Zhao Guangqi made a trip to Phoenix Cry City and returned with more than a dozen large cartloads of food: rice, flour, soybeans, and all kinds of vegetables.
He intended to leave the two hundred mu of farmland behind the mountain for those dozen or so households to keep farming. That was Zhao Guangqi's idea.
They had worked it for decades, paying rent to the Tianyang Sect every year. He felt it would be inappropriate to take it back now.
The list Zhang Qingyuan gave him called for buying food in bulk, but he only had eight thousand taels in total, and had no idea how much food he should buy.
Without a definite figure, he bought a thousand taels of food.
At current prices, a jin of rice cost around five copper coins. Polished rice cost a little more, coarse rice a little less. He bought neither good nor bad rice, just the ordinary kind.
A hundred thousand jin of food-he had no idea whether it would be enough.
In fact, he was very worried he had bought too much.
Besides that, his junior brother had told him to order beds, repair the training grounds, and renovate the entire sect, inside and out, top to bottom.
There definitely was not enough money, so he would have to use his discretion. He had to work out the priorities himself.
He hauled the food to the granary beside the kitchen, took a group of craftsmen to repair the training grounds, and still needed to get carpenters to make beds. These were the jobs he thought needed doing first.
The training grounds definitely needed repairs. Disciples joined primarily to practice martial arts. How could they manage without somewhere to train?
Then there were the beds. The sect had plenty of old beds, but many had fallen into disrepair over the years. Some were even a hundred years old.
The Tianyang Sect had plenty of rooms, tables, chairs, and benches.
But those were all assets left over from its glorious days. After so long, many things were no longer usable.
Zhao Guangqi went from room to room, sorting through them. Anything usable would stay in service; anything unusable would become firewood.
But Zhao Guangqi had never seen this new kind of bed before.
The plans his junior brother provided actually had two tiers, one above the other.
To make beds like these sturdy and durable, the timber certainly could not be too poor.
Back when the Tianyang Sect had plenty of people, a dozen or more outer disciples would sleep in one room on a communal sleeping platform.
Only inner disciples got their own rooms. Only direct disciples enjoyed two rooms to themselves, with a bedroom inside and a sitting room outside.
Yet his junior brother wanted the communal platforms torn out and every room fitted with those bunk beds instead.
That was a major undertaking, and the crucial problem was that he had no money!
They would still be shared rooms, but certainly more comfortable than communal sleeping platforms.
He had not found a carpenter yet. His junior brother said he only needed to wait to receive the beds when the time came.
Spend the money on the blade's edge-but where exactly was that edge?
He would arrange whatever he could first.
He kept working until evening before finally shaking his head and returning to his room, his mind a complete muddle.
He sat inside, still holding two pills.
Looking at the two precious pills in his hand, he truly could not bear to take them.
It would be a lie to say he did not crave them, but he also felt that taking them himself would be a waste.
After some thought, he simply tossed the Creation Pill into his mouth. It was his junior brother's kindness, after all.
A quarter of an hour later, Zhao Guangqi opened his eyes amid the pain, drenched in sweat, an irrepressible sense of comfort spreading through his body.
He checked with delight. His True Qi circulated at least a fifth faster than before.
That fifth was not to be underestimated. It was an enormous improvement!
At the same time, he felt some regret. Had a genius taken it, their True Qi would probably circulate twice as smoothly.
He was almost forty already. Only remolding his innate aptitude at thirty-seven was far, far too late.
The accepted saying in the martial world was that anyone who failed to reach the sixth-rank realm by thirty had no hope of reaching the upper three ranks in this lifetime.
He accepted his fate. His highest possible endpoint was probably only the fourth rank, and even that was only within reach after taking the Creation Pill.
During the Tianyang Sect's glorious days, his talent would not even have qualified him as an inner disciple.
Who would have thought that he was now an elder himself?
No, wait-the head of the Logistics Department.
At that thought, he took the Minor Rejuvenation Pill too.
His True Qi surged, and that increase brought him straight to peak fifth rank.
By his reckoning, he would definitely reach the fourth rank before fifty.
Someone might ask: since he was already at the peak of the fifth-grade realm, just one final step from the fourth-rank realm, surely he should cross over very soon?
But not everyone could take that step. Those of mediocre aptitude might need years, a decade or more, or even several decades.
Those with poor aptitude might never take that step in their entire lives.
He bathed, changed clothes, and lay in bed reading the list in his hand again, thinking about tomorrow's work, before finally sinking into sleep.
Zheng Jianxin carried his sword, holding three sword manuals as he studied them carefully.
He had come to a bandit den on the northern mountain. There were about a dozen bandits here, none of them amounting to much.
Already in the fourth-rank realm, he had now reached peak fourth rank with the help of the Creation Pill and Minor Rejuvenation Pill.
Advancing from the fourth rank to the third required not more True Qi, but an understanding of the martial Dao and insight into one's own domain.
Once that enlightenment succeeded, the breakthrough could happen instantly.
