Three months.
A fleeting span for a cultivator lost in meditation, yet an eternity for an accountant spinning hot money.
The ramshackle hut in the Eastern Sector was gone. In its place now stood a sturdy two-story building of black ironwood. Hanging at the entrance was a plaque with blood-red calligraphy:
[Hall of Equilibrium]
There was no longer any chaotic queue. Patients now sat neatly in the waiting hall, holding wooden number tokens. The atmosphere was calm, silent, and thick with the scent of expensive incense, masking the faint metallic tang of blood drifting from the back room.
On the second floor, Yan Kesh sat behind a massive mahogany desk.
His appearance had changed completely. He wore a black robe embroidered with silver threads, his hair neatly tied with a jade hairpin.
Yet there was no joy on his face.
Before his eyes, the ledger of The Audit glowed crimson within his mind.
---
[FIRST QUARTER REPORT]
[Total Patients Healed: 420]
[Total Energy Absorbed: 15,000 Units]
[Operational Costs (Yan Kesh's Sustenance): 3,000 Units]
[VIP Treatment Cost (Qiu Moren): 11,500 Units]
[NET BALANCE: +500 Units (CRITICAL)]
---
Yan Kesh pinched the bridge of his nose.
"The profit margin is thinning," he muttered.
The problem was Qiu Moren.
The Sect Master's condition was worsening. In the beginning, Yan Kesh only needed to divert the pain into a single plant, or at most, a rabbit. But now, the "sins" accumulated from Qiu Moren's forbidden techniques had grown far heavier.
Just for last week's therapy session, Yan Kesh had been forced to drain the vitality of three outer disciples until they were left permanently crippled—just to let Qiu Moren sleep soundly for one single night.
"Our stock is running low, sir," Gou San's voice broke the silence.
The man, now an efficient operations manager, placed his ledger on the desk.
"The 'viable' outer disciples in the Eastern Sector are already exhausted. Most of them have been healed and re-harvested so many times their bodies can no longer produce usable energy. The rest… are either too poor, or too afraid."
Yan Kesh tapped his fingers against the desk.
"We can't stop. If I stop treating Qiu Moren, he'll kill me the moment the pain returns. If I keep treating him with what we have, I'll run out of 'batteries' within two weeks."
This was nothing but a biological Ponzi scheme.
Yan Kesh was borrowing health from those at the bottom to pay the health of those at the top. And now, the bottom layer had been drained dry.
"We need a new market," Yan Kesh murmured.
The door opened.
He Qiu walked in.
The youth was no longer the same. There was a thin scar across his cheek, and his eyes were cold, stripped of the naive innocence of a village boy.
"Sir Yan," He Qiu reported. "I've just returned from a border patrol. There's some interesting news."
"Speak."
"To the south, about fifty li from here, there's a refugee settlement. They're survivors from three villages destroyed by a conflict between two minor sects—the Windblade Sect and the Iron Fist Sect."
Yan Kesh's eyes lit up slightly. "Refugees?"
"Yes. Around two hundred people. Mostly peasants, but some are former sect disciples who fled. They're starving, sick, and desperate."
Yan Kesh rose from his chair, a thin smile returning to his face.
Refugees were the finest commodity.
They had no homes.
No protectors.
And most importantly—no hope.
A man with a full stomach would hesitate before selling his finger.
A starving man would sell his arm for a single bowl of porridge.
"He Qiu," Yan Kesh ordered, "prepare the carriage. Bring food supplies—hard bread and thin gruel. Nothing fancy."
"Are we recruiting?" Gou San asked.
"No," Yan Kesh corrected calmly as he walked to the window, gazing southward. "We're conducting a distressed asset acquisition."
"The Ashen Pulse Sect needs new disciples. Qiu Moren needs new vessels to dump his disease into. And I… need an energy surplus."
He turned back to face them.
"He Qiu, you'll lead the operation. Fly the banner of the Ashen Pulse Sect. Tell them: 'We accept anyone. We feed anyone.'"
"Don't mention the price. Let them come in first. Let them eat first."
He Qiu nodded, but hesitation flickered in his eyes. "Sir… they're victims of war. Are we really going to… use them as sacrifices for Qiu Moren?"
Yan Kesh stepped closer and placed a hand on the youth's shoulder.
"Out there, they die of hunger or get torn apart by wolves. In here, they die with purpose, prolonging the life of a powerful cultivator."
"In my eyes, that's an upgrade in quality of life."
"Carry it out."
He Qiu lowered his head, swallowing the last remnants of his conscience. "Yes, sir."
After his subordinates left, Yan Kesh returned to his seat. He opened a drawer and took out a small, rusted dagger.
He sliced his own finger lightly, then instantly healed the wound using what little balance of energy remained.
The Audit recorded the trivial transaction.
The system was fair—
and cruel.
Yan Kesh knew he was building a tower atop human corpses. The higher the tower rose, the more corpses were needed to support its foundation.
"The deficit must be covered," he whispered to the empty room. "No matter the cost."
---
Two Days Later. Southern Valley.
Hundreds of refugees gathered in the muddy field. Their faces were hollow, their eyes vacant. Children cried without sound, too weak to even sob.
When the horse-drawn carriages bearing the black banner of the Ashen Pulse Sect arrived, no one fled in fear.
They were too exhausted to feel fear.
He Qiu stood atop the carriage. Behind him, Gou San's hired disciples unloaded barrels of warm gruel. The scent of food spread through the air, stirring the refugees like starving zombies.
"Calm down!" He Qiu shouted, channeling a trace of Qi to amplify his voice.
"The Ashen Pulse Sect offers protection! Who wants food? Who wants a warm bed?"
"ME! ME!"
"Please, save my child!"
"We'll do anything!"
Countless hands reached out—
thin, filthy hands trembling in desperation.
From within the curtained carriage, Yan Kesh observed.
His sharp eyes scanned the crowd through Audit Mode.
He didn't see people.
He saw numbers.
[Target: Adult Male, 30 years old] → Vitality Potential: High (Suitable vessel for Qiu Moren)
[Target: Child, 8 years old] → Potential: Low (Long-term investment)
[Target: Pregnant Woman] → Potential: Double (Pure Energy Yield)
"Take the healthy ones," Yan Kesh whispered to Gou San beside him. "Leave the critically ill behind. They're just liabilities on the balance sheet."
Gou San nodded and began sorting.
"You, get on the carriage! You—step aside! You, get on!"
The joyous cries of those chosen mixed with the wails of those rejected. The irony was suffocating.
They were cheering because they had been selected for hell.
Suddenly, Yan Kesh's gaze froze.
At the edge of the crowd stood a teenage girl, perhaps fifteen years old. Her clothes were tattered, but her eyes… her eyes glowed with a faint, unnatural crimson.
She wasn't scrambling for food.
She was staring at He Qiu with killing intent, her hand clenched behind her back around a shard of broken glass.
---
[AUDIT TARGET]
[Name: Unknown]
[Status: Wild Cultivator – Natural Talent]
[Anomaly Detected: "Cold-Blooded Curse" (Pure Yin Body)]
[Potential Value: EXTREMELY HIGH]
---
Yan Kesh's smile widened.
A Pure Yin Body.
The perfect vessel to absorb Qiu Moren's "waste" without collapsing. This single girl was worth more than a hundred ordinary refugees.
"He Qiu," Yan Kesh called from behind the curtain.
"Yes, sir?"
"The girl at your nine o'clock. The one holding the glass shard. Make sure she comes with us. Tie her up if you have to—but don't let her get scratched."
"She's a premium asset."
Yan Kesh's business had just received a massive injection of capital.