The perfume business moved faster than expected once Chen Ren and Tang Yuqiu finalised their discussions.

Soon, everything else settled in— Tang Yuqiu was given the task to manage the herb gathering and production while Chen Ren handled the marketing.

To make sure they were on the right side of the local laws, they took a day to read up everything on herb gathering and found a surprising thing— there were no restrictions on how much common herbs could be gathered.

Only the rarer ones had restrictions, but they didn't have to care about them since the herbs they needed were extremely common.

The only real concern came from the local gathering community, but that would be handled in a way that Chen Ren found both clever and practical.

Tang Yuqiu’s solution was simple: hire the community members themselves to gather the herbs, turning any potential complaints into cooperation. It was the kind of pragmatic approach he’d come to expect from someone with a business clan background, leaving him free to focus on other matters while Yuqiu ironed out the smaller details. Profits would follow, eventually.

As she worked to start the production, Chen Ren shifted his attention back to the noodle stall.

The scent of fresh dough and spices mingled with the crisp morning air as he rolled out another batch, watching customers queue up with hunger in their eyes. It wasn’t glamorous work, but with each satisfied slurp and each coin dropped into his hands, he felt the stall inching closer to stability. The perfume venture might be a longer game, but the noodle stall— now that was where he could see results day by day.

Till now, Chen Ren had ensured that every step with his noodle stall was executed flawlessly. He had become a familiar face among the other stall owners in the market, and many had begun to show him respect, nodding in approval when he passed by.

He knew a lot of it was due to his connections with the Tang Clan and him being a cultivator, but it was still admiration and respect. Unfortunately, those weren’t enough— not for what he envisioned.

Cloud Mist City was teeming with opportunity. With his current success, he shouldn’t waste any more time to see his noodles reach every corner of the city. Two stalls could easily thrive here, maybe even three if he played his cards right. And that was only the beginning. Beyond this place, the entire Kalian Empire stretched out like a golden field waiting to be harvested. But to expand, he knew he needed more than just a good recipe and a prime location.

He needed a brand.

So far, he had only dipped his toes into a single business, one that barely hinted at the ambitions simmering in his mind. But things were changing.

With the perfume venture now also set in motion, he realised that scattered ventures wouldn’t cut it. He needed a common identity that would unify his efforts, something that would resonate with customers and leave an impression. Branding was his answer. Even if the concept wasn’t widely known or formalised here, it was already in use.

The big business clans, like the Tang Clan, branded every business they owned, subtly or overtly, with their name. When people saw that name, they knew who they were dealing with. The sects did it, too. Members wore robes in distinct colours, displaying their allegiance for all to see, turning even a simple garment into a symbol of their strength and reputation.

But Chen Ren wanted to take it further.

Rather than just crafting a brand for a company that would house all his businesses, he aimed for something with a deeper resonance.

He had been thinking about it these days and after all his internal discussions, his thoughts had landed on one thing— A sect.

If you want to make waves in this world, he thought, you can’t just swim— you have to ride the current and steer it.

Hence after tending to his noodle stall, he went to the tea shop, having already gotten permission from Qing He to read one more book from her hidden collection. He didn't move to another room this time and just sat at the counter, a thick tome opened before him.

The shop's counter was cluttered with loose leaves and porcelain cups, but the old woman next to him, Qing He, paid him no mind.

She shuffled around, muttering to herself about the weather and something about hasty young kids, but to Chen Ren, she was just another part of the background. Her indifference suited him perfectly; he didn't need prying eyes.

He flipped a page of the book, its parchment worn but rich with history. The text detailed the rise and fall of the great sects.

“In the days before the rise of the Kalian Empire, sects stood apart from the kingdoms and empires— sovereign forces with their own laws, ambitions, and domains. They wielded power like that of nations, each sect a world unto itself. They ruled over their disciples and guarded their territories, bowing to no monarch or noble. Their strength and prestige often rivalled, and at times, surpassed that of entire realms, their influence spreading like roots through the land.

