The sun hadn't yet crawled over the jagged peaks of the Iron-Blood Sect, but the air in the servant quarters was already thick with the smell of unwashed bodies and hopelessness.
I sat on a rotting wooden crate in the center of the muddy courtyard, my back leaning against a soot-stained wall. Every breath felt like inhaling ground glass. The "Interest" was no longer just a concept; it was a physical weight. My left lung—the one currently marked as collateral by the System—felt cold, as if it were slowly turning into stone.
[00:21:12:45]
The golden numbers flickered in the corner of my eye. I had less than a day to produce five hundred Essence. If I failed, I wouldn't just be poor; I'd be a cripple in a world where the weak were fed to the furnace.
"He's actually back," a whisper hissed from the shadows of a nearby shack.
"Look at him. He's covered in Stalker blood. How is he still breathing?"
I ignored the murmurs. I pulled the embroidered pouch I'd taken from Wei Yan out of my tunic. With a deliberate, slow motion, I loosed the drawstring. The clatter of Spirit Stones hitting the top of my crate was like a thunderclap in the silent courtyard.
Twelve low-grade stones. To these men, who earned one "Scrap-Stone" a month, it was a king's ransom.
Within minutes, the courtyard was no longer empty. Dozens of servants—the hollow-cheeked, the scarred, and the dying—emerged from their hovels. They gathered in a semi-circle, their eyes locked on the glowing stones with a mixture of awe and predatory hunger.
"Han Jing," a man named Old Liu stepped forward. He was a veteran of the coal mines, his skin permanently stained grey. "You robbed a Disciple. You know the punishment. They'll flay you alive."
"I didn't rob anyone, Liu," I said, my voice projecting with a confidence I didn't entirely feel. I let my gaze sweep over them, using the cold, calculating stare I'd perfected back in the corporate world. "I settled a contract. And now, I'm looking to open a new one."
"With us?" a younger boy scoffed. "We don't have anything but the rags on our backs."
"You have your life-essence," I countered. I picked up one of the stones, letting its faint light play across my fingers. "And you have a deadline. Next week is the Great Culling. The Sect needs fresh meat for the lower levels of the abyss. How many of you are on the list?"
A heavy silence fell. Almost every hand in the courtyard twitched.
"You're going to die because you're weak," I continued, my voice dropping to a low, intense hum. "And you're weak because the Sect keeps you in a cycle of debt. They give you just enough food to work, but never enough stones to cultivate. You're trapped in a deficit. I'm here to offer you a way into the black."
"What are you talking about?" Liu asked, his eyes narrowing.
"A Mutual Cultivation Fund," I said, leaning forward. "You all have Scrap-Essence saved up. Pennies. Hidden under your floorboards. On their own, those scraps are useless. You could wait ten years and never save enough for a Qi-Recovery pill. But if you pool them? If you give them to me?"
"Why would we give our life savings to a dead man walking?" someone shouted.
"Because in three days, I will return your investment with fifty percent interest," I barked back.
The crowd gasped. Fifty percent in three days was unheard of. It was impossible.
"If you give me ten scraps today, I give you fifteen on the third morning," I said, holding up the stolen stones. "I have the capital to back it up. I have the pills I took from Wei Yan. I'm not asking for your charity; I'm offering you a seat at the table. While the rest of the servants are being slaughtered in the abyss, my investors will be sitting here, breaking through to the first layer of Qi Condensation."
I could see the gears turning in their heads. It was the oldest trick in the book: the promise of a quick exit from a desperate situation. I was selling them hope, and hope was the most expensive commodity in the world.
"I'm in," Old Liu whispered. He reached into his belt and pulled out five dull, chipped shards of spirit stone. "It's all I have. If you're lying, Han Jing, I'll kill you myself before the Sect does."
"Duly noted," I said, taking the shards.
As soon as my skin touched the stones, the System chimed.
[Notice: External Capital Detected.]
[Analyzing 'Investor' Intent... Analysis Complete.]
[New Mechanic Unlocked: Capital Aggregation (Tier 1)]
[Current Pooled Essence: 125/500]
[Credit Score: 280 -> 285 (Improving)]
One by one, they came forward. The desperation was deeper than I had imagined. They brought shards, half-eaten medicinal roots, and even copper coins. I recorded every "investment" on a piece of charred wood, acting the part of the meticulous banker.
By the time the sun was fully up, the crate was covered in scraps.
