Immortality Starts From Making Money.
Chapter 116: Destruction of the Wailing Bell Sect - Part 1

Chapter 116: Destruction of the Wailing Bell Sect - Part 1

The air in the bustling tavern buzzed with shock and disbelief as the shocking news spread like wildfire throughout the city.

Whispers intensified into raucous conversations, and every table seemed to be discussing the same grim revelation:

the Long clan, once believed to be noble and honorable, was now exposed as complicit with the sinister Wailing Bell Sect.

The implications were staggering.

Who would have thought that behind the Long clan’s respectable veneer lay such dark dealings?

For decades, they had been revered—protectors of the city, patrons of art and culture, champions of justice.

But now, it was revealed that their disappearance of numerous young men and women over the past decades was not mere coincidence;

it was orchestrated, coordinated—an evil alliance with the Wailing Bell Sect. The city’s people felt betrayed, their trust shattered.

The very foundation of their faith in the so-called righteous clans had crumbled before their eyes.

"I knew it!" growled a grizzled man at one of the tables, slamming his mug on the wooden surface.

"Those damn powerful clans aren’t any good! All that honor they pretend to uphold is nothing but facade. Behind closed doors, they’re just as corrupt as the worst scoundrels in the city."

A nervous woman nodded in agreement, clutching her handkerchief tightly.

"Indeed. They put on a noble front, but behind the curtain, it’s all greed and treachery. Anyone who trusts them is a fool. We’ve been deceived for too long."

Others chimed in, voices rising in a chorus of agreement.

"We should not trust any of them," one man declared bitterly. "The so-called big clans are just as dangerous as the enemies they claim to fight."

Inside the tavern’s smoky, dimly lit interior, the atmosphere grew heavier with each passing moment.

Men and women, drunk or sober, voiced their outrage and suspicion, their words echoing through the crowded space.

The revelation about the Long clan seemed to expose the rotten core of the city’s hierarchy, shaking everyone’s faith.

Just then, a portly man with a deep scar on his face, known for his boisterous personality, raised a loud hand, commanding attention.

His voice cut through the din, drawing curious glances and hushed whispers.

"What do you all think of the Thousand Wealth Chamber?" he asked loudly, a mischievous grin playing on his face.

"They’re such a mysterious and powerful organization. Who would have expected that in less than a month, they’ve turned the entire city upside down?"

His words sparked immediate interest.

The Thousand Wealth Chamber, a secretive merchant guild shrouded in rumors and mystery, had recently plunged into the city’s chaos through a series of bold, unexpected moves.

They had taken control of key economic hubs, infiltrated the city’s power structures, and caused upheaval among the established factions.

Many nodded in agreement, their faces illuminated with a mix of awe and suspicion.

"Yes, they’re too unpredictable," someone said. "One day, they seem to be allies; the next, they’re enemies. No one truly knows what their true intentions are."

The scar-faced man continued, voice booming, "It’s as if they’re playing their own game, one that no one else can understand. The city’s never known such turmoil. It’s like they’re rewriting the rules, and anyone not paying attention might get caught in the crossfire."

The crowd murmured, some wary, others intrigued.

The chaos stirred by the Thousand Wealth Chamber was a shadow over the city’s stability.

As rumors swirled and suspicions grew, one thing was certain—no one trusted anyone anymore.

The city’s fragile peace was crumbling, replaced by uncertainty, intrigue, and the lurking danger of unseen enemies hiding behind masks of power and wealth.

"Ah! I also think. Who would have expected they would uncover such a deep secret?" a middle-aged man exclaimed, rubbing his beard and leaning in closer, his eyes gleaming with disbelief.

His voice carried a mixture of awe and curiosity, drawing the attention of everyone nearby.

"Yes, I heard they had more than five Peak Core Refining Cultivators protecting them," another across the table added, lowering his voice slightly but still resolute. His expression was serious, hinting at the power that such a force posed.

"Really?! I heard they had more than seven Peak Core Refining Cultivators," a young man interrupted, eyes wide with amazement.

The crowd stirred at the magnitude of this revelation, whispers growing louder as the significance sank in.

"Huh! How could such a powerful force appear out of nowhere?" one of them sighed in awe, shaking their head in disbelief.

The atmosphere was thick with speculation—everyone was trying to grasp the implications of this powerful new force, which had suddenly emerged on the scene.

Suddenly, an old man, slightly drunken and leaning heavily on his cane, whispered in a gravelly voice, "Do you know what?"

The entire tavern abruptly fell silent. Heads turned, eyes sharpening as they eagerly waited for the old man’s revelation.

The regular customer, known for his rumpled clothes and sharp tongue, looked around at the captivated crowd.

Feeling everyone’s intense gaze, the old man grinned mischievously and took a long swig from his jar of alcohol, then cleared his throat.

