The main entrance of the Refining Hall opened into a cavernous, dusty lobby. Despite the generous square footage, the space felt abandoned. Only three young disciples were present, lounging around with the unmistakable air of employees with zero tasks in their queue.

When they spotted Elder Ye Luo and Sun Yi, they scrambled to attention, bowing low.

“Greetings, Elder Ye Luo. Greetings, Sect Leader.”

Ye Luo scowled at the lack of discipline. “Assemble the entire department. Now.”

“Yes, sir!” One disciple sprinted off.

Sun Yi turned to Ye Luo. “Give me the personnel file. I need a full audit of our manufacturing capabilities.”

Ye Luo tossed a jade slip over. “It’s all in there. Read it and weep.”

Sun Yi pressed the slip to his forehead, downloading the data. The situation was worse than he thought. The Refining Hall wasn’t just underperforming; it was a legacy department on the verge of liquidation.

Total headcount: Fifteen.

Senior Talent: Two. Only two “Second-Tier” Refiners (Foundation Establishment level) capable of crafting intermediate hardware.

Junior Talent: Thirteen. All Qi Refining stage interns, barely qualified to fix a rusted sword, let alone innovate.

In corporate terms, this was a skeleton crew running a factory with broken machines. No wonder the Qingyun Sect was losing market share; their supply chain was non-existent.

Moments later, the workforce assembled. They stood in a ragged line, looking anxious—like employees expecting a mass layoff. Two sixty-year-old men stood at the front; these were the Senior Engineers, Yan and Tong. The rest were young, terrified novices.

“Here is your team,” Ye Luo said, stepping aside. “Do what you will.”

Sun Yi walked down the line, inspecting them. They looked defeated, their morale in the gutter.

“You all remember me from the inauguration,” Sun Yi began, his voice calm but projecting authority.

The group nodded silently.

“I haven’t visited this department in six months,” Sun Yi continued. “I imagine you think I’ve written you off as a bad asset. You think this department is dead weight.”

The silence confirmed it. They expected to be fired.

“If that’s your assessment, delete it,” Sun Yi said sharply. “I am here to tell you that as of today, the Refining Hall is the most critical division in the Qingyun Sect. We are pivoting the company strategy, and you are the engine. Future compensation packages for this department will exceed every other division.”

“R-Really?” The elderly Engineer Yan looked up, hope flickering in his eyes. “You aren’t just… feeding us cake?”

Sun Yi raised his right hand. “I stake my reputation as CEO on it. But there is a condition. The days of ‘bài làn’—of rotting away and doing the bare minimum—are over. We are entering a high-growth phase. I need total commitment.”

The promise of relevance—and money—ignited a fire in their eyes. The slump in their shoulders vanished.

“Sect Leader, we are with you!” “Just give us the orders!” “We won’t let you down!”

Sun Yi nodded, satisfied. He had secured the workforce; now he needed the product.

“Good. Cut the speeches. We have a deadline,” Sun Yi said. “I need a prototype shipped in seventy-two hours. Do not disappoint me.”

“What are we building?” Engineer Yan asked nervously. “If it’s a high-tier flying sword, we lack the technical proficiency…”

“I don’t need swords. The market is flooded with swords,” Sun Yi said, tossing a new jade slip to Yan. “I need this.”

Yan caught the slip and scanned the schematics. He frowned, passing it to his colleague, Tong. The confusion spread down the line as the engineers reviewed the specs.

“Sect Leader,” Yan asked, perplexed. “This design… it doesn’t have an offensive array. It doesn’t have a defensive ward. It’s just… a plate with sensory circuits. Is this even a spiritual artifact?”

Sun Yi smiled, a glint of mystery in his eyes. “Don’t worry about the product category. Can you manufacture it?”

Yan did a mental calculation. “The materials are standard stock. The arrays are intricate but low-power. We can fabricate the chassis and embed the logic circuits easily. Two days, max.”

“Excellent,” Sun Yi said, rolling up his sleeves. “Let’s hit the factory floor. I’ll supervise the build personally.”

For the next forty-eight hours, the Refining Hall transformed into a crunch-mode startup incubator. Sun Yi, despite his lower cultivation, directed the workflow with the precision of a seasoned project manager, while Yan and the team handled the technical fabrication. Elder Ye Luo watched from the sidelines, baffled by the strange device taking shape.

Two days later.

Sun Yi held the finished prototype in his hand. It was a sleek, circular disk, roughly the size of a tablet.

“Moment of truth,” Sun Yi muttered.

He flipped the switch.

The screen on the face of the disk hummed to life. A sonar-like interface appeared. A cluster of white dots glowed in the center—representing Sun Yi and the engineers in the room. Towards the edge of the screen, other white dots moved—disciples patrolling outside.

And there, lurking on the periphery… a few red dots.

“Yes!” Sun Yi cheered, fist-pumping. “The algorithm holds! The latency is negligible!”

“Sect Leader…” Yan stared at the screen, mesmerized by the moving lights. “What… what is this?”

“This,” Sun Yi said, grinning like he had just unveiled the first iPhone, “is a Microwave Detector. But for branding purposes, we’ll work on the name later.”

He looked at his stunned engineering team. “Listen to me. Secure every scrap of material used to make this. Hoard it. We are going into mass production. You are all about to become very, very rich.”

“Rich?” The engineers exchanged confused glances, but the “bonuses” part stuck.

“Yes, sir!”

“Elder Ye Luo!” Sun Yi turned to the bewildered Elder. “Get the transport. We’re going to HQ. I have a demo to deliver.”

The Central Hall.

Patriarch Qingxuan and the four other Elders were seated, the atmosphere tense. It had only been two days.

When Sun Yi burst through the doors with Ye Luo, the room fell silent.

Elder Jin Jue sneered, his face darkening. “Back already? It’s only been forty-eight hours. Did you realize the task was impossible? Are you here to submit your resignation and admit defeat?”

Sun Yi stopped in the center of the hall. He stood tall, radiating the arrogance of a man holding a royal flush.

“Elder Jin Jue,” Sun Yi said coolly. “In my dictionary, the word ‘defeat’ does not exist. I hope you remember our wager. Get ready to update your resume, because you’re working for me now.”

“You impudent—”

“Patriarch, Board Members,” Sun Yi interrupted, his voice booming. “Behold.”

He whipped out the disk and held it up for the room to see.

“The future of the Qingyun Sect.”