No Money to Cultivate Immortality?

No Money to Cultivate Immortality?

A swath of ruins had been cleared, the ground leveled anew. Then, under the coordinated effort of numerous Foundation Establishment cultivators, rows of prefab dorms began to rise.

Zhang Yu was assigned to a six-person room. As he carried his belongings inside, he immediately saw that white-haired student named Che Yufei, along with another student whose face was covered in bristly fur—a demon-kin.

Upon seeing Zhang Yu, Che Yufei smiled. “Freshman? I’m Che Yufei, sixth-year.”

He pointed to the demon-kin next to him. “This is Shi Yunxiang, fourth-year.”

As he spoke, Che Yufei shoved a large handful of Dao Heart Potions toward Zhang Yu. “Want some?”

Zhang Yu shook his head with a polite smile. “These are too easy to get hooked on. I usually avoid them.”

Despite his exceptional drug tolerance, Zhang Yu had always steered clear of Dao Heart Potions.

Che Yufei blinked in mild surprise and gave Zhang Yu a peculiar look, as if he couldn’t believe there were college students—especially in the Civil Engineering Department—who didn’t rely on this stuff.

Shi Yunxiang casually grabbed a capsule from Che Yufei’s hand and popped it into his mouth. With the air of someone who’d been through it all, he said, “Kid, when I was a freshman, I thought the same thing. Thought I’d been through enough hell in high school, nothing could shake me anymore.”

“Heh…” He let out a cold laugh and leaned back, enjoying the capsule’s stimulating surge to his brain. “But once the project starts, you’ll realize all that pain and exhaustion in high school doesn’t mean squat here.”

“Without this stuff, you’ll break.”

Zhang Yu didn’t argue or push back. After all, Shi Yunxiang meant well. It was just that Zhang Yu genuinely didn’t like taking Dao Heart Potions.

Seeing his attitude, neither Che Yufei nor Shi Yunxiang said more. In their eyes, it wouldn’t take long before this delicate freshman broke under pressure and started downing more potions than either of them.

Soon, the rest of the six roommates arrived one by one. Zhang Yu noted that Che Yufei, the sixth-year, was by far the oldest.

Four were from the second level, one from the third level, and only Zhang Yu was from the first.

After a round of brief introductions, the room fell silent. Some started studying, others practiced breathing Techniques, and a few left to train outdoors.

Zhang Yu took a short walk around the area, then asked, puzzled, “Is there no toilet here?”

Che Yufei gave him a knowing look, chuckling inwardly at how tender this freshman still was. “You didn’t get modified? No Law Husk installed? Well, no big deal…”

He pointed outside. “The whole site’s basically a toilet. Just find a quiet corner out there and let it rip.”

After a brief rest, it was time for the workers’ first dinner.

Zhang Yu looked at the medicine list projected inside his EyeNet interface—rows of items, each with detailed descriptions of effects and side effects, plus a virtual human body model highlighting the impacted organs.

There was the Heartburn Pill, which accelerated blood-qi concentration and enhanced muscle conditioning, but came with increased cardiac load and long-term cardiovascular risks. The heart area on the body model lit up bright red.

Then the Yin Marrow Rot Pill, which enhanced cold-type mana but corroded bone and marrow—causing anemia, fevers, even leukemia over prolonged use.

Or the Muscle-Severing Liver-Nerve Powder, which tore and reshaped the meridians to boost mana flow but heavily burdened the liver, increasing the risk of bacterial and viral infections.

Zhang Yu noticed that each time he selected a pill, numbers began to update below the model.

Sudden death probability: 0.06%

Leukemia probability: 0.012%

Septicemia probability: 0.034%

He realized: this system calculated the medical risks based on his drug intake.

Each day he took more, and with each dose, his odds of disease and death would rise.

Fu Ji, watching through Zhang Yu’s Law Husk, also saw the interface. She commented dryly, “Considerate, aren’t they? Instead of letting you wreck just one part of your body, they help you spread the damage evenly. That way, you live a little longer.”

“Civil Engineering really is the most humane department. Just this one service probably adds years to your lifespan.”

Zhang Yu picked a five-pill combo meal, and after a short wait, the medicinal dinner was delivered.

Che Yufei glanced at him wolfing it down and couldn’t help saying, “Careful there, rookie.”

Zhang Yu smiled. “No worries. I’ve got a strong drug tolerance.”

Che Yufei rolled his eyes. Anyone who made it into Wanfa University could stomach meds. He thought to himself: just wait until this kid makes his first visit to the infirmary—he’ll learn.

