The atmosphere at Qingyun Sect was tense, thick with the anxiety of a company awaiting a restructuring announcement. The disciples huddled in cliques, waiting for the smoke to clear from the Central Hall.

For the inner circles of the five Golden Core Elders, the stakes were personal. If their patron took the big seat, they were set for life—promotions, resource allocations, the works. It was the classic corporate expectation: when the boss gets a corner office, his assistants get the view.

Suddenly, a voice boomed from the sky, hitting every ear with the force of a company-wide PA system override.

“Attention all personnel. Inner Disciples, Outer Disciples, and Miscellaneous Staff. Report to the Central Plaza immediately. Attendance is mandatory. You have thirty minutes.”

The mountain erupted into chaos. Thousands of streaks of light—flying swords and artifacts—shot into the air like commuter traffic hitting rush hour.

The Miscellaneous Disciples, the sect’s unskilled labor force, couldn’t fly. They began the long trek on foot, confusion rippling through their ranks. Usually, management ignored them. Executive decisions happened in high towers; the grunts just cleaned up the mess. Being summoned to an All-Hands meeting was unprecedented.

At Green Wood Peak, Er Gouzi was frantically scanning the dorms.

“Sun Yi! Where are you, you lazy bastard?” Er Gouzi stomped his foot, checking the latrines for the third time. “Always vanishing when the supervisors are watching. If you miss roll call during a generic assembly, you’re going to get fired!”

Giving up, Er Gouzi joined the stream of running disciples, cursing his roommate’s poor work ethic.

The Central Plaza was a study in corporate stratification.

At the front stood the Inner Disciples—the Top Talent. There were about five hundred of them, dressed in silk robes that screamed ‘executive track,’ looking down their noses at everyone else.

Behind them were the Outer Disciples, the sect’s middle management layer. Twelve hundred strong, competent but unexceptional. They looked at the Inner Disciples with envy and at the group behind them with disdain.

In the back, huddled in the cheap seats, were the Miscellaneous Disciples. Over two thousand grunt workers in rough hemp clothes. They were the interns, the contractors, the expendable workforce dreaming of a permanent contract that rarely came.

The headcount was down to 4,200. A skeleton crew compared to the glory days.

As they waited, the rumor mill spun out of control.

“It’s definitely Elder Jin Jue,” an Inner Disciple whispered, checking his jade slip. “He’s been Head of Compliance for fifty years. He has the seniority.”

“No way,” another countered. “It’s Qin Chu. He runs Operations. You can’t run a sect without knowing the inventory. He’s the safe pick.”

“You’re both idiots. It’s Li Tai. He was the previous CEO’s protégé. It’s a legacy hire.”

The debate raged. Fists were clenched. Bets were placed.

Er Gouzi squeezed into the back row of the Miscellaneous section, still scanning for Sun Yi. “Idiot,” he muttered. “You’re going to get us both written up.”

Precisely thirty minutes later, the bells tolled.

Silence fell over the plaza as six streaks of light descended from the Central Hall. The pressure was immense—the combined aura of the sect’s leadership pressing down like a physical weight.

Patriarch Qingxuan landed first, followed by the five Golden Core Elders.

And standing right next to the Patriarch, looking calm in a set of fresh robes, was Sun Yi.

So this is the corporate jet lifestyle, Sun Yi thought, suppressing the urge to vomit from the G-force. Fast, efficient, but the turbulence is a nightmare.

Down in the crowd, Er Gouzi’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull. He slapped himself hard on the cheek.

Pain. Okay, not a hallucination.

He slapped himself again.

Still there. Sun Yi. On the podium. Next to the Chairman.

“What is that moron doing?” Er Gouzi’s brain short-circuited. “Did he sneak onto the stage? Is he trying to get executed? He’s just an intern!”

Sun Yi ignored the sea of faces and focused on the metrics. From his vantage point, the problems were obvious.

Workforce: ~4,200. That’s barely a small liberal arts college. Uniforms: Inconsistent branding. Morale: Low energy. No hustle.

Conclusion: We need a culture shift. Immediately.

Patriarch Qingxuan looked out at the assembly. He saw the decline. He remembered when this plaza held a hundred thousand souls. Now? It was empty, echoing with the silence of a dying business model. The sect was bleeding talent, and the competitors in the Chaos Demon Commandery were circling like vultures.

He glanced at Sun Yi. The boy was young, arrogant, and spoke in strange riddles about “revenue streams” and “brand loyalty.” But he was the only one with a plan.

The Patriarch stepped forward, amplifying his voice with Qi.

“I am Qingxuan.”

The sound rolled over the crowd like thunder.

“I speak for the Board. Effective immediately, Sun Yi is appointed as the new Sect Leader of Qingyun Sect.”

A gasp tore through the crowd, sucking the air out of the plaza.

“This is a total restructuring,” Qingxuan continued, his voice hardening. “From this moment on, Sun Yi speaks with my authority. Every disciple, every deacon, and every Golden Core Elder will obey his commands. Insubordination will be met with immediate termination. There will be no severance package.”

The silence that followed was absolute.

The disciples stood frozen, their brains unable to process the data. The Elders? Bypassed. The Inner Disciples? Ignored. A random Miscellaneous Disciple was now the CEO.

In the back row, Er Gouzi stared blankly at the sky.

System Error. Reboot required.

Sun Yi stepped up to the edge of the platform and smiled.

“Alright,” he said, his voice projecting confidence. “Let’s get to work.”