten-foot-deep chamber directly beneath the heavy stone base of the kiln. The heat from above kept the room dry, while the "Star-Iron" slag he had produced earlier was used to reinforce the walls, creating a natural shield against spiritual detection.
He moved his High-Quality Bark Paper, his Master Ledger, and his father's notes into the space.
[Infrastructure Created: Subterranean Management Suite][Status: SECURED / UNDETECTABLE]
As he finished the office, the System in his vision suddenly expanded. The dull grey box turned a sharp, crystalline blue.
[Milestone Achieved: Domain Governance][Feature Unlocked: Resource Mapping (Passive)]
A 3D holographic map of his 1.2 hectares appeared in his mind. He saw the drainage lines, the kiln, and the hidden thug. But more importantly, he saw a deep, pulsing vein of violet energy running five hundred meters below the surface.
It wasn't just a vein of Star-Iron. It was a Ley-Line Anchor—a source of pure, concentrated world-Qi that the Sect had somehow missed.
Jinhai looked at the map, his mind already calculating the ROI (Return on Investment).
"The Sect called this a wasteland," Jinhai whispered, his fingers tracing the glowing vein on the map. "But in my experience, a 'wasteland' is simply an asset that has been poorly managed. It's time to begin the deep-core extraction."
He picked up his charcoal stick and opened a fresh page in his Master Ledger.
Quarter Two Strategy: Hostile Takeover of the Underground.
Jinhai sat behind a desk he had carved from compressed silt, the flickering violet glow of the kiln-light casting long, administrative shadows against the reinforced walls of his subterranean office. Across from him, the "Collector"—whose name, the audit revealed, was Han—sat bound with reinforced hemp rope. The man was pale, his breath rattling from the mineral silt still scraping against his lungs.
Jinhai didn't look at him. He was focused on a sheet of bark paper, his charcoal stick moving with the rhythmic scratching of a man tallying debt.
"Name: Han," Jinhai said, his voice echoing in the small chamber. "Role: Unaffiliated Enforcer. Current Status: Non-performing asset. Valuation: Negative, due to the cost of your current medical distress and the resources required to restrain you."
Han looked around the room, his eyes wide. He saw the neat stacks of Star-Iron ingots, the high-quality paper, and the strangely precise architecture of the hidden room. "What... what kind of monster are you? You're supposed to be a failed clerk's brat."
"I am a man who understands that everything has a cost," Jinhai replied, finally looking up. His eyes, though housed in a teenager's face, carried the terrifying weight of ninety-one years of cold, hard logic. "You attempted to seize an asset of this estate. In any functioning system, that requires a penalty. However, I have looked at my current workforce projections. I am understaffed. You, Han, are a liability that I am willing to convert into a long-term investment."
He pushed a piece of bark paper across the desk. It wasn't a death warrant. It was a Conditional Employment Contract.
[New Asset Opportunity: Subordinate (Indentured)][Risk: High (Betrayal/Flight)][Mitigation: Soul-Binding Fiscal Contract]
"You will return to Merchant Zhang," Jinhai stated, ignoring the man's confusion. "You will tell him the tracking mark failed because I wandered into a toxic Qi-vent and died. You will then act as my procurement officer. I require formation flags, low-grade alchemy crucibles, and a specific list of medicinal herbs to counteract the 'Early Stage' friction in my meridians. You will buy them using the profit from my Star-Iron, taking a 2% commission for your own maintenance. If you flee, the Qi-shards I left in your chest will ignite. If you succeed, you will be the only thug in three counties with a retirement plan."
Han stared at the paper. He didn't understand half the words, but he understood the cold, murderous certainty in Jinhai's eyes. He signed.
[Asset Registered: Agent Han (Status: Indebted)][Relationship: Bound Employee]
Once Han was dispatched—stumbling back toward the market with a "sample" of refined iron to prove his "failure" to Zhang—Jinhai turned to the true work.
He knelt in the center of the office floor. His Resource Mapping map pulsed in his mind's eye. The Ley-Line Anchor was a massive, swirling vein of violet energy 500 meters below. To the Iron-Silt Sect, this land was a "marginal basin" because the Qi was too deep to reach with their inefficient tools. They were like men dying of thirst while standing on a glacier.
"Precision Tunneling," Jinhai whispered.
He pressed his palms to the floor. He didn't try to dig a hole. Instead, he used his Qi to create a vibrational resonance. He sent a "needle" of focused energy straight down. It wasn't a physical shaft; it was a Qi-Conductive Borehole. He used the "Standard Bureau of Records" manual to ensure the walls of the needle were smooth and frictionless.
[Project: Deep-Core Borehole — ACTIVE][Depth: 100m... 250m... 480m...][Contact Established.]
The moment the needle pierced the Ley-Line, the room shook. A geyser of pure, concentrated violet Qi shot up the borehole. It hit Jinhai like a physical blow.
[WARNING: High-Density Energy Influx Detected!][Physical Strain: 65% and Rising][Note: Mortal-Body Hardware is insufficient for current Energy Throughput.]
"Audit the intake!" Jinhai roared internally.
He didn't try to absorb it all. That was the mistake of a greedy amateur. Instead, he channeled 90% of the energy directly into the kiln's base, using the furnace as a "heat sink" to bleed off the excess. The remaining 10% he funneled into his own body, treating it as High-Interest Capital.
He began the Marrow Tempering and Blood Refinement. His blood began to hum, turning a deeper, more vibrant red. The impurities—the "bad debts" of his mortal heritage—were incinerated.
[Cultivation Update: Qi Refining (Mid-Stage) — REACHED.][Internal Foundation: Optimized for High-Pressure Environments.]
Days passed in a blur of industrial efficiency. With the Ley-Line "Straw" active, Jinhai produced High-Grade Star-Iron at a rate that would have made a Sect Hall Elder weep with envy. He was no longer just a boy in a wasteland; he was a one-man factory sitting on a secret hoard.
