No Money to Cultivate Immortality?
Chapter 16: The Zhou Tian Qi-Gathering Technique

In front of a towering skyscraper in the heart of downtown.

Zhang Yu looked up, eyes fixed on the building that pierced the clouds like a spear into the sky. At the very top, he could faintly make out the silhouette of a floating Immortal Palace.

This was the headquarters of the Xianyun Group in central Songyang City.

Farther off in the distance stood an even taller monolith, seemingly linked to the edge of the heavens. That was Songyang’s tallest building—the Central Tower, said to have 999 floors. It was a landmark he often saw on his commute to school.

Now, he turned his gaze back to the office tower before him.

“Xianyun Group, huh?”

Zhang Yu had already searched up everything he could about the company on his way over.

It was a megacorporation under the jurisdiction of the Wanfa Sect, and its business portfolio included developing and selling magical techniques, Immortal Path education, and spiritual literature and merchandise.

The Wanfa Sect was one of the Major Sects of the Immortal Dao. In Kunxu, from birth to death and every moment in between, life was inextricably linked to the Major Sects—and cultivating the Immortal Path even more so.

So Zhang Yu wasn’t surprised at all that a corporate giant like Xianyun belonged to the Wanfa Sect.

He entered the building, stated his purpose at the front desk, then went through registration, a contract signing, and a brief physical exam. Finally, he was led into a classroom-like room.

There were already a few students seated inside.

After waiting a bit longer, the headcount reached fifteen, and a middle-aged man in a sharp suit walked in and began to explain the trial session.

“Hello everyone, I’ll be your instructor today.”

“You’ve all signed the contract, but let me remind you once more: everything discussed here today is strictly confidential. If we find out anyone leaked information, no matter where you try to hide, we will find you.”

The students shivered inwardly. But they knew the man wasn’t bluffing. With the power of Xianyun Group—and the Wanfa Sect behind it—tracking someone down was child’s play.

“The technique you’ll be learning today is called Experimental Technique #113. Please start by watching the instructional video…”

According to the video, this was a Qi Refining–realm breathing technique. However, it was far more complex than a Basic Breathing Technique—it resembled creating a full-body circulation system for mana.

By the end of the clip, most of the students were still confused.

Only after the instructor went into more detailed explanation did they begin to get a vague grasp of it—and the more they understood, the more their scalps tingled.

“What the hell… we’re supposed to practice this technique? Are we even qualified?”

The mana circulation pattern was insanely complex, like trying to sketch the Along the River During the Qingming Festival scroll on a Post-it.

If Zhang Yu had to describe it, it was like carving calligraphy into a turd.

Forget following the sequence. Most of the students couldn’t even memorize the pattern—it was practically gone from their minds the moment the instructor finished explaining.

Forget leaking the technique—just completing the trial seemed utterly hopeless.

Sensing the students’ growing despair, the instructor added, “Don’t worry. You’re not expected to master the technique today.”

“In fact, it’s impossible to do so without assistance.”

“What we’re really testing today is the compatibility of Technique 113 with a set of auxiliary cultivation devices…”

Next, the students were led to a testing chamber, where monitoring patches were affixed to their hands, feet, chest, and back.

Then mechanical arms extended rows of silver-needle-like instruments in front of them.

“As you begin channeling mana,” the instructor continued, “these patches will track its flow through your body.”

“And the Yuanmagnetic Needles will stimulate specific points along your route to guide and correct your circulation…”

Zhang Yu quickly understood: basically, a mana GPS system… or more like, non-automatic mana routing, really.

The circulation pattern for Technique 113 was so intricate and timing-sensitive, the only way to help beginners was through real-time tracking and mechanical nudging.

But it wasn’t without risk.

A single error in the mana flow could cause it to spiral out of control—causing itching, burning, sudden chills, and waves of discomfort. Let it continue too long, and it would lead to internal injuries. The longer it went, the worse the damage.

At that point, you’d either have to:

• Pay a high price to hire a powerhouse to suppress the runaway mana,

• Grit your teeth and wait it out using sheer physical endurance,

• Or master the technique to recirculate and regain control yourself.

Meanwhile, the instructor added, “As stated in your contract, your payment for today’s trial will depend on how much of the circulation route you complete. Finish the full 100%, and you’ll receive ten thousand yuan.”

