I run a casino in the immortal realm.

The lessons began on the second day.

The tax bureau cleared out a meeting room with fifty tables and chairs arranged in five rows. On each table were a pen, a ruler, and a stack of printed forms.

Fifty tax collectors sat below, their expressions varied. Some were curious, some were impatient, and a few seasoned veterans stood with their arms crossed, clearly not wanting to come.

Zheng Yifei stood in front, picked up a pen, and wrote a "1" on the hanging memorial paper.

"This is one."

Another "0" was written.

"This is zero. Put it after one, and it becomes ten."

Some people below scoffed.

Zheng Yifei ignored him and continued writing.

Half an hour later, no one was laughing anymore.

Because he gave everyone a problem to solve—write "37029" in simplified form.

The first person to finish writing took three breaths.

The same numbers were rewritten in spirit script, taking twelve breaths.

The gap is clear, and that's more effective than any preaching.

one day.

All fifty tax collectors mastered the ten basic symbols and addition and subtraction operations.

The next day, Zheng Yifei taught how to use spreadsheets.

On the third day, we taught the multiplication table.

This thing is more destructive than simple numbers.

In the cultivation world, arithmetic relies entirely on mental calculation or using an abacus, and the abacus is inherently slow in the spiritual numerology system.

When the multiplication table was presented, the fifty tax collectors sat there dumbfounded, as if struck by lightning.

"Seven times eight equals fifty-six?"

An elderly tax collector in his thirties checked the calculations three times over, then looked up at Zheng Yifei with a changed expression: "This... you can just memorize it?"

"Just memorize it."

"No need to calculate?"

"No need to calculate."

The old tax collector stared down at the multiplication table, muttering to himself as if reading scriptures.

At the end of the third day, Zheng Yifei selected ten of the fastest learners from the fifty people and appointed them as "teaching assistants," each responsible for teaching ten new students.

He only set one rule: if you can't learn it in three days, go back to moving ore.

Nobody wanted to go back and move the ore.

The second batch of fifty people finished learning in two days because the teaching assistants were even more anxious than Zheng Yifei. If they couldn't teach the students, where would they put their faces?

Within seven days, all 150 tax officials in the tax office completed training in simplified numbers and forms.

The efficiency of the accounting process was immediately apparent.

The quarterly accounts for Fengming Street, which originally took half a month to review, were cleared in just three days.

Zhou Demao stared at the three stacks of forms on his desk—thin, not even as thick as the ledgers of the original store—and remained silent for a long time.

Then he issued an order: all merchants in Qingyun Market shall use simplified numbers and standard forms for accounting from this day forward, for a period of one month. Those who fail to comply within the period shall be charged a late payment fee of 10%.

Furthermore, any proposal put forward by Zheng Yifei will be fully supported, and no one may object or resist it, which is equivalent to giving Zheng Yifei a royal decree.

Merchants came to the tax office to learn, grumbling and cursing.

On the third day of teaching, Zheng Yifei unleashed his true killing move.

"Starting next month, the tax department will implement an invoice system."

He pasted a palm-sized sample of the spirit paper on the wall.

The paper is printed with a uniform format: merchant name, product name, quantity, amount, date, and serial number, with an anti-counterfeiting array at the bottom.

"For every transaction, whether it is a purchase or a sale, the merchant must issue an invoice."

The invoice is issued in triplicate—one copy is kept by the merchant, one copy is kept by the customer, and one copy is submitted to the tax bureau at the end of the month. The tax bureau collects taxes based on the summarized invoices.

There was an uproar below.

The owner of a medicated shop slammed his fist on the table: "Why? I've been in business for twenty years and I've never heard of such a rule!"

Zheng Yifei glanced at him.

"Because no one had been able to investigate this before."

He turned around and wrote a line on the memorial paper: "Reward System for Whistleblowers".

"If a customer does not receive an invoice after purchasing goods, they can report it to the tax office with the transaction receipt. If the report is verified, the tax office will reward the reporter with 30% of the tax amount of the transaction, which will be borne by the reported merchant."

The shopkeeper's face turned green.

What's so ruthless about this move? It's ruthless because it gives every consumer the right to supervise.

There are only a handful of tax officials and hundreds of merchants. Finding out who is evading taxes is impossible with manpower alone. But there are countless independent cultivators who consume every day, and each of them is a potential monitor.

What's even more outrageous is the "30% reward"—meaning that reporting isn't doing a good deed, but making money.

The most reliable driving force of human nature is not morality, but self-interest.

The news spread throughout Qingyun Market within two days.

The merchants were seething with anger, while the independent cultivators were overjoyed—they could earn a tip-off fee while buying things? What a bargain!

Before the first month was even over, seventeen reports had already been submitted to the tax office.

Fourteen cases were verified.

Fourteen merchants paid back taxes and fines, totaling 3,600 spirit stones.

The whistleblower took home 1,080 yuan and was all smiles.

The remaining two thousand five hundred and twenty dollars were handed over to the tax bureau in full.

Previously, the Eastern District Tax Office might not have been able to collect this number even in a single quarter.