But the world was not silent.
One afternoon, the Identity Token on his desk vibrated with a priority signal. Not from Han, but from the Sect's administrative hub.
[Incoming Communication: Sect Oversight][Priority: Routine/Mandatory][Subject: Regional Energy Fluctuation]
Jinhai looked up. A Senior Steward—someone from the "Mid-Tier" of the Sect, likely a man at the Root Establishment realm—had felt the "shiver" in the Ley-Line when Jinhai tapped it.
On his map, a gold icon appeared at the edge of the property. A carriage, pulled by spirit-beasts, was approaching.
"The audit has arrived early," Jinhai said, standing up and dusting off his tunic. He looked at the subterranean office, the glowing kiln, and the pile of High-Grade Iron. "If he sees even a fraction of this, the Sect will annex this land and execute the 'liabilities'."
He didn't panic. He reached for his Low-Grade Concealment Talisman and his Lime Powder.
"Time to dress up the books," he muttered. "Let's make this estate look as worthless as the Sect deserves it to be."
He climbed the ladder to the surface, emerging into the cold, dusty air of the Barrens just as the carriage came to a halt. A man stepped out, draped in the fine silks of a Sect Bureaucrat. He looked at the dry, cracked earth with visible disgust.
"Lu Jinhai?" the Steward asked, holding a scented silk handkerchief to his nose. "I am Steward Fang. There has been a report of a... resonance disturbance in this sector. Explain yourself."
Jinhai bowed—low, humble, and perfectly pathetic.
"Steward Fang," Jinhai said, his voice trembling just enough to be convincing. "I apologize. I was attempting to dig a well for water. I think I hit a pocket of gas. It nearly killed me. Please... the land is cursed. I have nothing but these few weeds."
[Social Engineering: ACTIVE][Target: Steward Fang — Relationship: Disdainful/Indifferent][Risk Mitigation: 'The Poor Relative' Strategy]
Jinhai held his breath. The Auditor of the Sect was standing directly above a trillion-stone fortune, and all he saw was a dirty boy and a pile of rocks. The question was: would he look closer?
Steward Fang stood at the edge of the excavation pit, his silk robes shimmering with a defensive Qi-glaze that repelled the common dust of the Barrens. To Jinhai, the man was a walking pile of inefficient overhead: his perfume cost more than a month of grain, and his cultivation—Root Establishment (Initial Stage)—was a bloated, unrefined mess.
Fang raised a silver-chased compass, a "High-Grade Detection Tool" that was far superior to Jinhai's broken one.
"If there is a resonance," Fang drawled, his eyes narrowing, "my compass will find the source. If you have been hiding a spirit-vein, boy, your execution will be the only thing added to the records today."
[External Threat: Steward Fang][Scanning Sequence: Active][Detection Probability: 94% (Critical Risk)]
Jinhai didn't flinch. He stayed bowed, his forehead nearly touching the dry, jagged earth. "Please, Excellency. I only wished for water. The air down there… it's foul. It burns the throat."
Deep within his mind, Jinhai's Audit Mind was running a different set of calculations. He connected to the "Ley-Line Straw" via his subterranean resonance. He didn't pull the Qi up. Instead, he reached for the Toxic Drainage Pool—the "Liability Reservoir" he had filled with mineral waste and stagnant, rotted energy.
Using Precision Tunneling, he opened a microscopic fissure between the toxic pool and the bottom of the pit Fang was inspecting.
Liquidate the asset, Jinhai thought.
"What is that smell?" Fang coughed, his compass beginning to spin wildly.
Suddenly, a geyser of thick, yellowish-grey gas erupted from the pit. It wasn't just foul-smelling; it was "Qi-Corrosive." It hit Fang's expensive silk robes, the acidic mineral dust instantly eating through the defensive glaze. The "High-Grade" compass hissed, its silver casing tarnishing to a dull black in seconds.
"AAAGH! My robes! My lungs!" Fang recoiled, stumbling back from the pit. The gas clung to him like a greasy film. To a cultivator who prided himself on "purity," this was like being plunged into a sewer of spiritual filth.
[Social Engineering: 'Toxic Asset' Maneuver — SUCCESSFUL][Target Status: Distressed / Disgusted][Property Valuation: Reclassified as 'Hazardous Waste Zone']
"It's the gas, Excellency!" Jinhai cried out, feigning terror while shielding his own face. "It comes from the deep earth! It's cursed!"
Fang didn't stay to investigate further. To him, the prospect of "Root Rot" from the toxic gas was far more terrifying than the possibility of a hidden vein. "This land is a cancer!" Fang spat, desperately wiping his tarnished compass. "I shall mark this basin as 'Spirit-Dead and Geologically Unstable.' If I ever see your name on a report again, I will have it struck from the living! Stay in your filth, peasant!"
The carriage roared to life, the spirit-beasts galloping away as if the very ground were trying to swallow them.
Jinhai stood up slowly, dusting off his knees. He watched the dust cloud from the carriage disappear on the horizon. He reached out and closed the fissure in the earth with a flick of his fingers.
"Account closed," Jinhai whispered. "The Sect will not return for at least three fiscal years."
Night fell, and with it came the sound of approaching footsteps—not the refined clatter of a carriage, but the heavy, uneven tread of men who lived by the blade.
Han appeared at the edge of the kiln-light, looking battered but alive. Behind him stood three other men. They were the "Small Team" Jinhai had identified earlier—the scavengers who lived on the margins. They were ragged, their Qi-fluctuations uneven, but their frames were sturdy.
[New Potential Assets Detected: 3x Human Capital]
[Asset: 'Big Mouse' — Qi Refining (Early Stage). Role: Scout.][Asset: 'Old Iron' — Flesh Tempering (Peak). Role: Heavy Labor.][Asset: 'Quick-Finger' — Qi Gathering (Late). Role: Dexterity/Traps.]
