Chapter 2: The Business Plan in Blood
~1.9k words · 2026-06-22
The morning sun did nothing to warm the crumbling temple.
Ren stood in what had once been the main hall, staring at a roof that let in more light than it kept out. Three pillars remained standing. The fourth had collapsed sometime during the night, taking a chunk of the eastern wall with it. Dust motes danced in the golden shafts of sunlight, and somewhere in the rafters, something that sounded suspiciously like a nest of spirit rats squeaked in protest.
"Perfect," Ren muttered, pulling out a roll of parchment. "Absolutely perfect."
He'd spent the entire night awake, fueled by indignation and the last of his qi reserves. The Celestial Sword Sect had thrown him out like spoiled meat. Fine. Let them. While they were busy polishing their precious swords and bowing to elders who hadn't had an original thought in three centuries, Ren would build something that would make them choke on their own superiority.
The problem was that his new sect currently consisted of:
One collapsing temple.
Zero disciples.
A business plan written in blood.
(His own blood. That part was important.)
He unrolled the parchment, revealing a mess of characters that looked like they'd been written by a drunk spider. The ink had smeared in places, and there was definitely a tea stain near the section labeled "REVENUE STREAMS."
"Step one: Recruitment," Ren read aloud, his voice echoing in the empty hall. "Step two: Secure funding. Step three: Establish sect reputation. Step four: Profit."
He stared at the plan.
It was terrible.
No, that was generous. It was catastrophic. He had no money, no connections, and the only thing his former sect had given him was a severance package consisting of exactly three low-grade spirit stones and a scroll that said "Better luck next life."
But here was the thing about being at rock bottom—there was nowhere to go but up.
"New Dao Sect," Ren said, testing the name on his tongue. It sounded ridiculous. A startup with no product, no team, and no capital. The celestial business world would laugh at him.
Let them laugh.
He was about to start sketching out a more detailed plan when the temple's front door—which was really just a wooden slab leaning against the entrance—crashed open.
Ren's hand went to his sword.
A figure stumbled through, coughing and waving away dust. It was a woman, maybe thirty years old, wearing robes that had once been fine silk but were now stained with what looked like wine, mud, and something that might have been blood. She carried a gourd on her hip and a sword on her back, and she was grinning like she'd just won a bet.
"Nice place," she said, her voice rough. "Very... rustic."
Ren didn't lower his hand. "Who are you?"
"Name's Li Mei." She bowed, slightly unsteady on her feet. "Former Sword Saint of the Azure Cloud Sect. Well, 'former' is doing a lot of work there. I was more of a Sword Apprentice, really. But Saint sounds better, don't you think?"
"You're drunk."
"Perceptive." Li Mei pulled the gourd from her hip and took a long swig. "Want some? It's not good wine, but it's wine."
"No."
"Suit yourself." She wiped her mouth with her sleeve and looked around the temple with an expression that was equal parts amusement and pity. "I heard there was a new sect starting up in these parts. Thought I'd check it out. See if there were any opportunities."
Ren's eyes narrowed. "How did you hear about it?"
"Word travels fast when a Celestial Sword Sect reject starts shouting about building his own empire." She shrugged. "Also, I was in the tavern next door when you got kicked out. Good show, by the way. Very dramatic."
Great. His reputation was already spreading.
"Why are you here?" Ren asked, keeping his voice level. "If you're looking for a cultivator sect, there are a dozen better ones within a day's travel."
"Better ones, sure." Li Mei took another drink. "But they all have rules. Discipline. Expectations." She made a face. "I don't do well with expectations."
Ren studied her. A drunk sword master who'd been kicked out of her own sect. On paper, she was exactly the kind of person he should avoid. Unreliable. Probably unstable. Definitely a liability.
But she was also a sword cultivator. And she was standing in his temple.
"What's your cultivation level?" he asked.
"Middle stage of the Core Formation realm. Was peak, but I had a bad year." She didn't elaborate, and Ren didn't ask.