Zhou Demao couldn't sit still any longer.

He wrote a detailed report overnight, attaching all of Zheng Yifei's reform plans—simplified number system, standard forms, pen tools, multiplication table, invoice system, and whistleblower reward mechanism—and personally delivered it to the General Affairs Office.

three days later.

Zheng Yifei was organizing the invoice templates for the second month at the tax office when Yang Jie pushed the door open and came in with a strange expression.

"Xiao Zheng, change your clothes."

"Where to?"

"General Affairs Hall".

Yang Jie swallowed hard, his voice low: "The leader wants to see you."

Zheng Yifei paused for a moment.

Head of the General Affairs Department, Kim Jong-won.

Late stage of Golden Core.

One of the twenty-three Golden Core cultivators in the entire Qingyun Sect, he is a powerful figure in charge of all logistics and financial affairs of the sect.

Wan Kui peeked out from next door, his mouth agape: "Hall...Hall Master?"

Yang Jie had already reached the door: "Don't dawdle, a Golden Core cultivator's time is precious."

Main Hall of General Affairs.

When Zheng Yifei entered, the first thing he felt was spiritual pressure.

It wasn't intentionally released; it was the natural outflow of a Golden Core cultivator's aura, like stepping into the deep sea, where every inch of skin could feel the invisible pressure.

The hall was very empty, with only a long black stone table in the center, behind which sat a man in his fifties.

He had a thin face, a short three-inch beard, and wore a black robe without any patterns, but the fabric at the hem shimmered with faint gold threads under the spiritual light—it was woven from top-grade spirit silkworm silk, and a foot of it was worth a hundred spirit stones.

Kim Jong-won.

In front of him lay Zhou Demao's report, and beside him were a pen and a filled-out form—clearly, he had already tried it himself.

"Zheng Yifei?"

"Disciple Zheng Yifei greets Hall Master."

"sit."

Kim Jong-won raised his head, his gaze falling on Zheng Yifei, pausing for two breaths.

"Five spiritual roots, Qi Refining Level 8, one month since entering the sect."

His tone was as if he were reading a resume, devoid of emotion: "Is the invoice system your idea?"

"Yes."

Why?

"Because there aren't enough people to investigate everything, it's better to have everyone help with the supervision than to have tax officials do the investigation."

Kim Jong-won tapped his finger on the table.

"How could you, a mere outer disciple in the Qi Refining stage, have thought of such things?"

Zheng Yifei replied without hesitation: "My family is poor, so I've always been thinking about how to do the most work with the fewest people."

Kim Jong-won stared at him for three breaths, then suddenly laughed.

It wasn't a polite laugh; it was a laugh that said, "This kid's got some interesting potential."

He picked up the report and turned to the last page.

"Zhou Demao suggested promoting you to tax inspector, but I think that's too low a rank."

Zheng Yifei's heart skipped a beat.

Kim Jong-won stood up, walked around the long table, and stood in front of him.

The spiritual pressure of the Golden Core cultivator was right next to him, and Zheng Yifei's clothes were pressed slightly against his calves by the aura, but his back did not bend.

"From today onwards, the Tax Bureau will establish an Inspection Department. Your position is Chief Inspector, responsible for the overall reform and supervision of the Tax Bureau. You will report directly to Zhou Demao, who will in turn report to me."

He took out a silver token from his sleeve and slapped it into Zheng Yifei's palm.

The front of the token is inscribed with the words "Chief Inspector of Taxation," while the back bears the seal of the General Affairs Office.

"I'll assign you ten inspection team leaders, all Foundation Establishment stage disciples, one hundred people per team. Is that enough?"

"enough."

"Monthly salary is two hundred spirit stones. In addition—"

Kim Jong-won turned around and walked back to the long table, took a storage bag from the drawer, and tossed it over.

"Ten thousand low-grade spirit stones, material rewards, a pass to the library, and three free cultivation techniques to choose from."

The storage bag landed heavily in my palm.

Ten thousand yuan.

Last month, he earned 2,000 yuan a day at Hongyunfang, which he thought was already very fast.

Now, a single word from the head of the General Affairs Department is worth five days of hard work at the gambling table.

"There's one more thing."

Jin Zhengyuan sat down again, his tone becoming somewhat indifferent: "From this day forward, your status will change from outer disciple to inner disciple, and you will enjoy the benefits of an inner disciple."

Zheng Yifei tightened his grip on the token.

What does it mean for someone to switch from an outer sect to an inner sect in the Qingyun Sect?

It means climbing out of the mire of 80,000 people and onto the stage of 3,000. It means a monthly salary that has increased dozens of times, access to the core resources of the sect, and that those who mocked him as a "tax collector with five spiritual roots" when he first joined the sect will have to bow to him in the future.

One month.

From a lowly outer disciple with five spiritual roots, to an inner disciple and chief tax inspector.

He is also the only inner disciple of the Qingyun Sect who has not yet reached the Foundation Establishment stage.

Kim Jong-won had already lowered his head to review other documents, indicating that the conversation was over.

Zheng Yifei bowed and turned to walk out of the main hall.