Han stepped forward, his eyes darting toward the hidden entrance of Jinhai's office. "I brought them, Boss. I told them… I told them you were a man who knows how to count. And that you have the 'Iron'."
The three men looked at Jinhai with a mix of suspicion and greed. "You're the brat who put Han in a hole?" Big Mouse asked, his hand hovering near a rusted dagger. "He says you're paying in High-Grade iron. We don't work for clerks."
Jinhai didn't reach for a weapon. He reached into his spatial pouch and pulled out a small, palm-sized ingot of the 94% Purity Star-Iron. He tossed it at Big Mouse's feet.
"In my previous life," Jinhai said, his voice carrying that unnerving, elderly authority, "I managed estates that produced enough grain to feed a province. I didn't do it with a sword. I did it with a system. You are currently 'unaffiliated labor'—high-risk, low-reward, with a life expectancy of less than five years. I am offering you a conversion."
He gestured to the land around them. "This wasteland is now a closed-loop production facility. I need scouts to monitor the borders, labor to expand the subterranean tunnels, and a logistics team to move product through Agent Han. In return, I provide 'Security'—the Sect thinks this land is a toxic death-trap—and 'Compensation' that exceeds your current annual take by 300%."
The men looked at the ingot. Even in the dim light, the violet pulse of the Star-Iron was undeniable. It was a king's ransom for men of their station.
"What's the catch?" Old Iron grunted.
"The catch," Jinhai said, pulling out three sheets of bark paper, "is that you sign a Non-Compete and Confidentiality Agreement. Your lives will be bound to the productivity of this estate. If you steal, you are liquidated. If you thrive, the estate thrives."
[Relationship Sequence: Multi-Asset Acquisition][Terms: Soul-Binding Contract (Standard Bureau Format)]
One by one, under the pressure of Jinhai's clinical gaze and the promise of the violet iron, they signed.
"Good," Jinhai said, tucking the papers into his Master Ledger. "Han, you have the supplies I requested?"
Han nodded, produced a heavy bundle. Inside were the Formation Flags, the Alchemy Crucibles, and the medicinal herbs.
"Excellent," Jinhai noted, his mind already mapping out the next Quarter. "Han, take the team to the western sector. There is a series of 'Safe-Caches' to be built. Big Mouse, I want a 5-mile perimeter sweep. Old Iron, you start digging the secondary ventilation shaft for the deep-core. Quick-Finger, you help me with the Formation setup."
The men moved. They didn't know why they were obeying a teenager, but the "System" Jinhai had imposed—the clear orders, the guaranteed pay, the lack of chaotic violence—felt like a foundation they had been craving their whole lives.
Jinhai returned to his subterranean office. He sat at his desk and opened the Master Ledger.
[Quarterly Report: Year 317 of the Azure Era, Ninth Month, Day 14]
[Infrastructure: Kiln (Upgraded), Sub-Office (Secure), Borehole (Active)][Labor Force: 4x Personnel (Contracted)][Security: Hazardous Status (Sect-Verified), Formation Shields (Pending)][Current Goal: Cultivation Leap to High-Stage Qi Refining]
Jinhai ignored the sudden silence in the subterranean chamber. The new hires had scattered to their assigned tasks—building caches, sweeping perimeters, starting the deep ventilation shaft. His small empire was in motion. He was back at his desk, focused on his Master Ledger. The numbers were good. The future was profitable.
He picked up a dried root, part of the "medicinal herbs" Han had procured. It was a low-grade Fire-Thistle Root, something a sect pharmacist would toss into the waste bin, designed to induce minor heat in the marrow to speed up cultivation.
Inefficient, Jinhai thought, turning the root over in his fingers. The default process was messy, like a furnace with a broken damper. It would burn the 'fuel' (the Qi) too fast, causing 'internal stress fractures' in the meridians.
[Asset Identified: Fire-Thistle Root (Low-Grade)][Function: Marrow Stimulant][Optimization Required: Re-routing thermal energy through 'Blood Refinement' stage first].
He placed the root on his desk. He looked at the Ley-Line Straw—the borehole that channeled raw, chaotic energy up into his office, a controlled fire threatening to rage out of control. This was his true asset, his high-yield power source.
"The books are finally beginning to balance," he whispered. "Now, we begin the real accumulation.
"He closed his eyes, centering his mind. The previous Jinhai's body was a mess of inefficient loops and soft, untrained meridians. The 91-year-old manager in control viewed his internal self as a factory operating at 40% capacity. He wasn't trying to achieve the mystical "Heavens"; he was trying to optimize a failing production line.
He activated his Qi. Instead of drawing the raw, "high-interest" capital directly from the Ley-Line, he drew it into the base of his spine. The manual for the Fire-Thistle Root was a suggestion, not a law. He didn't chew the root; he processed it mentally first, visualizing a more efficient energy pathway.
He started circulating his internal Qi. His goal wasn't just to reach "High-Stage Qi Refining." His goal was to move past the Blood Refinement sub-stage into the Organ Forging stage—skipping a natural progression by applying superior management principles.
The Qi he managed was no longer just the "thin air" of the Barrens; it was high-grade fuel from a cosmic oil well. The moment he opened the internal "valve" to the Ley-Line, his body screamed.
[WARNING: High-Density Energy Influx Detected!][Physical Strain: 78% and Rising][Note: Mortal-Body Hardware is insufficient for current Energy Throughput.]
His bones began to vibrate. He felt the sudden, metallic tang of iron-rich blood in his mouth. The energy wasn't just flowing; it was scouring his internal structure. He felt like a pipe being cleaned by industrial-grade acid.
Jinhai's jaw locked as the pressure peaked. A standard cultivator of the Iron Silt Sect, especially one of the 6,000 Outer Disciples scraping by on scraps, would have tried to hoard this influx like a starving man at a banquet. They would have gorged on the power until their meridians burst like over-taxed steam pipes.