“Only made it halfway? Then you only get five thousand.”

“Alright, if there are no further questions, you may begin.”

Zhang Yu glanced at the info appearing on his Feathered Tome.

Zhou Tian Qi-Gathering Technique Lv. 0 (0/1)

He muttered to himself, “So I just need to complete one cycle?”

He closed his eyes and began channeling the technique from his Dantian, guiding his mana toward his spine.

A slight prickling sensation on his back told him the Yuanmagnetic Needles were doing their job.

Zhang Yu followed the mechanical guidance, inch by inch, carefully moving his mana along the route.

…

Outside the chamber, a group of researchers monitored the students’ vitals.

“It’s starting.”

The lead researcher, his short hair messy and wild, stared unblinking at the fluctuating data.

On the screen were real-time readings of each student’s mana flow as they attempted Technique 113.

Beside him, an assistant watched the animated diagrams—each one visualizing a student’s internal circulation pattern.

Green indicated correct flow. Red meant errors.

As more red began popping up, disappointment clouded the assistant’s face.

“Sir, looks like the Yuanmagnetic Needles still aren’t accurate enough. Not precise enough to guide beginners through Technique 113.”

“Should we recruit students with stronger Dao Hearts for the next batch?”

The researcher frowned. “No. Both Technique 113 and the Yuanmagnetic Needles were designed for beginners. I won’t change that.”

“Besides, those with high Dao Heart scores have access to better techniques. It’s the beginners who need this kind of passive breathing support the most.”

Just then, a student groaned and spat out a mouthful of blood.

“Get him out,” the researcher ordered coldly. “Don’t let him disturb the others’ focus.”

But the chain reaction had begun. More and more students were breaking down—faces pale, bodies convulsing, some fainting from pain, others merely clutching their sides with a look of nausea.

The researcher’s face darkened.

“These kids are garbage. Can’t we find some halfway decent ones?”

The assistant whispered, “Sir, the last batch got injured too badly. No school’s willing to cooperate anymore.”

“Pah.” The researcher scoffed, his tone dripping with disdain. “A bunch of broke kids. Who cares if a few hundred die? If we perfect 113 and the Yuanmagnetic Needles, do you realize how massive the beginner market is?”

Meanwhile, only three students remained in the testing chamber.

Two had minimal errors and were barely hanging on.

The third—his face ghostly pale—caught the researcher’s eye.

“This one’s screwed up all over the place. He must be in unbearable pain. Yet he’s still going?”

The assistant asked, “Should we stop him?”

The researcher shook his head, intrigued. “If he’s that desperate for the money, let him try.”

“Besides, his full-route error data could be even more valuable to our research.”

…

Inside the chamber, every time Zhang Yu was about to give up, the chilling power of the Ritual surged, along with a mental countdown.

“This idiot system! All it knows is nagging! Why don’t you do it, huh?!”

Each slip-up caused mana to veer off course—itching, burning, and freezing sensations wracked his body.

But at last, he completed the entire cycle.

He glanced at the Feathered Tome again.

Zhou Tian Qi-Gathering Technique Lv. 1 (0/20)

He exhaled in relief.

It had been a gamble—but it paid off.

Now, hundreds of repetitions of the technique flooded his mind, as if he’d practiced for months.

At this moment, Zhang Yu felt he could reclaim every ounce of wild mana in his body, forming a full, stable circulation.

But he didn’t do it yet.

Instead, still trembling and sore, he slowly stood up.

The instructor rushed over, visibly shocked. “Are you alright, student?”

He’d never seen anyone with that high of an error rate complete the technique.

Clutching his stomach, Zhang Yu groaned, “It feels like my organs are on fire. Everything itches and burns. My top half’s roasting, my bottom half’s frozen solid… I’m dying here.”

“Let’s get you to the infirmary immediately,” the instructor said, supporting him.

“No need!” Zhang Yu suddenly flung off his hand. “What I mean is… I want more money.”

The instructor gave him a once-over—shaking, pale, obviously in agony.

“Fine. One thousand more. Sign another contract, and we’re off the hook if anything happens to you.”

After some back-and-forth, Xianyun Group agreed to bump the payout by three thousand, with the stipulation that whatever injuries Zhang Yu suffered afterward were entirely his own problem.