Rise of the Wang Clan: Starting with a Portable Farm

Chapter 239: Wang Wenyue

“The name ‘Qingniu Market’ has already taken root. Why change it?” Wang Hao chuckled lightly. “Do you think people will forget my Ancestor is a Golden Core cultivator just because his name isn’t plastered on the gate?”

“Of course not!” Lei Liheng exclaimed, his eyes wide with exaggerated sincerity. “Senior Wang’s reputation is thunderous! From the Qingyuan Sect in the north to the Blazing Heaven Sect in the south and the Boundless Palace in the west—who doesn’t know his name?”

He turned to the entourage of sycophants trailing behind him. “Isn’t that right?”

“Absolutely!” one cultivator chimed in immediately. “From the elders of 119 to the toddlers just learning to walk, within 100,000 miles, everyone knows Senior Wang’s great name!”

Cough.

Wang Hao nearly choked on his tea. Alright, that’s enough. If this goes on, I might actually vomit.

“Fellow Daoist Lei, let it be,” Wang Hao said, raising a hand to stop the flow of praise. “You’ve met my Ancestor. You know what kind of person he is. He dislikes these superficial formalities.”

“Fellow Daoist Wang is right,” Lei Liheng said, his face a mask of solemn reverence. “Senior Wang is a man of noble character and high integrity, indifferent to fame and fortune. It was my mistake to judge him by common standards. I am truly ashamed!”

He bowed deeply towards Wang Family Ridge, his face filled with fanatical worship.

Wang Hao sighed internally. This isn’t just an illness; it’s terminal.

Seeing that the construction was up to standard, Wang Hao decided to cut the visit short. He couldn’t handle another minute of Lei Liheng’s shameless bootlicking.

“I have seen enough. The work is excellent. I will report your diligence to the Ancestor,” Wang Hao said, signaling his departure.

“Thank you, Fellow Daoist!” Lei Liheng beamed. “Ah, there is one more matter that requires your decision.”

“Speak.”

“News of the expansion has spread,” Lei Liheng said, his tone turning businesslike. “Many parties have inquired about purchasing the new shops. What is the Wang family’s policy? How should we price them?”

A serious question at last.

Wang Hao pondered for a moment. “Do not sell. Not yet. The market is new, and foot traffic hasn’t peaked. Selling now would be selling low. If anyone asks, tell them the shops are lease-only.”

“As for the rent,” Wang Hao continued, “keep it low for the initial phase. A token amount will suffice. If a major faction—like a merchant guild from the Wanxiang Archipelago—wishes to establish a branch, we can even waive the rent entirely for the first few years.”

Lei Liheng’s eyes lit up. He understood immediately. Selling now might not even cover the construction costs. But once the Spirit Vein was upgraded and the market became a trade hub, the property values would skyrocket. By leasing, they retained ownership of the golden goose.

“Fellow Daoist Wang truly has foresight!” Lei Liheng praised, this time with genuine admiration. He lamented internally: Why doesn’t the Lei family have a junior this sharp?

“You flatter me,” Wang Hao said politely. “However, your four families have contributed money and effort. As a gesture of goodwill, each family may select two shops outside the central district to own permanently.”

“You may run whatever business you like, or even rent them out. But you cannot sell them to outsiders. If you wish to sell, the Wang family has the right of first refusal. That is my bottom line.”

Eight shops. It was a generous gift, worth tens of thousands of Spirit Stones in potential value.

Lei Liheng was ecstatic. “Thank you! Fellow Daoist Wang, I have prepared a banquet. Why don’t we discuss the details over wine? The patriarchs of the Zhao and Cheng families are eager to hear your wisdom as well!”

Hehe. One Lei Liheng is torture. Three of them? I’d rather fight the Vine Demon again.

Wang Hao shook his head firmly. “I must decline. The Ancestor’s Grand Ceremony is approaching, and I have a mountain of duties to attend to. Please forgive me.”

“Of course, of course,” Lei Liheng bowed. “Fellow Daoist manages ten thousand affairs daily. It was presumptuous of me. We will drink to your health at the Grand Ceremony!”

“Farewell.”

Wang Hao cupped his hands and transformed into a streak of light, shooting into the sky.

As he watched Wang Hao disappear, Lei Liheng’s smile vanished instantly, replaced by his usual cold, predatory expression. He sighed, rubbing his stiff cheeks.

Did he enjoy acting like a dog? Of course not. He was a Foundation Establishment patriarch; he had pride.

But when the choice was between losing face and losing his family’s future, the decision was simple.

On the Flying Boat.

Wang Wenyue sat across from Wang Hao, her eyes shining with adoration.

“I always heard the elders say Brother was a genius,” she said, “but seeing it today… they understated it. What they know isn’t even one-tenth of the truth!”

Wang Wenyue was Wang Yanzhao’s youngest daughter. She possessed Water and Metal Dual Spirit Roots—the best aptitude among Wang Hao’s generation.

Wang Yanzhao, having realized he was a terrible teacher (Wang Hao’s success had literally nothing to do with him), had sent Wenyue to the Clan School early on to avoid ruining another genius. Now eighteen, she had been assigned to follow Wang Hao as a personal apprentice.

Wang Hao smiled at her praise. In terms of city planning and commercial strategy, he was indeed leagues ahead of the locals—mostly because he was plagiarizing an entire civilization’s history from his past life.

Cultivators don’t copy, he told himself. We borrow.

Still, being stared at with such intensity was awkward.

“Alright, you little flatterer, enough,” Wang Hao laughed. “What did you learn today?”

Wenyue pouted. “All I learned was how shamelessly that old man Lei can bootlick. It was disgusting.”

“You can’t say that,” Wang Hao corrected gently. “That is the art of survival. When facing a superior force, bowing your head is necessary. Lei Liheng is protecting his clan. We do not seek trouble, but we must understand how the weak survive so we never become them.”

“I’d rather just cultivate,” Wenyue grumbled. She tugged at his sleeve. “Brother, you promised me a cultivation technique. What is it? When can I have it?”

The Wang family’s library was thin on high-level techniques. Wenyue was currently practicing a standard Metal-attribute method that capped at Foundation Establishment—a waste of her talent.

But now, Wang Hao had the Gui Ran Sect inheritance.

“If I asked you to become a Sword Cultivator,” Wang Hao asked, “would you be willing?”

“A Sword Cultivator?” Wenyue frowned.

The family had the Profound Origin Sword Art, but it was notoriously difficult and, more importantly, it altered the user’s personality. Practitioners became cold, emotionless killing machines—”Sword People.” Wenyue had rejected it for that reason.

“This technique is different,” Wang Hao assured her. “It doesn’t strip away your emotions. It is a premier legacy from a Nascent Soul sect. Of course, Sword Cultivators are often solitary by nature. As the saying goes: The road is long, with only the sword as company…”

He paused. Wait. Isn’t that a quote from Yasuo?

Wang Hao facepalmed. He had been plagiarizing so many songs for the Entertainment City that his brain was leaking pop culture references.