Night in the Iron Vein Sect was quiet.
Moonlight spilled across the courtyard, silver washing over stone. The spiritual vein hummed faintly beneath Jian Wuxin's floor like a sleeping dragon—calm, but filled with untapped power.
Inside his room, Jian Wuxin sat cross-legged on the stone bed, robe loose, hands resting on his knees. A low glow circled around his dantian as he cycled Qi using the sect's outer disciple technique.
It wasn't fast. It wasn't powerful.
But it was safe.
Convincing.
And for now, that's all he needed.
The room was silent—until it wasn't.
> "You waste time."
The Soul Devouring Banner stirred within his storage pouch. Its voice slithered across his thoughts, dry and smooth like parchment burning in slow fire.
Jian Wuxin didn't react outwardly.
"I'm cultivating," he replied in his mind.
> "With that infant's method?" it scoffed. "You crawl like a worm when you hold the wings of dragons."
He breathed slowly.
> "Why hide forever? Why act like the others? Let them see your root. Let them fear you."
"No," Jian Wuxin said quietly. "I'm not strong enough yet."
Silence stretched, then the banner chuckled lowly.
> "Clever. Then let me give you cleverness worth using."
Jian's eyes narrowed.
> "This sect's system is built on obedience and bribes. You complete one task each month to earn your resources. But what if you did ten?"
"Ten?"
> "Contribution points. That's what you need. Hoard them. Trade them for pills, spirit stones, techniques. One task a month feeds dogs. Ten feeds tigers."
Jian Wuxin considered it.
He hadn't explored the sect's task board yet. Most disciples did the minimum—one mission a month just to maintain access to resources. But the banner was right. The sect rewarded those who went above and beyond, and contribution points were power in disguise.
Freedom. Bargaining. Secrets.
> "Stockpile them now, while no one notices you. Then vanish from the board later when your enemies are watching. No questions. No suspicion."
Jian Wuxin opened his eyes, a quiet gleam in them now.
"So I take on more than required. Work quietly. Build my stockpile."
> "Yes. Cultivate while they sleep. Rise while they laugh."
He looked toward the door.
The night wind rustled through the courtyard beyond, where Li Shen and Wei Qing were likely asleep—trusting the sect, trusting routine.
Jian Wuxin smiled faintly.
"Then tomorrow," he whispered, "I visit the task hall."