No Money to Cultivate Immortality?

Inside the pharmaceutical factory.

Now that Zhang Yu had completed the construction of the factory building, today was the day the production line would officially be set up.

Zhang Yu arrived early on site to assist.

As long as the setup was completed today, he’d be five days ahead of schedule—and eligible for a bonus.

Walking through the site, Zhang Yu kept an eye on the assembly line’s layout while activating the Yin-Yang Bracelet to continue tempering his body.

As the Pure Yang Qi and Yin Essence within him churned under the bracelet’s stimulation, Zhang Yu felt as if his body were being refined by alternating waves of hot and cold fire, growing steadily more resilient.

Sometimes, it made him feel like he himself was a magical artifact, forged and reforged by the Yin-Yang Bracelet.

To this, Fu Ji commented, “Honestly… in True Lord Magneto’s eyes, you might actually be artifact material.”

“If he finds out you have no talent in Artifact Refinement, he might just pivot to cultivating your value as an artifact.”

“The reason he started paying attention to you after the competition might’ve been exactly because of your potential—as raw material.”Zhang Yu jolted in realization at her words.

“If they really start raising me like artifact fodder, forget the Ten Major Sects—I might not even get into the Ten Great Academies.”

“No doubt about it… I need to finish the Artifact Refinement course ASAP and start showcasing my talent in it.”

Just then, someone on the newly-installed production line collapsed—dead on the spot.

Moments later, a factory staffer walked over.

He was a graduate from one of the 72 Lower Academies and responsible for maintenance on the production line.

With a few quick movements, he conjured up a projection from the dead technician’s body.

The technician’s soul emerged, laughed heartily, and said, “Well, I’m out! Good luck, everyone—keep making money with my corpse!”

The surrounding graduates all looked on with envy.

“Died on the first day? Damn.”

“He’s off to enjoy himself in the Spiritual Realm now. Soul Cultivators don’t get hungry or tired, and their next life’s job is already lined up.”

“I heard Soul Cultivators can work overtime non-stop—first day after death and they’re already earning 0.0006 spirit coins per hour.”

“Seriously?! That much?!”

Hearing all the chatter, the maintenance worker impatiently tapped the mute button on the assembly line. Instantly, all the graduates entered silent mode—unable to make another sound.

“Get back to work. No chatting on the job.”

With that, he dragged the corpse over to the production manager and said respectfully, “Manager Qu, one of the grads just died. Already handled it.”

The production manager, Qu Lecheng, was a graduate of Wanfa University and to workers from the Lower Academies, the very image of a genius cultivator—an entirely different species.

Qu Lecheng frowned. “What’s going on with your section? The sudden death rate’s been climbing these past few months.”

The maintenance worker sighed. “Blame the new grads. They’re all low-quality hires.”

“That’s your problem to fix,” Qu Lecheng said flatly. “If another one dies this month, I’m docking 0.02 spirit coins from your pay.”

The worker opened his mouth to object but ended up bowing his head. “Manager Qu… I was hoping to ask for leave. Something came up at home.”

Qu Lecheng patted him on the shoulder. “No need. Just treat the factory as your home.”

Seeing Zhang Yu approaching, Qu Lecheng waved the worker off. “Get going. And remember—if another one drops dead this month, that’s 0.02 coins gone.”

He turned and walked briskly toward Zhang Yu.

Qu Lecheng, formerly of Wanfa University’s Department of Pharmacology, was currently one of the production managers—and the liaison in charge of coordinating with Zhang Yu.

Despite his prestigious alma mater, he’d graduated without ever earning a Foundation License.

Standing before Zhang Yu now, he couldn’t help but feel ashamed. His voice lowered, his posture bowed.

“Engineer Zhang,” he said with a smile, “we’ll need your expertise for the remaining work. Just a small token of gratitude…”

[0.5 spirit coins]

Zhang Yu glanced at the transfer and thought, Now that’s what you call a token.

He accepted it coolly. “Don’t worry. Finishing early helps me too. I’ll be as fast as I can.”

A few hours later, the production line was fully installed and running smoothly.

Zhang Yu’s task for this factory block was complete. His next job would be helping expand other facilities.

Qu Lecheng smiled. “Engineer Zhang, thanks for the hard work today. I know high-level engineers from the Civil Engineering Department need massages after a job. I arranged for a technician just for you.”

Zhang Yu raised an eyebrow. “Thoughtful of you.”

