In the State of Zhao, a handsome young man dressed in a blue robe was carefully writing a Qi Condensation Manual.  With each stroke he chuckled to himself, “Those little bastards are going to pay.  They dared to trick me!”

Thinking about them, his eyes went bloodshot, and his hand moved faster with fervor.  Each character contained the profound hate that resided in the very depths of his heart.

If anyone were to see him, they would have thought him to be crazy.  What Nascent Soul cultivator, especially one who was a step away from Spirit Severing, would ever spend so much concentration on writing a Qi Condensation Manual?

It was laughable—laudable, but here was a cultivator, scribbling madly as though his life depended on it.

“Those little bastards!  I'll sever their legacy!  This will be the end,” the man laughed.  With an angry flick of his wrist, he completed the very last character.  

He rubbed his hand against the manual, feeling the pristine crisp of its paper.  His eyes filled with avarice and greed, but there was also a small glint of sorrow.  

The very thought of giving the manual away for free to his sect panged his greedy heart.  Although it was completely useless for a Nascent Soul cultivator like himself, it could still be sold for 100 gold coins.  

“A hundred!” he mused.  What could he possibly do with mortal wealth?  Nothing really, except hoard it like an almighty emperor or pretend to be a rich turtle.  He smiled at the thought, but then his face soured.

“No! It must be given away for free,” he said to himself.  “To accomplish my goals, it must be done!  I'm such a genius.”

He hurriedly turned to the first page.  It had been left blank so that he could leave behind great words of wisdom.  His brush hovered there like a great sword of the Heavens, but he could not decide what to write.

A heavy frown grew on his face.  He could talk about his greatness, tell them about his Dao, slander the little bastards, or even write a poem about the Milky Way Sea.  All were great ideas, he thought, but he had to choose one.

As he sat there pondering, a knocking sound resounded in his Immortal's Cave.

“Who is it?” the man asked.

“Patriarch, it is I.”  A young man with a boyish face walked in.  His cultivation base was only at Early Foundation Establishment.  He clasped his hands and made a deep bow.

“Did you bring what I had asked for?”  The man smiled, laying his brush down with a small clink.

The cultivator hastily removed a large scroll from within his bag of holding.  He had spent every second of the last three weeks writing down a long list of names.  They were composed of the richest cultivators in the State of Zhao.

With a single wave of the Patriarch's sleeve, a wind blew, sweeping up the scroll and delivering it into his hands.  His eyes looked over the names.  A smile grew on his face.

Seeing it, the young man shivered.  He did not know why, but he felt something amiss.  Something about the Patriarch seemed...wretched?

“Good! Good!” the man laughed.  “I shall bestow you with some good fortune.”

The young man's eyes widened, and his doubts left him.  This was why he had sacrificed his last three weeks doing meaningless research for the Patriarch.  

As the Nascent Soul cultivator reached into his bag of holding, the young man's heart palpitated with eagerness and joy.  Was he going to receive a magical treasure? A secret technique? Maybe a powerful cultivation method!

The Patriarch tossed two stones at the young man.  He caught them, and his face dimmed.  No matter how he looked at them, they were low-grade spirit stones.

“Why do you look so down?  Do you think this Patriarch would trick you?  Those are not normal spirit stones.  Wait until you reach Spirit Severing, then you will be able to see their grandeur and know how much good fortune this Patriarch had bestowed you with.”

“Thank you Patriarch.”  The young man bowed low, holding tightly onto the spirit stones.  He had no reason to doubt what his Patriarch had said.

As he left the Immortal's Cave, the young cultivator was filled with endless determination to reach Spirit Severing.  Many years flew by as he worked hard while holding those two spirit stones with utmost reverence.

When the day came that he had finally severed his soul, the cultivator gazed at the two stones.  He looked for a long while, not believing his eyes.  The spirit stones were normal.

His face paled, and he spat out a mouthful of blood as though he had been struck by Heavenly Tribulation.  His soul quivered, almost forgetting what he had severed for his First Severing.

It was such a shocking revelation that the man, in blinding rage, changed his Daoist name to Lord Revelation so that he would never forget the truth.  Later this ordeal became the foundation for his Second Severing.

Although he would remember those two stones, Lord Revelation, however, would forget the deviousness of the one who had tricked him.  Such a large mistake would lead to his ultimate demise, but that is for another story....