It was still impressive. Core Formation was nothing to sneeze at. The Celestial Sword Sect's junior disciples were mostly at the Qi Condensation level. Having someone with real power, even diminished, could give his sect some legitimacy.
"What do you want?" Ren asked.
"A place to sleep. Some wine occasionally. And—" She paused, her grin fading slightly. "—a chance to prove that I'm not just a washed-up drunk."
There it was. The desperation hiding behind the bravado.
Ren unrolled his parchment again. "I can't pay you."
"I figured."
"I can't offer you resources or training."
"Also figured."
"I can offer you a share in the sect's future profits, a voice in major decisions, and the satisfaction of watching the old powers choke on their own arrogance."
Li Mei's eyebrows rose. "That's... surprisingly ambitious for someone whose temple is falling apart."
"Ambitious is the only thing I have left."
She was quiet for a long moment. Then she laughed—a genuine laugh, not the hollow one she'd been using before. "Fine. I'm in. What's the plan, sect leader?"
Ren felt something lighten in his chest. He had a disciple. One disciple. A drunk, disgraced sword cultivator who might stab him in the back for a bottle of decent rice wine.
But it was a start.
"Step one," Ren said, pointing to his parchment. "We need more people. I have a list of potential recruits—outcasts, rejects, people who've been failed by the system."
"Sounds like a collection of misfits."
"Exactly." Ren smiled, and it wasn't a pleasant smile. "The old sects only take the best. The talented. The connected. We'll take the ones they threw away and turn them into something they never expected."
Li Mei whistled. "That's either brilliant or suicidal."
"Probably both."
"Where do we start?"
Ren looked at his list. The first name was circled in red ink. "A formation expert. Name's Jiang Feng. Heard he got banned from the Heavenly Array Sect for gambling debts. Rumor has it he's been living in the Ghost Bamboo Forest, avoiding debt collectors."
"Ghost Bamboo Forest?" Li Mei shuddered. "That place is cursed."
"Perfect. He'll fit right in."
---
The Ghost Bamboo Forest lived up to its name.
The bamboo stalks were bone-white, swaying even when there was no wind. A faint mist clung to the ground, and every so often, Ren could swear he saw shapes moving in the corner of his vision—shadows that vanished when he turned to look.
"This is bad luck," Li Mei muttered, her hand on her sword. "Very bad luck. I can feel the resentful qi in the air."
"Keep moving."
They'd been walking for two hours, following a trail of discarded spirit stone fragments and empty wine bottles. Whoever Jiang Feng was, he had a drinking problem that rivaled Li Mei's.
Finally, they found him.
The formation expert was sitting in a small clearing, surrounded by what looked like the remains of a dozen failed arrays. Glowing lines of energy flickered and died around him as he hunched over a piece of parchment, muttering to himself.
"Three directional fluxes," he said, scratching his head. "No, that's wrong. Four. Or maybe it's five. Why does the universe hate me?"
He looked up as Ren and Li Mei approached. He was a thin man, maybe forty, with hollow cheeks and eyes that darted nervously. His robes were patched in a dozen places, and his fingers were stained with ink and something that smelled faintly of sulfur.
"Who are you?" Jiang Feng demanded. "If you're here to collect debts, I don't have any money. If you're here to kill me, please get in line."
"Neither," Ren said. "I'm here to offer you a job."
Jiang Feng blinked. "A job?"
"I'm starting a sect. I need a formation expert."
"You need—" Jiang Feng laughed, a hysterical edge to it. "Do you know who I am? I'm banned from every respectable sect in three provinces. I owe more spirit stones than I can count. The Heavenly Array Sect put a bounty on my head—fifty spirit stones, alive or dead. Fifty! I'm worth less than a decent sword!"
"Seventy," Ren said.
"What?"
"I'll pay you seventy spirit stones per month. Plus a share of sect profits."
