No Money to Cultivate Immortality?
Chapter 42: The Heavenly Net

Bang.

As the heavy door shut, only Zhou Chechen and Lan Ling remained in the office.

Lan Ling continued lifting his barbell as he remarked, “President, this Zhang Yu’s a little greedy, don’t you think?”

Zhou Chechen lay sprawled on the couch, chuckling. “He’s poor. One taste of success and a dash of youthful arrogance—it’s normal.”

“If I jumped seventy points in a month like he did, I’d be cocky too.”

“Let’s give him another month to think it over.”

Lan Ling’s gaze turned cold. “You’re really going to sweeten the deal for him again?”

Zhou Chechen said mildly, “Lan Ling, you haven’t met enough poor people to understand them.”

“Limited by upbringing, experience, and standard of living, the poor often have a narrow view of the world.”

“In a situation like just now, nine out of ten would’ve signed on the spot.”

“But Zhang Yu managed to keep his composure and asked for time to think. That makes me see him in a better light.”

“If he scores even higher in next month’s exam, why shouldn’t I offer him a better deal?”

Lan Ling frowned. “I’m just worried someone like that might never be satisfied.”

Zhou Chechen laughed. “Come now, Big Lan, be magnanimous. Don’t squabble with the underlings.”

“Zhang Yu’s not even walking the same path as us. He’s not here to take our spots. We were never in competition.”

“In fact, the better he does, the more we earn. He’s a great investment…”

As he spoke, Zhou Chechen pulled a Spiritual Realm Mask over his head.

“I’ll be attending my makeup lessons in the Spiritual Realm all afternoon. Don’t bother coming to find me unless it’s urgent.”

…

In the cafeteria.

Zhang Yu rushed out of the Student Council office and stormed up to Bai Zhenzhen.

She was calmly eating her meal when he burst out, “Ah-Zhen, you better give me a damn good reason.”

“You have no idea how much willpower it took not to sign that contract!”

“You don’t know how much they admire my talent—”

Bai Zhenzhen interrupted coolly, “Let me guess—he ran over, grabbed your hand, didn’t even put on shoes first?”

Zhang Yu blinked, momentarily speechless.

She went on, “Yup, standard routine. Zhou Chechen does that every time he wants someone to sign.”

“What?” Zhang Yu looked stunned.

So it was a whole act with the ‘barefoot brotherly welcome’?

“And he wiped out my debt too,” Zhang Yu added.

Bai Zhenzhen snorted. “Did he really?”

“More likely he just became your new creditor.”

“Let me guess—he also said no interest, no rush to pay it back, just wait till after college and a job?”

Zhang Yu jolted. “He said that to you too?”

“He says that to everyone he wants to sign,” Bai Zhenzhen replied. “But don’t go thinking that makes it a good thing.”

“All that talk about not needing to repay? Just words.”

“If you stop paying, and the debt goes overdue, everything’s in their hands.”

“If he truly didn’t care, then fine. But if he triggers enforcement, all your money gets seized.”

“If that’s not enough, your assets are next.”

“Now think—what’s your most valuable asset?”

Zhang Yu’s eyes flickered. He didn’t own anything worth much. If it came to enforcement, he’d just end up on some blacklist, right?

But Bai Zhenzhen snorted coldly. “Your most valuable asset is your cultivation—your blood and flesh, forged through pain. Your Dantian, strengthened day by day.”

Zhang Yu’s eyes hardened. “You mean they’d really—?”

She nodded. “Enforcement means pay what you owe. If you don’t have cash, they auction your assets. Once your possessions are gone, it’s your organs, your flesh, your Dantian…”

Even though Zhang Yu hadn’t expected much from Kunxu in terms of morality, hearing it out loud still made his heart sink.

“And don’t think you can run from this,” she continued. “That contract’s not just a piece of paper.”

“Remember the Eight Divine Ministries? The Student Council uses sigils when you sign, summoning the Divine Overseer of Laws and Contracts from the Ministry of Law to witness it. Enforcement is also carried out by the Eight Divine Officials.”

Zhang Yu’s jaw tightened. Damn. He thought this was brotherly talk—and he’s trying to trap me into a live-action organ repo scheme?

Across from him, Bai Zhenzhen continued, “That said, as long as you follow the contract and your grades meet their expectations, they likely won’t touch you.”

“But there’s another key part—college applications. Your university and major will be decided by them.”

“And there are loads of other clauses. Violate any of them and you’ll be slammed with astronomical penalties.”

Seeing Zhang Yu’s dazed expression, Bai Zhenzhen rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me you didn’t even read that part of the contract?”

