Mao Cheng was chattering on beside him, repeating the same point over and over: the sect was running out of Spirit Stones. The windfalls from years ago had been slowly depleted through daily expenses, and if they didn't find a new source of income, the sect would soon be unable to make ends meet.
Fang Qingyuan felt a headache coming on as he listened. A new sect, a new era—yet in less than twenty years, the sect's finances had already deteriorated so badly.
Of course, this was largely due to the overly generous benefits Fang Qingyuan had established for his disciples.
As a sect founded by a beast tamer and enfeoffed for three generations, it would be a joke if their disciples' benefits were worse than those of other Minor Sects.
Besides, Fang Qingyuan no longer cared much about an annual income of thirty to forty Top-grade Spirit Stones. He could earn more than the sect's entire yearly profit just by selling a single bottle of Blood Life Pills.