Back in the Immortal's Cave, the Patriarch memorized all the names written in the scroll.  He smiled wildly, calculating who to beat up first.

His finger landed on a single name, his first target.

“I shall go bestow this person with good fortune.  Being beaten up will temper his body and allow him to reach further heights in cultivation!  What a lucky fellow,” the Patriarch said.  He happily flew out of his Immortal's Cave, mumbling about his target.

“It is his name.  Something about his name irks this Patriarch.  I feel it in my gut—some instinct that tells me that it will only bring me endless trouble.  The surname Meng...it feels like a cheating thorn.”

The man arrived at a large sect.  It had many cultivators bustling about, and when they saw him, they panicked, ducked in fear, and quickly warned their elders.

The Blue Lily Sect had always been the richest sect in the State of Zhao, but that wealth brought them constant trouble.  Every year or so, a certain somebody would come and randomly beat up their disciples with greedy hands.  He would take every little spirit stone and magic treasure in sight.  It did not matter if it was worthless or broken, he would still take it.

The constant torment led the Blue Lily Sect to build various treasure vaults and far off warehouses that stored their belongings.  All of their disciples were forced to carry near empty bags of holding.  Only when they go out adventuring or to visit another sect, would they be allowed to carry some items.

“Come out Blue Lily Elders!  This Patriarch has come to spar.  Fight me and I will bestow you with some good magical techniques,” the man's voice boomed.  His eyes darted left and right, looking for Outer Disciples that may have some spirit stones.  One plump bag in particular caught his eye.

“Leave this place!” a woman's voice replied.  It shook the land, and the sect's disciples bowed in reverence and fear.

The man, however, was not phased by her sweet voice.  Instead, his smile grew larger.

“Matriarch Lily.  I have just come to spar, nothing more.  I won't cause trouble.  Where is your Elder Meng?  I heard he recently received a golden sword inlaid with shining emeralds and magical runes.  I wanted to know if he would be a match for me with that new magical weapon of his.”

“He's in meditation.  Leave.”  The woman stood up and flew out to meet the man.  Her cultivation base was at the great circle of the Nascent Soul stage, and when she appeared, her gorgeous figure and charming face bewitched the onlooking disciples.  Her deathly aura, however, snapped them awake and incited them to cower in fear.

“Don't be like that.” The man pouted.  “This Patriarch has come for your sect's benefit.  Is he being shy due to my presence?  Quick call him out.”

“He's about to make a breakthrough.”

“That's fine.  You can just show this Patriarch his new magical treasure as I wait.”  The man rubbed his hands together, and he smacked his lips.

“And why would I do that?” she said as her expression soured.  There was no way that this unreasonable man would leave without a fight.  Every year he had never failed to be irksome.

The man snickered in his heart.  How dare this woman withhold treasure from him?  A golden sword...he must have it!  It was only a matter of time before he got his grubby fingers on it, as his genius plan of sparring was foolproof, or so he thought.

He spread his arms wide, laughing madly.  “To be blessed with good fortune!  Magical techniques, unfathomable treasures, ultimate spirit stones!  It must be Karma that brings me here today to meet with Elder Meng.”

“Is that so?” asked the woman.  Her narrowed eyes remained fixed on the man.  Soon he would be gone for good.  She only needed to stall.  “Why don't you spar with that disciple as we wait for Elder Meng.  That boy's bag of holding looks quiet plump.”

The Patriarch's gaze flickered to the person who the woman pointed at.  On his shivering personage, the boy's bag of holding did indeed look fat and juicy—like a ripe plumb ready for the taking.

The man flashed in front of the cowering boy and, with a wide grin, asked, “Would you like to spar with this Patriarch?”

His hand shot out, forming a fist that punched the boy.  It only contained a fraction of his power, but the young cultivator was sent flying.  With a quick flash, the Patriarch caught him, and his other hand swiftly swiped the boy's bag of holding.

With a wide grin, the man placed it into his own bag without looking at its contents.  

Matriarch Lily cursed at him within her heart.  There was no one as despicable and duplicitous as him.  His gaze kept flicking from side to side.  He eyed countless bag of holdings and charged at numerous disciples.  With each punch, the cultivators were unharmed, but their bags vanished.

After collected over twenty, the man asked, “Is there anyone else who would like to spar?”