Jiang Feng's mouth opened and closed. "But... but I'm a failure. I'm washed up. I'm—"
"You're a formation expert who reached the Array Master level before you were thirty," Ren interrupted. "I read your file. You designed an array that could power an entire city district. The Heavenly Array Sect didn't ban you because you were bad. They banned you because you were better than them, and they couldn't control you."
The words hung in the air.
Jiang Feng's expression shifted from confusion to something raw and vulnerable. "You... you know about that?"
"I know everything."
It was a lie. Ren had read exactly one report, and half of it was illegible. But it was a useful lie.
"Why would you want me?" Jiang Feng asked. "I'm a liability. I'm—"
"I'm a Celestial Sword Sect reject. My sword master here is a drunk who got kicked out of the Azure Cloud Sect." Ren gestured at Li Mei, who waved cheerfully. "We're all liabilities. That's the point. The old sects only want perfect pieces. We're building something from the broken ones."
Jiang Feng stared at him for a long moment. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face.
"Seventy spirit stones?"
"Seventy."
"And I get to design whatever arrays I want?"
"Within reason."
"Deal." Jiang Feng scrambled to his feet and grabbed a bag that was absolutely overflowing with formation discs. "Where do I sign?"
---
They found the chef by accident.
They were walking back to the temple, discussing plans for recruitment, when they smelled it. Roasted meat. Spices. Something that made Ren's stomach growl so loudly that Li Mei burst out laughing.
"Someone's cooking," she said. "And they're good at it."
The source was a small camp near the road. A man in his fifties, with a round face and flour-dusted robes, was stirring a pot over a fire. He had the look of someone who'd been cooking for decades—efficient, practiced, completely at peace.
"Hello there!" the man called out, spotting them. "Hungry? I've got plenty."
Ren hesitated. Taking food from a stranger in the cultivation world was a good way to get poisoned.
But the smell was irresistible.
"Who are you?" Ren asked.
"Name's Chen Wei. Former head chef of the Golden Lotus Sect's kitchens." He smiled, but there was a sadness in his eyes. "Well, 'former' is the key word. They kicked me out last week."
"Why?"
Chen Wei's smile faltered. "I accidentally infused my cooking with qi. The elders said it
Ren stood in what had once been the main hall, staring at a roof that let in more light than it kept out. Three pillars remained standing. The fourth had collapsed sometime during the night, taking a chunk of the eastern wall with it. Dust motes danced in the golden shafts of sunlight, and somewhere in the rafters, something that sounded suspiciously like a nest of spirit rats squeaked in protest.
"Perfect," Ren muttered, pulling out a roll of parchment. "Absolutely perfect."
He'd spent the entire night awake, fueled by indignation and the last of his qi reserves. The Celestial Sword Sect had thrown him out like spoiled meat. Fine. Let them. While they were busy polishing their precious swords and bowing to elders who hadn't had an original thought in three centuries, Ren would build something that would make them choke on their own superiority.
The problem was that his new sect currently consisted of:
One collapsing temple.
Zero disciples.
A business plan written in blood.
(His own blood. That part was important.)
He unrolled the parchment, revealing a mess of characters that looked like they'd been written by a drunk spider. The ink had smeared in places, and there was definitely a tea stain near the section labeled "REVENUE STREAMS."
"Step one: Recruitment," Ren read aloud, his voice echoing in the empty hall. "Step two: Secure funding. Step three: Establish sect reputation. Step four: Profit."
He stared at the plan.
It was terrible.
No, that was generous. It was catastrophic. He had no money, no connections, and the only thing his former sect had given him was a severance package consisting of exactly three low-grade spirit stones and a scroll that said "Better luck next life."
But here was the thing about being at rock bottom—there was nowhere to go but up.
"New Dao Sect," Ren said, testing the name on his tongue. It sounded ridiculous. A startup with no product, no team, and no capital. The celestial business world would laugh at him.
Let them laugh.
He was about to start sketching out a more detailed plan when the temple's front door—which was really just a wooden slab leaning against the entrance—crashed open.
Ren's hand went to his sword.
