Wen Rang had been in the cultivation world for three years, an unnoticed menial worker in his sect, until he picked something up:
No matter who you were, if you'd absorbed spiritual energy from heaven and earth while cultivating, he could come to your door and collect what you owed, with interest.
The cultivation the sect leader had saved up during a century in seclusion? He'd collect it.
The spiritual vein the old demon had seized for eight hundred years? He'd collect it.
The boundless spiritual energy of a sword immortal who'd just survived tribulation? He'd collect that too.
In less than half a year, the big shots of the entire cultivation world went out of their way to avoid him. They all gathered at the mountain gate, glaring and threatening him:
"Fine, fine! You're really something, aren't you!"
Wen Rang fiddled with the little abacus in his hand and tucked the last spirit stone into his cloth pouch.
"What's the rush? I haven't gone to collect the Heavenly Dao's old debt, overdue by more than ten thousand years."
