In that single instant, Mo Fan admitted it—his heartbeat faltered.
Through the cold, ashen filter of [ Death Vision ], the scrawny boy huddled in the corner playing with mud was no longer just another unwanted orphan. He was a piece of uncut jade, gleaming in the darkness.
The green halo rotating slowly in his chest was pure enough to make one's gaze linger. Amidst the surrounding sea of dead-gray "rejects," it stood out like a bonfire in a graveyard.
[ Mid-Grade Wood Spirit Root ]
And that verdant glow... it was so dense it almost seemed to drip, hinting at the potential to evolve toward [ High-Grade ].
In the Azure Cloud Sect's Outer Division, this meant guaranteed Foundation Establishment potential. Perhaps even a sliver of a chance at Golden Core.
If this were a gacha game, this kid was a gold-bordered SSR card dropping right into his lap.
An irresistible greed—the primal instinct of a Necromancer—surged from the depths of Mo Fan's heart.
"What if... I refine him into a Corpse Puppet right now?"
The mad thought flickered through his mind.
A body with this kind of apex-tier aptitude, once refined into a growth-type Corpse Puppet, would become a perfect work of slaughter-art. Limitless potential. Absolute loyalty.
Or perhaps enslavement?
The boy was young, his mind still unformed. A dark soul contract could bind him now, mold him into the sharpest blade in Mo Fan's arsenal—
But that intoxicating greed lasted less than two seconds before Mo Fan's cold rationality doused it like ice water.
He shook his head with a self-deprecating smirk and severed the connection to [ Death Vision ], cutting off its 1 Mana-per-minute drain.
"Mo Fan, oh Mo Fan... have you lost your damn mind?"
He glanced at his Status Panel. LV. 2.
He couldn't even cast a basic Fireball yet. His greatest combat assets were a limping Stitched Skeleton and a bone bird that functioned as little more than a surveillance drone. Meanwhile, that boy over there was a heaven-blessed prodigy seedling.
In this cultivation world, slave contracts were high-tier sorcery that only Golden Core cultivators and above could safely wield. One misstep and the backlash would fry your brain into mush.
As for kidnapping and corpse-refining? He hadn't... quite lost his humanity yet. Not completely.
Risking his own life for a "potential stock" that hadn't even begun to grow? That was the dumbest venture capital play imaginable.
"Trying to swallow the whole pie will only choke you to death."
Mo Fan took a deep breath. The fervor in his eyes cooled rapidly, replaced by something more long-term—the calculating gaze of a shrewd merchant.
"Since I can't devour him, can't kill him, and can't control him..."
"Then I'll become the first noble benefactor on his life's journey."
This investment model had lower immediate returns than enslavement, sure. But it was safer, more sustainable, and left no fingerprints.
Adding flowers to an embroidered robe was easy; sending charcoal in a snowstorm was rare. A single steamed bun offered during his darkest hour might one day return as a mountain of gold.
Decision made, Mo Fan adjusted his expression and resumed his act of still-recovering-from-injury, shuffling slowly toward the corner.
Around him, the other children continued their chaotic games, kicking up clouds of dust.
In the rigidly hierarchical Azure Cloud Sect, the children of the servant quarters shared a single, brutal designation: "Companion Menials."
To put it bluntly, they were the slag left over from the immortal cultivation system.
Most were offspring of bottom-tier cultivators like Old Lü—men forever stuck at the Qi Condensation stage with zero hope of reaching Foundation Establishment. Others were orphans the Sect had casually scooped up from disaster-stricken mortal villages.
The Sect fed them not out of compassion, but to maintain a self-replenishing pool of cheap labor.
If you tested positive for a Spirit Root, congratulations—trash transformed into treasure, ascending to heaven in a single step.
If you tested negative (like the original Lu Xiaoqi), you stayed at the bottom. Chopping firewood. Stoking furnaces. Serving as cannon fodder. Until you died of old age.
This was the closed-loop ecosystem of this world.
Ironically, though, outside of those expensive Spirit-Testing Stones, mundane methods couldn't actually detect aptitude at all. This gap had spawned countless so-called "secret techniques for identifying talent."
Some wandering charlatans claimed they could "see a child's fate at age three." Others swore by the art of "Bone Reading"—one pinch of the neck, and they'd boldly declare whether a child was destined for Golden Core greatness or a dead-end cultivation path.