Unfortunately, although he had begun seeking enlightenment upon entering the fourth rank and had always believed he followed the sword Dao, he had never found its direction in all these years.
He had studied every sword manual in the Tianyang Sect. These days, he mainly practiced the Tianyang Four Extremes Sword Art and the Blazing Sun and Clear Breeze Sword.
For no other reason than that those two sword arts had the coolest moves.
He knew several dozen other sword arts, more or less, but those two were the ones he had studied most deeply.
After reading these three sword manuals, he felt inspiration bursting within him.
Flying Immortal from Beyond Heaven was an utterly perfect, magnificent sword art, like a work of art.
Even from the manual, he could read moonlight, nobility, solitude, and ethereal grace-the perfection of a banished immortal descending to the mortal world.
Just thinking about it filled him with uncontrollable excitement.
To practice this sword art, he would at least need white robes. An immortal needed magnificent clothes, after all.
One Sword Separates Generations was an immensely powerful sword art, possessing tremendous destructive and ruinous force.
Practicing this sword strike required not sword moves, but ultimate, indomitable sword intent. The stronger the sword intent, the greater the power of the move.
One sword to cleave heaven and earth, one sword to destroy life and death.
Imagine standing before an army of barbarians and piercing the armor of a thousand elite soldiers with one sword...
No, no, this was too much...
Zheng Jianxin felt that if he kept thinking, he might climax.
Deep breaths. Deep breaths.
Then there was the Cihang Sword Canon, a sword art that merged with the Heavenly Dao. Practicing it required a clear sword heart, free of distracting thoughts and unstained by a speck of dust.
Its swordplay held compassion: killing to save the world, severing karma rather than people.
This sword art had a sense of Daoist compassion and the Buddhist desire to deliver the world.
He felt that, at a profound enough level, it might even let him shatter the void and travel to other great worlds...
Oh, fucking hell!
Reading those three sword arts made even the roots of his teeth itch.
It was not that the Tianyang Sect's sword arts were bad. Perhaps monks from elsewhere chanted better scriptures; other people's things always seemed more enticing than his own.
He could leave the Cihang Sword Canon aside for now. He knew his limitations. Although he considered his sword heart clear enough, he had too many distracting thoughts.
He could start by practicing Flying Immortal from Beyond Heaven and One Sword Separates Generations together.
He pondered as he walked.
Outside the northern mountain's bandit den, two bandits guarding the entrance saw someone approaching with a sword and hurried inside in fright to fetch help.
The bandit chief came out carrying a saber, only to see a man in long black robes standing outside the mountain gate, sword in one hand and books in the other, frowning one moment and chuckling the next, sometimes even giving a couple of involuntary twitches.
The chief did not understand. He himself was also a martial artist, in the ninth-rank realm.
He could not make sense of it. Was this man mad?
Judging by his appearance, the fellow ought to be an expert.
But that behavior had nothing whatsoever to do with an expert.
He looked questioningly at his men. "How long has he been like this?"
"Must be an hour now," one subordinate replied.
Another added, "I watched him come up from the foot of the mountain, laughing as he walked. I didn't dare ask him anything."
"Go take a look. If he really is a lunatic, kill him with one stroke. Check whether he has any money, too. Strip him clean, and make sure you bring that sword back. Looks much more impressive than this saber of mine. Tch!"
The chief had lost interest. He shot his lackey an annoyed look. "Next time some lunatic or idiot turns up, don't tell me. Just kill him. Wasting my fucking time and spoiling my fun."
"Yes, yes, yes." The lackey smiled obsequiously and apologized.
One of them approached Zheng Jianxin with his saber, raised it, and swung...
Swish!
Sword light blazed as bright as day, illuminating the entire valley. A faint white tiger's roar shook the mountain woods.
The chief was stunned. He whipped around, unable to believe it of his subordinate. Did we actually have an expert like this hidden among us?
The others were dumbfounded too. Wasn't this way too fucking powerful?
But on second thought, how could it possibly have come from that lackey?
Sure enough, when the sword light dispersed, the lackey was still frozen in his downward swing.
The idiot, meanwhile, had somehow passed him and was standing behind him.
Deathly silence...
After an unknown length of time, the chief finally reacted.
He hurled himself forward and slid onto his knees. "G-g-g-great hero! Great hero, spare my life! I had eyes but couldn't see! It was him, all this damned bastard's fault for spoiling your fun! A fine kill!
"Great hero, spare me! I have an eighty-year-old mother above me and below me..."
"What did you just see?"
The voice was cold as ice, filled with boundless killing intent.
Zheng Jianxin narrowed his eyes as though looking at a dead man.
"Nothing, nothing, boss! I didn't see a thing!"
"A lunatic?"
"An idiot?"
Zheng Jianxin felt his Dao heart crumble.
The chief nearly wet himself with fright. He looked around behind him. "Who said that? Step forward!
"Who the fuck dared call our great hero a lunatic? I'll skin him alive!"
"Heh."