A figure stumbled through, coughing and waving away dust. It was a woman, maybe thirty years old, wearing robes that had once been fine silk but were now stained with what looked like wine, mud, and something that might have been blood. She carried a gourd on her hip and a sword on her back, and she was grinning like she'd just won a bet.
"Nice place," she said, her voice rough. "Very... rustic."
Ren didn't lower his hand. "Who are you?"
"Name's Li Mei." She bowed, slightly unsteady on her feet. "Former Sword Saint of the Azure Cloud Sect. Well, 'former' is doing a lot of work there. I was more of a Sword Apprentice, really. But Saint sounds better, don't you think?"
"You're drunk."
"Perceptive." Li Mei pulled the gourd from her hip and took a long swig. "Want some? It's not good wine, but it's wine."
"No."
"Suit yourself." She wiped her mouth with her sleeve and looked around the temple with an expression that was equal parts amusement and pity. "I heard there was a new sect starting up in these parts. Thought I'd check it out. See if there were any opportunities."
Ren's eyes narrowed. "How did you hear about it?"
"Word travels fast when a Celestial Sword Sect reject starts shouting about building his own empire." She shrugged. "Also, I was in the tavern next door when you got kicked out. Good show, by the way. Very dramatic."
Great. His reputation was already spreading.
"Why are you here?" Ren asked, keeping his voice level. "If you're looking for a cultivator sect, there are a dozen better ones within a day's travel."
"Better ones, sure." Li Mei took another drink. "But they all have rules. Discipline. Expectations." She made a face. "I don't do well with expectations."
Ren studied her. A drunk sword master who'd been kicked out of her own sect. On paper, she was exactly the kind of person he should avoid. Unreliable. Probably unstable. Definitely a liability.
But she was also a sword cultivator. And she was standing in his temple.
"What's your cultivation level?" he asked.
"Middle stage of the Core Formation realm. Was peak, but I had a bad year." She didn't elaborate, and Ren didn't ask.
It was still impressive. Core Formation was nothing to sneeze at. The Celestial Sword Sect's junior disciples were mostly at the Qi Condensation level. Having someone with real power, even diminished, could give his sect some legitimacy.
"What do you want?" Ren asked.
"A place to sleep. Some wine occasionally. And—" She paused, her grin fading slightly. "—a chance to prove that I'm not just a washed-up drunk."
There it was. The desperation hiding behind the bravado.
Ren unrolled his parchment again. "I can't pay you."
"I figured."
"I can't offer you resources or training."
"Also figured."
"I can offer you a share in the sect's future profits, a voice in major decisions, and the satisfaction of watching the old powers choke on their own arrogance."
Li Mei's eyebrows rose. "That's... surprisingly ambitious for someone whose temple is falling apart."
"Ambitious is the only thing I have left."
She was quiet for a long moment. Then she laughed—a genuine laugh, not the hollow one she'd been using before. "Fine. I'm in. What's the plan, sect leader?"
Ren felt something lighten in his chest. He had a disciple. One disciple. A drunk, disgraced sword cultivator who might stab him in the back for a bottle of decent rice wine.
But it was a start.
"Step one," Ren said, pointing to his parchment. "We need more people. I have a list of potential recruits—outcasts, rejects, people who've been failed by the system."
"Sounds like a collection of misfits."
"Exactly." Ren smiled, and it wasn't a pleasant smile. "The old sects only take the best. The talented. The connected. We'll take the ones they threw away and turn them into something they never expected."
Li Mei whistled. "That's either brilliant or suicidal."
"Probably both."
"Where do we start?"
Ren looked at his list. The first name was circled in red ink. "A formation expert. Name's Jiang Feng. Heard he got banned from the Heavenly Array Sect for gambling debts. Rumor has it he's been living in the Ghost Bamboo Forest, avoiding debt collectors."
"Ghost Bamboo Forest?" Li Mei shuddered. "That place is cursed."
"Perfect. He'll fit right in."
---
The Ghost Bamboo Forest lived up to its name.