Zhang Yu first switched his Chain Diagram preset to the University Saint Body, then downed the pills. A scalding wave of medicinal energy erupted from his abdomen, surging toward his limbs like floodwaters, pounding his organs and bones with relentless force.

Feeling the burning heat spreading through his body, Zhang Yu thought, “This stuff hits hard.”

Without delay, he stepped outside and began practicing the Endless Spring and Autumn Meditation to digest the energy.

He also noticed that many students from the poverty-class were doing the same—training right after dinner to process the effects.

As he practiced, Zhang Yu felt the drug energy coursing back and forth inside him, stimulating growth in his muscles and bones.

But he also sensed his heart hammering in his chest, and faint internal damage cropping up in his organs.

He immediately activated the Sacrificial Oxheart Technique in his mind, using its healing power to counteract the side effects.

While Zhang Yu and Che Yufei focused on digestion…

Elsewhere, Gongshu Jin was having his first dinner on the construction site too.

But unlike the poor students’ concoctions—harsh on the body, high in side effects—Gongshu Jin and his senior classmates enjoyed filtered, personalized formulas with minimal drawbacks. Each potion was tailored to their physique and cultivation Techniques, safeguarding their bodies like priceless treasures while steadily unlocking their potential.

Of course, this one-on-one pharmaceutical service came at a staggering cost.

Gongshu Jin glanced out the window at Zhang Yu and the others training hard, looking like an empty bottle being squeezed for every last drop.

“Only those with no potential need to be pushed this hard, squeezing out what little they’ve got.”

Feeling his body naturally strengthening with no effort, he thought, “If your potential’s great enough, you don’t need to do anything… your power will overflow on its own.”

…

After dinner, a wave of divine energy and Spiritual essence swept across the site.

Fu Ji stirred. “Looks like the Spiritual Realm Network is finally up.”

Zhang Yu’s EyeNet flashed. A message came in from Tu Lishan: network access now online.

Following the site’s schedule, everyone began their online class session.

Connected at last, Zhang Yu felt a flicker of joy—so the worksite could connect after all.

But then he saw the tenfold network charge and instantly cursed: “That’s daylight robbery!”

He made the most of the connection: sent a check-in to Bai Zhenzhen and Zhang Pianpian, then asked Yu Xinghan for notes and class recordings—then promptly cut the connection.

The so-called class materials were just recordings of that day’s lectures.

Students had to watch the entire day’s lectures at 10x speed, just to squeeze out time for site work and cultivation.

Watching teachers blur across the screen, speaking at supersonic speed, Zhang Yu absorbed the content while thinking, “Actually, this isn’t bad. Saves me loads of class time.”

“But did Yu Xinghan send me the wrong file? This looks like his own recording.”

Seeing Yu Xinghan’s Law Husk camera fixated on Ying Xin, Zhang Yu cursed, “This guy again… Stop filming her! I need to see the teacher!”

…

Meanwhile, Yu Xinghan was checking the views on his latest short video, mumbling to himself, “Always highest when I film Ying Xin?”

He mused, “Maybe I should try filming massage shops next time…”

…

As Zhang Yu and the others finished their online classes and got ready for work…

Gongshu Jin’s class was only just beginning.

With a lighter workload, he and his cohort had more time for study.

His consciousness had already entered the deep layers of the Spiritual Realm, receiving direct guidance from instructors.

And with enough money poured in, he not only got one-on-one mentorship, but a classroom with over 99% realism—making it feel like he was physically present.

With further payment, the entire space accelerated—first to 2x speed, then 4x, and finally 10x, once Gongshu Jin fully adapted.

This meant he had ten times more learning time in the Spiritual Realm than in the real world.

To Gongshu Jin, this was normal. As long as you had money, even time itself could be bought.

…

Out in the ruins, the poverty-class students began their first night’s work: clearing the rubble.

According to the schedule, they had just half a month to clear the entire factory grounds to make way for reconstruction.

A notification popped up in Zhang Yu’s EyeNet from Tu Lishan:

“This used to be a puppet factory built by Shanhai University. After being attacked by multiple Gold Core criminals, the entire production line was completely destroyed.”

Tu Lishan: “Though time has passed, residual mana from those Gold Core cultivators may still remain.”

Tu Lishan: “Also, the factory’s internal defense formations and feng shui arrays may still be partially active.”

Tu Lishan: “And during puppet manufacturing, many hazardous materials were used. Extreme caution required during cleanup…”

Zhang Yu took a deep breath, circulated his mana, and activated the Mountain-Moving Might Technique, his body subtly bulging in size.

With great care, he moved through the ruins, swirling his Protective Qi Barrier as he pulverized wreckage, clearing it piece by piece.