Art of Creation [Eco-Cultivation Prototype]

Three days later, Devor stood at the base of his hill, gazing out over a broad expanse of newly sectioned land.

What had once been unused outer sect soil was now a field of promise—over a hundred tidy garden plots prepared for his upcoming class.

Fresh spiritual soil had already been distributed to most of them, and Sect-assigned disciples moved in steady rhythm, finishing final touches under the afternoon sun.

Off to one side stood a modest wooden warehouse, stocked with gardening tools, simple spiritual implements, and a handful of crates filled with base-tier seeds.

This wouldn't be a handout.

Every student would be expected to acquire their own materials—be it tools, seeds, or supplementary pills.

The sect had agreed to open a store nearby for that purpose, but wouldn't cover the cost.

It wasn't just about saving resources—it was about teaching independence. If a disciple couldn't even source their own seeds, how could they ever hope to grow their Dao?

As Devor surveyed the area, the gleam of a flying sword cut across the sky, descending smoothly toward the edge of the class space.

Two figures landed—one familiar, the other not.

Aoyun.

And beside him, a man in a sky-blue robe marked with the symbol of an Outer Disciple. His bearing was polite, his gaze respectful, and his presence quiet—but observant.

Devor blinked. Of all the people to show up today.

"Yo," Aoyun called out, waving lazily. "You're not gonna ghost me again, are you?"

Devor gave an apologetic smile and returned the courtesy with a formal salute. "Greetings, Senior. I was… caught up last time."

"I'll let it slide—this time," Aoyun smirked, then gestured toward his companion. "Meet Fellow Daoist Fujin. I brought him here to pitch you something."

Fujin offered a respectful clasp-fist salute. "An honor, Senior Devor."

Devor mirrored it with ease. "Likewise."

Then, with a teasing grin: "You're not delivering another letter from Forly, are you?"

"What do I look like, a spirit pigeon?" Aoyun scoffed. "I'm here on business this time. Actual business."

Devor raised an eyebrow. "If it's about the Venom Garden, I'll save you the time—it's still off-limits."

"Not Venom Garden," Fujin said, stepping forward. "I'd like your permission to set up a stall here once your class begins."

Devor blinked, glancing toward the sect's official store already being built nearby. "You're planning to… compete with the sect store?"

He studied Fujin more closely. Either this was a bold move—or a foolish one.

But Fujin just smiled. "Not at all, Senior. I have no intention of replicating their inventory. I specialize in items they don't stock—low-tier talismans, spirit-infused snacks, detox kits, and mutated seed cultivars from outer regions. My goal is to fill the gaps."

Devor remained cautious. "This class is limited—around one hundred and twenty students. I doubt you'll move that kind of inventory."

"That's true," Fujin said, undeterred. "But this land covers a vast radius. More than seventy percent of it isn't used for your students. I'm proposing we open this area to other disciples as an observation field."

Devor frowned slightly, thinking.

Aoyun cut in smoothly. "Look, your hands-on students will always be limited. But imagine if Outer and Inner Disciples could drop by to observe your lectures. Think of it as a public pavilion. You don't have to teach them directly—just let them watch."

"That way," Fujin added, "this field becomes a miniature campus. Not just a class, but a hub. A movement."

Devor's lips pressed into a thin line. It wasn't a bad idea—but it came with risks.

From the beginning, Devor's goal had been simple—share his knowledge and earn Enlightenment Realm Points. But somewhere along the way, something had shifted.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

He wasn't just teaching anymore. He was spreading a Dao.

And every time another cultivator benefited from his techniques, he could feel that Dao grow more refined—more alive.

"So I focus on teaching my class," Devor said slowly, "and you'll handle the spectators? Set up a viewing area, open a local marketplace to serve them?"

His eyes locked onto Fujin, not unkind but probing. He couldn't quite shake the instinct that this man's ambitions went deeper than they appeared.

"That's correct, Senior," Fujin replied with a calm smile. "Ever since you published the Art of Creation manual, interest in you has exploded. If you open your classes—even passively—people will come."

It was logical. But Devor's expression didn't soften.

If they come just to watch, won't they distract those who came to learn?

He was already about to decline the offer when he caught a glimpse of Aoyun's face—not angry, exactly… but not pleased.

"It's not a bad idea," Devor said diplomatically. "But the sect will have the final say. I can't approve anything without their consent."

It was a strategic deferral—letting the higher-ups take the heat if things went sideways.

"As long as you're open to it, we'll speak with them together," Aoyun said immediately.

Devor's gaze narrowed slightly. "You seem awfully sure they'll agree."

From the way Aoyun and Fujin were behaving, it was clear they hadn't gone to the sect yet. They'd come to him first—intentionally. As if his approval would grease the wheels.