But Jinhai didn't value "more." He valued "flow."
Managers redirect.
With a mental grunt that tasted of copper and grit, he gripped the torrent of violet Ley-Line energy. He didn't fight the current; he adjusted the valves. He shunted ninety percent of the roaring intake into the kiln's foundations, feeling the subterranean office hum as the Star-Iron slag in the walls "absorbed" the excess, hardening into a spiritual lead-shield.
The remaining ten percent—the "High-Interest Capital"—he funneled into his center. He ignored the Marrow Tempering entirely; that asset was already stabilized. Instead, he forced the energy into his circulatory system.
The pain was no longer a dull ache; it was a rhythmic, industrial pounding. He felt the "bad debts" of his mortal heritage—the lingering lethargy, the structural weaknesses of a boy raised on thin gruel—incinerated in a silent, violet flare. His blood began to vibrate, turning a deeper, more vibrant crimson as it scoured the walls of his veins.
[Audit in Progress: Asset Acceleration...][Status: Qi Refining (Mid-Stage) ➔ Qi Refining (High-Stage) — REACHED.]
His breath hitched, a single, sharp exhale that carried a faint puff of violet steam. The breakthrough wasn't a moment of enlightenment; it was a successful equipment upgrade. His internal "carrying capacity" had just expanded, and for the first time since his rebirth, the "hardware" of his young body felt like it could actually support the "software" of his 91-year-old mind.
But the ledger never slept.
He stood up, his knees popping with the sound of dry kindling. His tunic was damp with sweat that smelled faintly of burnt ozone and lime. He didn't pause to celebrate the breakthrough. He had a workforce to manage, and "Human Capital" was the most volatile asset in his inventory.
Jinhai climbed the ladder to the surface. The night air of the Barrens hit him like a cold towel, smelling of dust and the distant, metallic tang of the toxic pool. He found Han and the three new "assets" huddled near the cooling kiln. They had finished the initial sweep, but they looked like what they were: scavengers. Ragged, shivering, and eyeing each other with the suspicion of dogs over a single bone.
"Asset Han," Jinhai called out. His voice, newly reinforced by High-Stage Qi, carried a resonant weight that made the men jump. "Report on the perimeter."
"Clear, Boss," Han said, wiping grit from his eyes. "But the wind's picking up. Quick-Finger's hands are shaking too much to set the flags, and Old Iron's complaining about the 'ghost-chill' in the dirt."
Jinhai looked at them. Inefficiency. If they were cold and hungry, their labor output would drop by 22% by morning.
"Foundation first," Jinhai muttered to himself. He turned to the collapsed lean-to—the rotted cedar and iron straps he had salvaged on day one.
"Han, Old Iron—fetch the Star-Iron slag from the kiln's secondary vent. It's still holding 400 degrees of thermal waste. Big Mouse, Quick-Finger—clear the northern trench. We are not building a camp. We are establishing the Worker Housing Unit (Phase 1)."
The men grumbled, their "Human" texture showing through the "Asset" labels. Old Iron's stomach let out a loud, hollow growl that echoed in the silence of the Barrens.
"We're miners, not masons, kid," Old Iron spat, though he didn't move toward his dagger. The 94% purity ingot Jinhai had tossed him earlier was still tucked into his belt, acting as a heavy, silent anchor for his loyalty.
Jinhai didn't argue. He walked to the edge of the trench and pressed his palms to the earth.
[Skill Active: Precision Tunneling]
The ground didn't just move; it organized itself. The men watched in stunned silence as Jinhai vibrated the soil. The jagged rocks and glass-sharp silt didn't fly away; they shifted, interlocking like teeth in a gear. In a matter of minutes, a rectangular pit three feet deep and twelve feet long was carved into the earth.
"The soil here is mineral-heavy," Jinhai explained, his voice clinical as he stood up, dusting his hands. "It retains heat but lacks structural elasticity. By compressing the silt into these 'ledger-lines,' I've created a thermal heat-sink. Old Iron, place the hot slag in the center channel. Han, drape the cedar beams over the top. We will cover it with the heavy tarp from your procurement run."
Under Jinhai's relentless, managerial gaze, the men began to work. It wasn't the heroic labor of a sect building a palace; it was the desperate, focused construction of a bunker.
Old Iron hauled the glowing, violet-tinted slag, grunting as the heat singed the hair on his forearms. Han and Big Mouse lashed the rotted beams together, reinforcing the weak wood with the iron straps. Quick-Finger, his dexterity returning as the prospect of warmth drew closer, woven the tough, fibrous weeds of the Barrens into a thick matting to go over the tarp.
By midnight, the "Barracks" was complete. It was a low, ugly mound of earth and salvaged wood, but as the men crawled inside, the "Human" texture of the scene changed.
The warmth from the slag rose through the floor, trapped by the compressed silt walls. The "ghost-chill" disappeared. Jinhai stood at the entrance, watching them. He pulled the 12kg of fresh grain from his spatial pouch—the "Investment Capital" he had secured from Zhang.
He didn't just give it to them. He measured it.
"Standard Rations," Jinhai stated, handing the bag to Han. "300 grams per man, per shift. This is not a gift. This is the fuel required for the 'Secondary Ventilation' project. If the project stalls, the fuel is withheld. If we exceed the daily quota, there is a 5% bonus in refined iron slag for your personal accounts."
The men looked at the grain, then at the warm floor, and finally at the boy who spoke like a dying emperor.
"You're a strange one, Lu," Big Mouse said, his voice muffled by the grain he was already chewing. "The Sect... they just beat us until we worked. Or they promised us 'immortality' while we starved. You just talk about 'quotas' and 'heat-sinks'."
