Two weeks passed before Jun Jie finally had a moment to sit alone.
Until now, every morning had begun in the training field and every night had ended with sore shoulders, a dry throat, and a sect full of disciples who no longer knew what to call him behind his back. He had spent those days correcting stances, tearing apart bad habits, forcing the younger disciples to start from the ground again, and watching the older ones struggle with the bitter realization that the art they had trusted for years had been flawed from the beginning.
It had been exhausting.
It had also been worth it.
Now, for the first time since waking in this world, Jun Jie sat atop one of the outer stone walls of the Iron Blood Body Sect with one leg hanging over the edge, the other bent loosely beneath him, and let his eyes travel beyond the grounds.
The sect had always felt large from inside. Training fields, halls, courtyards, stone paths, long rows of disciple residences, the Patriarch's hall, the elder compounds, the warehouses, the watchtowers. It was enough to fill the day and swallow a man's attention whole.
From up here, it looked smaller.
Beyond the wall, the world opened.
Mountains rose one after another beneath the evening sky, vast and severe, their rocky faces painted gold where the last light touched them and dark purple where the sun had already slipped away. The Iron Blood Body Sect sat high among them, carved into the spine of a great mountain rather than built politely upon it. Far below, clouds drifted through the lower valleys like pale rivers caught between black cliffs. The wind was colder here.
He let out a slow breath and tilted his head slightly.
"So this is what was outside."
[Naturally. You did not reincarnate into a courtyard.]
Jun Jie smiled faintly and leaned back on both hands. "You're ruining the mood."
[I keep the mood disciplined.]
He looked down over the edge.
The drop was unpleasant enough to sober anyone with poor balance. Jagged stone waited far below with the kind of patience mountains had perfected long before men started calling themselves immortal.
Jun Jie clicked his tongue. "What happens if I fall right now, Nya?"
A brief pause followed before she answered.
[You would become a puree host.]
Jun Jie's brow lifted. "Puree?"
[Your consciousness would return to the most essential state possible after that.]
[Which is my elegant way of saying you would die again.]
He turned that over once and snorted. "And here I thought you'd give me something more comforting."
[I am comforting.]
[Also, I would prefer that not to happen.]
That drew a grin from him.
"Oh? So you worry about me. That's cute."
[I worry about my investment.]
[Try not to misinterpret affection where there is only management.]
Jun Jie laughed under his breath and let the wind pass over him again. Two weeks ago, he had barely known the shape of this sect. Two weeks ago, every disciple who saw him had either wanted to laugh or spit. Now the younger ones straightened when he passed. The older ones watched him with that guarded tension men carried when they sensed the ground was moving under their feet. Qin Zhen had turned into the most intense student on the entire training field, which Jun Jie found deeply entertaining.
And yet those two weeks had cost him.
His own cultivation had not stopped, but it had slowed. Teaching dozens of disciples every day left little room to shut himself away, circulate his art, and force the next step. He had spent his time raising the sect instead of climbing alone.
Nya spoke again, this time with less mockery and more curiosity.
[Are you certain that was wise?]
Jun Jie looked out toward the mountains.
"Yes."
[Even if it delayed your own progress?]
"It did delay it."
[And you are saying that without regret?]
Jun Jie rolled his shoulders once, feeling the familiar heaviness left behind by long days in the field. "I said it was worth it, not easy. Those two weeks changed the sect more than hiding in my room would have changed me."
[You continue to be irritatingly sincere at strange moments.]
Jun Jie's mouth curved. "You'll live."
[I am not the one sitting on a wall asking about falling to my death.]
That earned her nothing but another short breath of amusement.
Jun Jie lowered his head slightly and studied his own hands. The old Jun Jie had used them to waste time, waste talent, waste face. These past two weeks, those same hands had fixed stances, straightened backs, corrected breathing, redirected force, and dragged disciples into a better path whether they liked it or not.
He could not say he hated that.
"But enough of that," he said. "I've done my good deed. Now it's time to make money."
That made Nya far more alert.
[There is good news about that.]
Jun Jie turned slightly. "Go on."
[The buyer from your first major sale has returned.]
His face changed at once.
"My Disciples Are Crazy About Me?"
[Yes.]
[He wants a sequel.]
Jun Jie stared ahead for a breath, the mountain wind brushing against his hair as the words sank in.
"He's serious."
[Very.]
[He is prepared to spend a large amount of money.]
"How large?"
[One hundred thousand Origin Points.]
Jun Jie's hand stopped on the stone behind him.
"Say that again."
[One hundred thousand Origin Points.]
Now he was listening properly.
"And what does that degenerate want for that kind of price?"
Nya answered with suspicious smoothness, as if she had been waiting for this exact moment.
[He has several requests.]
[He wants the master to be even more arrogant.]
[He wants the disciples to become more obsessive, more jealous, and less respectful of proper sect boundaries.]
[He specifically requested a forbidden training cave, twin senior sisters with fire temperaments, a cold beauty pretending to resist while secretly reading every chapter twice, and a scene involving punishment from the Discipline Hall that somehow becomes romantic.]
Jun Jie's expression began to crack.
Nya continued mercilessly.
[He would also like at least one maid disguise, one bath incident, and a chapter where the master explains cultivation through extremely inappropriate "hands-on guidance."]
Jun Jie almost slipped.
His body lurched sideways on the wall, boot scraping stone as his balance vanished under the sheer violence of the mental image. He caught himself with one hand against the top of the battlement just before his center of gravity betrayed him completely.
For one abrupt heartbeat, he hung there halfway off the wall, fingers dug into stone, the abyss waiting below.
His voice came out strangled.
"What kind of diseased bastard is buying this?"