But all of that changed with the rise of the Kalian Empire. At its heart was the first emperor— a heavenly genius whose prowess shattered the barriers of the domain manifestation realm and reached the higher realms that only few dared to even dream of. With power unmatched, he united the scattered kingdoms and clans under a single banner, his conquests sweeping across the continent like a storm. Sects that dared to stand against him found themselves broken, swallowed whole by the empire’s relentless march. Those who resisted learned quickly that defiance was met with annihilation.”

“In some remote regions”, the book explained. “Sects still held full autonomy, unchained by the authority of any kingdom or empire. They acted as sovereign entities, managing their territories and training disciples as they wished, following the ancient traditions of cultivation.”

This was more like what he remembered from the cultivation novels he used to read back home— powerful sects that ruled entire mountain ranges or valleys, taking in disciples and shaping the fate of the land.

But these were rare exceptions, the book emphasised. The Kalian Empire had tightened its grip on most regions, folding nearly all but a few rebellious and demonic sects under its rule. Still, the sound of such independence caught Chen Ren’s interest, and he kept reading, curiosity bubbling in his chest.

He flipped through more pages until he found the section on how to establish a sect. The old ways were simple— back then, all it took was a cultivator's word, and a new sect could rise overnight, built on the strength of their reputation and the sharpness of their sword. But the times had changed, and with it, the process had become more bureaucratic.

"To establish a sect," the book read in neat script, "one must adhere to the modern standards set by the Empire. A hierarchy has been established, beginning with the Four Guardian Sects, which oversee the territories and uphold the balance of power. Below them are the Established Sects, which have proven their strength and stability. They number in the dozens, each with its own unique practices. At the lowest tier are the Emerging Sects, numerous and ever-shifting in their fortunes. These new sects often lack the prestige of their older counterparts but may find their own paths to greatness."

Chen Ren’s eyes glinted as he read on.”To form a sect officially, a cultivator must be at least in the second realm and pay a fee of ten spirit stones. After registration, one may request recognition from the local city lord’s office. Prior to this, however, a cultivator may file for an unofficial sect status, which grants limited rights and allows for the gathering of disciples, provided no direct challenge is issued to the existing sects."

The more Chen Ren read, the more the possibilities spun through his mind. A smile formed on his lips as he considered the idea of starting as an unofficial sect, slowly building up until he could pay the fee and gain recognition. It wasn’t exactly what he’d dreamed of, but it was a start— one that could eventually lead to something greater.

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Just then, a voice cut through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. "Boy, you’re reading that dusty old thing like it's your woman's breast. Planning to join a sect, are you?" Qing He asked, finally taking notice of him.

Chen Ren glanced up, pausing before taking a sip of the lukewarm tea beside him. "No," he said, carefully closing the book with a soft thud. "It’s for something else."

Qing He raised a grey eyebrow, her expression equal parts amused and sceptical. "Oh? What would a young lad like you be so interested in, if not joining a sect?"

Chen Ren leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he met her gaze directly. "I want to establish a sect," he said, his tone casual, as if he were discussing the weather.

Her expression shifted, her crooked smile fading into something that resembled disbelief. Then, with a wheezy chuckle, she shook her head and looked at him as though he’d sprouted a second head. "Are you trying to get yourself killed, boy? You do realise you’re only in the mid-stages of the first realm, right?"

Chen Ren shrugged. "I know."

She snorted, her thin fingers tapping rhythmically on the wooden counter. "And you’re aware that the Guardian Sects wouldn’t even take you as an outer disciple, yes? You’d be laughed out before you even reached the gates."

Again, Chen Ren nodded. "I know that too."

The old woman narrowed her eyes, studying him as if she might see through whatever madness he was hiding. "Then why in the heavens would you want to establish a sect when you don’t even qualify to be a proper outer disciple? Did you hit your head during a practice session? Boy, if anyone in the sects hears of this, they’ll laugh themselves sick and take bets on how quickly you’ll get yourself killed."

