Dao of the Deal

The Iron Bones sect was of modest size, in the sense that all of its members could fit into one dining hall. That small group of people, though, represented a great deal of combat power.

From his spot on the stage, Muchen could see the sect's development pipeline laid out before him. Seated at the edge of the room, the youngest cohort ranged in age from eight to twelve. Muchen could see twenty of the little kids, clustered around their instructors as they ate. According to Elder Yang, once enough of them had graduated to actual cultivation or dropped out, the sect would recruit a new batch of youngsters to make up the numbers.

The kids who made the cut would become outer disciples. With their cultivation ranging across all levels of the meridian opening realm, the dozen or so outer disciples attacked their meals with quiet intensity. Outer disciples were perhaps under the most pressure of any member of the sect: once they started cultivating, they were given three years to ascend to the foundation establishment stage and receive a further promotion to inner disciple, or else fall off the promotion track forever.

Failed outer disciples took on the role of stewards, essentially acting as low status manual labor, paper pushers, and sometimes cannon fodder. There were less than a dozen stewards eating off to the side of the cafeteria, doing their best not to draw attention to themselves. None of them looked to Muchen's eye to be much over the age of twenty. Considering that none of them had reached a level of cultivation that would significantly slow the aging process, it didn't speak well for their life expectancy.

Inner disciples were the rising stars of the sect. Roughly a dozen of them sat at the center table closest to the stage. Even without the explanation from Elder Yang, Muchen would have known that they were big shots of one form or another, just from the casual arrogance in their posture.

Once an inner disciple finished building their foundation they would be promoted to an elder position. Elder Yang didn't volunteer any information about the particulars of the promotion process. The speed of ascension played a part, no doubt, as did combat power, but Muchen got the impression that there was a bit of politics involved in taking down a plum position.

Muchen didn't press for details as to the higher levels of the sect. Sensitive topics that had to do with their overall combat power weren't the kind of thing they would share easily with outsiders. Still, just by counting heads he could tell that the Iron Bones sect boasted at least two dozen cultivators in the Core Formation stage. If any of those cultivators ever made the leap and finished building their Golden Core, the sect was well positioned to make a run at guardian sect status for itself.

Unfortunately for the Iron Bones sect, that one small step in cultivation was a large chasm that divided the true heavy hitters of the Qianzhan Continent from the rest. Until the day that some son of heaven beat the odds, they would be stuck relying on the good will of the Leaping Carp sect.

Muchen found the idea of the guardian realms fascinating, though he didn't dare ask any follow up questions that might expose his ignorance. He was relieved to learn that military strength could lead to a profit without relying on taxation or theft. On the other hand, he dreaded to think of what might happen if the Leaping Carp sect ever ended its relationship with the Iron Bones sect. Overnight, a veritable army would be cut loose and forced to find a new source of income.

It was all far too risky for his tastes. He'd much rather make an honest living building valuable products and selling to the masses.

Of course, he couldn't avoid the risk just by refusing to form his own private army. The Iron Bones sect might not be a top flight power within the Qianzhan Empire, but it was still quite the formidable force. Leaving Xinyi aside, the Iron Bones sect would be able to wipe out the cultivators of Flower Mountain as easily as stepping on a bug. A small team of inner disciples would be more than sufficient, let alone receiving any help from an elder.

With Xinyi's help, all of the Iron Bones sect working together wouldn't be able to set a single foot on Flower Mountain's territory. At least, if Muchen credited her boasting. The gap in power between each successive realm of cultivation only grew wider as one ascended the road to immortality.

Muchen was all the more grateful to have a trump card like Xinyi on his side as he stared at the danger she was warding off. Still, it wasn't a great feeling when your trump card was your only card.

He shook his head. Just because he only had one real military option didn't mean it was his only card. If nothing else, every sect that he could befriend and build a healthy commercial relationship with was another layer of deterrence against anybody out there who wanted to take his things by force. Not to mention the value of reputation: the more he acted like he had a secret backer, the more everybody else would tend to behave as if he had one.

Muchen kept his thoughts to himself as he enjoyed the spiritual supplements that the Iron Bones sect considered an ordinary meal. He kept his ears open. Every little thing that he could learn about how other sects operated could come in handy when it came time to make decisions for the Flower Mountain sect.

While he wasn't particularly interested in the veiled gossip around the subject of who was sleeping with who or of the budding rivalries among the sect's youth, there was one topic that caught Muchen's ear. The elder seated on the other side of Elder Yang decided to regale the table with a tale of his own heroism during his most recent trip out to the Leaping Carp sect's guardian space.

He'd been tapped to lead a team of inner disciples, there to provide wise advice and, should they need it, heroic rescue. Muchen didn't think the story was much good as an evaluation of the disciples' fighting abilities. He could tell that the mix of truth and self-aggrandizement of the elder's words tipped heavily in favor of the latter. The elder no doubt aspired to heroism, but if he could replicate any of the feats in his anecdote in front of an objective crowd then Muchen would eat his robe.

The real value of the story lay in the framework: what it said about the guardian space itself. Muchen would take the details with a grain of salt, of course, but in order for the elder to impress his audience he needed to stick to at least somewhat plausible lies. He might downplay the abilities of his students or play up his own contribution, but in order to sell the story he would need to be accurate in describing their surroundings, at least.