“I’ll take you there now. Don’t worry about the site—I’ll handle things here and update you as needed.”

Soon after, Zhang Yu was enjoying a massage in a nearby office, letting the technician soothe his sore muscles and joint wear.

As he felt the powerful kneading hands, Zhang Yu gave the technician a surprised once-over. Muscular, robust—the skill level was unexpectedly high.

The masseuse’s name was Wan Sirou, a graduate of Qinghe Arts and Vocational Academy.

Her real reason for coming today was to trick him—into fathering a child.

While she massaged him, Wan Sirou showed off her powerful figure, flexing her chiseled muscles—especially her steel-forged arms—right in front of Zhang Yu’s eyes.

When Zhang Yu closed his eyes instead of reacting, she thought, Guys from Civil Engineering usually start getting handsy by now.

He clearly has a root, yet not the slightest bit tempted? Just like the employer said… he’s got a rock-solid Dao Heart. Normal tricks won’t move him.

Still, Wan Sirou knew she wasn’t relying on charm alone. Her plan had layers.

Activating the spiritual technique she had painstakingly cultivated over the years, her every movement now radiated an overwhelming, beastly allure.

“Classmate,” she said, “would you like a kidney massage?”

Zhang Yu opened one eye and looked at her again. Her veins bulged, her physique seemed even larger, and her arms were visibly more pumped.

He closed his eyes again. “No need. Just the massage.”

“Come on, classmate,” Wan Sirou urged. “I’ll give you 70% off.”

“No.”

Even a discount didn’t work?!

No matter what seduction tactics she tried, Zhang Yu remained unmoved—his Dao Heart utterly unshaken. Wan Sirou began to question her own appeal.

Is this guy… just not into biological women? Or does he have some bizarre aesthetic preference?

While she was floundering in frustration, a sudden explosion shook the entire factory.

Zhang Yu’s eyes flew open. With a flash, he vanished, heading straight for the source of the noise.

…

The blast had occurred at one of the production lines.

When Zhang Yu arrived, he saw a massive crater where machinery had been. Raw materials were still moving through the line, scattering everywhere.

Someone sabotaged the line? Zhang Yu thought. Who did this?

He scanned the area but found no sign of the culprit.

Soon, more workers arrived. Some began repairs; others investigated.

The truth was quickly uncovered: security footage showed a Soul Cultivator controlling a Law Husk, executing a suicide attack—and leaving behind a symbol.

Watching the footage of the exploding Law Husk, Qu Lecheng growled, “It’s that damn Rest-and-Relaxation Cult again!”

“Rest and… what?” Zhang Yu asked, baffled. “You’re saying dual cultivation is a heresy now?”

“No, no,” Qu Lecheng clarified. “Dual Cultivation is one of the most sacred paths on the Immortal Road.”

“I said Rest and Rest, as in weekends off.”

“They’re lunatics,” he spat. “Going around preaching that people should rest two days a month. They’ve been recruiting workers across factories and companies. It’s madness!”

News of the Rest-and-Relaxation Cult soon spread through the factory floor, unsettling the graduates even further.

Especially the ones whose lines had been halted—they were visibly panicked.

“They want us to rest two days a month? What kind of monster comes up with that?!”

“Two days off means two days of lost wages! Are they trying to starve us?!”

“The pharmaceutical industry is cutthroat. If we shut down, we go under. Where do they think we’ll get jobs after that?”

Soon, every corner of the floor buzzed with outrage against the cult.

Zhang Yu turned to Qu Lecheng. “Where did this cult come from, anyway?”

“No idea. They just showed up one day—nuts, all of them. Instead of working hard, they brainwash Soul Cultivators and grads into staging terrorist attacks.”

“Even though the Righteous Gods and the major universities are cracking down on them, they’re like weeds—you can’t kill them all.”

“Damn it… I bet there’s some corporate mole using them for industrial sabotage. Two days off? No sane person would suggest that!”

Just then, the maintenance worker returned. “Manager Qu, the production line’s pretty wrecked. Might take two full days to get it running again.”

The thought of halting production—and the performance deductions that would follow—only made Qu Lecheng angrier.

“Two days?” he snarled. “Classic Rest-and-Relaxation Cult tactics. All their attacks conveniently shut us down for two days.”

“We’re not giving in to these lunatics!” he shouted at the technician. “Get that line fixed ASAP. One day—no more. We’re restarting tomorrow, no matter what!”