The Foundation Pill had cost the Chen Clan decades of accumulated wealth—an unimaginable sum for such a small family. Their patriarch had been gravely wounded because of it, and several of the clan's senior uncles—cultivators at the ninth level of Qi Refinement—had fallen defending that single pill.
If Elder Chen Qingmeng failed his breakthrough, the blow to the already strained Chen Clan would be devastating.
And as many feared, the Third Elder finally broke his long silence and confirmed their worst dread.
"Qingmeng left seclusion yesterday," Chen Qinghao said quietly."He... did not break through to the Foundation Realm."
The words struck like thunder. Even though everyone had braced for bad news, hearing it aloud still felt like a knife through the chest.
The Seventh Granduncle, Chen Changqing, already a hundred and seven years old, went pale and swayed where he sat. A rush of blood rose to his head, and before anyone could react, he coughed up a mouthful of crimson and collapsed unconscious.
"Seventh Granduncle!""Quick, help him!"
The hall dissolved into chaos. Several cultivators surged forward, sealing his heart meridians and stabilizing his breath before carrying him away to his quarters.
It took nearly an hour before the elders returned to the hall. Faces were drawn and pale, the heavy silence pressing upon them like a mountain.
Elder Chen Qingmeng's failure had crushed what little hope the Chen Clan still held. They had already sold ancestral property and taken on crippling debt to buy the pill. Now, not only was the patriarch still injured and the clan's power diminished, but their greatest investment had turned to ash.
It meant one thing—for the next thirty years at least, the Chen Clan would have no means to acquire another Foundation Pill.
Without a new Foundation cultivator to guard their lands, their influence and income would shrink by half. For the younger generations—the "Qing" and "Nian" branches—this was a fatal wound.
If nothing changed, the Chen Clan would decline beyond recovery, their name fading into the dust of the cultivation world.
Around the table, elders exchanged grim looks, throats dry, eyes hollow. Finally, Third Elder Chen Qinghao let out a long sigh and spoke.
"Even with a Foundation Pill, success is never guaranteed," he said. "Four chances in ten at best. Qingmeng's failure, while tragic, is not beyond reason.""Let us set that aside for now and discuss our current situation."
Years ago, Chen Qinghao had suffered internal injuries in battle and given up on forming his own foundation. Since then, he had devoted himself to managing the family's affairs, bringing order and growth to the clan. But this disaster had undone much of that progress.
"To purchase the Foundation Pill," he continued, "we borrowed eight thousand spirit stones. The longer this debt lingers, the worse it becomes. We must find a way to repay it quickly.""Our yearly expenditures are also heavy. Early-stage Qi Refinement disciples receive a stipend of two spirit stones per year; mid-stage, five; late-stage, ten.""The patriarch's annual pay is three hundred stones; elders each receive thirty. In total, with our one hundred and six cultivators, the clan spends roughly nine hundred and thirty-seven spirit stones per year."
He paused to sip tea before continuing.
"Now, as for our income…"
"Our primary sources are: the Five-Element Essence trade, the seventeen acres of spiritual farmland on Qingyuan Mountain, our Linghu Isle estate, and the shops in Yuyang Market."
This was the first time Chen Nianzhi had ever attended such a council. Listening to the breakdown, he finally began to understand the true state of the family's finances.
Among all revenue sources, the Five-Element Essence trade was the steadiest.As its name suggested, it was the refined elemental energy produced by cultivators with corresponding spiritual roots—pure quintessence of metal, wood, water, fire, and earth.
Such essence was highly sought after by higher-realm cultivators for tempering their life-bound artifacts, making it nearly as valuable as spirit stones themselves.
The Chen Clan's hundred or so Qi Refinement cultivators together produced over six hundred wisps of essence per year, yielding about one hundred and twenty spirit stones in profit.
Then there were the seventeen acres of spiritual farmland—the same fields that had been cultivated by the clan for centuries, producing medicinal herbs worth roughly one hundred and fifty stones annually.
Their three remaining shops in Yuyang Market, which sold pills and low-grade artifacts, brought in around two hundred and twenty stones per year.
Once, the Chen family had owned five such shops. But to raise funds for the Foundation Pill, they had sold two at a loss—another bitter wound.
Finally, there was Linghu Isle, five thousand miles from Qingyuan Mountain. It housed a high-grade first-rank spiritual vein, its lake nurturing Azure Spirit Fish, a unique Chen family product worth about eighty stones annually.
Chen Qinghao summarized it succinctly:
"The essence trade, our farmland, Linghu Isle, and the shops combined bring in roughly five hundred and seventy stones a year. Including minor revenues, the total still doesn't exceed six hundred."
When he finished, silence fell again.Six hundred in income, nearly a thousand in expenses—even without the debt, they were already in deficit. How could they ever hope to repay eight thousand stones?
Fifth Elder Chen Qingwan finally broke the silence.
"But two years ago, our revenue was over thirteen hundred stones. How did it fall so sharply?"
The Third Elder sighed.
"The clan once held a ten percent share in the Great Azure Mountain Mine. Last year, we mortgaged that stake for twelve thousand spirit stones. That alone reduced our annual return by about three hundred stones.""Then came the patriarch's injury and the deaths of seven senior uncles, all late-stage Qi Refinement cultivators. With manpower so scarce, we can no longer maintain the Five-Element Essence trade route to Tianxu Mountain. That's another three hundred stones gone.""Between those two losses—and the sale of our Yuyang shops—we've lost six hundred stones of yearly income."
Hearing this, Chen Nianzhi's chest tightened.
The Great Azure Mountain Mine had been discovered thirty years ago—a minor spirit stone vein jointly developed by the six great families of Yu County. The Chen Clan had invested heavily—two thousand spirit stones and years of labor—for a ten percent share.
Over three decades, they'd earned back about nine thousand stones in dividends. But last year, desperate to purchase the Foundation Pill, they mortgaged forty-five years of future profits from the mine in exchange for twelve thousand spirit stones.
It had been a gamble—a bet on Elder Qingmeng's success. Now, with that hope dashed, they faced forty-five years of reduced income.
As for the Tianxu Mountain trade, it had been one of the few ventures where low-level cultivators could earn profit from their betters.
Daoist Jiang of Tianxu Mountain, though a powerful alchemist, was an unaffiliated cultivator with few disciples. To refine his life-bound treasure, he needed vast amounts of Five-Element Essence—and paid handsomely for it. This was also why he occasionally sold rare items like Foundation Pills to raise funds.
Across the entire county, thousands of low-level cultivators refined elemental essence, but Tianxu Mountain was a hundred thousand miles away, across dangerous lands infested with monsters and bandits. Few dared make such a journey for a handful of spirit stones.
Thus, the Six Great Families had established a rotation system. Each year, one clan collected essence from across the county, assembled a trade caravan, and sold it to Daoist Jiang—earning profit from the difference.
Now, with the Chen Clan crippled, they could no longer field such a caravan. That avenue of wealth was closed to them.
The hall fell silent once more. Only the faint hiss of the incense could be heard.
Chen Nianzhi looked at the elders—each bearing the weight of decades of struggle—and felt a heaviness in his chest.The once-proud Chen Clan, for all its centuries of heritage, now stood on the edge of decline.
And in that silence, the young cultivator silently swore—if fate would not grant his clan a future, he would carve one himself.