"Immortality is a long-term projection with high volatility," Jinhai replied, leaning against the cold outer wall of the barracks. "A warm floor and a full stomach are realized gains. I suggest you sleep. The next fiscal day begins at sunrise."
He walked back toward his subterranean office, his own body finally screaming for rest. His bones felt heavy, the metallic violet hue of his marrow still humming from the breakthrough.
[Infrastructure: Worker Housing (Phase 1) — COMPLETED.][Asset Status: Personnel Morale stabilized. Expected Productivity: +15%.]
He climbed down into his dark, quiet office. He sat at his desk and opened the Master Ledger. The violet glow from the borehole cast long, sharp shadows across the bark paper.
He didn't look at his hands, which were cracked and bleeding from the earth-moving. He didn't think about the Senior Steward who had almost executed him. He only thought about the next entry.
[Quarterly Goal: High-Stage Qi Refining ➔ Peak Stage.][Operating Procedure: Begin Deep-Core Extraction of Ley-Line Anchor.]
The Barrens were silent, but inside the small, warm mound of the barracks, four men slept without fear for the first time in years. And in the dark office below, the accountant of the apocalypse began to tally the cost of the coming empire.
"The books," Jinhai whispered, his eyes closing at last, "are finally beginning to balance."
The next day. Jinhai sat at his desk, the violet glow of the Ley-Line borehole illuminating the Master Ledger. Outside, the "Worker Housing Unit" hummed with the heavy, rhythmic breathing of four men—human capital that was currently under-performing.
According to his projections, Jinhai realized that if he followed the Sect's model of "survival of the fittest," he would lose 25% of his workforce to injury within the first fiscal month. It was an unacceptable loss of investment.
He stood up, his own body feeling the "High-Stage Qi Refining" breakthrough as a crisp, mechanical precision in his joints. He walked to the barracks.
"Wake up," Jinhai stated. He didn't shout, but his voice carried the vibratory frequency of a supervisor entering a factory floor. "The morning audit begins now."
The four men stumbled out into the biting gray light of the Barrens. They expected a training drill. They expected to be told to punch rocks or circulate Qi until their veins burned. Instead, Jinhai produced a charcoal stick and four sheets of bark paper.
"Old Iron, step forward," Jinhai commanded.
The big man grunted, his muscles stiff from years of "Flesh Tempering" done with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. "You gonna teach us a secret art, kid? Something to make us like those Inner Disciples?"
"I am going to do something more valuable," Jinhai replied, his eyes scanning Old Iron like a diagnostic tool. "I am going to stop you from killing yourself. Your left meridian in the shoulder is leaking 12% of your Qi every time you lift a load. You've been compensating by over-straining your lower back. By the time you reach Bone Tempering, your spine will be a liability."
To maintain the grounded, human texture of the narrative, we will start with the Infrastructure Upgrade. Jinhai knows that a worker who sleeps in the dirt is a worker who loses 15% of their cognitive function to "Ghost-Chill" fatigue.
As we move toward his Late-Stage Qi Refining breakthrough, we focus on the visceral reality of "Industrial Cultivation"—where power isn't a gift, but a result of ruthless structural reinforcement.
The morning air in the Barrens didn't just feel cold; it felt expensive. Every shiver from his men was a waste of caloric energy. Jinhai stood over the northern sector of the subterranean suite, his charcoal stick marking the floor.
"Phase Three," Jinhai stated, his voice echoing in the hollowed-out earth. "Shared Infrastructure. We are moving the personnel from the surface mound to the Internal Habitability Zone."
Han, Big Mouse, and Quick-Finger were hauling slabs of raw, unrefined Star-Iron slag—the "industrial waste" of Jinhai's first smelting cycles. They moved with a strange, synchronized rhythm. They weren't faster than they had been three days ago, but they were quieter. They had stopped fighting the weight; they were leaning into the gravity, following the "Downgraded" circulation paths Jinhai had etched into their minds.
"Why the hell are we lining the walls with trash, Boss?" Quick-Finger asked, his breath misting in the dim light. "It's heavy, it's ugly, and it smells like a sulfur pit."
"It's a Radiant Heat Sink," Jinhai replied, not looking up from his calculations. "And a Vibrational Damper. The Ley-Line is a high-frequency asset. If you sleep in its direct resonance, your meridians will 'frizz' like overcooked meat. The slag absorbs the spiritual noise. You aren't just sleeping; you are undergoing Passive Maintenance."
Jinhai pressed his palms to the floor.
[Skill Active: Precision Tunneling]
Under his touch, the earth groaned—a deep, tectonic sound that made the men's teeth ache. He didn't just dig; he vibrated the molecules of the silt until they fused into a glass-like finish. He carved out four sleeping alcoves, each one angled to catch the "waste warmth" from the kiln's exhaust flues.
He didn't stop there. He used the last of his Lime Powder to coat the alcoves, neutralizing the "Mineral Bite" of the air.
[Infrastructure Created: Qi-Balanced Quarters][Projected Recovery Rate: +50%][Note: Personnel Retention Probability increased.]
As the men began to move their few belongings into the alcoves, the "Human" texture of the scene shifted. They didn't cheer; they touched the smooth, warm walls with a kind of holy dread. For the first time in their lives, they weren't "expendable." They were "maintained."
"Han," Jinhai said, pulling the man aside. "The salve for Old Iron's daughter. Take the iron nugget. Use the 'Breath-Masking' loops I taught you. If you trigger a Sect sensor, you've failed the audit. Do not return without the Lunar-Silt."
Han nodded, his eyes hard. He didn't say thanks. He just slipped into the shadows of the surface, his Qi-signature dropping so low he seemed to vanish into the gray dust.
Jinhai returned to his office and locked the heavy silt door. It was time for his own "Hardware Upgrade."