The bamboo stalks were bone-white, swaying even when there was no wind. A faint mist clung to the ground, and every so often, Ren could swear he saw shapes moving in the corner of his vision—shadows that vanished when he turned to look.
"This is bad luck," Li Mei muttered, her hand on her sword. "Very bad luck. I can feel the resentful qi in the air."
"Keep moving."
They'd been walking for two hours, following a trail of discarded spirit stone fragments and empty wine bottles. Whoever Jiang Feng was, he had a drinking problem that rivaled Li Mei's.
Finally, they found him.
The formation expert was sitting in a small clearing, surrounded by what looked like the remains of a dozen failed arrays. Glowing lines of energy flickered and died around him as he hunched over a piece of parchment, muttering to himself.
"Three directional fluxes," he said, scratching his head. "No, that's wrong. Four. Or maybe it's five. Why does the universe hate me?"
He looked up as Ren and Li Mei approached. He was a thin man, maybe forty, with hollow cheeks and eyes that darted nervously. His robes were patched in a dozen places, and his fingers were stained with ink and something that smelled faintly of sulfur.
"Who are you?" Jiang Feng demanded. "If you're here to collect debts, I don't have any money. If you're here to kill me, please get in line."
"Neither," Ren said. "I'm here to offer you a job."
Jiang Feng blinked. "A job?"
"I'm starting a sect. I need a formation expert."
"You need—" Jiang Feng laughed, a hysterical edge to it. "Do you know who I am? I'm banned from every respectable sect in three provinces. I owe more spirit stones than I can count. The Heavenly Array Sect put a bounty on my head—fifty spirit stones, alive or dead. Fifty! I'm worth less than a decent sword!"
"Seventy," Ren said.
"What?"
"I'll pay you seventy spirit stones per month. Plus a share of sect profits."
Jiang Feng's mouth opened and closed. "But... but I'm a failure. I'm washed up. I'm—"
"You're a formation expert who reached the Array Master level before you were thirty," Ren interrupted. "I read your file. You designed an array that could power an entire city district. The Heavenly Array Sect didn't ban you because you were bad. They banned you because you were better than them, and they couldn't control you."
The words hung in the air.
Jiang Feng's expression shifted from confusion to something raw and vulnerable. "You... you know about that?"
"I know everything."
It was a lie. Ren had read exactly one report, and half of it was illegible. But it was a useful lie.
"Why would you want me?" Jiang Feng asked. "I'm a liability. I'm—"
"I'm a Celestial Sword Sect reject. My sword master here is a drunk who got kicked out of the Azure Cloud Sect." Ren gestured at Li Mei, who waved cheerfully. "We're all liabilities. That's the point. The old sects only want perfect pieces. We're building something from the broken ones."
Jiang Feng stared at him for a long moment. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face.
"Seventy spirit stones?"
"Seventy."
"And I get to design whatever arrays I want?"
"Within reason."
"Deal." Jiang Feng scrambled to his feet and grabbed a bag that was absolutely overflowing with formation discs. "Where do I sign?"
---
They found the chef by accident.
They were walking back to the temple, discussing plans for recruitment, when they smelled it. Roasted meat. Spices. Something that made Ren's stomach growl so loudly that Li Mei burst out laughing.
"Someone's cooking," she said. "And they're good at it."
The source was a small camp near the road. A man in his fifties, with a round face and flour-dusted robes, was stirring a pot over a fire. He had the look of someone who'd been cooking for decades—efficient, practiced, completely at peace.
"Hello there!" the man called out, spotting them. "Hungry? I've got plenty."
Ren hesitated. Taking food from a stranger in the cultivation world was a good way to get poisoned.
But the smell was irresistible.
"Who are you?" Ren asked.
"Name's Chen Wei. Former head chef of the Golden Lotus Sect's kitchens." He smiled, but there was a sadness in his eyes. "Well, 'former' is the key word. They kicked me out last week."
"Why?"
Chen Wei's smile faltered. "I accidentally infused my cooking with qi. The elders said it