Immortality Starts From Making Money.

"Hmm! I never saw that coming…" Mo Jian muttered, his voice calm, but a flicker of intrigue glinted in his eyes.

Standing beside the tall window of the Thousand Wealth Chamber, he watched from the high tower as chaos unfolded below.

The spiritual storm that had just ravaged the Seven Talisman Trade Hall still pulsed through the air like echoes of a thunderclap.

The entire district had been torn apart—cracked stone, shattered buildings.

Many unfortunate stores were lost to the battle.

And yet, Mo Jian's expression remained tranquil. His robes were unruffled, his posture straight.

He looked less like a witness to a battle and more like a painter admiring the final strokes on a long-anticipated canvas.

The sudden infighting among the upper echelon of the Seven Talisman Trade Hall had caught many by surprise—but not him.

Yes, it was unexpected… but not unthinkable.

"They must've sensed the net closing," he murmured. "Cornered beasts often bite back. Maybe they tried to offer up a scapegoat… or several."

A thin smile curved his lips.

"But it went south."

The betrayal, the infighting—it only served to quicken the demise of the Hall.

And that suited him just fine.

Less effort, fewer calculations.

The battle they'd sparked among themselves had saved him from displaying his connection with the three powerful sects.

The beautiful Golden Core woman who had emerged victorious—the one with a gaze like winter steel—was formidable, yes.

But she didn't worry him.

Her name wasn't even worth remembering.

After all… she was walking straight into a trap.

"The nets are already laid," he whispered.

From the shadows, a man was waiting for her—hands already on his blade.

Today, all roots would be pulled, all embers smothered before they sparked again.

He inhaled slowly, absorbing the scene one last time—until a flicker of light pulsed through the Spirit Link at his waist.

His brow rose slightly. The sleek rectangular artifact in his hand shimmered with soft spiritual light.

A message.

He flicked his gaze to the Spirit Link screen.

Just one name.

Frost Moon Sect Master.

His eyes narrowed a hair's breadth.

A summons from her was rare… and never without purpose.

Turning from the window, Mo Jian tucked the Spirit Link back into his robes and stepped from the chamber.

His footsteps were light, but purposeful—like a blade sliding back into its sheath.

Minutes later, an unassuming wooden carriage passed silently through the outer wards of the Governor's Mansion.

Its exterior was plain, almost common.

Only those with trained eyes would notice the subtle runes etched into its frame—warding, shielding, masking.

As it came to a smooth stop near the main estate, a plump butler awaited him at the foot of the path, already bowing low.

"Welcome, Young Master. My Lord is waiting for you," the butler intoned respectfully, head bowed to his chest.

"Thank you," Mo Jian replied, offering a polite smile that was warm, but distant. "Please, lead the way."

The butler nodded and turned, gesturing with an open palm.

"This way."

They walked through carefully manicured gardens, under arched walkways of flowering vines.

All the while, the energy in the air thickened. Protective formations—old, deep, and complex—hummed just beneath the surface of the courtyard stones.

Eventually, they reached a secluded inner courtyard, sealed behind five layers of spiritual formation. The aura here was still, oppressive with power.

Beneath a circular stone pavilion shaded by jade-green trees, four individuals sat in silence.

They didn't speak.

They didn't need to.

Each of them radiated authority—the kind only earned after decades of stepping over corpses and climbing to the summit of cultivation.

Mo Jian recognized them instantly:

The Governor of the Southern Capital.

The Sect Masters of Frost Moon, Wind Spirit, and Nine Mountain.

All Golden Core Experts.

All watching him as he entered.

The air inside the courtyard was heavier than steel. It pulsed with the kind of pressure that would make most cultivators collapse to their knees.

But Mo Jian?

He walked forward without hesitation.

There was no arrogance in his steps—just the calm assurance of someone who knew exactly where he belonged.

"Greetings, Seniors," he said, bowing respectfully. "I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long."

A chuckle broke the silence.

"Not at all, Young Master. We just arrived," said the Wind Spirit Sect Master, his eyes twinkling.

The others nodded, though their expressions remained restrained—wary even.

Because while Mo Jian's cultivation was still at the Core Refinement realm, none of them dared underestimate him.

His Thousand Wealth Chamber had grown into a power equal to their sects—perhaps even greater.

His influence reached across borders. His resources were unmatched. And the mysterious spiritual artifacts he dealt in…

They terrified even Golden Core cultivators.

