“Hahaha! The wager is settled, and the results are undeniable.” Patriarch Qingxuan’s laughter thundered through the hall, signaling the end of the debate. “I will uphold the terms. From this moment forward, the five of you will look to Sun Yi’s horse’s head for guidance. His word is policy.”

The atmosphere in the hall shifted instantly. Beside the humiliated Elder Jin Jue, the other four Elders felt their status plummet. They were no longer the board of directors; they were middle management, and Sun Yi was the new CEO.

Qingxuan’s gaze sharpened, sweeping over them with heavy pressure. “You are men of status. Yuàn dǔ fú shū—one must accept the loss when the bet is made. Do you have any objections?”

“We follow the Patriarch’s arrangement.” The five Elders bowed, their voices strained but compliant. They had played the game, and they had lost.

“Thank you for your trust, Ancestor,” Sun Yi said, cupping his hands with professional calm.

Qingxuan waved off the pleasantries, his attention snapping back to the device in his hand. “Enough of that. Tell me about the roadmap. What features are coming next?”

The Patriarch was no longer looking at a toy; he was looking at the future of the sect’s dominance. He wanted to know the return on investment.

“This prototype is merely the Minimum Viable Product,” Sun Yi explained, slipping into his pitch mode. “The first update will integrate the device with our Sect Identity Tokens. We’ll establish an IFF system—Identification Friend or Foe.”

“Explain,” Qingxuan commanded.

“Simple. We calibrate the radar to recognize the specific spiritual signature of our tokens,” Sun Yi said. “On the display, fellow disciples will appear as green dots. Strangers or hostiles will appear as white. It allows for real-time tactical positioning and rapid reinforcement within a ten-mile radius.”

Qingxuan nodded slowly, a smile touching his lips. “Practical. It turns a chaotic battlefield into a chessboard.”

“That is just the security patch,” Sun Yi continued, raising a finger. “We will also upload a database of material signatures. We can input the resonance frequency of spirit herbs and ores. The device won’t just see movement; it will identify assets.”

“Is that even possible?” Elder Han Yun gasped, unable to contain his shock. “That would surpass the Treasure-Seeking Mouse! Those beasts are priceless legends, and we’ve never even owned one.”

Sun Yi smirked. A rat? I’m offering you satellite imaging, and you’re comparing it to a rodent.

“The Treasure-Seeking Mouse is biological and limited,” Sun Yi said dismissively. “This is technology. The current range is ten miles, but Version 2.0 will extend that to a hundred, perhaps a thousand. We are building a surveillance net that covers the entire province.”

“A thousand miles?”

The Elders’ eyes lit up with unmasked greed. Even a Nascent Soul cultivator like the Patriarch was limited to a hundred miles of Divine Sense. A device that could triple or quadruple that range wasn’t just a tool; it was a strategic superweapon.

Sun Yi saw he had them hooked, so he decided to drop the final bombshell. “Furthermore, Version 3.0 will include long-range voice transmission. Instant communication between any two unit holders.”

“Voice transmission without talismans?” Qingxuan’s hands trembled slightly. The implications for logistics and war were terrifying.

“Give me time,” Sun Yi said, projecting confidence. “We need to iterate on the hardware.”

Internalizing the concept, Sun Yi calculated rapidly. Using cultivation materials to build a walkie-talkie is trivial. A smartphone is vaporware for now—no satellites, no towers—but a closed-circuit radio network? Easy.

Qingxuan took a deep breath, clutching the Microwave Detector like a lifeline. “I am expediting the field test. I will take this to the Myriad Demon Forest immediately to verify the scanning capabilities.”

He turned to the Elders, his voice dropping to absolute zero. “While I am deployed, you will cooperate fully with Sun Yi. His commands are my commands. Any insubordination will be treated as treason.”

The five Elders nodded vigorously. They weren’t just scared of the Patriarch anymore; they were terrified of missing out on the stock options Sun Yi was printing. If this technology worked, the Qingyun Sect would own the market.

With a wave of his sleeve, Qingxuan turned into a streak of light and vanished, rushing to test his new toy.

The room fell silent, leaving Sun Yi alone with his new subordinates.

“Acting Sect Leader,” Elder Ye Luo spoke first, his eyes burning with fervor. As the head of the Miscellaneous Arts Hall—the department responsible for building the device—he realized his department was about to become the most important division in the company. “What are your orders?”

Sun Yi didn’t hesitate. He began delegating like a seasoned project manager.

“Elder Jin Jue,” Sun Yi said, turning to his former rival. “Your task is PR and Marketing. Spread the word that the Refining Hall is undergoing a massive restructuring. We need talent. Also, keep pushing the Battle Tower metrics. We need the workforce leveled up.”

“Understood,” Jin Jue nodded, his resentment buried under professional obligation. “I will launch the campaign immediately.”

“Elder Qin Chu,” Sun Yi pointed to the Master of Internal Affairs. “I need data. Compile a comprehensive visual database of every known spirit herb, ore, and beast in the region. Textures, shapes, spiritual signatures. I need it all formatted for entry into the device.”

“Consider it done,” Qin Chu agreed eagerly. He was being asked to handle the sect’s intellectual property; it made him feel essential.

“Elder Han Yun,” Sun Yi continued. “Go to the Scripture Library. Pull every technical manual related to crafting and arrays. Centralize the documentation. We need to build a dedicated R&D library.”

“I guarantee the task,” Han Yun replied.

“Elder Li Tai,” Sun Yi addressed the mission specialist. “Draft the logistics plan. Once the upgraded detectors are ready, we’re launching a massive resource-gathering operation in the Myriad Demon Forest. Prepare the mission parameters and reward structures now.”

“I will have the drafts on your desk shortly,” Li Tai promised.

“And finally, Elder Ye Luo,” Sun Yi turned back to his production chief. “Issue a corporate memo. The fifteen refiners who built the prototype are to receive a ‘Performance Bonus’ of one thousand contribution points each. Cite ‘Outstanding Contribution to the Sect’.”

“One thousand?” Ye Luo blinked, but then grinned. “Understood. I’ll make sure the announcement is loud.”

Sun Yi needed to incentivize the workforce. You want loyalty? You pay for it. I’m turning the Refining Hall into the Google of the cultivation world.

With the board meeting adjourned, Sun Yi departed for the Scripture Library. He needed to upgrade his own software—learning the flight techniques and deepening his understanding of this world’s physics engine. The next six months would be a grind, but necessary.

Back in the library, Sun Yi immersed himself in the data. The sect’s thousand-year archive was a treasure trove of unoptimized code waiting to be refactored. He estimated a five-year timeline to fully digest it all, but for now, he focused on the essentials.

Meanwhile, the memo hit the public channels.

The news that the Refining Hall staff had received a 1,000-point bonus sent shockwaves through the disciple dormitories. For a Qi Refining disciple, that was a fortune—more than their entire net worth.

Envy spread like wildfire, followed immediately by ambition. Rumors flew that the new Acting Sect Leader was pivoting the sect’s strategy toward technology. The Refining Hall was no longer a sweatshop for hammer-wielders; it was the premier department with the best compensation package.

The disciples couldn’t sit still. The FOMO was palpable.

Within hours, the entrance to the Refining Hall was swamped. Disciples with even a shred of crafting talent were lining up, desperate to submit their resumes. The era of the sword was over; the era of the engineer had begun.