Who Let Him Cultivate？

Chapter 57: Gains

The Falling Coin Chamber of Commerce possessed a business philosophy centuries ahead of its time. To dominate market share and boost brand recognition, they had pioneered a terrifying new concept: the “brand mascot.”

They had commissioned the renowned painting master Xuandaozi to design it. After three grueling revisions, the final draft was approved. It depicted a chubby little pig clutching a coin in its trotter—a deeply endearing image designed to part fools from their money.

Once the Falling Coin Chamber of Commerce debuted their mascot, their brand recognition skyrocketed. The results were so staggering that merchants across the region scrambled to follow suit, desperately commissioning their own unique mascots to capture the public’s attention.

The tofu shop on Qianmen Street in Yanjiang County was one such casualty of this marketing war.

Back in the slums, Qin Yuanhao hadn’t actually killed his underling.

Once his rage subsided, logic took over. This particular subordinate was a brick—dense, but incredibly solid and reliable. He never made mistakes. If he said he couldn’t find the rumor-monger, it meant the rumor-monger physically could not be found.

It wasn’t as if the tofu shop’s painted mascot had literally peeled itself off a signboard to run around spreading malicious gossip.

“To have such a conspicuous appearance and still evade detection… it seems a fellow cult member is trying to frame me!” Qin Yuanhao sneered.

How could he not see it? This was a deliberate, calculated strike against his reputation. He just didn’t know which of his esteemed colleagues was behind it. Such backstabbing was practically a pastime in the demonic sects; Qin Yuanhao himself had thrown plenty of “brothers” to the wolves.

With so much time passed and the trail gone cold, Qin Yuanhao had no choice but to swallow this silent loss. He would simply have to bide his time and figure out whose throat to slit later.

“Since we can’t find him, call off the search.”

Qin Yuanhao reached into his robes, withdrew a thick stack of blank papers and several silver ingots, and tossed them at the underling’s feet.

This was the other reason he hadn’t killed the man. The Yanjiang Branch leader had assigned tasks, and someone had to do the grunt work. If he killed his only competent lackey now, who was going to run his errands?

“First thing tomorrow morning, gather the brothers. I want you to fan out across the eight neighboring counties and secretly distribute these papers throughout the black markets. This silver covers your monthly allowance and travel expenses. Is that clear?!”

“Y-yes, clear,” the underling stammered, startled by Qin Yuanhao’s sudden bark.

“Louder!”

“Yes, clear!” the underling bellowed, straightening his spine and screaming until the veins in his neck bulged red.

*Bang! Bang! Bang!*

The wall rattled violently. “Do you know what time it is?!” an old woman’s voice shrieked from the next house over, her volume easily drowning out the underling’s. “What in the heavens are you screaming about?!”

Murderous intent spiked in Qin Yuanhao’s eyes. He took a step toward the wall.

“Boss, I wouldn’t,” the underling whispered frantically. “She’s a Foundation Establishment cultivator who moved here to live in seclusion. You know how these hidden masters are. They love pretending to be mortals. Hell, for all we know, the guy selling skewers on the street is a disguised expert.”

Qin Yuanhao froze. He let out a cold, dismissive snort, adjusted his robes to salvage his dignity, and swiftly left the courtyard without another word.

The underling let out a massive yawn. Thank the heavens the boss was finally gone. He collapsed onto his cot and was snoring within seconds. He had to be up at dawn to work, after all. He was used to Qin Yuanhao handing down bizarre, seemingly pointless tasks. For the sake of “secrecy,” the boss never explained anything; he just expected blind obedience.

This time was no different.

Once the underling was dead to the world, the dirt floor of the courtyard shifted. Lu Yang phased out of the ground like a ghost, silently swiped three sheets of the blank paper, and slipped into the shadows to tail Qin Yuanhao.

Qin Yuanhao had only ventured out to brief his subordinate. With the task delegated, he headed straight back.

However, as he passed by the *Once More BBQ* stall, his footsteps faltered.

*I was only in Secluded Cultivation for four days,* Qin Yuanhao thought, staring at the bustling crowd. *A new barbecue joint opened? And it has this much market saturation already?*

The intoxicating aroma of roasted meat and cumin wafted through the air. Qin Yuanhao’s stomach rumbled. He briefly entertained the idea of grabbing a bite. The massive crowd was irrelevant; as a Foundation Establishment cultivator, he could just cut the line. Frankly, these mortals should be kneeling in gratitude that an expert of his caliber was gracing their humble establishment. Expecting him to queue was laughable.

But as he watched the groups of friends laughing and clinking cheap ale mugs, Qin Yuanhao dismissed the thought. Barbecue was a social food. Eating street skewers alone in a corner just felt… profoundly depressing.

“Maybe another time,” he muttered, turning his back on the stall and heading home.

A few minutes later, Lu Yang returned to the barbecue shop to help close up. The moment he stepped through the threshold, he was greeted by the sight of Meng Jingzhou standing on a makeshift stage, delivering a high-energy stand-up comedy routine. The remaining customers were roaring with laughter, slamming their cups on the tables and chanting, “One more time! One more time!”