With a courteous nod, Mo Jian sat and folded his hands in his lap, waiting.

The Frost Moon Sect Master was the first to speak. Her spine straightened, eyes cold and resolute.

"I've discovered the Red Hollow Sect's hideout."

Her words dropped like a stone into still water. Shock rippled across the faces of the other three Golden Core experts.

Even Mo Jian's gaze sharpened slightly.

"You're certain?" asked the Nine Mountain Sect Master, voice tight.

"I wouldn't bring it up otherwise," she said. Her voice cracked briefly—not with fear, but fury. "I saw what they did. These are no longer cultivators. They're monsters."

Her eyes narrowed further.

"They have two Golden Core experts. If not for that, I'd have razed the place to the ground."

The tension thickened.

None of them could deny the implications.

They had always assumed the Red Hollow Sect was a festering sore—but two Golden Core experts?

That made them a threat rivaling the major sects themselves.

It turned the entire region's power structure on its head.

"If I may ask," the Governor said, his voice grave, "how did you find them?"

The Frost Moon Sect Master took a deep breath, then spoke.

"I injured the rat but did not immediately kill him. I didn't realize who he was at first. He tried to flee with an escape talisman… but failed. Thanks to an artifact provided by the Thousand Wealth Chamber, I was able to track him"

She looked at Mo Jian with something like respect.

"It led me right to their den."

All eyes turned toward Mo Jian.

There was no accusation. Only a chilling realization:

If he could track a Golden Core cultivator without detection… then no one was truly safe from him.

A long silence followed.

Mo Jian, ever polite, did not gloat. He simply looked back at them with a slight smile—as if to say, You knew the price of playing with fire.

The Governor exhaled quietly. "How do you suggest we handle this?"

Mo Jian leaned forward slightly, drawing them back to the moment.

"We act quietly, decisively. The more we drag this out, the more likely we are to awaken other evil sects still in hiding. We can't afford an open war."

"Agreed," the Wind Spirit Sect Master said. "We must eliminate every single one of them. No survivors."

"I'll join the raid," added the Nine Mountain Sect Master, rising to his feet. "We must move now."

But just as the others stood, Mo Jian's voice stopped them.

"One moment. There's something else we must do first."

They paused, glancing at him in surprise.

"The Golden Pavilion," he said softly. "And what remains of the Seven Talisman Trade Hall."

Confusion crossed their faces—then dawning realization.

"These two groups colluded with the Red Hollow Sect," Mo Jian said coldly.

"They had the means to contact them… and chose to. That makes them more dangerous than the Sect itself. They're doors. And the doors must be closed."

The weight of his words struck hard.

The Governor paled. "You're right. If we don't deal with them now…"

"They'll open the door again," the Frost Moon Sect Master finished for him.

"How do you want to handle this?" the Wind Spirit Sect Master asked.

"I'll deal with the Trade Hall remnants. You may decide among yourselves who will take care of the Golden Pavilion." Mo Jian announced calmly.

Without hesitation, the Nine Mountain Sect Master stepped forward.

"I'll handle it. And if I need backup…" He looked at the Wind Spirit Sect Master.

"You'll have it," came the quick reply.

No more needed to be said.

The alliance was formed.

The verdict passed.

They dispersed quickly—silent as wraiths, grim as executioners.

— ✦ —

Meanwhile, in the shattered center of the battlefield, the once-glorious Seven Talisman Trade Hall lay in ruins.

Blood soaked the earth. Charred wood and shattered stone jutted from the wreckage like bones from a corpse.

Amidst the devastation stood the woman.

She was tall, with sharp cheekbones and long black hair bound tightly behind her head.

Her robes were torn, dust-covered, and blood-splattered—but her eyes remained alert.

Cold. Beautiful. Deadly.

She had just finished cutting down the last of the elders. Her breathing was steady. Her hands, though bloodied, did not tremble.

It was over.

Almost.

Her body tensed as a new presence entered the clearing.

From the edge of the ruins, a man approached with slow, measured steps.

He was calm, unnervingly so. His robe was plain. His expression was unreadable.

In his hand, a long black scabbard. His fingers rested gently on the hilt—like a sleeping serpent coiled to strike.

The woman froze.

Her senses screamed in warning.

This wasn't an ordinary cultivator. No… this one was different.

Their gazes met.

And the tension thickened like a storm ready to break.