"Maybe. But some things are worth trying, even if others think they’re impossible."

Qing He stared at him for a long moment, her expression softening slightly. She leaned back against the counter, letting out a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of ages. "You remind me of some fools I knew when I was young... but we’ll see if you last long enough to prove them wrong, boy."

He shrugged at her words. "It just felt like the right thing to do to start my company," he replied. He knew establishing a sect wasn't as simple as opening up a noodle stall, but a sect being his company was what he was looking for.

She scoffed. "And why not just establish a business clan, then? It would be much more fitting than some fool’s dream of starting a sect."

Chen Ren shook his head. "To create a business clan, I’d need more members, more backing. But a sect? That I can start on my own. Plus, if I managed to become an established sect, there would be tax benefits, lenient rules on expansion, and access to resources that a regular business just couldn’t get."

Her eyebrows shot up, and she let out a bark of laughter that drew a few curious looks from the other patrons. "If that ever happens in my lifetime, I’d gladly hand over this old shop to you and go live on the streets."

Chen Ren smirked. "I hope it doesn't come to that.” He looked at her seriously. “Street life isn’t meant for the elderly."

She scoffed again, this time softer, and then her expression turned serious. "Look, seriously think this through. Starting a sect isn't like setting up a market stall. You won’t be able to teach just about anyone martial techniques, you know."

"Who said I’m opening up a martial sect?"

She blinked, clearly thrown off. "Then what kind of sect are you talking about?"

"I'm going to open a sect for business. One that mortals can join too— not just as helpers, but as proper members. Martial arts won’t be the focus. Instead, I’ll take anyone interested in making money while cultivating on the side. That’s my vision. A place where even someone without a hint of talent can find a path forward, where hard work and strategy matter more than bloodline and talent."

She stared at him like he’d grown three heads this time, then let out a long sigh. "You don’t know the logistics involved in running a sect. Uniforms, managing resources, keeping your disciples in line, and then there’s protecting yourself from other sects that might see you as an easy prey. You won't even be able to manage even a tenth of that."

Chen Ren’s gaze didn’t waver. "Then I’ll hire people. I believe that whatever I can’t handle myself, I should have enough coin to hire someone who can. It’s not about doing everything on my own— it’s about knowing my limits and finding the right people to fill the gaps."

Qing He’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes narrowing. "You know, immortality isn’t found in making money. The path to cultivation is paved with discipline, not profit."

Chen Ren just chuckled at that. "There’s nothing wrong with making a bit of money along the way. The more I make, the more pills, herbs, and cultivation resources I can acquire. That’ll benefit my sect, won’t it?"

She let out a deep sigh, but a hint of a smile tugged at her lips. "You might be crazier than I thought, but there’s some truth in that, I suppose."

Their conversation was abruptly interrupted by a loud commotion from across the tea shop.

Two young women had begun shouting at each other, their voices rising until they drew the attention of everyone in the room. Then, without warning, they lunged at each other, hands glowing faintly with the aura of low-level cultivators. Tables were knocked aside as they clashed, cups and plates scattering onto the floor.

The old woman shook her head, a look of exasperation crossing her face. "See that? Fights break out everywhere, especially among sect members. Those two are barely in the initial stages and you’re not much stronger than them. If you start up a sect, how are you going to deal with situations like this? You wouldn’t be able to handle it."

Chen Ren leaned back, a confident glint in his eyes. "Do you want to make a bet?"

She looked at him and cleared her throat. "A bet, you say? And what exactly are you betting on?"

"I’ll settle that fight right in front of you. It will prove I can at least handle cultivators," Chen Ren said, pointing casually at the two quarrelling cultivators. "If I can do that without using my fists, you’ll owe me a favour. Let me read more books from your collection, without any questions."

