Dugu Yin looked at his eldest disciple, Jin Yidao—the most satisfactory one he had, who spoke pleasantly and knew how to read the room.
"In that case, let him stay and do odd jobs."
Lin Muran was assigned menial labor—the most exhausting tasks: emptying chamber pots, cleaning, and fetching water.
He couldn’t understand why he’d been reduced to a mere errand boy, but he didn’t dare leave. For one, there was no path outside, only a rope ladder that terrified him. For another, he feared being caught by the Qingyun Sect.
Everyone else in the cave was busy, with people constantly coming and going. He wanted to ask questions, but no one paid him any mind. No one had any respect for the newcomer, not even Dugu Yin, who couldn’t be bothered to speak to him.
And so, Lin Muran stayed, simmering in resentment.
Meanwhile, Fang Zhiyi waited impatiently for the craftsmen to finish expanding the buildings and leveling the training grounds. He hadn’t expected ancient efficiency to be so sluggish. Still, he kept himself occupied—drafting teaching materials and wandering the city below, gathering rumors from the martial world while scouting the market.
Three months later, the Youzhou Martial School was finally completed, and Fang Zhiyi’s savings had been entirely spent.
That day, the students climbed up as usual to report their progress. He Wugui and Lu Zhaoran distributed meals while Fang Zhiyi corrected their stances. The students were considerate enough to bring food down for Dugu Yin, but Lin Muran wasn’t so lucky. He wasn’t a student, and he didn’t dare climb the rope ladder, so he was left with scraps—a humiliation that twisted his heart.
"Something’s wrong!" A student scrambled up the ladder in a panic.
Fang Zhiyi raised an eyebrow. "What happened?"
"Elder Dugu... he’s dead."
"What?" Fang Zhiyi was baffled. In the original plot, Dugu Yin had lived much longer—how could he have died so suddenly?
"He was poisoned!" Another voice chimed in. Fang Zhiyi recognized her—Jiang Rou.
"Hiss..." Fang Zhiyi’s gaze swept over them.
Jiang Rou continued, "His secret manual is missing, and one of us is gone too."
"Who?" Tension rippled through the group, but after a headcount, everyone was present.
Zhao Yang suddenly remembered, "Wait—that guy who jumped off the cliff!"
The others recalled the shifty-eyed fellow who always muttered incomprehensibly.
"Strange, how did he escape?" Jiang Rou couldn’t make sense of it.
Fang Zhiyi waved it off. "Don’t overthink it. A chosen one like him could probably survive another cliff dive."
With their free lodgings gone, Fang Zhiyi led them back to the newly built martial school, though they’d have to make do without beds or blankets for now—minor inconveniences.
After they left, a figure slowly emerged from a stone water barrel in the corner. Surveying the empty cave, he clutched a tattered manual and burst into laughter.
Once the students were settled, Fang Zhiyi glanced thoughtfully at Xiao Hei. Over the last two worlds, the creature had been providing less and less information, often lost in contemplation.
Then again, it had never been much help—just a mobile surveillance device at best. Fang Zhiyi shrugged. Even surveillance tools had their off days.
Right now, he had more pressing matters.
As the former Left Envoy of the Demon Sect, Fang Zhiyi still had connections.
When he appeared in the shop, Laughing Maitreya’s slit-like eyes lifted slightly.
"Left Envoy Fang, what brings you here?"
Fang Zhiyi didn’t mince words, plopping onto a chair. "I need a favor."
"Oh? You, asking me for help? How rare."
Fang Zhiyi tossed out some loose silver. "Cut the chatter. I need you to tail a kid."
"Hmm?" Laughing Maitreya eyed the meager payment, his expression souring as he rolled a pair of iron walnuts in his meaty palm. "Left Envoy Fang has fallen on hard times? This isn’t some gossipmonger’s stall." His meaning was clear—proper jobs required proper pay.
Fang Zhiyi knew that, but he was broke. Laughing Maitreya ran an underground intelligence network, though its reputation was dubious—they’d take any job for money. For Fang Zhiyi, short on manpower, they were the perfect fit.
Fang Zhiyi rested his hand lightly on the table—then, with a crack, the wood splintered apart.
Laughing Maitreya jolted, his eyes widening briefly before he chuckled. "Rumors of Left Envoy Fang’s martial prowess were not exaggerated. A sight to die for."
Fang Zhiyi frowned. He’d expected resistance, but this guy was unshakable. At the same time, he was impressed by Laughing Maitreya’s intelligence network.
After a pause, he said, "I’m short on funds right now. How about this—I’ve got a business idea more profitable than yours. I’ll give you a thirty percent stake."
Laughing Maitreya studied the shattered wood, then nodded after a moment’s thought.
By dawn, Fang Zhiyi was gone. Watching his retreating figure, Laughing Maitreya shuddered. How had he never noticed Fang Zhiyi’s business acumen before? Terrifying. Truly terrifying. But the promise of future riches made his heart sing. If Fang Zhiyi’s plan panned out, retirement was within reach.
Fang Zhiyi summoned Jiang Rou and a few others to the city, claiming the "headmaster" would personally instruct them—much to the envy of the other students. But no one understood the meaning behind the signboard behind him: "Shunfeng Express."
"It’s like an escort agency," Fang Zhiyi explained.
The group nodded. "Why not just call it that, then? What’s this ‘express’ nonsense?"
Fang Zhiyi shook his head. "Wrong. Escort agencies are staffed by martial artists, but they cater to high-end clients." He pointed at Zhao Yang. "Could you afford to hire one?"
Zhao Yang shook his head. Escort agencies were far too expensive.
"Exactly. So we’ll run an express service—collect fees for long-distance deliveries and ensure the goods arrive safely."
Mei Ruoxue asked, "But won’t we lose money on long trips?"
Jiang Rou cut in, "Charge by distance!"
"Precisely. And we don’t dispatch for a single package—we calculate costs." Fang Zhiyi gave her an approving look. This girl had a knack for business. "We wait until we’ve filled a cart or two, then assign routes accordingly. Understand?"
The group’s eyes lit up with admiration. A true master—not just in martial arts, but in commerce too.
A lion dance troupe drew a crowd, and someone read the sign aloud:
"Shunfeng Express?"