137. Insured

Jiek Wai walked with a nervous tic in his step through the streets of Broken Ridge City. It had only been a few days since the kobolds nearly ripped his life apart, and the load of survival had settled heavily on his shoulders.

Recovery had taken time, not just for his body, but for everything that came after.

He’d spent the last few days gathering information on his fallen comrades from the innkeeper and finding everything they owned—tattered letters, half-empty pouches, a chipped blade. With trembling hands, he’d written a message to each of their families, sealing the words with the shame of someone who had survived when the others hadn’t. He handed their belongings to a traveling merchant, asking him to deliver what little remained to the villages they once called home.

Jiek Wai wondered, as he watched the city around him move as if nothing had changed, what it would be like if the roles were reversed. If someone sent word to his parents, saying their son had died somewhere deep in the wilds, and that they wouldn't even see his body.

It was a cruel fate.

But cultivation was never meant to be kind.

The path of heaven was riddled with thorns and betrayal. One didn’t walk it expecting mercy. One walked it because turning back meant being forgotten.

And so, Jiek Wai had made his choice.

He would return to the wild lands. Not just for the spirit stones, not just for the beast cores or relics that rogue cultivators scraped by with—but for something deeper. He needed strength. Enough to return to that cursed kobold territory. Enough to find what was left of his fallen companions.

He didn’t expect to find much—kobolds ate human flesh, after all—but even a shred of cloth, a blade, a broken pendant… it would be something. A way to say:

I didn’t forget. I came back for you.

That, he believed, was the least a righteous cultivator could do.

Even if his knees trembled and fear still lingered in the marrow of his bones, Jiek Wai kept moving.

Because for him, survival wasn’t the end. It was the beginning. But before heading back into danger, Jiek Wai had one more thing to do—something he couldn’t ignore.

Resupply and thank the people who had saved his life.

The two pills he’d taken that day—the ones handed to him for free near the border gates—had made all the difference. Without them, his bones would have remained broken, his qi hollow, and his corpse food for kobolds. He owed them more than spirit stones. He owed them his life.

He retraced the address the girl had given at the border. The name echoed clearly in his head,

Divine Pill Apothecary.

It didn’t take him long to find it. The board was clear, bold letters painted in bright red against a lacquered wooden sign that stood proudly above the shop’s entrance. A soft herbal fragrance drifted from inside, strangely pleasant for a pill shop.

Jiek Wai stepped through the doorway—and froze.

The place was full. No less than a dozen cultivators stood inside, all in various states of chatter and trade. Some leaned over counters inspecting pills. Others discussed dosages and purity. A few were simply lounging and laughing, clearly regulars.

So many customers?

He was confused.

He remembered the shop being new—not even open when he’d first gotten those free pills. Now… it was thriving. Morning light poured in through the windows, glinting off glass jars filled with colourful pills and orderly shelves stacked to the brim. He hadn't expected this much activity so soon.

Then again, the pills had worked. Better than expected. His wounds had closed, his qi had recovered, and unlike every other pill he’d ever taken… these had actually tasted good. No bitter aftertaste, no gut-wrenching kick.

He stepped further in, scanning the shop for the young man and woman who had been giving away pills that day. But neither of them were in sight.

So he approached the counter, where a middle-aged man with kind eyes sat sorting receipts. No qi emanated from him—likely a mortal—but his bearing was calm and inviting.

As Jiek Wai approached, the man straightened up and smiled.

“Honoured Cultivator, welcome to Divine Pill Apothecary. Are you looking for pills before heading to the wild lands?”

Jiek Wai gave a respectful nod. “I am. But first… I’m looking for someone.”

“Oh? May I ask who?”

“There were two people giving out free pills near the border gates a few days ago. I wanted to thank them. Those pills saved my life out in the wild lands.”

The man blinked in recognition. “Ah—you must mean Manager Anji and Daoist Tang. Wait here. I’ll get one of them for you.”

As the man disappeared into the back, Jiek Wai let his eyes wander around the shop again. The shelves were full, the scent of herbs and spiritual ingredients rich in the air, but what caught his attention most wasn’t the pills—it was the people.

Almost everyone in the shop was with a group. Small teams. Hunting parties. Friends.

He was the only one standing alone.

A dull weight pressed against his chest. He tried not to think about it. Tried not to picture the broken bodies of his comrades. But the memories rose anyway—the twisted limbs, the blood, the screams. He shuddered.

I have to get stronger. I can't let that be for nothing.

He said that to himself over and over.

Thankfully, the sound of footsteps broke through the storm in his head. Manager Anji returned, the same neutral expression on her face as when he had first seen her near the gates.

“You wanted to see me?” she asked.

“I don’t know if you remember me, but I was one of the people you handed pills to near the gates a few days ago.” He bowed deeply, then straightened and continued. “I just wanted to say thank you. If not for those pills, I wouldn’t be standing here. Your shop saved my life. Please… allow me to repay you for them.”