After that cold laugh, a dragon's cry rang through the woods, and azure sword light washed the mountain forest green...
Social death. Utter social death!
A chuunibyou youth imagined an incredibly cool, dashing basketball shot, lost himself so completely that he accidentally mimed it on the playground, and was seen by everyone around him, their eyes full of ridicule.
Whether he had been a sword immortal or a sword god in his mind, however perfect that scene had been.
In everyone else's eyes, he was simply an idiot!
And Zheng Jianxin truly could not tolerate anyone seeing him that way.
Anyone who had seen him like that had to die!
His junior brother had asked him to make a name for himself and kill all those petty, scheming scoundrels.
He simply used Sword Qi to write on the cliff beside him: "The killer was the Tianyang Sword Immortal, Zheng Jianxin!"
Even making a name for himself needed to look cool.
Of course, Sword Immortal was a title he had given himself.
Although Old Second loved acting aloof, the point of acting aloof was to show off.
Killing to make a name for himself was showing off too, which suited him perfectly.
He put away his treasured sword and looked up at the night sky.
Next stop!
The Bian Family were wealthy merchants in Great Zhou's Eastern Realm. The Great Zhou dynasty was divided into the Five Realms and nineteen provinces.
East, south, west, north, and center.
The Eastern Realm lay along the coast, with four provinces and thirty-six cities. Even among all the wealthy merchants, the Bian Family ranked highly.
Their business was enormous: timber, cloth, seafood, property, and much, much more. They could rightly be called immensely wealthy.
As the eldest son, and the eldest legitimate son at that, Bian Zhenxuan should have inherited that vast fortune and become the next head of the Bian Family.
Unfortunately, the fellow had been lazy since childhood and had little enthusiasm for business.
Later, he decided that going up a mountain to study martial arts was a good choice. As the saying went, the sun stood high over the mountain temple before the monk rose; clearly, fame and fortune were worth less than leisure.
So he chose the Tianyang Sect.
With his family's means, he could easily have chosen a top-tier sect.
But he was too lazy. Top-tier sects had too many people, and he did not want to get involved.
As it happened, Phoenix Cry Mountain had the Tianyang Sect. It had deep foundations and had now declined-the perfect place for him to retire.
So he had gone up the mountain as a child and stayed there.
Old Bian tried every possible method to bring his son home. He said that if his son failed to reach the fifth rank before thirty, he would have to return, marry, have children, and establish a household and career.
So, on the last day of his twenty-ninth year, he timed it just right and entered the fifth-grade realm.
Yes, he was thirty-two this year, and still at the fifth rank.
He liked lying around, took no interest in paths others had walked or things they had done, and was enthusiastic about new things.
This time, he had absolutely no interest in this deputy sect master business or this Finance Department.
On the day his master died, he had already decided that whichever fellow disciple inherited the position of sect master, as long as they could preserve this property, he would keep lying around on the mountain.
If not, he would go home and lie around.
He just hadn't expected Old Seventh to become sect master in the end.
Still less had he expected Old Seventh to actually have new ideas.
He didn't know what Zhang Qingyuan's plan was, but from all the signs, he could guess that the sect would surely rise in a way no one expected.
So he looked forward to seeing this novel kind of sect emerge. He also wanted to take a look and see just what Old Seventh had in mind.
Only then had he agreed to serve temporarily as the minister of finance and help him get things done.
Old Zhang, the gatekeeper, had watched him grow up, and Bian Zhenxuan followed him straight inside.
As the eldest legitimate son, he had been born to enjoy life.
If I can't enjoy myself and can't be free, then what am I living for?
"Young Master, the master and madam have missed you terribly. You must stay a few more days this time," Old Zhang said with a cheerful smile.
Bian Zhenxuan was very tall, over a meter eighty, and he wasn't bad-looking either.
"All right."
They made their way to the reception hall, and Old Zhang hurried inside.
"Master, the young master is back."
Inside the hall, Old Bian was delighted at first. He looked up toward the entrance, his hand pausing with his tea.
Then he immediately put on a stern face. "That little bastard. What's he back for? To see if his old man's dead yet, so he can carry my funeral banner, is that it?"
"Master, Master, you mustn't say that. It's not often the young master comes home." Old Zhang hurried to persuade him.
Just then, Bian Zhenxuan entered the hall as well, and the maids immediately brought over a cup of tea and set out fruit.
"Father," Bian Zhenxuan called.
"Hah, who's that? Who called me? My son is obediently staying home and learning business from me. Who are you looking for, young gentleman?"
At this, Bian Zhenxuan shook his head with a smile. Looking at his old father, he made as if to turn around. "What, you won't acknowledge me? If you won't, I'm leaving."
With that, he was about to turn away when Old Bian, seated in his grand armchair, set his teacup down with a clack.
"You little bastard! You haven't come home in over a year, and I can't even grumble a little?
I'm your father. What's wrong with letting me vent a little, you living ancestor!"
Bian Zhenxuan turned his head back. Old Bian was both angry and amused.