From what Muchen could tell, the guardian space was something like the Northern Wastes in miniature. A small spatial tear near the Leaping Carp sect's territory ushered those who passed through it into a blasted wasteland filled with otherworldly monsters. Or, as the Qianzhan Continent would describe it: a treasure house just waiting to be looted.

Just as with the hunting parties in the northern wastes, the monster's bodies were prizes in their own right, not to mention the even more valuable natural treasures that littered the place. Muchen wondered a bit about the ecology of something that sounded more like a video game's dungeon than any kind of natural ecology, but the explanation was simple enough: the monsters poured in through a spatial tear of their own, thankfully located a good distance away from the entrance on the Qianzhan Continent's side.

Cultivators who had completed their Golden Core couldn't pass through the tear. Cultivators in the process of forming their core had difficulty doing so, more so the closer they were to finishing their core. A similar restriction applied to the monsters, making the pocket dimension the site of a relatively evenly matched free for all. The humans enjoyed the advantage of planning and tactics, while the monsters were part of a limitless horde that pressed forward regardless of loss or injury.

As the guardian sect, the Leaping Carp sect was responsible for exterminating any monsters that dared cross into the Qianzhan Continent. A trivial task for a high level cultivator, considering the restrictions on the spatial tear. They also enjoyed the exclusive right of access to the space beyond, though obviously they were willing to share that right with their friends for the right price.

Muchen had wondered how people went about acquiring spiritual treasures in a world that had been cut off from the heavens. He had to admire the ingenuity of those who were willing to go out and fight for the materials that used to develop naturally. Still, though, he couldn't help but worry.

If every guardian sect had its own guardian space to protect—maybe even more than one—-that was a lot more tears in the space time continuum than Muchen was comfortable with having near his home planet. The situation might be under control now, but what would happen if one day the restrictions loosened? If Golden Core level monsters, or worse, could pour through the rifts in great quantities, the Qianzhan Continent would soon be overrun.

He'd already known that the world was in trouble. Objectively speaking, learning about the mechanism that was going to deliver that trouble to his door didn't change the risk he was facing. Still, Muchen couldn't help but reflect on his own plans with a bit more urgency. It was enough that he barely tasted the rest of his meal.

He was staring at his empty plate and idly drawing doodles with his chopstick when a chiming noise drew his eyes to the front of the room. An old man had stood up from his place at the center stage table and was tapping his finger against his wine glass. Each tap rang out as though it had been struck from a bell.

Once you reached a certain level, it only made sense to use cultivation to fuel daily convenience as well as life and death combat.

The old man took a moment to survey the room, waiting for the ongoing conversations to die down before he spoke. "I'm pleased to announce that our most recent expedition has been a great success. While all of the members performed admirably, Fenhua in particular made great contributions."

A quiet murmur ran through the hall, in affirmation more than surprise. It sounded like Fenhua was a regular high performer. Looking at the inner disciple who had become the focus of attention, Muchen found he was observing the sect leader with his full attention, no sign of triumph or complacency in his expression.

"As such, he will be receiving an extra one hundred contribution points this month," the sect leader continued, smiling at the crowd. "As for the rest of you, Elder Chen has informed me of your good performance and diligent effort over this past month. Accordingly, you will each receive a full allotment of contribution points."

Another murmur swept through the hall. Muchen leaned over to Elder Yang and received a quick, whispered explanation. Every month, inner disciples in good standing would receive a hundred contribution points, while outer disciples would get fifty. The points could be used at the sect's store, or traded between disciples. More points would be rewarded for carrying out sect assignments. A disciple who relied on his monthly stipend alone would have to save up for some time in order to purchase a worthwhile treasure, while a hard worker would be duly rewarded.

Muchen couldn't help but notice that the crowd's mood had a certain edge to it. They were happy at getting contribution points, sure, but it seemed they were anticipating something more.

"I hope you will continue your hard work for the coming month," the sect leader said, once the noise had died down. "But I won't make you listen to this old man for any longer."

The disciples responded to his statement with action rather than words. Without any further instruction, a great mass of them stood and began moving the furniture, shuffling most of the tables that had been in the center of the room off to the side. They formed a ring of people around the empty space that had been created. For a moment, all was still as a hush fell over the crowd.

The spell was broken as an unremarkable young man stepped forward into the open space. "I will stake five points on a contest with brother Junfeng."

Muchen shook his head. He was all in favor of encouraging an internal economy. Setting up your own private currency was even better. Even the idea of fostering internal competition was all well and good.

For all of those elements to come together like this, though, didn't strike him as a healthy development at all. Prodding disciples who were slacking on their training was a job for the instructor. Letting peers pile on and rob their less impressive fellow disciples blind was a horrible way to manage things. It was practically training them for a future of banditry.

In theory, the targeted disciple could refuse the match. Even on Earth, though, it was rare for teenage boys to back down from a challenge after they'd been called out in public. Here on the Qianzhan Continent, such a level headed teenager was rarer than phoenix feathers.

As time stretched on and nobody responded to the challenge, though, Muchen began to wonder if he was going to see, off all things, a calm and collected sect disciple. Then he followed the gazes of the crowd and saw a young man seated at one of the tables near the back with his head cradled in his arms, asleep.