Anji raised a brow at that, then gave a small smile—genuine and a little amused.

“You don’t need to worry about it,” she said. “We don’t charge for what we give freely. But… if you want more, we have plenty in stock.”

Jiek Wai slowly raised his head, a furrow of confusion still etched between his brows. “But… I don’t know how else to pay you.”

“We didn’t give those pills to make anyone feel indebted. You don’t owe us anything.” Manager Anji said with a kind tone in her voice.

That caught him off guard. He’d expected some offer to buy more, at the very least—a pitch, a gentle nudge, something. But this?

He stood there, unsure what to say, unsure how to act. In his world, nothing came without a cost. Kindness, especially.

Still, he nodded slowly. Maybe he couldn’t pay them back, but he could support them. He could buy from them. Their pills were good—damn good—and judging by the murmur of conversations around the shop, their prices weren’t bleeding anyone dry either.

As he mulled over his thoughts, a voice cut through from beside him. Another cultivator stepped up to Anji, this one dressed in a reinforced leather vest and boots still stained with wild dust. He gave Jiek Wai a quick glance, then turned to her.

“I heard Divine Pill Apothecary is recruiting for a hunting party.”

Anji nodded. “That’s right.”

“But,” the man continued. “What’s this thing… insurance? One of your workers mentioned it earlier. You’re offering insurance to cultivators?”

Jiek Wai blinked, surprised. Insurance? That was a word he’d never heard in all his years wandering between villages and danger. The shop was recruiting—and giving… insurance?

Anji’s expression didn’t change as she answered. “It’s a term our sect leader came up with. What it means is simple—if something happens to you out in the wilds—if you’re killed or seriously injured—we’ll send money to your family. Enough to keep them afloat. And if you're wounded, we’ll cover the cost of healing you. Pills, treatments, whatever you need.”

She smiled faintly.

“All of it would be covered with no cost to you.”

The shop quieted just a bit. Or it could be just him. Words like that didn’t belong in a cultivator’s world. No one cared what happened to you once you were gone. That was the unspoken truth. Families starved. Orphans begged. Parents buried children with empty hands. And here was a shop… saying they’d change that?

He wasn’t sure if he believed it. But damn if it didn’t make him want to.

Too good to be true.

If something like this had existed earlier, maybe… his comrades wouldn’t have been reduced to memory and letters. If he’d been able to send their families spirit stones instead of torn satchels and scribbled words… It wouldn’t have brought them back, but at least their deaths would’ve left behind something more than grief.

He knew he would’ve wanted the same for himself.

The other cultivator spoke up before he could. “It sounds too good to be true. Why would you do that?”

Anji gave an understanding nod, as if she understood where the question came from and why. Or maybe there were people who’d asked the same thing over before.

“Because we believe hunters deserve a real platform. One where they can risk their lives without having to worry what happens after. The basic coverage is free for anyone selected to join our hunting party. But yes—if you want more than that, extended protection, we take a larger share of your earnings from the wilds. Simple.”

The man rubbed his chin, intrigued. “And how much does this… basic insurance cover?”

“We can only share those details once your name’s on the registry.”

There was no hesitation in the cultivator’s next words. “Then where do I sign?”

She turned to one of the mortal attendants nearby. “Please assist this cultivator with registration. You’ll have to pass a few tests, but if you do, you’ll be under our care.”

The man nodded and followed the clerk deeper into the shop, disappearing behind a curtain. Jiek Wai watched them go, something stirring in his chest—hope, maybe.

A party with insurance.

It sounded like a dream. But it was also… exactly what he’d been looking for.

He hadn’t forgotten what it felt like to lose everything in a heartbeat. The wild lands didn’t care how righteous or prepared you were—they chewed through cultivators like beasts through bones. And going alone again? That would be asking to die.

Still, some part of him hesitated. He didn’t want to repeat the past.

Anji’s voice pulled him from the spiral. “So, should I show you some of our pills?”

He blinked, then nodded. “Yes… please. Also…” He took a breath, then spoke with more resolve than he felt. “I’d like to register too. For the party.”

***

Chen Ren sat behind the low lacquered table, one leg crossed, the other foot resting on the cool wooden floor of the inn room. Flickering lamplight showed the parchment in front of him, the columns of the steady numbers.

Three thousand pills.

He traced the digits with his eyes again. It was clearly not a mistake, rather, a solid, recorded fact.

Across from him stood Anji and Tang Boming—both silent, both visibly trying to contain the satisfaction on their faces. Tang Boming had abandoned his usual half-sleepy posture, standing upright with arms loosely folded, while Anji had her hands clasped behind her back, a quiet glow of pride dancing in her eyes.

Chen Ren leaned back slowly, fingers interlaced as he exhaled through his nose.

They had done it.

They’d sold over three thousand pills in just two weeks.

