“Ascension Society Manager?”

Wang Ba blinked, his face a mask of polite confusion. He looked as if the title meant nothing to him.

But beneath the bewildered exterior, his heart was pounding like a war drum.

Since his brush with death against Zhao Feng, Wang Ba had learned his lesson well. He now kept his Yin Spirit active at all times, cloaking his cultivation and mimicking the aura of an ordinary mortal. As long as he wasn’t actively projecting power, the drain on his Yin Spirit was negligible.

Strangely, the cloaking effect seemed ineffective against his chickens—or perhaps they simply didn’t care—but against humans, it was his lifeline.

Right now, however, the droplet of Yin Spirit energy in his glabella—the Yin Spirit Abode—was spinning furiously. It was evaporating at a speed visible to the mind’s eye.

The drain was significantly faster than it had been when he faced Zhao Feng.

The implication was terrifying.

This “Manager” Old Hou had brought to his doorstep was a Qi Refining cultivator.

This shattered Wang Ba’s expectations. He had assumed the “Ascension Society” was just a loose club of desperate laborers playing make-believe with cultivation. At best, they might know a few low-level secrets.

But the presence of a genuine cultivator changed everything. It set off every alarm bell in Wang Ba’s head.

A Qi Refining cultivator involved with laborers?

It made no sense. Why would a lofty immortal lower himself to help the bottom-feeders of the Sect? What could a group of chicken farmers and cleaners possibly offer a cultivator?

And if a mere “Manager” was at the Qi Refining stage, who was running the show above him?

Was the Sect aware of this organization? Was it sanctioned, or was it a cancer growing in the shadows?

The more he thought about it, the more a chilling dread settled in his gut.

Despite the internal storm, Wang Ba’s face remained a perfect canvas of simple, rustic ignorance. To the outside observer, he was just a confused laborer wondering why these important men were visiting him.

The manager, unaware that his cultivation base had already been sniffed out, smiled warmly. He looked remarkably ordinary, the kind of face you’d forget five seconds after meeting.

“I am Yu Changchun,” the man introduced himself, his tone gentle. “I humbly serve as a Manager for the Ascension Society. My duty is to seek out those with the potential for longevity.”

“Potential for… longevity?”

Wang Ba let his jaw drop slightly. “This… Manager Yu, my name is Wang Ba… but why find me?”

It was common knowledge that laborers were trash. They had no Spirit Roots, no future, and certainly no shot at longevity.

Wang Ba’s skepticism was exactly what Yu Changchun expected.

The manager chuckled, dropping his bait. “I came to find you because you have the potential to become a cultivator.”

“Me? A c-cultivator?”

Wang Ba pointed a trembling finger at his own nose, his face a portrait of disbelief.

This part wasn’t entirely acting. He genuinely found it absurd. He knew perfectly well he didn’t have a Hidden Spirit Root. His only path to power was his secret ability to transfer Lifespan. Without that cheat, he would have accepted his fate as a chicken farmer long ago.

Yu Changchun, seeing the fish circle the hook, spoke with leisurely confidence.

“I do not speak nonsense. However… if you continue to rely solely on that crude Physique Strengthening Scripture, then I’m afraid there truly is no hope.”

He let the words hang in the air.

Wang Ba’s mind raced. He quickly adopted an expression that mixed shock with curiosity, underpinned by the natural caution of a beaten dog.

“Manager Yu… do you mean…?”

“Correct. The Ascension Society possesses a special method. We can allow those without Spirit Roots to create something from nothing—to defy the heavens and embark on the Dao of Immortality!”

As if to prove his claim, Yu Changchun stopped suppressing his aura.

BOOM!

A wave of Spiritual Qi, previously held back like a dammed river, crashed down on the small courtyard. It was a torrential flood of pressure, invisible but undeniable.

Wang Ba, feeling the crushing weight, immediately played his part. His eyes bulged, his legs turned to jelly, and he let out a strangled cry.

“You… You are an Immortal Master!”

He collapsed, preparing to kowtow and slam his head into the dirt.

But before his knees could hit the ground, an invisible force gently caught him, lifting him back up.

Wang Ba looked up, “trembling” with awe.

Yu Changchun stood with his hands clasped behind his back. His grey robes fluttered despite the lack of wind, and his long beard drifted ethereally. He looked like an immortal who had descended to walk among mortals.

If Wang Ba hadn’t already clocked him as a run-of-the-mill Qi Refining cultivator, he might have been impressed.

Instead, he hurriedly fabricated a complex emotional cocktail in his mind—shock, fear, awe, and desperate hope—and plastered it onto his face.

Yu Changchun soaked it up. Even though he had seen this reaction a thousand times from a thousand different desperate ants, the feeling of superiority never got old.

“Well?” Yu Changchun asked, his smile returning to one of benevolent detachment. “Do you believe me now?”

“If you still doubt,” he added, “you can ask Brother Hou.”

“No, no need!” Wang Ba stammered, waving his hands. “How could this lowly one dare question an Immortal Master?”

Then, he hesitated, his face clouding with “worry.”

“But… this lowly one has to feed the Rare Fowl every day. I fear… I fear I have no time for cultivation…”

Yu Changchun smiled knowingly. On cue, Old Hou stepped forward, thumping his chest.

“Brother Wang, don’t worry about that! You know me. I’ve been running deliveries in the Sect for twenty years, working from dawn till dusk. I never even reached the fifth layer of the Physique Strengthening Scripture. Everyone looked down on me.”

Old Hou’s eyes burned with a fanatical light. “But in just a few short months with the Society, I’m about to condense a Spirit Root! If you don’t believe me, look! I have a testing talisman right here!”

He reached into his robe, but Wang Ba quickly grabbed his arm.

“No need, no need! I believe you, Old Hou! I believe the Manager!”

Yu Changchun nodded, deciding it was time to close the deal. “So, Brother Wang. Are you interested in joining our Ascension Society?”

Wang Ba hesitated. His face showed a perfect conflict: the greed for immortality warring with the fear of the unknown.

Yu Changchun wasn’t surprised.

Laborers might be talentless, but they weren’t all stupid. A secret organization inside the Sect led by cultivators? It screamed “danger.” Anyone with half a brain would be suspicious. If Wang Ba had agreed immediately, Yu Changchun would have been disappointed.

“It seems Brother Wang still has reservations,” Yu Changchun said smoothly. “No matter. I was too hasty.”

He reached into his sleeve and pulled out a thin, palm-sized booklet.

“Our Society’s technique for forging Spirit Roots consists of two volumes. Since we have met, fate has clearly brought us together. I will gift you the first volume. Take it. Try it.”

He held it out.

Wang Ba didn’t dare refuse. He took the booklet with trembling hands.

“Farewell.”

Yu Changchun cupped his hands—a gesture of equality that would have flattered any ordinary laborer to death—and turned to leave. He showed none of the arrogance typical of cultivators.

Wang Ba watched them go, his face showing a mix of longing and hesitation.

As soon as Old Hou and Yu Changchun disappeared down the path, Wang Ba rushed back into his house.

He sat down at his table and immediately flipped open the booklet, burying his face in the text with apparent eagerness.

He had to look like he was reading it seriously.

Because he could feel it.

Yu Changchun hadn’t left. He was still out there, watching him.