The rest of the disciples blanched, cursing at the man but happy that they had stored their wealth elsewhere.

“Haha, you!” The Patriarch charged at another young boy with an especially plump bag of holding.  He sent him flying and snatched the boy's bag.  He held it in his hand, feeling its weight and round bulges. His eyes were aflame with greed, and he tossed the bag of holding a few times, reveling in its plumpness.

Matriarch Lily's eyes widened as she watched the man slowly bring his left hand to the bag's mouth.  She inched away, cursing to herself for her bad luck.

“Hey, we've come to spar!” A handsome young man appeared followed by a plump old fellow.  Both emitted the aura of a person at the great circle of the Nascent Soul stage.  They were respectively the Patriarchs of the other two richest sects in the State of Zhou, the Crimson Blood Sect and Golden Bell Sect.

Matriarch Lily breathed a sigh of relief.  If they were any slower than her sect might have been turned to dust.  She slapped her bag of holding and a silver sword appeared in her hand.

Seeing them all don magical weapons, the Patriarch's brows furrowed, and he swiftly put away the plump bag of holding.  “What brings you two here?  Since when have you been working together?  I only came here to see Elder Meng of the Blue Lily Sect.”

The handsome young man, Patriarch Ruby, laughed.  His amiable sounding voice shook the disciples below them and those with low cultivation bases coughed up blood.  He said, “We've come to put an end to you.  We are the Anti-Theft Alliance!”

The plump man, Patriarch Yellow-Belly, shook his head at Patriarch Ruby's immature sense of naming things.  He slapped his chest, and a raspy voice rang out while his stomach jiggled, “We are the Tri-Sect Coalition.”

The woman snorted at the pair, and lifting up her sword, charged at the thieving patriarch.  

“No fair, you dirty cheats!” the man cried as he dodged to the left.  His fist emitted a prismatic sheet of mist that then shot towards the woman.  She quickly hefted her sword to block.

The blade shattered and the mist dispersed.  The two people were sent flying, but only the woman coughed up blood.  

The plump man flashed near the Patriarch and waved his finger down.  The sky shook and a giant bell formed from the clouds.  It vibrated with power and emitted a shocking aura.  With a hong it crashed onto the Patriarch, trapping him in its misty confines.

“Demonic Art, Heaven and Earth Cleaving!” A voice rang within the bell.  The sky stilled and the earth trembled.  A blade, formed from the Patriarch's finger, sliced through the object that confined him and dispersed it into mist.

The man let out a pained growl from his throat and his face twisted with ferocious anger.  He bellowed, “You damn little bastards!  How dare you gang up on this Patriarch?”  

The man trembled with hate, and Demonic Qi seethed from his body, forming a prismatic colored tempest as his life essence burned away.  The storm swirled around him and invisible blades formed with the intent to dice anything that approached.  The ground below him was shredded into many pieces as rocks and buildings were sliced apart.  

The disciples of the Blue Lily Sect fled with all their might.  Their hearts thumped with fear and countless Qi Condensation and Foundation Establishment cultivators were swept up by the savage winds.  

Matriarch Lily could only watch on with sad eyes as her sect was destroyed.  “How would I ever pay enough money to rebuild the sect?” she asked herself with a pained heart.  “The beautiful gardens, the shining edifices...the last of my money.”

Bloodshot, her gaze locked onto the man surrounded by a whirlpool of Demonic Qi.  It was all his fault.  Her teeth clenched.  She made symbols with her hands and circulated her cultivation base to full power.  Various images of blue lilies appeared behind her back.  With each sway, they emitted a powerful pressure that pushed down on the tempest of Demonic Qi.

Behind her, Patriarch Ruby flashed forward.  His wrists were sliced and blood oozed from them in a never ending stream.  The liquid formed long crimson whips barbed with small spikes.

“It's your time to end!” Patriarch Ruby said as he swung his arms at the tornado.  The whips collided into the qi and countless banging sounds rang out.  The invisible blades sliced the blood weapon and constantly cut it shorter, but Patriarch Ruby's blood restored and increased its length with every breath.

The thieving Patriarch snorted, pushing his body to the limits to emit Demonic Qi; and the tempest expanded, its blades growing larger.  

Patriarch Yellow-Belly spread out his arms and ten fingers.  His fingertips glowed with a yellow light, and when he swiped his arms inward, ten giant bells formed in front of his body.  They shot forward in beams of golden light, clashing with swirl of Demonic Qi.