The Ley-Line Straw was roaring. The violet light was so intense now it bleached the color from the Master Ledger. Jinhai sat cross-legged, his mind focused on the Organ Forging sub-stage. He had already stabilized his blood; now, he needed to temper the very engines of his mortality.
"Target: Late-Stage Qi Refining," he whispered.
He opened the "valve."
The energy hit him like a physical weight, a high-pressure jet of pure world-energy. His lungs felt like they were filling with liquid lead. His heart didn't just beat; it thudded with the heavy, industrial rhythm of a piston.
[WARNING: High-Density Energy Influx!][Physical Strain: 82%]
He didn't try to absorb the fire. He treated his organs like Sub-Processors. He funneled the energy into his liver to "purge the toxins," into his lungs to "refine the intake," and into his heart to "stabilize the pump."
The pain was a white-hot audit of his existence. He felt the "bad debts" of his youth—the lingering weaknesses of his childhood—being burned away and replaced by a cold, metallic violet structure. He wasn't a boy anymore; he was becoming a Biological Refinery.
A sharp crack echoed in the room. Not from the walls, but from his own ribs. The "Organ Forging" was reaching its peak, the internal pressure forcing his skeleton to realign for "High-Output" capacity.
[Audit Complete: Internal Architecture Optimized.][Cultivation Update: Qi Refining (High-Stage) ➔ Qi Refining (Late-Stage) — REACHED.]
Jinhai slumped forward, his forehead hitting the cool stone of his desk. He was drenched in a thick, dark sweat—the literal "waste product" of his mortal heritage. He felt hollow, light, and terrifyingly precise. Every breath he took felt like it was being measured by a celestial clock.
He sat up slowly, wiping the grime from his face with a scrap of hemp. He didn't celebrate. He picked up his charcoal stick.
[Status: Late-Stage Qi Refining (Consolidated).][Efficiency Rating: 92%.]
He looked at the map in his mind. Han was moving through the village. Old Iron was digging the ventilation shaft with a silent, desperate gratitude. But at the very edge of his Resource Mapping, a new icon appeared.
A cold, golden light.
The Buyer had entered the 5-mile perimeter. And they weren't coming alone. They were traveling with a "Legal Escort"—a group of cultivators whose energy signatures were as sharp and cold as a foreclosure notice.
Jinhai closed the Ledger. The "Late-Stage" power hummed in his bones, a metallic violet vibration.
"The Quarter is ending," Jinhai whispered, his eyes narrowing. "Time to see if the Buyer can afford my price—or if I have to liquidate them."
He stood up, his movements perfectly fluid, and began to prepare the "Termination Policy" for a Foundation Establishment threat. The real work was just beginning.
Jinhai reached out, his fingers—now reinforced by high-grade energy—poking a specific point on Old Iron's neck. The man let out a sharp yelp.
"That 'heat' you feel isn't power; it's friction," Jinhai said clinically. "From this moment, you are forbidden from using the 'Sect Standard Circulation.' You will circulate at 50% speed, and only in the lower loops. You will feel weaker. But you will stop coughing blood in the mornings."
Old Iron blinked, his face shifting from confusion to a strange, quiet realization. "How did you... I haven't told anyone about the blood."
"It's on the ledger of your movements," Jinhai said. He turned to the others. "The same applies to all of you. Phase One is Immediate Stabilization. Big Mouse, you are over-extending your sensory Qi; it's why you have headaches. Quick-Finger, your micro-control is jittery because your posture is asymmetric. Han, your breath-masking is loud in the spiritual spectrum."
For the next four hours, Jinhai didn't teach them how to fight. He taught them how to exist efficiently. He forced them into "downgrades," stripping away the flashy, wasteful bursts of power they had learned in the gutters.
"Power does not scale linearly," Jinhai told them as they stood in the dust, feeling strangely light but "dimmed." "Systems do. You are no longer four individual scavengers. You are the Infrastructure Support Team."
As the suns climbed higher, Old Iron approached Jinhai. The big man was hesitant, his usual bravado replaced by the heavy weight of a "personal liability" he had been carrying in silence.
"Boss," Old Iron rasped, looking toward the horizon where the nearest village lay hidden in the haze. "You talk about systems. About... productivity. My girl, Mia. She's in the village. The 'Grey-Lung' is taking her. The village doc says she needs 'Spirit-Gravel' to clear her chest, but that costs more than my life's worth. If I'm part of your system... is there a line item for her?"
Jinhai looked at the man. He didn't see a father's grief; he saw a Retention Risk. If Old Iron was distracted by family tragedy, his labor output would be erratic. If the daughter died, the asset might become "unstable" or "non-performing."
"A dependent's health is a factor in a worker's long-term utility," Jinhai said, his voice remaining flat, but his mind already running the numbers. "Merchant Zhang's inventory includes Lunar-Silt Salve. It is a 400% markup on common gravel, but it cures Grey-Lung in three doses."
Jinhai reached into his pouch and pulled out a small, thumb-sized nugget of 94% Purity Star-Iron.
"Han," Jinhai called out. "On your next procurement run, you will not just buy grain. You will liquidate this iron and acquire the salve. You will deliver it to the village. Old Iron, you are not permitted to leave the estate. Your 'leave' would be a security breach. But the estate will provide for the 'maintenance' of your family."
Old Iron stared at the violet-glowing nugget. His hands shook. "You'd do that? Just like that?"
"It is not a gift," Jinhai corrected, turning back toward his kiln. "It is a Healthcare Benefit. It will be deducted from your 'Bonus Slag' over the next two fiscal quarters. This ensures your focus remains entirely on the Deep-Core ventilation shaft. Do not make me regret the investment."
Old Iron didn't thank him. He couldn't. He just turned and began to dig. He didn't strike the earth with a roar; he moved with the new, slow, efficient rhythm Jinhai had taught him. He didn't waste a single drop of Qi.