Zhang Yu defended himself, “The front page looked so good I nearly passed out from joy. I had to stop reading or I’d have signed right there and then! That’s why I ran to you!”

She nodded. “Fair enough. Gotta hand it to you, Yuzi, you’ve got some willpower.”

Then her tone shifted. “Yuzi, have you noticed how the filthy rich kids at school rarely clash with us broke ones?”

“They’re always polite and refined, right? Never throw their weight around?”

Zhang Yu thought about it and nodded. “Yeah, kinda true.”

“That’s because the rich and the poor aren’t competing on the same track. They don’t see us as rivals—that’s why they act civil.”

Zhang Yu frowned. But we’re all taking the same college entrance exam. How’s that not competing? You telling me they get into college with rhythmic gymnastics?

Bai Zhenzhen pressed on. “We aim for ordinary universities. Their goal is the Ten Great Academies.”

“With their wealth, they’ve got back doors into regular schools. They never considered us competition.”

“It’s only for the Ten Greats that they have to fight tooth and nail—against each other.”

Zhang Yu asked, “So poor kids can’t go for the Ten Greats?”

“There are only a few slots for each city,” she said. “In Songyang City, all Ten Academies combined only take a few dozen students each year.”

“And those spots? They’ve long been monopolized.”

“One way is through those premium contracts—like the Tier-A Contract. They sign the talented, high-scoring poor kids and dictate where they apply.”

“Sign the contract, and sure, you can’t aim for the Ten Greats anymore. But you’re now an investment—so they stay nice and polite.”

“But if you don’t sign, and you show any ambition toward the Ten Greats—then you become a threat.”

“Expect brutal competition. You’ll see what they’re really like. The pressure will come from all directions.”

“Those admission quotas are sacred within their circle. No poor kid is allowed to touch them.”

“When it comes to this, the student councils of every top school stick together. If one suffers, they all do.”

“And don’t count on the school stepping in. When the parents’ social clout outweighs the principal’s, even the administration can’t touch the Student Council.”

As Bai Zhenzhen laid everything out, Zhang Yu suddenly understood. So this is a full-blown anti-poor alliance, huh?

He imagined a massive net, invisible yet suffocating, cast over every student, pressing down with crushing weight.

“Is the gap between the Ten Academies and regular universities really that big?” he muttered. “Big enough to scare them like this?”

Bai Zhenzhen rolled her eyes. “Obviously.”

“The Major Sects of the Immortal Dao run every aspect of life—from birth to death.”

“And only graduates of the Ten Great Academies can join the Major Sects.”

“Ordinary university grads? They’re never accepted as disciples. Best they can hope for is working for a corporation under a sect.”

Zhang Yu sighed. So even post-graduation you can’t escape classism. This was a life sentence to being an outsourced disciple.

“And there’s one more thing,” Bai Zhenzhen said. “Only the Major Sects… can ascend to immortality.”

Her tone carried a trace of yearning.

Immortality—the ultimate dream of every cultivator. Anyone who stepped on the Immortal Path had thought about it.

Zhang Yu remembered too—Immortals only existed within the Major Sects.

“Anyway, that’s the deal,” Bai Zhenzhen said. “If you want to apply to the Ten Academies, get ready for a massacre.”

“So, Yuzi… now that you know—what will you do?”

Under her steady gaze, Zhang Yu looked uncertain.

“Should I sign? It’d mean studying safely, testing well, and with the Feathered Tome, I could land a decent job even after going to a regular university…”

“But… the Ten Great Academies…”

He thought of the Heavenly Spiritual Roots only their disciples could implant, the Immortal-Class Techniques only they could access, the chance to become an Immortal…

An endless gulf of disparities—both seen and unseen—lay between those futures.

As Zhang Yu wavered, a chill crept through him. A countdown appeared in his mind, and with it, the crushing reality:

“Heh… so I study hard, test well, get into a Major Sect, and make enough money to buy out my shopping cart of antiques.”

“To join a Major Sect… I have to get into one of the Ten Academies…”

“Damn it… I never had a choice, did I?”

Zhang Yu’s face twisted like he had constipation. Bai Zhenzhen clapped him on the shoulder. “Take your time. It’s not an easy decision.”

“They probably gave you a month to think about it, right?”

As she stood to leave, Zhang Yu suddenly asked, “What about you, Ah-Zhen? What’s your choice?”

She paused, then said with absolute conviction, “I won’t sign.”

“I’m going for the Ten.”

As the cold faded from Zhang Yu’s chest, clarity settled over him.

He smiled. “Then let’s do it together.”