Chapter 101: Making a decision

There were things in life you thought you'd be good at—really good at. And then, when the time came to actually do them, you realized how terribly, disgustingly wrong you were.

Right now, Chen Ren was wrestling with one such thing—making a decision.

Now, he wasn’t bad at decisions. You couldn’t build a business from the ground up without having some talent for it. He'd made dozens of choices before—cutthroat ones, desperate ones, bold ones—and survived every time. But for the past two days, he’d been stuck.

Frozen between two paths.

Should he go with Anji to retrieve her sect’s lost inheritance? Or should he make his move toward the Corpse Lands? It wasn't about profit anymore.

It was about risk.

Real, life-threatening, possibly-never-coming-back-from-it kind of risk. Anji’s option was, comparatively, safer—at least on paper. Her father had taught her the vault’s inner workings. They wouldn’t be walking blind. Sure, there were bound to be traps, maybe guardians or puzzles, but she knew what they were stepping into.

The problem was what came after.

They might be stepping on the tail of Blazing Ember Sect. A name that held weight, disciples, and legitimacy built over centuries. If they caught wind of what was being retrieved… things could get messy.

Then there was the Corpse Lands.

Dangerous in an entirely different way.

Unknown terrain. Wandering undead as strong as Tier 2 or Tier 3 beasts. Other cultivators sniffing out treasure. No maps. No guides. Just death waiting behind every shadowed ruin. But… at least he wouldn’t be offending anyone powerful. Probably.

Chen Ren sighed and rubbed his temples, feeling the headache creep in.

He liked being cautious. Knowing something before he got into it. But again, he had no issue taking risks—but only when he knew what he was risking. Every enemy he had beaten before, he had studied. Understood. Outplayed.

This? This was different.

Against an Established sect, he couldn’t predict the retaliation. Against the Corpse Lands, he couldn’t even predict survival. He closed his eyes, letting the thoughts swirl again—until he felt a light sensation over his shoulder.

He opened his eyes to find Yalan perched behind, staring at him blankly, a half-gnawed piece of roasted corn in her paw.

“Your tea is going cold,” she said.

Chen Ren frowned, coming in contact with reality and blinked. He glanced down, startled to see the cup near his hand. Steamless. Cooling. Neglected.

Fuck.

He quickly took a sip, more out of reflex than thirst before using a bit of his qi to heat it up. Then he finally looked around, registering his surroundings. He was in the courtyard.

After the talk with Anji, he'd split his time between brooding over the decision and working on the new pill formula, but after feeling a headache creep in, he’d come out here for a break. Somewhere along the line, he’d started watching the kids playing nearby, laughing as they tried to catch the small, darting figure of a weasel—Zi Wen’s new bond, he recalled. The thing had a name, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember it now—

“Xinxin! Careful!” One of the kids yelled, and the others followed.

Right, Xinxin. That’s the name.

At some point, a mortal had quietly handed him tea. Yalan had appeared beside him, chewing corn like it was divine food. And he—he had spiraled deep into thought again.

He sighed again.

This wasn’t getting easier.

As he took another sip of his reheated tea, his eyes drifted toward the center of the courtyard where the playful laughter had taken on a more competitive tone.

Apparently, Whiskey had decided to join the kids when he had been deep in thought.

What was once simple running and chasing had now turned into a full-blown “battle” as the lunari and the weasel faced off against each other—while two of the kids, Bo and Jian, stood behind them like miniature generals shouting commands. The whole thing looked like a budget-friendly beast battle arena, with dirt kicks, squeaky war cries, and over-the-top moves that didn’t land.

It wasn’t anything serious—he remembered Xiulan once mentioning that Whiskey and Xinxin had been at odds for a while now. No real fights. Just tension. Maybe they were natural enemies. Maybe it was personal. Who knew?

Still, it was amusing.

He kept the tea in his hands warm with a light trickle of qi and settled in to watch.

Standing to the left, Xinxin was bigger than he remembered. Brown-furred, sleek, and bounding across the grass. It had quite agility, he could give it that.