"Old man quit the facade," a young man said loudly, voice tinged with mischief. "Tell us what you know—we’re all waiting."

"Ok... I’ll talk. I’ll talk. You don’t need to shout," he said with a grin, relishing the moment.

He paused dramatically, glancing at the crowd.

"Last week, I heard from one of my sources—that’s reliable, mind you—that the Thousand Wealth Chamber was recruiting powerful cultivators."

A profound silence descended over the tavern.

The words echoed like a thunderclap, reverberating through every corner of the room.

The crowd stiffened, exchanging nervous glances.

The Thousand Wealth Chamber was known for its clandestine dealings, but hearing they were actively recruiting cultivators—especially powerful ones—was an earth-shaking revelation.

This simple statement opened a floodgate of questions. Who were they recruiting?

What was their purpose?

Could this be part of a larger scheme?

The old man continued, voice lowering slightly but holding a weight of certainty.

"I heard their payment is very high—more than enough to tempt even the most loyal. And get this—they cultivate with middle-grade spirit stones, which are rare and precious. This tells me they’re not just collecting money—they’re serious about cultivation."

He paused, eyes gleaming with the thrill of sharing forbidden knowledge.

"And that’s not all. I also heard they have some powerful cultivation techniques—techniques that might allow someone to break through to the Golden Core realm. Can you imagine that? Reaching that stage in such a short time, by using their techniques!"

The tavern erupted into chaos—gasps, murmurs, and hurried whispers.

A few people looked at each other skeptically, but others seemed eager to believe.

This revelation painted the Thousand Wealth Chamber as an organization with ambitions and resources far beyond ordinary merchants or cultivator groups.

As the crowd processed this, questions spilled over: Was this too good to be true?

Could it be real, or was it just a rumor meant to stir chaos?

"Old man, are you telling the truth?" a middle-aged man asked eagerly, voice trembling with a mixture of hope and disbelief.

His hands clenched the table, knuckles white, as if grasping for a quick answer.

Hearing the words "Golden Core," the room fell into a tense silence.

The Golden Core realm—an elite among cultivators—was the pinnacle most could aspire to.

It wasn’t just a mark of power; it was the gateway to immortality, extending lifespan by nearly five hundred years.

For many cultivators, that alone was worth risking everything.

More than that, a Golden Core cultivator and their clan would enjoy unrivaled prestige across the Southern Region.

Power, influence, respect—these were merely tokens compared to the status of that realm.

In the entire Southern Realm, the number of Golden Core cultivators didn’t even reach twenty.

They were exceedingly rare, almost legends.

This scarcity made the opportunity to become one—and to align oneself with organizations capable of nurturing such talent—absolutely invaluable.

Everyone in the tavern understood: getting that leap was a chance for eternal glory.

Quickly, all the men rushed to the old man and asked in details about the news.

With pleasure, the old man told them all he knew while insisting they all buy a jar of wine for him.

Meanwhile, inside the Thousand Wealth Chambe, Zhao Tian looked at Mo Jian and asked.

"Are we really going to attack the Wailing Bell Sect?" Zha Tian asked hesitantly, his voice tinged with concern.

His gaze was fixed on the rising steam from his tea, as if seeking some clarity in the swirling clouds of his thoughts.

Mo Jian replied calmly, taking a slow sip from his spirit tea before responding.

"What do you think?" His tone was composed, but beneath it, there was an undeniable weight of expectation.

Zha Tian shook his head, uncertainty flickering across his face. He didn’t want to get involved with the Wailing Bell Sect.

Their reputation for evil and cruelty was legendary—stories of their ruthless ambushes and merciless punishments haunted him.

The very thought of aligning with them made his stomach tighten with dread.

Yet, a part of him understood the harsh reality: if they remained passive, others might see them as weak, vulnerable to future threats.

Retaliation was not just about defending their honor; it was about signaling their strength, showing that they wouldn’t be easy targets.

They needed to prove to everyone that their cause was just and that they could stand firm against even the most sinister enemies.

He sighed deeply, torn between fear and duty, knowing there was no easy answer.

To attack or not to attack—that was the question looming over them, weighing heavily on their minds as they contemplated the dangerous path ahead.

Mo Jian looked at him and sighed. "Don’t over complicate things. You just need to do you part and everything would come out fine."

His voice filled with assurance which stems from confident unknown to Zhao Tian.

.....

Over the border between the Western Region and the Southern Region, an old man was flying at an incredible speed toward the Purple Stone City.

His aura was overwhelming that every beast that sensed it cowered in fear.

"You dare to plot against my grandson and the young master, Humph!" He snorted. "Wailing Bell Sect. You just wait for my arrival"

Whoosh!

He increased his speed, shooting forward like a comet.

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