[Personnel Update: Asset 'Old Iron' — Loyalty Index increased by 45%.][Optimization: Moral Hazard mitigated via Healthcare Provision.]
Jinhai returned to his subterranean suite. He sat at his desk and picked up the charcoal. The "Human" texture of the estate was stabilizing. They were weak, they were modest in realm, but they were becoming consistent.
"Phase One complete," Jinhai whispered, marking the ledger. "Now, we begin the specialized training. We will turn these 'low-tier trash' into a system the Sect cannot even fathom."
He closed his eyes, his own "Organ Forging" beginning to hum in time with the deep, violet heart of the earth. The empire wasn't being built on blood and glory; it was being built on benefits, benchmarks, and the absolute elimination of waste.
Jinhai stood at the threshold of the subterranean suite, his shadow elongated by the violet glare of the Ley-Line straw. His breath was shallow, his internal organs still humming with the "Late-Stage" transition. He felt as though his heart had been replaced with a precision-machined pump; every beat sent a pulse of cold, metallic Qi through his refined blood.
But the ledger in his mind was screaming. A Foundation Establishment signature was 4.2 kilometers away and closing. In the world of the Iron Silt Sect, that was a predator entering a hen house."Gather," Jinhai stated.
The three men—Old Iron, Big Mouse, and Quick-Finger—emerged from their new alcoves. They looked healthier, the "Ghost-Chill" gone from their eyes, but as they felt the oppressive, golden pressure of the approaching carriage, their newfound discipline began to fray."Boss," Big Mouse whispered, his ears twitching as he tracked the high-frequency hum of the Buyer's escort. "That's... that's a Core Administrator's signature. We're dead. They're coming to repossess the land."
"No one is repossessing a liquidated asset," Jinhai said, his voice dropping into a register that vibrated the very stones of the floor. He looked at them, auditing their fear. "You are currently 'Standard Labor.' If you face a Foundation cultivator as you are, your survival probability is 0%. We are going to implement Phase 4: Technique Optimization.
"He turned to Old Iron. "Step into the center of the resonance.
"Old Iron obeyed, his heavy boots thudding on the silt. Jinhai didn't give him a new manual. He reached out and grabbed Old Iron's forearms. Using his Late-Stage perception, Jinhai "saw" the man's Qi—a muddy, turbulent flow of Flesh Tempering energy that wasted 40% of its force on useless heat.
"You strike like a hammer," Jinhai said. "I want you to strike like a Piston. Do not circulate through your shoulders. Anchor your Qi into the Star-Iron floor. Let the Ley-Line provide the 'recoil.' You are no longer an individual; you are a component of this room.
"Jinhai's Qi surged into Old Iron, not as an attack, but as a "Firmware Update." He physically forced Old Iron's meridians to "flatten" and "smooth," stripping away the wasteful flourishes of his bandit-style martial arts.
"Quick-Finger," Jinhai called, not breaking his focus. "The Formation Flags Han brought. You aren't setting them in the dirt. You are threading them into the Ventilation Shaft. Every breath this Buyer takes in my house will be an 'Audit' of their lungs.
"Under Jinhai's relentless direction, the subterranean suite transformed. It wasn't a home anymore; it was an Integrated Defense System.
Old Iron became the "Load-Bearing Wall," his Qi anchored into the very foundation Jinhai had built. Quick-Finger became the "Security Sensor," his fingers flying as he tuned the formation flags to the Ley-Line's frequency. Big Mouse was the "Early Warning System," his light Qi flow expanded into a web that covered every inch of the 1.2 hectares.
They felt weaker individually—their Qi was capped, their movements restricted—but for the first time, they felt Synchronized.
"Here," Jinhai said, handing Old Iron a heavy, unrefined slab of Star-Iron slag. "If he moves to strike, do not block. Simply 'Amortize' the blow. Transfer his energy into the floor. The Ley-Line can handle the debt. You just have to be the conduit."
The sound of the carriage reached the surface. It was a heavy, ostentatious sound—gold-rimmed wheels crushing the dry silt of the Barrens.
Jinhai didn't move. He sat at his desk and opened the Master Ledger. He looked at his men. They were modest in realm, "low-tier trash" in the eyes of the Sect, but they were now a Closed-Loop System.
"Remember," Jinhai whispered as the golden pressure of the Buyer's presence began to leak into the room. "Power does not scale linearly. Systems do. Act as components, and the house will not fall."
The ceiling of the office vibrated. A voice, smooth and dripping with the arrogance of a man who owned entire cities, drifted down the borehole.
"Lu Jinhai? I am Administrator Wei. I have a 'Purchase Order' for your father's outstanding debts. I suggest you open the door before I 'write off' this entire property."
Jinhai looked at the ledger. He looked at Old Iron, who stood like a silent monolith. He looked at Quick-Finger, whose hands were steady on the formation triggers."The Buyer is here," Jinhai said, his eyes glowing with a faint, metallic violet light. "Let's see if he can survive the Hostile Audit."[Status: Infrastructure Defense Mode — ACTIVE.]
[Personnel: Optimized for Systemic Synergi.]
[Objective: Terminate the Purchase Order.]
Jinhai stood up, smoothed his tunic, and prepared to greet the man who thought a Foundation Establishment realm was enough to conquer an accountant's empire.
The heavy silt door didn't creak; it slid open with the oiled precision of a vault. Jinhai stepped into the cold twilight of the Barrens, moving with a fluid, metallic grace that made him look less like a boy and more like a statue brought to life.
Administrator Wei stood beside his carriage, a vessel of carved spirit-wood that hummed with enough stored Qi to power Jinhai's kiln for a year. Wei was a man of middle years, his skin as smooth as polished jade, wearing the deep sapphire robes of the Foundation Establishment rank. Behind him stood two "Escorts"—guards at the Peak of Qi Refining, their hands resting on the pommels of heavy, sect-standard broadswords.