It let out a high-pitched hiss as it launched itself toward Whiskey.

The lunari dodged with a flick of his tail, using his smaller frame and sheer speed to outmaneuver every lunge. Chen Ren blinked. He hadn’t actually seen Whiskey fight before—but the little thing was fast. Very fast. The weasel was clearly annoyed. Claws swiped. Teeth snapped. But Whiskey was always just out of reach.

The problem, however, became clear soon enough.

Speed wasn’t strength.

Every time Whiskey tried to land a claw swipe on Xinxin’s side, it either bounced off harmlessly or barely even ruffled the fur. Xinxin, being a grown spirit beast, had defenses Whiskey simply couldn’t crack. Not that it mattered to the audience.

The kids were loving it. Bo and Jian were already shouting at the top of their lungs, one backing Whiskey and the other Xinxin like they had bets riding on the outcome.

Chen Ren smirked.

Beast battle showcases… huh.

Could be fun. Might even make a good event for the locals. Something light to balance out the training drills and the brewing chaos in his life. But he doubted Zi Wen would be thrilled about turning them into a sideshow.

Still, the idea sat in the back of his mind as a maybe.

Just as he took another sip, Yalan spoke beside him.

“What’s on your mind?”

Chen Ren didn’t flinch. Of course she’d noticed. Him going blank, falling silent—it wasn’t hard to read.

“Just… thinking of ways to get the manuals,” he admitted.

Yalan flicked a bit of corn off her paw. “I heard you were considering the Corpse Lands. Rotten place.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been there?”

“Twice,” she said, licking her paw casually. “I’ve been to a lot of places in the Empire, you know. You keep forgetting how much older I am than you.”

Right. Chen Ren exhaled, remembering again who she really was—not just some oversized talking feline, but a guardian spirit, tied to his bloodline, one who had watched over his ancestors long before he was even born.

“So?” he asked. “Why don’t you like it?”

Yalan narrowed her eyes, staring into the distance like she was remembering something particularly disgusting.

“It’s far too much trouble for too little gain. Sure, you might find a treasure or two, but half the time you get attacked by rogue cultivators before you even make it out. And the artifacts?” She shook her head. “Too old. Too unstable. And don’t even get me started on the zombies.”

Chen Ren blinked. “What about them?”

“They taste horrible.”

He stared. “Wait. You ate a zombie?”

“What else was I supposed to eat there? Poisonous berries?”

He stared at her, utterly baffled, as she calmly licked the last bit of roasted corn from her paw.

“There’s no proper food in the Corpse Lands,” she continued. “You can bring some with you, sure—but unless it’s stored in a high-grade spatial ring, it spoils within a day. The miasma seeps into everything. Then you’re left with two options, demonic monsters and zombies.”

She made a face like she’d just recalled the worst mistake of her life.

“And let me tell you—zombies taste like rubber that’s been soaked in pig’s piss.”

Chen Ren made a sound of pure disgust and gently pushed his tea cup aside, all appetite to sip it gone.

“I never want to try that again,” Yalan grumbled. “My tongue deserves better. I have standards.”

He glanced at her with an unreadable look. “Clearly.”

But as she casually stretched out in the sun-drenched corner of the bench, he found himself watching her—not with amusement, but consideration.

How do I even bring this up without giving it all away?

He hesitated. Tried to weigh his words. Then he gave up, deciding that he didn't need to be subtle until he didn't say anything that went against his oath.

“Let’s say,” he started slowly, “there was another way to get those manuals. And treasures. But it might draw the ire of an Established sect. Do you think it will be a better option than the Corpse Lands?”

Yalan turned her head slightly and stared at him, squinting like she was trying to decide if he was speaking hypothetically or not.

After a moment, she replied, “Depends.”

“On what?”

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“On what kind of sect you’re poking,” she said bluntly. “And what kind of treasures we’re talking about. If it’s just Mortal-grade junk and low-level talisman scrolls, it’s not worth it. But…”

She tilted her head thoughtfully.