With the continual onslaught from the three Nascent Soul cultivators, the tempest slowly calmed down, and the man inside could finally be seen.  Veins bulged from his forehead and his eyes were bloodshot with a crazed look.  His hair, now white, whipped around his shriveled body.  His wrinkled finger pointed at Patriarch Ruby.

Within the slowing tempest, he mumbled inconsistent words, but each contained profound determination.  “Little bastards...my money...my freedom...stupid tricksters...I hate them.  I hate you!”

The Demonic Qi halted its swirling, and the world stilled.  The leaders of the Anti-Theft Alliance paled, and each cursed to themselves.  They thought on the lines of “How is this man so powerful?  It's like he's drawing an infinite source of life essence from somewhere.”

A phantom image of a large black turtle appeared behind the man.  It's glowing eyes sent fear into anyone who gazed at it.  The Qi Condensation disciples dropped dead with a single glance, their hearts clenching and imploding from fright.  Those at Formation Establishment were sent flying, they retched out blood, and their Dao Pillars cracked.  Core Formation experts stepped back and coughed up blood.

As for three Nascent Soul cultivators, their faces turned ghastly pale and their bodies trembled.  The lilies behind Matriarch Lily wilted into dust while the fat Patriarch Yellow-Belly lost the ability to craft bells for magical attacks.  The blood from Patriarch Ruby that touched the Demonic Qi turned black, and he quickly severed his connection with his whips.  

The liquid splashed onto the rubble that was once the Blue Lily Sect.  It burned through stone and sent the surviving disciples who had touched it wailing in pain.  When even a single drop of blood touched them, their cultivation bases shattered and their bodies exploded in a haze of blood.

Frightened, the three Nascent Soul cultivators backed up and began to flee for their lives.  If a drop of blood tainted with the qi from the thieving Patriarch could do that much damage, they paled at the thought of what would happen if they touched the Demonic Qi.

As they ran, the phantom turtle opened its mouth.  Like an endless pit, it inhaled, sucking the Demonic Qi into its belly.  It doubled in size then tripled and quadrupled.

The Patriarch's white hair fell to the floor, but once it did, new hair grew to take its place.  It was black and lush, growing to a length that reached the man's feet.  It swirled around his blue robe.

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Cracking sounds pierced through the blistering wind.  The man's bones cracked then hardened while flesh returned to his shriveled body.  His deathly pale skin glowed with a healthy light.

As the turtle swallowed all of the Demonic Qi above the Blue Lily Sect, more of it billowed from the earth as the ground rumbled.  The last of the sect's broken stones and destroyed buildings turned to dust and were swept away by the turtle.  As for any bags of holding, they remained in one piece and delivered themselves to the Patriarch's pocket.

The leaders of the Anti-Theft Alliance struggled to flee, but the suction force slowly pulled them towards the phantom turtle.  Their eyes were aflame with determination as they slapped their bags of holdings and used their life-saving treasures.

Being as poor as they were, they each only had one.  It helped them increase the distance from the thieving Patriarch by 100 meters, but as soon as the treasures crumbled and their spiritual energy ran out, their Nascent Souls burst from their bodies.

They fled madly, burning their own life essence and vitality.

“Hmph, where do you little bastards think you're going?” the Patriarch snorted.  He pointed forward and Demonic Qi seethed beneath the three spirits' feet.  A prismatic colored mist coalesced from the Demonic Qi, forming hands that grabbed onto the Nascent Souls.  The three souls struggled, but it was to no avail.

“Now, let this Patriarch bestow you with some good fortune,” the man said, his eyes no longer aflame with rage.  He flicked his finger, and the hands, formed from mist, pulled the three souls toward him.  

When they were a meter in front of him, he smiled and the phantom turtle stretched its neck.  The mist hands tossed them into its mouth, and with a crunching sound, the turtle devoured the Nascent Souls.

The man laughed madly, his hair and whipping about.  The Demonic Qi returned to the trembling earth, and the phantom behind the man vanished.

“Oh, Elder Meng!  This Patriarch wants to spar with you and bestow you with some good fortune.”  The Patriarch's gaze turned to a half beaten mountain that was near the outskirts of the sect.  Within he sensed a trembling man at the Early Nascent Soul stage.

