Inside the Scripture Library’s private suite, Sun Yi was deep in data analysis. He was scanning a jade slip detailing advanced metallurgy and material science—dry reading for most, but for him, it was like reading the schematics for a next-gen processor.

Hundreds of these “technical manuals” lay scattered around him. While the average user grinded for high-DPS skills or flashy ultimate moves, Sun Yi was mining the backend documentation. He was fully immersed in the system architecture.

“Sect Leader. Move. The Board is recalling you.”

The booming voice shattered his concentration. Sun Yi looked up to find Elder Han Yun looming over him. The man looked like a security chief sent to escort a fired employee out of the building.

“Elder Han?” Sun Yi blinked. “Why the hostility? Did I miss a meeting?”

“Save the pitch. You’re coming with me.”

Han Yun didn’t wait for compliance. He grabbed Sun Yi by the collar, hoisting him up like a troublesome intern. Luo An, the supposed bodyguard, watched helplessly from the sidelines, knowing better than to interfere with a Golden Core executive.

“Seriously, Han Yun,” Sun Yi asked as he was dragged out. “What’s the crisis? You were practically bowing to me last time we spoke.”

“You’ll see when we get to the boardroom.”

Han Yun launched them into the air, flying straight for the Central Hall. He dumped Sun Yi onto the floor of the main chamber with zero ceremony.

Sun Yi dusted off his robes and looked up. The “Board of Directors”—Patriarch Qingxuan and the five Elders—were staring at him with the cold, predatory gaze of investors looking at a failed CEO.

“Patriarch, Elders,” Sun Yi said, keeping his tone casual. “Why the sudden performance review? I’ve been in R&D for six months. I haven’t even had time to cause trouble.”

“You haven’t done anything,” Elder Jin Jue snapped, leading the charge. “And that is exactly why the Qingyun Sect is facing bankruptcy. This is all your fault!”

“Clarify,” Sun Yi said, narrowing his eyes.

“Your ‘restructuring’ plan has bled us dry!” Jin Jue shouted. “In two quarters, our burn rate has skyrocketed. We are operating at a massive deficit. At this rate of expenditure, we will be insolvent in six months. The company will dissolve!”

Elder Qin Chu jumped in. “What is your endgame, Sun Yi? Is this corporate sabotage? Are you shorting your own company?”

“Where are the results?” Elder Li Tai demanded. “You promised a market dominance strategy. You promised a 10x ROI within a year. We are seeing negative growth!”

Han Yun crossed his arms. “We’ve been running operations day and night while you hide in the library burning through our reserves. Is this leadership?”

Elder Ye Luo looked grim. “I reorganized the Miscellaneous Arts Hall as per your memo. You haven’t checked in once. Are you just buying popularity with the disciples by giving away free perks? Do you think a high approval rating will save you from the Board?”

Sun Yi looked at the furious executives. The pieces clicked into place. They were panicking because they were looking at the balance sheet, not the product pipeline.

“So,” Sun Yi said, his voice calm. “This is about the burn rate?”

“Of course it’s about the burn rate!” Jin Jue yelled. “We are out of cash! When the vault is empty, do we just liquidate the assets and go home?”

Patriarch Qingxuan leaned forward, his expression unreadable. “Sun Yi. We need a solution. Now.”

Sun Yi smiled. He scanned the room, meeting every angry gaze with absolute confidence.

“Give me seventy-two hours,” Sun Yi said. “I will solve the liquidity crisis.”

In truth, the solution was already prototyped. He had spent yesterday cross-referencing Earth’s radar technology with cultivation sensory arrays. The “Microwave Detector” was ready for production; he had just been distracted by that fascinating manual on alloy tensile strength.

“Hmph,” Jin Jue scoffed. “More vaporware? You want to stall for another three days?”

“Elder Jin Jue,” Sun Yi said, his smile sharpening. “If you don’t trust my projection, let’s make a wager.”

“What kind of wager?” Jin Jue narrowed his eyes.

“Simple. Give me three days. If I fail to generate a new revenue stream, I will resign and submit to any punishment the Board deems fit. But if I succeed…” Sun Yi paused for effect. “You acknowledge my authority. No more questions. No more doubts. You follow my lead. Period.”

Jin Jue didn’t hesitate. He saw a guaranteed win. “Done. I’ll take that bet.”

Sun Yi turned to the Patriarch. “You heard him, Chairman. If I deliver, I want full operational control. No more board interference.”

Qingxuan nodded slowly. “If you can fix the financial bleeding in three days, not only Jin Jue, but the entire Board will fall in line. Your word will be law.”

“It’s a deal,” Sun Yi said. “A true CEO delivers on his KPIs. But I need resources to execute the sprint.”

“Name them,” Qingxuan said.

“I need full access to the Refining Hall. Every staff member there reports to me for the next three days. And I need Elder Ye Luo to procure a specific list of raw materials immediately.”

Qingxuan looked at Ye Luo. “You heard him. Give him whatever he needs. Priority One.”

“Understood,” Ye Luo bowed.

“Let’s go, Elder Ye Luo,” Sun Yi said, clapping his hands. “Take me to the factory floor. It’s time to launch a product.”

He had originally planned to let the Battle Tower run for another two quarters to build up a user base, but the investors were getting jittery. He had to accelerate the roadmap.

Ye Luo grabbed Sun Yi, and they took off again, leaving the Central Hall in stunned silence.

“Master,” Qin Chu asked the Patriarch. “Do you really think he can fix a structural deficit in three days?”

Qingxuan’s eyes glinted. “It’s only three days. The risk is minimal. If he fails, we liquidate him. If he succeeds… we win.”

“He won’t succeed,” Jin Jue muttered, still fuming. “It’s impossible.”

Ye Luo landed them at the Miscellaneous Arts Hall, located on the backside of the main peak. It was a sprawling industrial complex housing the four production divisions: Refining, Alchemy, Talismans, and Arrays.

They stood before the Refining Hall. The building looked tired—paint peeling, roof tiles cracked. It reeked of a legacy department that had seen budget cuts for decades.

Sun Yi looked at the dilapidated structure and shook his head.

“This is where the revolution starts,” he murmured. “Time for a rebrand.”