“If we’re talking Earth-grade manuals or better, then maybe. From what I know, sect wars in the Empire can’t just happen anymore. Not without permission or legitimate cause. It’s too costly. Too political. The empire regulates them now. So, this Established sect can't just send out cultivators to blast this village off the map until they have very definite proof you have their property. What you need to watch out for is the quiet retaliation—assassins, spies, subtle sabotage.”

Chen Ren nodded slowly.

“And I thought,” Yalan added, giving him a sideways look, “you were already working on a large-scale defensive array around the village and the sect?”

“I am,” he admitted. “After hearing about how the beasts become in winter, I asked Qing He about what kind of array formations could be set up. We agreed on two. one for the village’s perimeter and another tighter one for the sect grounds.”

“Good.” Yalan nodded approvingly. “Most large sects have that. Soaring Sword Sect’s defensive array is strong enough to keep out mid-tier beasts without a single disciple lifting a blade.”

“She said it’ll be hard to create something that advanced,” Chen Ren added. “Too many components, not enough skilled array masters.”

“But?”

“But I can get basic structures in place. Early warning wards, alarm triggers for foreign cultivators entering the perimeter, and beast detection.”

“Not bad,” Yalan muttered, curling her tail around herself. “Not enough for war, but enough to buy you time. And time,” she said with a yawn, “is half the battle.”

Chen Ren leaned back, eyes flicking to the “battle” in the courtyard again—Whiskey now standing victorious on Xinxin’s tail as the children cheered like it was the championship of the decade. Xinxin somehow escaped Whiskey’s grasp. And they were at it all over again.

Ignoring the beast battle, he pondered upon Yalan's words. He still wasn't sure on antagonising an Established sect. But he was slowly laying the groundwork for the worst-case scenario. And that, at least, made him feel a little more in control.

Chen Ren looked over at Yalan, steam from the reheated tea curling faintly between them.

“I thought you’d be against taking on an established sect,” he said, her words more than surprising him. She didn't look entirely against the idea, if at all.

Yalan’s whiskers twitched. “It’s something you’ll have to do eventually. I’ve been thinking,” she continued, “sooner or later, you’ll reach the foundation establishment realm. And once that happens, things will shift. You’ll have more cards to play. More eyes on you, too. And I honestly don’t think we’ll have much trouble with me here unless you manage to offend multiple meridian expansion realm cultivators.”

She paused, tapping a claw against the bench.

“Moreover… you’re going to have to take them on economically anyway. In the Immortal Market.”

Chen Ren nodded, his thoughts turning to a different kind of battlefield. The Immortal Market—sprawling, ruthless, and utterly dominated by Established sects and Guardian sects monopolies. It was the Empire’s own brand of internal warfare—fought not with blades, but spirit stones, artifacts, and connections.

“There’s no way around that,” he murmured. “It’s a playground made for them. If I don't go against them, I won't get any share of the market. But taking them there and offending them over treasures and manuals they covet?” He shook his head. “That’s a whole different level of risk.”

Anji had said they might not know where the vault was. They might be able to sneak in and out without ever drawing attention.

That was the best-case scenario.

But would that actually happen? This was a Xianxia land. And in this world, best-case scenarios had a tendency to explode halfway through. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, still feeling undecided, when Yalan suddenly said, “Why are you thinking so much about it, anyway?”

He looked at her.

“I need to choose the option with the least risk—for me and for the sect.”

Yalan stared at him, unimpressed. “You didn’t think like that when you took on a gang. Or when you tried to manipulate sect leaders. Or when you challenged a trade union head-on.”

Chen Ren exhaled. “In all those situations, I knew I had a good chance of winning. I had plans.” He looked at her. “Even if I didn’t win, I knew I’d survive. I could run. Lay low. Preserve what mattered. I had you with me. That gave me confidence. In a way, you’re my cheat in this world.”

Yalan’s ears twitched slightly, tail swaying lazily.

“But if I offend an Established sect?” Chen Ren continued. “This time, it won’t just be me. The entire sect… the village might suffer. We don’t have enough strength to protect everyone if things go wrong.”

The words lingered in the air for a moment, heavier than before. Because they were true. And that was the risk of leadership.