Wei didn't look at Jinhai. He looked at the air. He sniffed once, his nostrils flaring. "The resonance in the soil is... irregular. You've been tapping something, haven't you, little rat?"
"I have been stabilizing a failing asset, Administrator," Jinhai replied, his voice flat and clinical. He didn't bow. He stood with his hands behind his back, auditing the trio.
[Target: Administrator Wei][Rank: Foundation Establishment (Initial)][Status: Over-leveraged. Qi-Flow inefficient (Excessive ornamentation).]
"Stabilizing?" Wei laughed, a sound like glass breaking. He pulled a scroll from his sleeve—the 'Purchase Order.' "Your father died owing the Iron Silt Sect four thousand high-grade spirit stones in 'unaccounted' losses. As his sole heir, your life, this land, and whatever you've dug out of it belong to the debt-collector. I am here to liquidate."
"A debt must be verified before it is settled," Jinhai said. "I invite you into my office to review the ledgers. It would be... unprofessional to conduct a final audit in the dirt."
Wei's guards shifted, sensing a trap, but Wei sneered. To a Foundation Establishment cultivator, a Qi Refining boy was a gnat. "Lead the way. But be warned: if the numbers don't match, I'll use your bones as the ink-sticks for my report."
They descended.
The moment Wei stepped into the subterranean suite, his expression flickered. He expected a damp hole; he found a Subterranean Management Suite lined with Star-Iron slag that hummed with a suppressed, violet frequency.
"Old Iron," Jinhai stated, not looking back.
Old Iron stood in the corner, his feet braced against the floor. To Wei, the man looked like a common thug. He didn't see that Old Iron was currently actived as a Vibrational Ground.
"Sit," Jinhai commanded, gesturing to a stone chair.
Wei sat. The moment his weight hit the chair, the "System" engaged. Quick-Finger, hidden in the ventilation crawlspace, snapped a series of formation flags into place. The air didn't change color, but the density shifted.
"The debt you mention," Jinhai began, opening his Master Ledger on the desk, "is based on a 312 Azure Era valuation. However, under the Sect's own Internal Revenue Bylaw 4-C, a death in the line of duty provides a 60% credit toward outstanding liabilities."
Wei's eyes narrowed. "You dare lecture me on the Bylaws?" He moved to stand, his golden Foundation-Qi beginning to flare. "Enough of this! I sense the Star-Iron. I sense the Ley-Line. I'm taking it all!"
Wei unleashed a burst of pressure—a golden wave of Qi designed to crush Jinhai's internal organs.
It never hit him.
Jinhai didn't move. The golden wave hit the air three feet in front of the desk and was instantly redirected. The violet-lined walls hummed. Old Iron let out a low, guttural groan, his knees locking as he channeled the "Debt" of Wei's energy directly into the Ley-Line borehole.
[System Defense: Amortization Success.][Internal Stability: 98%.]
"Inefficient," Jinhai whispered, his eyes glowing a sharp, metallic violet. "You are spending 200 units of Qi to produce 40 units of pressure. A catastrophic waste of resources."
"What... what is this?" Wei gasped. He tried to pull his Qi back, but he found his meridians 'stuck.' The formation flags Quick-Finger had set were tuned to Wei's specific frequency—the 'shiver' Jinhai had audited during the conversation.
"Quick-Finger, increase the friction," Jinhai ordered.
The air in the room became like molasses. Every time Wei tried to circulate his power, it felt like his blood was full of sand.
"You're a Foundation-level asset," Jinhai said, standing up and walking around the desk. He didn't draw a sword. He held a charcoal stick like a scalpel. "But you've neglected your Foundation Tempering. Your core is load-bearing, but your meridians are brittle. You are an over-leveraged building waiting for a tremor."
Jinhai reached out. His finger, humming with Late-Stage precision, tapped the center of Wei's chest—the 'Primary Node.'
"I am 'Shorting' your account, Administrator."
Jinhai sent a single, high-frequency vibration into Wei's chest. It wasn't a powerful strike; it was a Resonant Interference. It hit the "leak" in Wei's cultivation that Jinhai had identified minutes ago.
Wei's golden Qi didn't explode; it collapsed inward. His own power, unable to find an outlet through the friction-locked room, began to scour his own meridians.
"AAAGH!" Wei collapsed into the chair, blood leaking from his nose. His two guards moved to draw their swords, but Big Mouse emerged from the shadows behind them, his light-Qi footwork making him a ghost. He didn't kill them; he simply tapped the hilts of their swords with his own Qi-conducting rods, 'grounding' their weapons to the floor's Star-Iron.
They were stuck. The entire room had become a Closed-Loop Circuit, and Wei was the failing battery.
"The Purchase Order is denied," Jinhai said, looking down at the gasping Administrator. "In fact, given the unauthorized entry and the damage to my atmospheric quality, it is you who owes me."
[Status: Hostile Audit COMPLETE.][Outcome: Target Neutralized via Systemic Collapse.][New Asset Opportunity: 1x Foundation-Rank Storage Ring.]
Jinhai turned to Han, who had just appeared at the door, holding a small porcelain jar of Lunar-Silt Salve.
"Han," Jinhai said, his voice returning to its calm, industrial tone. "The audit is finished. Deliver the salve to Old Iron's daughter. Then, prepare the 'Liquidation' table. We have a Foundation-rank storage ring to inventory."
Old Iron slumped against the wall, his muscles steaming from the heat he'd absorbed, but he looked at Jinhai with a terror-filled respect. "You... you just broke an Administrator without a scratch."
"I didn't break him," Jinhai said, marking a fresh page in his ledger. "The math did. He lived beyond his means, and today, the interest came due."
He looked at the two terrified guards. "Clean this mess up. We have a production schedule to maintain, and the next quarter starts tomorrow."
The Barrens were silent, but deep beneath the earth, Jinhai's empire had just cleared its first major debt.