The Patriarch flicked his robe's sleeve then used a minor teleport to enter the destroyed Immortal's Cave.  There he found a quivering man covered in blood who had white wispy hair.

“Would you like to spar?” the Patriarch asked.

With a trembling jaw and wide eyes, the man shook his head.

“Hmph.” The Patriarch's expression soured.  He had lost all his patience during the battle against the Anti-Theft Alliance.  He stepped forward and his body began to fuse with Elder Meng's.  

Elder Meng let out a blood-curdling scream as his body was drained of flesh and shriveled into a dessicated corpse.  His twisting bones and dried skin cracked, crumbling into dust that formed a red haze.  It entered the Patriarch's body.

The dying man's Nascent Soul tried to escape, but with a snort, the Patriarch plucked him from the air and clenched his fist.  It shattered into small shards that dissipated into spiritual energy, returning to Heaven and Earth.

The man suddenly laughed.  “I'm a genius!  Why didn't I kill them sooner?  Everything is mine now!”

Giddy, the Patriarch's hand reached forward, clasping onto Elder Meng's bag of holding.  To him, it felt heavy, containing within itself a profound amount of wealth.  The man licked his lips and carefully wiped away the dust surrounding the bag.

Holding his breath, he swept his divine sense over the object and opened its mouth.

The Patriarch gaped, his jaw dropping.  He stood like that for a whole day while a small fly debated whether or not his mouth was an actual mouth or just another cave.  Acting daring, the insect ventured inside, traveling down the Patriarch's wind pipes.

The man suddenly coughed and gagged.  His fingers shot into his mouth as he tried to use a magical technique to remove, or better yet, disintegrate the fly.  His eyes shifted back and forth, making sure that no one had seen him.  A Nascent Cultivator choking on a mere mortal fly?  He would die from shame if someone knew that he had.

He breathed a sigh of relief upon sensing no one.  

Forgetting about it, his hand trembled as he once again touched Elder Meng's bag of holding.  He mustered courage and slowly pulled out the golden sword inlaid with shining emeralds.  It was so shiny that it emitted no light.  In fact, it didn't even sparkle.

The man's heart bled as he gazed at the sword.  It did not have any emeralds nor any jewels.  Its blade was not made from gold, but rather iron.  To make matters worse, it was caked with layer upon layer of lumpy, crumbling rust.  In any moment, the sword could shatter into a million little pieces.

With a heavy frown and watering eyes, the man emptied the rest of the bag.  Two spirit stones plopped out along with some dirt and fifty rocks whose surface someone had drawn childish pictures.

“This can't be.”  The man's voice sounded raspy.  His eyes suddenly widened, and he pulled out the other bags of holdings that he had collected.

The plump bags that he had swiped from the disciples were not even bags of holdings!  They were normal and filled with useless rocks.  Even the three leaders of the Anti-Theft Alliance were dirt poor, literally.  Although they were the richest, possessing a hundred handfuls of dirt and about three hundred rocks, they only had ten spirit stones split amongst themselves.

The Patriarch's bleeding heart steeled itself, and his brows scrunched in anger.  His eyes turned red, and his teeth clenched.  Physical bloodlust seeped from his every pore and being.  

The earth beneath the State of Zhao trembled and quaked.  It did not stop, but instead grew more violent with time.  The mortals quickly kowtowed, praying with quivering lips.  It was the apocalypse, they all thought.

“Those little bastards are going to pay!” The Patriarch charged from the dilapidated Immortal's cave.  He swept his divine sense through the Blue Lily Sect, and upon finding a living soul, flashed in front of the poor disciple and crushed him with his palm.  He teleported madly, blood-curdling screams ringing among any initial survivors.

Before long, the whole Blue Lily Sect was demolished.  The Patriarch, however, could not calm his angry, grieving heart.  In seconds, he flew to the Crimson Blood Sect.

It was surrounded by countless spell formations, but with a snort, the Patriarch's palm descended, carrying with it the mighty force of Demonic Qi.  It crashed into the formation, and booming sounds filled the State of Zhao.

The disciples within all trembled and could only watch with wide eyes as the formation shattered into nothingness.  The man's bloodlust wrapped around the various cultivators, and they felt their hearts clench.  Those at Qi Condensation dropped dead without a single word.