Lu Yang took a slow, deep breath. *You two are seriously trying to build a culinary empire, aren’t you?*

Sensing a gaze that felt remarkably like a physical blade against his neck, Meng Jingzhou snapped his mouth shut. He immediately hopped off the stage and transformed back into a diligent waiter, steadfastly ignoring the disappointed groans of his adoring public.

After another grueling hour, the last of the customers finally dispersed. The shop fell into a blissful, greasy silence.

The two Changui—acting as their spectral busboys—efficiently scrubbed the grills, stacked the bowls, and tallied the day’s inventory to calculate tomorrow’s overhead. Meanwhile, the three cultivators gathered around a table on the second floor to discuss the night’s intelligence.

“So, what were our net profits today?” Meng Jingzhou rubbed his hands together, his eyes gleaming with entrepreneurial zeal. Building a startup from scratch was giving him an unparalleled dopamine rush.

“Who cares about the profit margins!” Lu Yang slammed his hand on the table, glaring at the scion. “Did you forget what our actual mission is?”

“Franchising?” Man Gu offered politely, his mind already calculating the logistics of opening a chain of stalls across the Central Continent to strengthen his family’s business portfolio.

Lu Yang closed his eyes, praying for patience he didn’t possess, and decided to completely ignore the two idiots. He pulled out the three sheets of paper and quickly briefed them on Qin Yuanhao’s midnight meeting.

“Blank paper?”

Meng Jingzhou held one of the sheets up to the lantern light, flipping it back and forth. He squinted, but there wasn’t a single drop of ink on it.

“Qin Yuanhao ordered his men to distribute these in the black markets,” Lu Yang said, equally stumped. “There has to be a message hidden on it. We just don’t know the decryption method.”

“A communication cipher unique to the demonic path?”

Meng Jingzhou nodded, his business persona fading back into that of a cultivator. “Makes sense. These underground cultists love their dramatic secret codes.”

“But this paper is meant for mass distribution to all demonic cultivators,” Lu Yang pointed out. “Which means any cultist should be able to read it. With our Foundation Establishment eyesight, we can’t see a single trace of ink. A Qi Refining demonic cultivator would have even less of a chance.”

“So the issue isn’t a hidden code,” Man Gu deduced, his scholarly tone returning. “The issue is the paper itself.”

Lu Yang hummed in agreement. He picked up a pair of tongs, grabbed a sheet of the paper, and held it carefully over the glowing charcoal brazier.

“What are you doing?” Man Gu asked, tilting his head.

“I read in a mortal text once that if you write on paper using sugar water, it dries completely invisible,” Lu Yang explained casually as he roasted the paper. “You have to apply high heat to evaporate the moisture trapped in the sugar. Once it burns, it leaves behind brownish text.”

Meng Jingzhou and Man Gu leaned in, genuinely fascinated by this mundane chemistry lesson.

They watched the paper bake for five minutes. Nothing happened. Not a single stroke of brown appeared. Lu Yang sighed and tossed the useless sheet aside.

Undeterred, Lu Yang raised his palm and summoned a small, condensed sphere of water. He crushed it in his grip, sending a fine mist spraying across the second sheet of white paper.

“And what is the tactical purpose of this?” Meng Jingzhou asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Certain viscous liquids—like shower gel or laundry detergent—have excellent water absorption properties,” Lu Yang explained, sounding like a traveling merchant pitching a new product. “If you use them as ink, they dry invisible. But if you spray water over the surface, the difference in absorption rates between the dry paper and the detergent will cause the hidden text to reveal itself.”

The Central Continent might have looked like an ancient, traditional world on the surface, but the reality was far stranger. Thanks to the pervasive influence of Qi—whether through intentional invention or sheer bizarre coincidence—many modern conveniences existed here. Shower gel and laundry detergent were just two of the many anachronisms Lu Yang had stumbled upon.

Unfortunately, as the water soaked into the paper, it remained stubbornly blank.

Lu Yang didn’t let the failure deter him. He sat back, tapping his finger against the table.

“If this is a communication method designed specifically for demonic cultivators… maybe we need to stop thinking like mortals and start thinking like cultists.”

Lu Yang brought his thumb to his mouth and bit down hard enough to draw blood. He squeezed a few crimson drops onto the center of the third page.

The moment the blood hit the paper, it seemed to come alive. The droplets didn’t soak into the parchment; instead, they beaded up and began to crawl across the surface like tiny, frantic insects.

“I knew it. It’s a demonic refinement technique,” Lu Yang breathed a sigh of relief. “You can’t apply common sense to these lunatics.”

The white paper had been forged with microscopic, invisible grooves. As the blood slithered across the page, it pooled into these hidden channels, slowly linking together to form stark, crimson characters.

The three of them leaned in to read the bloody script:

*April 1st. The Immortal Cult’s Yanjiang Branch is recruiting new flock members. The specific gathering location will be announced exactly one hour prior to the ceremony.*