Deep within the Scripture Library, Sun Yi was auditing legacy code.

He held a crumbling notebook left by a long-dead Alchemist. It hadn’t been touched in a century, likely dismissed as esoteric nonsense by the traditionalists. But to Sun Yi, it was a treasure trove of optimized algorithms.

The author was a genius researcher, documenting granular analysis of medicinal properties and thermal dynamics. Sun Yi’s eyes raced across the pages. He wasn’t just reading; he was integrating.

This isn’t magic, he thought, his mind racing with formulas from Earth. It’s chemistry with a spiritual catalyst. If I merge these protocols with modern material science…

He was the Lead Architect of a new reality. The ‘Spirit Seeking Plate’ (which he privately called the Microwave Detector) was just a prototype—a “Hello World” script using spiritual hardware. But his ambition was to rewrite the operating system of the entire cultivation world.

The bottleneck, however, was his own bandwidth.

“Sect Leader!” Elder Ye Luo burst into the library, looking frantic. “We have a crisis at the Refining Hall. You need to intervene immediately.”

Sun Yi looked up, unbothered. “What’s the situation? System crash?”

“It’s the recruitment drive,” Ye Luo panted. “The spirit bounty announcement worked too well. Over a thousand disciples have swarmed the hall. It’s rén mǎn wéi huàn—people are packed like sardines! We don’t have the capacity to handle this volume.”

Sun Yi’s eyes lit up. “A thousand applicants? That’s not a crisis, Ye Luo. That’s market validation.”

“But they all want to join! Most disciples cultivate secondary arts, but they usually focus on the martial path. Now? They all want to forge artifacts.”

“Excellent. We need the manpower to scale production.” Sun Yi stood up, dusting off his robes. “Let’s go address the shareholders.”

As Ye Luo escorted him toward the Refining Hall, Sun Yi’s mind drifted back to his efficiency problem.

“Elder Ye,” Sun Yi asked over the rushing wind. “Is there a way to increase my comprehension speed? Reading these manuals one by one is inefficient. The I/O speed is too slow.”

Ye Luo blinked, confused by the terminology but understanding the intent. “You want to read… faster?”

“I want to read everything,” Sun Yi corrected. “I need to download the entire library into my brain. Is there a technique for parallel processing?”

Ye Luo hesitated. “There is… one method. The ‘Split Spirit Technique’ (Fēn Shén Shù).”

“Explain.”

“It allows a cultivator to fracture their Divine Sense, creating independent streams of consciousness. Yī xīn duō yòng—one heart, many uses,” Ye Luo explained, his voice grave. “But it is a Forbidden Art. Only three ancestors in history have mastered it. Many others died trying. It fractures the soul. Unless your Spiritual Sea is exceptionally robust, it leads to madness.”

Sun Yi’s smile widened. Multithreading. A dual-core processor for the soul.

“Where is the manual?” Sun Yi asked.

“In the restricted section, but—”

“I’ll take it.” The decision was made. High risk, high reward. He needed to upgrade his CPU if he wanted to run this company.

The scene at the Refining Hall was chaotic. The plaza was a sea of robes. A thousand disciples jostled for position, the air buzzing with the energy of a sect on the brink of ascension.

When Sun Yi and Ye Luo descended, the noise cut off instantly.

“Greetings, Sect Leader! Greetings, Elder Ye!” The chant was deafening.

Sun Yi floated above them, projecting his voice. He didn’t look like a traditional master; he looked like a CEO at a product launch.

“I see the decree reached you,” Sun Yi began, his tone confident and welcoming. “Seeing this energy makes me proud. It proves our restructuring is working. The Refining Hall is no longer a path of servitude. It is the future of the Qingyun Sect.”

A cheer rippled through the crowd.

“I promised you that this department would offer the best resource allocation in the cultivation world,” Sun Yi continued. “And I deliver on my promises.”

“It’s true!” a disciple shouted. “1,000 merit points! That’s a massive gesture!”

“He’s the savior of the humble disciple!” another whispered fervently.

Sun Yi raised a hand, silencing the praise. “However. We are running a meritocracy here. Entry is open, but benefits must be earned. We are implementing a strict Dao of Performance.”

He signaled to two elderly figures waiting in the wings—Elder Yan and Elder Tong, the senior masters of the hall.

“Elder Yan,” Sun Yi said, tossing a jade slip to him. “This is the new Sect Contribution Policy. Post it on the main board immediately. Total transparency.”

Elder Yan caught the slip, scanned it with his Divine Sense, and froze. His hands began to tremble. The incentives listed inside were revolutionary—royalties, spirit mark rights, commission structures.

“Sect Leader…” Yan stammered, eyes wide. “I… I will post this immediately.” He rushed off, looking like he’d seen a heavenly vision.

Sun Yi turned to the other manager. “Elder Tong. We are pivoting to an Open Dao model. Construct a dedicated scripture pavilion right here in the Refining Hall. Copy every relevant manual from the main archive. Access will be free for all craftsmen.”

“Free access?” Tong bowed deeply, overwhelmed. “I will break ground immediately.”

Sun Yi turned back to the expectant crowd. He didn’t need to give a long speech. The offer letter was about to go public.

“Read the board,” Sun Yi said simply. “The terms are absolute.”

Elder Yan returned within minutes, erecting a massive spirit-light display board in the center of the plaza. The text of the new policy flared to life.

The crowd surged forward. A moment of silence stretched as a thousand people read the terms.

Then, the plaza exploded.