The absurd part? These methods had spread so widely that even some genuine immortal cultivators referenced them.
The original Lu Xiaoqi was a living punchline of this nonsense.
Years ago, some Elder had placed high hopes on him, proclaiming: "Full heavenly court, extraordinary bone structure—surely a Heavenly Spirit Root!"
The result when he actually stepped onto the Spirit-Testing Platform?
Oh, he had a Spirit Root alright. A world-class rarity—a perfectly jumbled Five-Element Miscellaneous Spirit Root.
Also known as the "Sieve Constitution."
That Elder, feeling utterly humiliated by his misread, had immediately dumped Lu Xiaoqi into this most remote corner of the servant quarters to rot.
His wandering thoughts gradually settled. Mo Fan reached the solitary boy and called out softly.
"A-Song."
The boy's hand trembled. The branch in his grip carved a crooked line in the dirt. He raised his head, revealing a grimy yet delicate face. His eyes held a wariness and indifference far beyond his years.
Li Hansong. Nickname: A-Song.
He wasn't even a "defective second-generation cultivator offspring." He was just an ordinary village orphan—parents long dead, nearly starved to death wandering here. Old Lü had taken pity on him and shared a meal, which was the only reason he'd survived.
Because of his withdrawn, silent nature, the other children rarely included him in their games. But the original Lu Xiaoqi, being another unloved wretch, had looked after him from time to time.
"Seventh Brother."
A-Song saw it was Mo Fan, and the wariness in his eyes faded slightly. He greeted him in a low voice.
"Drawing circles in the dirt by yourself again?"
Mo Fan lowered himself beside him with visible effort, rubbing his still-aching injured leg.
He asked with feigned casualness: "The Grand Sect Ceremony is coming up soon. I hear they're taking a lot of people from our area for spirit testing this year. Do you want to go?"
A-Song was silent for a moment, then shook his head.
"You don't want to go?" Mo Fan raised an eyebrow.
"I want to go." A-Song's voice was barely audible. He stared at his feet, fingers gripping the branch tightly. "But... there aren't enough slots."
Mo Fan nodded. Right. This was reality.
Every year at the Outer Division Grand Ceremony, the number of spirit-testing slots allocated to the servant quarters was fixed. The Steward held those precious few slots in his palm—whoever's family bribed the most, whoever worked the hardest, got the slots.
An orphan like A-Song, with no parents and surviving on Old Lü's charity, couldn't even touch the threshold for registration.
Even with an apex-grade Spirit Root, without that entry ticket, this uncut jade would rot in the mud. End up just another menial laborer, same as Mo Fan.
"So this is the 'first bucket of gold' barrier..."
Mo Fan sighed internally. This kid didn't lack talent. He lacked an entry ticket. He lacked seed funding.
"A-Song, do you trust Seventh Brother?"
Mo Fan suddenly lowered his voice, leaning forward slightly, his body blocking the view from anyone nearby.
A-Song looked up. Those clear black-and-white eyes studied Mo Fan. After a moment's hesitation, he nodded.
"Good. With that attitude, your Seventh Brother won't let you down."
Mo Fan reached out and ruffled A-Song's hair with a rough sort of warmth. His voice carried an unshakable certainty.
"I'll give you a chance to truly shine."
Seeing A-Song's confused, slightly lost expression, Mo Fan chuckled helplessly and gave him a gentle push.
"Alright, go play. Don't overthink it."
Watching A-Song's retreating figure, Mo Fan didn't hesitate any longer.
From the storage pouch hidden deep in his clothes, he withdrew those two bloodstained demon beast eyeballs—his first investment in A-Song.
For Mo Fan, these eyeballs had come at no small cost, but there would surely be more opportunities in the future. For Li Hansong, however, this was the only lifeline that could change his fate.
"System, would you call this venture capital?"
Mo Fan asked silently.
The System didn't answer. But he knew this deal was almost certainly a guaranteed profit.
After all, in this brutal cultivation world, sometimes having a friend who could put in a good word in the Inner Division was more life-saving than owning a divine-tier artifact.
"Alright. Angel round funding complete."
Mo Fan braced his hands on his knees and pushed himself up, dusting off his backside.
"Now it's time to worry about myself."