“Let this Patriarch bestow you with some good fortune!”  The man lifted his hand up and the Heavens dimmed.  Demonic Qi swirled around his body like an endless, dark vortex.  Various blades formed, and they shot forward, desecrating the sect as people screamed, heads flew, and blood splattered.

Without Patriarch Ruby, the whole sect was without a protector.  They had no Dao Reserve, and neither did the Golden Bell Sect.

The Patriarch slammed his palm downward, creating a large sheet of Demonic Qi.  It exerted great pressure, and the buildings, dyed crimson from flowing blood, collapsed into dust.

Within three breaths, everything went silent.

After scanning the area with his divine sense, the Patriarch snorted.  There was no one alive.  He quickly checked their bags, finding their wealth to be equivalent to the fallen Blue Lily Sect.  His heart further clenched, and he transformed into a prismatic beam of light.

He arrived floating over the Golden Bell Sect.  His eyes sparkled at the sight of golden bells splayed across the streets, but then his expression soured.  On closer inspection, they were only rusty sheets of metal bent into the shape of a bell and colored with a yellow paint.

“You little bastards should repent and quit your conning ways!” the Patriarch bellowed.  His bloodlust increased tenfold and he exerted great pressure over the sect.  Various disciples coughed up blood and outright died.

Once again, the man lifted his hand and swamped the sect with his Demonic Qi.  It left no rock unturned and destroyed everything in sight.  Blood-curdling screams rang out, but the Patriarch heard none of it.  He could only sense the deep pain of his wailing heart.  He had to sooth it.  He had to!

The buildings collapsed and were grounded into dust; the disciples were beheaded and turned into a haze of blood.  None of it seemed to sooth the man's pain.

Soon, there was nothing else to destroy.

The Patriarch sighed, gazing at the destroyed sect.  A deep sadness resided within his eyes, but then they flickered.  It was a tiny hope of happiness.

“Hahaha!  You thought you could con this Patriarch.  I know that you created secret vaults!”  The man laughed madly and his hair whipped about as though it was alive.  He transformed into a beam of light and began searching the State of Zhao.

“I breath beneath your feet!  There is nothing you can hide from this Patriarch.”  His hand shot forward, splitting a small mountain into two.  At its center was an iron vault.  Laughing, the man teleported into it.  

His wide grin quickly fell.

“You call this wealth?  This is garbage!”  He yanked his hair as he gazed at a large pile of rocks and stones.  Beneath them were only three hidden spirit stones.   He angrily swiped them up and made his way to another vault.

One spirit stone...

Five spirit stones...

Only rocks...

…

After a week of ransacking the vaults created by the Anti-Theft Alliance, the Patriarch had lost his lush, black hair.  In his despair he had pulled it all out.  Now his bald head flashed and gleamed with his every move.  

He flew to the last vault that he had yet to enter.  Finding it a few days prior, it was by far the largest, and he purposefully left it for last.

He darted through the air, mumbling and cursing at little bastards beneath his breath.  His despair far outweighed his ability to think and reason.  At times he would cough up blood, but never did he hear the cultivators below him.

“There's Patriarch Glimmer Head traveling around the State of Zhao again,” a woman said to a man.

“He's always flying around like his life depended on it.  What do you think he's doing?”

“Not sure.  I wonder why he doesn't go fly around the Southern Domain.  Why here?  There's more room there.”

“Not sure.”  The man scratched his chin.  “Nobody knows—but his head sure is shiny.”

“It is.” The woman nodded.

Boom!  The Patriarch split open the door to the last vault, and he clasped his bleeding heart with his hand.  There was no remedy to his pain.  There were only ten spirit stones and thousands upon thousands of normal painted rocks.

He swiped the ten spirit stones, and his young body aged and wrinkled.  He looked old and ancient, never again would he look young.  As he turned to leave, his caught sight of something from the corner of his eyes.

It was a scroll.

Teleporting next to it, his mouth upturned into a grin.  He rubbed his fingers together and smacked his lips, hoping that the scroll was something akin to a magical technique.

He slowly opened it, but then coughed up blood.

It was a letter, and to be specific, a letter to him.

''

If you are reading this, then that means the three of us have been slain by your hand.  

We curse you for stealing our wealth!  We were once the richest, but you stole everything, forcing us into a measly state where we were forced to use rocks as currency.  We couldn't even use mortal copper, silver, or gold.  That's how poor you made us!

