Immortality Starts From Making Money.-Chapter 29: Looking for Inspiration.

The early sun rose on the horizon, shining brightly on the outpost. Disciples returned in groups, their expressions haggard. Most of them were exhausted, while some wore expressions of sorrow.

Each time they went out to fight the vengeful spirits, some disciples never returned. This was the harsh reality they had to accept.

Standing atop the highest building, Supreme Elder Wen gazed down at the weary disciples with a complicated expression.

"If we were just a bit stronger... If we had a Golden Core expert, we wouldn't be in this situation," she sighed, shaking her head.

"How is the Sect Master's son?" she asked, turning to look at the inner elder behind her.

"He's safe in his room," the elder responded.

"Good. Nothing must happen to him."

Meanwhile, Mo Jian had just sneaked back into his room. Lying on his bed, a bright smile spread across his face as he thought about his gains.

Raising his hand, a red-golden flame danced in his palm. He stared at the flickering flame, his smile deepening.

"I just need to decide what to do with this..."

He knew the Ember Flame was the bane of vengeful spirits, but he couldn't possibly chase after every last one to kill them. He needed a strategic plan.

After pondering for a moment, he got up and freshened himself. Dressing in an expensive blue silk robe, he left his room.

Outside, his five servants were already waiting. Upon seeing him, they quickly bowed in greeting.

"Call the caretaker," he ordered.

Shortly after, the caretaker arrived.

"Good morning, Young Master," the old man greeted respectfully.

Mo Jian nodded and got straight to the point. "Do you have any idea how to deal with the vengeful spirits?"

The old caretaker remained silent, lost in thought for a few moments before responding.

Mo Jian listened but quickly shook his head. This wasn't the solution he was looking for.

Since he had no intention of relying on the sect, he needed to find an alternative. And if the old caretaker couldn't provide a solution, then he would figure it out himself.

Deciding to take a stroll, he stepped out of his residence.

On the open field, many disciples were busy training. Mo Jian glanced at them briefly before looking away.

With his hands clasped behind his back and his servants following closely, he walked with the air of a second-generation rich young master.

The disciples who saw him reacted with mixed expressions—mostly jealousy and disdain.

"What is he doing, parading around with his servants?"

"Showing off his parents' wealth, obviously."

"How I wish I had such powerful parents."

"What's the point of having powerful parents if you're going to be trash?"

At that moment, a contemptuous voice rang out.

"Hmph! Without sufficient power, all that wealth means nothing."

The group turned and saw that the speaker was none other than the chief disciple, Deng Jie.

"You're right," a male disciple quickly agreed with a flattering smile. "I'd rather have ordinary parents and superior talent."

The surrounding disciples rolled their eyes. 'Bootlicker...'

Deng Jie scoffed. "Just wait. At the next Western Region Tournament, he'll realize that power is everything."

Just then, a female disciple exclaimed excitedly, "Look! That's Senior Mei! I heard she killed five Restless Phantoms yesterday!" Her voice was filled with admiration and respect.

A bright smile spread across Deng Jie's face as he spotted Zou Mei.

He had been pursuing her since their days in the inner court, and he wouldn't relent—not until she became his woman.

"Mei'er," Deng Jie called, his voice dripping with affection.

Zou Mei halted and turned to him, her gaze cold. "Are we close? Don't call me that. Address me as Senior Zou."

Deng Jie's smile froze. The words he had prepared disappeared from his mind.

Before he could recover from the harsh rejection, Zou Mei walked past him, her eyes filled with nothing but disdain.

Deng Jie clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. As he watched her departing figure, a flicker of hatred flashed in his eyes.

'Just you wait... I'll make sure you regret looking down on me.'

While this was happening, Mo Jian arrived behind the residential buildings and stumbled upon a small marketplace.

Many disciples were peddling their goods—loot they had gathered during their hunts.

He observed the market for a moment before continuing forward.

When he appeared, a few disciples immediately called out to him, hoping to trick him into buying their wares.

It was no secret that Mo Jian was a lavish spender.

However, nothing piqued his interest.

By the time he reached the other end of the market, disappointment was evident on his face. He had hoped to find something worthwhile, but nothing caught his eye.

Just as he was about to leave, he noticed a group of disciples rushing toward a particular direction, excitement written all over their faces.

"Where are they going?" he wondered, following them.

They soon arrived at a secluded area surrounded by tall trees. At the center was a fighting stage.

Beside the stage stood a thin disciple, shouting enthusiastically, "The next battle is about to start! Place your bets now!"

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Instantly, many disciples surged forward, eager to place their wagers.

Mo Jian watched the scene unfold with fascination.

A plan was quickly forming in his mind.

While he was lost in thought, the fight had already begun, and the spectators erupted into cheers.

It was a brutal brawl between two outer disciples.

No cultivation techniques, no qi-infused attacks—just pure, unrelenting violence.

Flesh against flesh. Sweat against sweat. Blood against blood.

This was a primal battle that made everyone's blood boil with excitement.

A smirk formed on Mo Jian's lips, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

"This is what I need..." he muttered.

****

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