Chapter 573: The Billionaire in Poverty, Daoist Wang

Splash, splash.

A faint, intermittent sound of tides rose in the air; Zhang Jie focused his senses.

He saw the qi of heaven and earth surging into his body in a frantic rush.

“Is this another ability of Qi Body Source Flow activating?”

Zhang Jie glanced at his dantian sea, where a tiny qi infant sat cross-legged upon a lotus platform,

its small face serious and intent in meditation—and instantly understood the source of this anomaly.

Qi Body Source Flow dares to call itself “the end of all arts,” so it certainly cannot have only the ability to dismantle others’ qi.

According to what Zhang Jie learned while observing Gao Wei, upon full cultivation,

it possesses another ability—infinite supply of true qi, eliminating nearly all risk of qi depletion or exhaustion.

Back then, Zhang Jie had been puzzled: after all, Qi Body Source Flow was merely another strange art,

how could it possibly generate an ability bordering on a perpetual motion machine?

Now, through personal cultivation and testing, Zhang Jie discovered that Qi Body Source Flow had opened a channel between the human small cosmos

and the great cosmos of heaven and earth, allowing the qi of heaven and earth to flow endlessly into the cultivator’s body.

Thus, linking the finite human form with the near-infinite qi of heaven and earth naturally ensures an unceasing supply of true qi.

“A wonderful thing.”

Zhang Jie marveled inwardly; this ability, even for him now, was a perfect complement.

Clearly, although Qi Body Source Flow incorporates Wu Gensheng’s “Divine Spirit” dismantling technique, its level is higher.

No wonder Zhang Huaiyi dared to declare, “What I have realized surpasses my fourth brother Wu Gensheng.”

Divine Spirit is mostly an unconscious, instinctive talent, while Qi Body Source Flow builds upon it

by adding infinite qi supply, independent consciousness hosting (the qi infant),

and potential future mastery over “reconstructing the primordial qi”—truly mysterious and extraordinary.

“Cultivate! Cultivate!”

Overjoyed, Zhang Jie became utterly absorbed in cultivation.

The feeling of constantly sensing his own progress was simply exquisite.

………

Time swiftly passed until the day of the Luotian Da Jiao; Zhang Jie and Zhang Chulan and others arrived at Long Hu Mountain as a group.

“Wow, Jie Ge, is this Long Hu Mountain?”

At the foot of Long Hu Mountain, Zhang Chulan looked around curiously.

Zhang Jie walked behind him, Feng Baobao beside him:

“What, is it somewhat different from what you expected?”

“Yes. A little. I thought Long Hu Mountain, as a… would be more solemn.”

Zhang Chulan surveyed the bustling crowd around him: vendors selling snacks,

drinks, mineral water, and souvenirs; but mostly tourists like himself, gazing around,

holding phones and snapping photos everywhere, he said.

He didn’t think this environment was bad—rather, as a major force in the occult world,

the ancestral seat of Zhengyi Daoism, Long Hu Mountain’s atmosphere should have been classical, solemn, ethereal in his imagination.

“You’ll get used to it.”

Zhang Jie replied offhandedly.

The occult world has at most thirty to forty thousand people, scattered across the farthest corners of the land,

utterly insignificant compared to over a billion ordinary people.

In fact, the number of tourists Long Hu Mountain receives in a single day exceeds the total population of the occult world.

Under such circumstances, how could Long Hu Mountain possibly remain solemn?

After all, tourists come for fun—taking photos, checking in at landmarks, wandering everywhere—

that’s their typical behavior; they can’t stay quiet.

“Sigh, Long Hu Mountain is still better; at least the back mountain remains under the control of our senior brothers.

Our Wudang is worse off—almost all the main halls are co-managed and opened to tourists.”

At that moment, a young Daoist emerged from nowhere, sighing heavily.

The young Daoist wore a plain Daoist robe with no patterns or ornaments,

his long hair simply tied into a Daoist topknot, a few strands falling loose at his temples,

yet he did not look messy—rather, he exuded a serene, otherworldly elegance.

“Which Daoist are you?”

Zhang Chulan asked, puzzled.

He was certain he didn’t know any Daoist except Zhang Jie.

Where had this interjecting young Daoist come from? Who was he?

“Wu Liang Tian Zun. I am Wudang’s Wang Ye, greetings to Brother Zhang, Senior Brother Zhang, and this young lady.”

The young Daoist bowed respectfully to Zhang Jie and the others.

‘So it’s you—Wudang’s Wang Ye.’

Zhang Jie had suspected the moment the young Daoist appeared; now he was certain.

Wang Ye, a formal disciple of Wudang, and also the inheritor of the Eight Marvelous Techniques: Feng Hou Qi Men.

But these weren’t his most talked-about labels;

what made him most memorable was his “billionaire in poverty.”

This Daoist Wang came from the Wang family of Beijing, a colossal fortune; his father was the richest man in Beijing’s circle,

his wealth and status comparable to the Wang billionaire who once said, “First set a small goal: earn a billion.”

As a Gao Wei observer, Zhang Jie strongly suspected that Mi Er had drawn inspiration from real-life figures when creating this world,

such as that Wang billionaire.

If Dao cultivation failed, Daoist Wang would simply return to lay life, inherit his billions,

transforming into a man of immense wealth, conversing only with tycoons, never mingling with commoners—the “Ye Zong.”

“So you’re Senior Brother Wang Ye. I’m Zhang Chulan.”

Zhang Chulan immediately became enthusiastic.

Wudang? That was a major Daoist sect, equal in stature to the Tian Shi Fu.

As a Wudang disciple, this Daoist Wang Ye must be a top-tier powerhouse.

Even if not as monstrous as Jie Ge, he was surely among the elite of the younger generation of occultists.

“Zhang Jie, lay disciple of the Tian Shi Fu, greets Ye Zong.”

Zhang Jie also bowed with clasped hands.

And Bao’er Jie?

She was lost in her usual daydream, paying no attention to Wang Ye’s greeting.

“I’m Wang Ye, not Ye Zong.”

Wang Ye corrected Zhang Jie’s mispronunciation.

“Right, Ye Zong, got it, Ye Zong.”

Zhang Jie nodded: understood, got it—ah, I’m just not going to change.

“Sigh…”

Faced with Zhang Jie’s clearly teasing address, Wang Ye sighed and let it pass.

“Senior Brother Wang Ye, is Wudang like Long Hu Mountain too?”

Zhang Chulan asked curiously.

“Wudang is even more crowded than Long Hu Mountain…”

Wang Ye was a carefree man; he swiftly brushed off Zhang Jie’s teasing and began chatting with Zhang Chulan.

“Tsk tsk…”

Listening to Wang Ye’s account, Zhang Jie smirked.

It seemed that in any world, these organizations’ nature was the same—almost a baseline.

In this world, Wudang Mountain and Long Hu Mountain still had occult balance; in his previous world, it was far worse.

They could even lose money from land-grabbing and charging fees—can you believe it?

The figures of hundreds of millions, even billions in losses were shocking.

Of course, countless Geng Specialists must have been at play, performing the drama: If you don’t take it, how can I take it?

If I don’t take it, how can the Geng Specialist take it? If the Geng Specialist doesn’t take it, how can you and I progress?

Geng Specialist, Yamamoto Specialist, Smith Specialist, Singh Specialist, John Specialist…

Zhang Jie thought that even if you put a monkey in that position, it might not do worse.

At least a monkey only needs bananas and peaches—it wouldn’t think of not just eating the peaches,

but also moving the peach trees, peach groves, peach orchards, and even peach mountains back home.