Chapter 12: Did You Hire Internet Water Armies?

Chapter 12: Did They Hire Water Armies?

To Song Jiulai, this was nothing short of a bolt from the blue.

After all, even back when she was on Blue Star, her salary wasn't even enough to cover her taxes.

It was a moment of collective despair.

Furthermore: "The Wanxian Sect is so rich, why do they still need to collect money?"

A-Wu replied with a hint of confusion, yet spoke as if it were the most natural thing in the world: "Sect Master, although you are new, you should know that even the ground we are standing on belongs to the Wanxian Sect. On Wanxian Sect territory, various rogue cultivators and demon cultivators wouldn't dare approach lightly, so they certainly have to pay taxes."

Once A-Wu put it that way, Song Jiulai understood.

Fuck!

The title sounded fancy, but wasn't this just paying protection money?

A-Wu informed Song Jiulai that the taxation rules here were calculated per capita.

Previously, A-Wu was the only one in the sect paying a small amount; now, there were fifty more people.

The Wanxian Sect didn't care who these fifty people were; they collected taxes based on the highest cultivation level present in the sect.

If there was a Foundation Establishment stage cultivator, everyone paid twenty low-grade spirit stones.

If there was a Golden Core stage cultivator, everyone paid fifty low-grade spirit stones.

The higher the level, the higher the tax.

Because high-level cultivators had decent money-making abilities—decent my ass!

Aren't you going to consider the fact that aside from this one Foundation Establishment stage, everyone else is only at the Qi Refinement stage?

And now that there are no more Foundation Establishment cultivators left, how can she, a Qi Refinement stage Sect Master, still be taxed at the Foundation Establishment rate?!

Where is the law in this taxation? Where is the justice!!

Song Jiulai looked sincerely at A-Wu: "If we don't pay the taxes, what do you think will happen to us?"

A-Wu gave Song Jiulai a worried look: "Sect Master, when the previous Sect Master founded the Longevity Sect, the sect monument was registered with the Wanxian Sect. Even if you want to run away now, you won't make it in time. You can leave, but if the taxes aren't paid, they will at least dispatch Golden Core stage cultivators to hunt you down..."

Song Jiulai: "..."

How is that any different from being a direct delivery for 'Dongfeng Express' (death)?

It's just not paying taxes, why so cruel?!

Looking at the last four mid-grade spirit stones remaining in her storage bag, Song Jiulai felt as if the sky were falling.

She needed to keep these spirit stones as capital reserves for the players; after all, A-Wu would need money to expand the spiritual herb plots across dozens of plots.

Next month, she wouldn't just need to earn living expenses; she would also need to earn ten mid-grade spirit stones for taxes.

In that case.

She could only rely on the players!

The players would surely find ways to make money. She would provide them with housing, games, mental cultivation methods, inner cores, and spiritual herbs—she would be the one providing all the upfront costs in the early stages.

She would just take a thirty percent tax from their earnings.

The System let out a "tsk": "Can't you even be a proper capitalist? You've already given them the most important thing: opening their spiritual roots. What does it matter if you make them hand over all their money?"

From this, it was clear that the System was the true "Zhou Bapi" (exploitative landlord).

Even people selling coal in mines weren't this black-hearted.

"That would kill their motivation. Who plays a game just to work for free? They can't see any numerical rewards, and they have to put in the effort to cultivate themselves. If I collect less, they'll work harder to make money; the more they earn, the more they can pay. For now, I'll just set a temporary tax standard. Things are too tight in the early stages, so there's no choice. Later on, I'll definitely implement a tax threshold. I plan to copy the system from Blue Star."

With a mature system available, it would be a waste not to copy it; the collective wisdom of a nation was far stronger than her own.

For the players, there were no microtransaction channels; if they didn't find ways to work hard and earn money, they wouldn't survive until the day the game officially launched.

If all their earnings or most of them were taken as tax, who would bother working hard?

No matter how fun a game is, it must follow basic principles. Even the most black-hearted players would grit their teeth and keep playing, but there was no need to be that extreme.

What she wanted was for the players to help her make the sect big and strong.

Besides, the more spirit stones the sect had, the better.

Cultivating in places with dense spiritual energy is always faster than elsewhere.

As the saying goes: it's okay if your talent isn't high, as long as you're born with a winning hand!

Song Jiulai immediately began writing on a small blackboard so that the players could claim tasks themselves.

The Longevity Sect's primary way of making money now was growing and selling spiritual herbs. Each player would be allocated two plots of land, serving as their novice task.

Song Jiulai also wanted to buy a cauldron to practice with, but even an ordinary cauldron cost five mid-grade spirit stones. If her skills weren't up to par—it was a guaranteed explosion.

She was poor; she was poor everywhere.

She was so poor that tears flowed while she practiced.

*

Blue Star time, 11:00.

The players chattered and discussed for a long time, finally learning that the ones with the strongest talent were Jiang Ya and Chen Miaomiao.

Their time was the longest, reaching as high as three hours!

The big shot named Chen Miaomiao was a player who had been discussing with Zhou Xiao whether spiritual herbs could be improved and cultivated for upgrades.

From her eloquent speech, she was clearly an academic powerhouse.

Without a doubt, these two belonged to the first tier.

Unexpectedly, the only female player whom A-Wu had previously looked down upon—the one who hadn't even done face customization—had the ID "Mu Qiu." She belonged to the second tier, with two hours and fifty-five minutes.

Aside from these three, the highest talent belonged to Han Tian.

Only he and "Zhou Woman" exceeded two hours; everyone else was surprisingly under two hours.

Han Tian estimated that Jiang Ya, Chen Miaomiao, and Mu Qiu all belonged to a higher talent bracket.

Since the time was distinguished in five-minute increments, it meant there was likely a small talent gap every five minutes.

Exceeding an hour meant a difference in level.

Everyone has a competitive streak; Han Tian felt somewhat complicated knowing he was several small levels below the others.

But upon reflection, he wasn't a "lucky king" in the game anyway, so such distinctions weren't strange.

He was already stronger than the forty-odd people in the group.

The players who had over an hour were quite happy, calling Jiang Ya, Chen Miaomiao, and the others "big shots."

Jiang Ya was not much of a talker, and Chen Miaomiao had a gentle temperament; she would respond to anyone who asked her something.

Mu Qiu was also relatively quiet.

Because there were several girls in the group, the male players weren't as unrestrained as they usually were when playing other games.

Everyone's main focus now was the game itself.

In contrast to the heated discussions in the group, they were actually being constantly harassed privately tonight.

Mainly, those who hadn't played the game felt their behavior was too strange.

They sent messages one after another asking what the game was actually like and if it was fun, demanding some kind of answer.

The resulting answers were all: "The most badass game, man. If you don't play, you'll regret it for the rest of your life."

Especially the reviewers: "I'll have to thank my brothers and sisters for the rest of my life. If they hadn't pressured me, abandoning this game for a meal of lobster would be the biggest regret of my life!"

And then?

Where were the screenshots? The screen recordings? What was the plot like?

You guys didn't say a single word about the actual content!

The more it was like this, the more it piqued everyone's curiosity. People began to wonder how much money this game developer had spent to buy so many "water armies" (paid shills) to claim it was a virtual game.

It wasn't until the shocking moment when everyone was waiting to log in that a post was published.

(End of Chapter)