Each one priced at three to four low-grade spirit stones—depending on purity, repeat buyers, and negotiated bundles—and that meant nearly nine thousand spirit stones now sat in their reserves.

He didn’t want to smile while the ink was still drying.

The numbers were impressive, but what made them incredible was how little they had spent to get here. Around two thousand stones. Most of it on raw materials. Supervising cultivators took their share, of course—but the mortals?

He glanced at the lower entries. They were working for silver wens. And that was an extremely small amount compared to how much he was earning.

Normally, the pill trade was known for slow profit margins. Between failures, bottlenecks, and the high cost of refinement, most alchemists considered it a grueling pursuit more than a business. But not him.

His method worked. His gamble had paid off.

A shame, really, that most of the stones were already spoken for. He reached into the side drawer, pulling out a second scroll—the debt ledger. His eyes scanned it with clinical precision. The numbers weren’t as pleasant here, but even they couldn’t darken his mood.

Two more months.

That’s all he needed. Maybe less, if their momentum held.

And then… he could really start and shift resources into what mattered, research and development, expanding cultivation support, trialling new pill types, and investing in the progress of his disciples. Hun Tianzhi would approve once he saw the numbers.

Going basic was the right move,

Chen Ren thought.

He double-checked the latest entries for discounts given to returning customers, then rolled up the scroll, tying it neatly with twine. Finally, he looked up at the two before him.

"It seems," he said, allowing himself a small smile of satisfaction. "We've managed to get quite a haul."

“Not bad for a shop everyone thought was going to fold in a week.” Tang Boming smiled back.

Anji agreed with a nod. “We have people coming in constantly now. The rumours are spreading fast—cheap, effective, flavoured pills? That’s all cultivators need to hear. Our marketing’s already doing its job without us needing to push it anymore. And since we haven’t had a single complaint, it’s building real trust. Word of mouth is working better than we expected.”

Tang Boming gave a satisfied grunt. “And don’t forget the hunting party. We’ve had a good number of interested folks. Most are newbies fresh to the city, but a few are solid—Qi refinement realm, battle-ready. If we play it smart, this’ll pay off in more ways than one.”

Chen Ren tapped a knuckle lightly on the desk. “It does bode well for us. Once we clear the debt, we’ll have room to breathe. Then we can start outfitting the team properly—gear, backup supplies, maybe even proper uniforms.” He paused, voice dipping slightly as he muttered, “And then, we can officially launch the insurance system.”

The thought of it settled in his mind. It wasn’t just about protecting their hunters—it was about changing the way rogue cultivators lived and worked. Giving them a future. A fallback. Something most had never dared to hope for.

But that wasn’t all.

“I’ve got other plans too,” he added, straightening up. “We could start a system of incentives. Discounts for regular customers. Something simple to track—buy ten times, get a heavy discount on your next purchase. That’ll make people want to keep coming back. The other pill shops don’t do anything like that. If we do… we won’t just be competing—we’ll be setting the standard.”

And that was only the beginning.

Chen Ren had already mapped out dozens of ideas in his head. A membership system for big spenders. Special pill bundles for teams or sects. Seasonal promotions tied to festivals. Referral discounts. Reward tiers. The list went on.

He knew they couldn’t launch everything at once—not while still paying off debts and managing staff—but some of these could be tested early.

And over the next hour, the three of them discussed the future in earnest. They made plans and focused on priorities. Not everything was feasible right away, but they could tell what mattered now and what could wait a few months.

By the time their voices fell quiet again, the room felt different. The air carried momentum.

More than momentum, they had clarity.

They had a direction now—not just a goal, but a path.

Anji looked toward Chen Ren, eyes gleaming. “At this rate… I believe in just a year, if we follow through with all this, Divine Pill Apothecary won’t just survive. It’ll dominate.”

Chen Ren didn’t speak right away. He looked back down at the ledger, remembering the numbers he’d written and smiled.

“Let’s make that year count.”

Tang Boming, who had been leaning back with a look of satisfaction just moments before, rubbed his jaw. “Yeah… but I’m also worried.”

“Darkmoon Sect?”

Tang Boming let out a short breath and nodded. “It’s only been two weeks, but I’d bet spirit stones they’ve already heard of us. Maybe not the full extent—but enough.”

Chen Ren’s fingers drummed on the side of the ledger. He’d been thinking the same. While most sects would ignore a small shop in its first month, Darkmoon Sect was different.

“They’re the only ones I’ve been watching out for,” Chen Ren muttered, then looked back up. “But have you heard anything yet? Any movement?”

“Not yet. No spies. No thugs sent our way. But that’s exactly what worries me. It’s quiet.”

-“Then they’re watching.” That thought itself made his gut clench. But it was a reality, he couldn’t run away from it. So, he faced it. “But they’ll act soon. They always do. Darkmoon Sect doesn’t let competition grow big enough to matter. If they think we’re a threat to their share of the market… they’ll move.

“I give them a week. Maybe less. So we will prepare.”

***

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