“Situations like this will always come,” Yalan replied.

Chen Ren looked at her.

“You think you won’t offend someone in the Corpse Lands?” she asked, eyes narrowed. “You will. Maybe not intentionally. But someone’s going to take offense. Always. Some rogue cultivator, some vengeful idiot who wants what you find… and chances are, they’re connected to someone stronger. That’s how it works. Half the cultivators around come from a clan or sect of stronger cultivators.”

For a second, he could see all of her experience in those words. She’d clearly been there, done that. So, he listened.

“And then what?” she continued. “You’ll still have a problem. You’ll still have to fight or run or outsmart them.”

“What I’m saying is,” Yalan said, “cultivation is risk. You can’t escape it. It’s not for the weak-hearted. You think I reached my current realm by chewing fish and relaxing in the sunbeams?” She snorted. “I’ve taken risks. You need to, too. You’re trying to calculate which path has less risk. But you don’t know either path well enough to make that choice.”

“Then… what should I do?”

Yalan didn’t hesitate.

“Choose the path that will benefit you the most,” she said. “And prepare for when things go wrong. That’s always been your strength. You’re not like most cultivators, Chen Ren. Even if you don’t have endless resources, what you have is unique. Think. Plan. Use what’s yours

.

You always had backup plans before—have them now, too.”

A loud cheer erupted from the center of the courtyard, breaking the stillness.

Chen Ren glanced up.

The battle had ended. The weasel—Xinxin—stood triumphantly, fur puffed and stance proud, over Whiskey’s twitching, mildly humiliated body. Bo and Jian whooped dramatically. A few of the other kids were already surrounding Whiskey, trying to console the lunari, who glared up at the weasel like he was vowing eternal revenge.

Chen Ren didn’t even crack a smile. Because Yalan’s words were still echoing in his head—and the more he thought about them, the more he realized how true they were. No matter which path he chose—Corpse Lands or the sect vault—danger was a given. There was no safe option.

The Corpse Lands were chaos incarnate. Unknown terrain. Rogue cultivators. Demonic beasts. Undead things he’d only heard of in passing—like corpse kings, zombies and skeleton drakes. Worse, if he actually did find a treasure, it would put a mark on his back. Blood would follow.

And that was if he found anything at all.

The sect vault, though? At least he knew the risks there. And the vault itself? That he could prepare for—with Anji’s knowledge guiding the way. As long as the Blazing Ember Sect didn’t know, they couldn’t retaliate.

Even if they do, sect wars required the Emperor’s approval. The Empire was strict on large-scale conflict. Unless Blazing Ember had concrete proof—not suspicions, not rumors—they wouldn’t be able to start anything overt. They’d turn to subtler methods, sabotage, assassinations, targeting his allies.

And those? Those he could plan for. He already had Yalan. Qing He was no pushover. And if… if he managed to awaken the golden dagon, he’d have the strength of a heavenly beast at his side.

That wasn’t just protection. That was deterrence.

The more he thought about it, the clearer it became. He didn’t have to choose safety, he had to choose what was worth the danger. That line of thought was enough, enough to anchor his confidence and push every ounce of hesitation away.

He could prepare for this one, plan for it and control more variables. Especially since he knew that he wasn’t walking blind anymore.

Yalan tilted her head slightly and looked up at him, eyes narrowing with a knowing gleam.

“I think you made a decision.”

Chen Ren exhaled slowly and nodded. “I did. But I’ll need your help with it.”

Yalan gave him a flat look. “That’s a constant thing by now.”

Chen Ren allowed himself a small smirk. “Fair. But this time it’s a bit more… unconventional.”

“Oh?”

“We’ll be raiding the secret vault of the Void Blade Sect.”

Yalan blinked. Her tail paused mid-sway. “Void Blade Sect?”

“It’s a long story,” he said. “And I’ll tell you. But first… We need to do a qi oath. I made one with someone else before I learned about this. I can’t talk freely until we’re bound by it. But I’ll tell you this, It’s interesting,” he said.

And he meant it.

***

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