"Please," Aoyun said with a scoff. "Do you think I'd bring a random peddler to your front door? Fujin came prepared. He knows what he's doing."

Fujin offered a subtle nod. "I've already accounted for the risk of disrupting your class. That's why I've prepared a few countermeasures."

He held out a jade token. "First, we'll install a directional soundproof formation around the classroom plots. Inside, students won't hear a single whisper from outside. Meanwhile, spectators will be able to hear and see clearly."

Devor's eyebrows lifted. "Covering that much space with formation stones? That's not just complex—it's expensive."

"It is," Fujin said without hesitation. "Which is why I'm also planning to incorporate a projection formation—the same kind used in the Sect's Grand Tournaments. It'll allow viewers to see your movements and instructions from anywhere in the audience zone."

Devor looked from the garden plots to the field where the disciples would gather. He imagined glowing glyphs overhead, shining with crystal-clear imagery and spiritual annotations in midair.

He's not just trying to set up a business. He's building a stage.

"That kind of setup will cost a fortune," Devor said. "No way the sect will fund all that."

Fujin's smile deepened. "They won't have to. I'll cover the full cost."

Devor froze. "You'll… what?"

"In exchange," Fujin continued smoothly, "I'd like partial control of the audience zone—its layout, the vendors, the crowd control. And as for you, Senior…"

He bowed slightly. "You'll receive twenty percent of the net profits once the course ends."

"Twenty percent?!" Aoyun yelped. "You said I was getting ten!"

"You are," Fujin replied with a shrug. "This project is built on Senior Devor's class. You're the partner—but he's the product."

Devor raised an eyebrow. "That's quite generous for a trial run."

"I'm not chasing profits—yet," Fujin said. His eyes glimmered with sharp ambition. "This isn't about money. It's about momentum."

Devor studied him for a moment longer. There was something about Fujin's calmness that made him seem both dangerous and visionary.

This wasn't a man seeking to sell talismans.

He wants to reshape how cultivators learn.

The formations. The marketplace. The projection arrays. If it worked, Fujin wasn't just opening a shop—he was founding an industry.

"All your ideas are... fascinating," Devor said, voice calm but eyes sharp. "If you don't mind me asking—where did you come up with something like this?"

Fujin didn't blink. "This is just a small piece of a much bigger plan, Senior. I saw the opportunity when I noticed how many disciples were drawn to your class."

Devor gave a thoughtful nod, then glanced sideways at Aoyun, lips curling into a subtle smirk. "Looks like you've found someone interesting, Senior Aoyun."

Aoyun snorted. "You're underestimating me, Devor. Why do you think I wanted to be friends with you in the first place? Because you had a cool garden? Nah—I saw value."

Devor's mouth twitched. He didn't take offense—if anything, he respected Aoyun more for the honesty.

He'd never had much patience for fragile connections or fragile people. Friends came and went like seasonal roots.

But the ones that stuck—those were rare. People like Yulin, who shared not just his burdens, but his truths.

"Maybe it's better this way," Devor thought. "I experiment with plants for a reason. Friends aren't that different—they just take longer to grow, and they're more likely to rot."

He turned his attention back to Fujin, curiosity replacing his guarded demeanor.

"I'm curious," Devor said. "If you don't mind—what exactly is your grand plan?"

Fujin's smile didn't widen, but it grew sharper.

"I can't give you all the details," he replied, "but I can share the core of it."

He took a slow breath, and when he spoke, there was a strange, almost reverent gleam in his eyes.

"Have you ever imagined being able to watch the masters of our world? To see how they train? How they fight? Imagine the Sword Monarch of Azure watching over his disciples—and someone like us, a low-level cultivator, seeing every motion of his sword in real time."

Devor kept his face composed, but inside, his mind jolted.

The phrasing. The idea.

Too specific.

Too familiar.

That sounds like live streaming...

Fujin continued, warming to his pitch.

"Eventually, I want to build a network of viewing formations—setups in cities, sects, even rogue markets. People will pay to observe experts train, fight, meditate, craft pills, forge weapons—anything."

"They'll learn passively, no risk of injury. And the masters? They'll receive a cut of the revenue based on viewership. It's a win-win. And if I can integrate cultivation insights or breakthrough potential into the model—"

"It becomes a path to power and wealth at the same time."

Devor's heartbeat slowed.

His mind, however, was racing. "Is he like me?"

A transmigrator. Someone who had come from a different world.

From a time where cameras, channels, content, and commerce were inseparable.

From a place where knowledge was a product, and every minute of someone's life could be turned into currency.

He was building a broadcast Dao—a Knowledge Cultivation Economy.