***

The moonlight was bright against the darkness, its pale light filtering through the slats in the window, illuminating a scene of bloodshed.

A man lay on the floor, clutching his side as blood seeped through his fingers, pooling beneath him. Around him were the lifeless bodies of guards, their faces twisted in shock, and a woman, dressed in concubine's silks, sprawled motionless on the ground. Her glassy eyes stared into the darkness, as if pleading for help that never came.

Above the dying man stood another, draped in dark robes that seemed to blend with the shadows, a bloodied sword gleaming in his grip. His eyes glowed with a malevolent light as he stepped closer, the edge of his blade catching the moonlight. A twisted smile curled on his lips.

“Rong Zhen, it will be easier for both of us if you just tell me where the artefact is,” he drawled, his voice dripping with mockery.

Rong Zhen clutched his wound. His breathing ragged as he shook his head frantically. “I... I don’t know! Take everything in this room, just please... spare my life.”

The demonic cultivator chuckled, a low and sinister sound that seemed to chill the air around him. “Oh, I plan to take everything,” he replied, leaning closer until his shadow swallowed Rong Zhen whole. “But I don’t need you.”

With a sudden, jerking movement, dark tendrils erupted from his hands, twisting like serpents as they plunged into Rong Zhen’s abdomen. The man’s eyes bulged, and a choked gurgle escaped his lips as the tendrils drained his life force, turning his skin ashen.

Rong Zhen’s body twitched violently before going limp, his lifeless form crumpling to the floor like a discarded doll.

The demonic cultivator grimaced as he finished, pulling his hand back and watching the tendrils retract. He made a face as if tasting something bitter. “I expected better from a wealthy man’s soul,” he muttered, wiping his hand on the edge of his cloak.

From the shadows, a ghostly figure materialised— pale and translucent, his form barely holding together. He hovered over the scene, his robes drifting as if caught in an invisible wind. The ghost’s hollow eyes glowed with a faint, eerie light. “He wasn’t a cultivator,” the ghost remarked, his voice echoing unnaturally. “All mortal souls are... bland, Gu Tian. You should know that by now.”

Gu Tian sighed, casting an annoyed glance at the wraith. “Another waste of a night. I thought this one might be hiding something worthwhile.”

The ghost drifted closer, his gaze shifting around the room. “Perhaps not as much of a waste as you think. Check under that floorboard over there.” He gestured with a translucent hand toward a loose plank near the corner of the room.

Gu Tian arched an eyebrow but obeyed. With a swift kick, he broke through the floorboards, revealing a small, concealed compartment. Inside was a wooden box, dusty and worn. He pried it open, revealing a dark, sinister-looking sword. The metal seemed to hum faintly with a toxic energy, a faint, greenish mist curling around its edge.

The ghost’s eyes glinted. “An artefact... I can feel a poisonous aura emanating from it. This isn’t some cheap trinket— an Earth-grade artefact at the very least.”

Gu Tian’s lips twisted into a smirk as he lifted the sword, feeling its weight and the power thrumming within it. “I keep finding these lucky encounters ever since you bound yourself to me, Master.”

The ghost’s laughter echoed through the room, a haunting sound that sent shivers through the air. “Don’t let it get to your head, Gu Tian. The luckier you are, the more you’ll be tested. That’s the way of a Heaven’s favoured.”

Gu Tian’s smirk deepened, his eyes gleaming. “With my methods, Master, I think I’m more of a Hell’s favoured.”

He sheathed the sword at his side, taking one last look at the killings he had been responsible for. A part of him ached, knowing they didn't deserve it, but Gu Tian had forsaken chasing the path of a righteous cultivator long back.

Now, he only coveted power.

With that thought in his mind, he left the room, leaving the task of retrieving the bodies to any servants or family members who might find Rong Zhen tomorrow morning. He was sure that the sight of his dead body would be a good surprise for them.