We curse you, you damn scrooge.

Yours Truly,

Matriarch Lily

Patriarch Ruby

Patriarch Yellow-Belly

P.S. You better hope we never run across you in our next life.

''

Eyes red, the Patriarch returned to his own Immortal's cave.   There he found no solace to his pain, so he wallowed in misery.  For weeks on end, soul-shivering wails resounded from the cave.  Nothing dared to approach.  Even the members of his own sect steered clear of his residence, believing it to be cursed by vengeful spirits.

“How dare they!” the Patriarch screeched for the millionth time.  He pulled at his nonexistent hair only to scrape at his bald, scarred head.  “They're tricksters! Bastards!  No good maggots!  I can't believe it!”

His heart bled, and he collapsed onto his knees.  He coughed up blood and looked once again at the so-called golden sword.  It was trash made from rusty metal, not even good for slicing butter.  

“After all I had done for them,” the Patriarch mumbled.  “I had taken care of them.  I gave them the land beneath their feet and bestowed them with fertile dirt.  I even trained them through countless battles!  I gave them the State of Zhao!  How dare they trick me?”

The man's eyes shifted to the side, glaring at the door to his Immortal's cave.  “And that kid!  I gave him a simple task to make a list of the richest people.  They were all poor, downright poor and despicable.  I gave him two spirit stones!  What does he do?  He tricks me!  I was generous, and again I say, I paid him TWO whole spirit stones!”

The man spat out more blood, but then his body trembled.  His mind suddenly cleared.  It was as though someone had struck him with lightning from the Heavens.

“Generosity!  It's a curse!  I want to live a happy calm life, but generosity holds me back.  To give to others is to be tricked and conned!  No good deed goes unpunished.  I had given the boy two whole spirit stones and kept that Blue Lily Sect on their toes so that they could be perpetually pushing themselves and reach higher heights in cultivation.  They repaid me with lies!”

The Patriarch sat down, and his eyes shone with determination.  Slowly closing them, he entered meditation.

“Generosity, I must sever it!  Selfishness is my way of life.”

The Heavens above Planet South Heaven suddenly shook and the lands trembled.  The Dao of Greed descended, forming a blade.

The man took the Spirit Severing blade within his hands, and it slashed down through his head.  Without touching his flesh, it severed his spirit and touched his heart.  The impurities of generosity vanquished from his mind and body.

His cultivation base soared, breaking through the Nascent Soul stage to Spirit Severing.  An hour passed and the earth quieted.

The Patriarch opened his eyes, which were now as clear and clean as spring water.  Nothing tainted his mind to block his selfish thoughts.  He knew exactly what he wanted and craved.  His hand reached forward, carrying with it the might of the Heavens.

He picked up his brush and opened the Qi Condensation Manual.  Although his heart still bled with the memories of his failings, it told him what to write on the page.  Truth!  Happiness!  His Dao!

“A person should have something to rely on...” he wrote, the ink splattering with profoundness.  If he relied on the instincts of his own greedy heart, it would have saved him much suffering.

“If you are a mortal who desires riches and titles...” He wanted them ambitious because the richer they were, the more money that could be milked from them.

“If you are a Cultivator who wants to live a life free from worry, join my Reliance Sect...”  His eyes were red with greed.  Anyone who joined had to offer their whole wealth to him, including treasures and family heirlooms.

His brush danced across the paper, writing the very last line.

“You can rely on me.”

The words contained his very Dao.  He would be greedy and never change, like a rock that would never weather.  It was a solid foundation, something that could be deeply relied on.

The man stared at his profound words and knew that there would be a person who would see them and be enlightened.

His heart pulsed with an invisible power, resonating with his slumbering body beneath his feet and sowing an unspoken karma.  It latched onto a person who did not yet exist, but would after a couple thousand years.

The Patriarch shivered; his soul faltered.  He sensed something heinous, as though he had just helped some little bastard and cheater.  He imagined that his very words may inspire his most hated enemy of the future and may even be the true beginning of the greatest story known to man, the one about the sealing of the Heavens.

The Patriarch quickly shook his head, dismissing his feelings as mere superstition.  Nothing could be worse than the doings of the Anti-Theft Alliance.

Dipping his brush into ink, he signed his name with the weight of the world.  Unknown to him, the Heavens stirred.

Patriarch Reliance