[Current Pooled Essence: 410/500]
Almost there, I thought, my heart fluttering. The pain in my lung had lessened slightly as the "Liquidity" increased. I just needed ninety more Essence to keep my organs intact.
But just as the last servant was handing over his savings, a shadow fell across the courtyard. It was cold—not the cold of the cave, but the icy, artificial chill of a high-level cultivation technique.
"Well, well," a smooth, oily voice echoed from the gate. "I heard a dog was barking in the dirt, but I didn't realize he was playing at being a Merchant Prince."
The servants scattered like rats.
Standing at the entrance was Overseer Zhao. He was a middle-aged man with a goatee and eyes like a snake's. He wasn't a disciple; he was the man the Sect hired to keep the "trash" in line. He was at the fifth layer of Qi Condensation—far beyond anything I could fight, even with a loan.
He walked toward the crate, his eyes fixed on the pile of stones and shards.
"Private trading among servants is prohibited," Zhao said, a cruel smile playing on his lips. He reached out a hand to sweep the pile into his own sleeve. "As the Overseer, I'll have to confiscate this 'contraband.' And as for you, Han Jing..."
My mind raced. If he took the money, I was dead. The System didn't care about "civil forfeiture"; it only cared about the balance.
"Overseer," I said, standing my ground despite the pressure of his aura. "You could take that. It's about four hundred Essence. A decent haul for a morning's work."
Zhao paused, his hand inches from the stones. "Oh? And why shouldn't I?"
"Because if you let me keep it, I'll give you eight hundred by next week," I said, my voice steady. "And a ten percent cut of every transaction that passes through this courtyard from now on."
Zhao laughed, a harsh, dry sound. "You think you can bribe me with my own servants' money?"
"I'm not bribing you," I said, looking him dead in the eye. "I'm offering you a partnership. You can be the man who robs a few beggars today... or you can be the silent partner in the largest 'Essence Exchange' this Sect has ever seen. Think about it, Zhao. The Elders don't look at the books down here. They just want their quotas. As long as the quotas are met, what does it matter if the servants are... trading?"
Zhao's eyes flickered. He was greedy, but he wasn't stupid. He looked at the pile, then at me.
"Eight hundred?" he asked.
"Eight hundred. Plus interest," I replied.
The silence stretched. My golden timer ticked down. [00:20:45].
Zhao slowly pulled his hand back. "You have three days, trash-root. If I don't see eight hundred Essence, I won't just take your stones. I'll peel the skin off your back and use it to patch my boots."
He turned and strode away, his aura vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.
I slumped back onto the crate, my shirt soaked in cold sweat. I had the money to pay the System, but I had just doubled my debt to a man who was far more dangerous than Wei Yan.
I closed my eyes and called up the Ledger.
[The Empyrean Ledger]
Host: Han Jing
Cultivation: Mortal (Grade 9 Trash-Root)
Status: High-Risk Leverage
Credit Score: 290
— Financial Summary —
Principal Debt: 1,025 Essence
External Liabilities (Zhao): 800 Essence
External Liabilities (Servants): 450 Essence
Total Liquid Assets: 530 Essence
[Notice: Installment of 500 Essence is ready for collection.]
[Would you like to make a payment?]
"Pay it," I whispered.
The 530 Essence on the crate vanished in a flash of golden light. Instantly, the cold weight in my chest evaporated. I took a deep, full breath—the first one in twenty-four hours that didn't hurt.
[Payment Received.]
[Foreclosure of Left Lung: CANCELLED.]
[Remaining Principal: 525 Essence.]
[Reward for 'Creative Financing': New Skill Unlocked — 'Appraisal Eye' (Basic).]
I leaned my head back against the wall and laughed. It was a hollow, desperate sound. I was still broke, I was still a slave, and I now owed the entire courtyard and a murderous Overseer more money than I could possibly earn in a lifetime.
But my lungs worked. And in the world of debt, as long as you're still breathing, you're still in the game.
"Next step," I muttered, looking at the grey sky. "I need to find a way to make eight hundred Essence out of thin air."
The Appraisal Eye flickered on, highlighting the rusted pickaxe leaning against the wall.
[Rusted Iron Pickaxe: Value 2 Essence. Potential: High (If imbued with stolen Qi).]
A new plan began to form. I wasn't just going to be a cultivator. I was going to be an arms dealer.