The Shamanic Billionaire

ONE: The talentless Cai

Some punishments feel like they were designed to break a boy’s bones; others are meant to break his pride. This one was doing both.

The sun hung directly above Cai’s head like a monitoring spirit, burning through the thin mountain air. He knelt on the rough stone courtyard, his palms flat on the ground, back rigid and sweat rolling down his spine in slow trails.

His muscles trembled, but he refused to let his body fold. If he fell, the Old Master would make him start over.

And Cai would rather die on the spot.

A ring of boys stood around him, their faces filled with eagerness and mockery, their laughter too loud for boys who had nothing better to do.

“Look at him,” one snickered, nudging another with his elbow. “Still pretending like he didn’t do it.”

Another boy leaned forward, his voice dripping with the kind of mockery that tasted sweet only to cowards. “Cai, why don’t you just admit it? You’re the one who cursed under the Sacred Tree. And don’t forget you littered there too.”

Cai lifted his head just enough to glare at them through sweat-matted hair. His jaw clenched so hard the vein in his neck pulsed.

“May a thousand fleas infest your armpits,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low and poisonous. “When Master lets me stand, I’ll make you cry for your ancestors.”

The boys howled with laughter.

“Oh? You’ll ruin me? With what?” one taunted. “Your stupidity?”

Another chimed in, “You’re the oldest disciple yet you can’t do a simple trick. You don’t know one spell. Not one. What exactly do you do here besides eat the Master’s food?”

“Don’t forget being stubborn,” another added. “He’s a menace. Even the wind avoids him.”

Cai kept his eyes on the ground, but his fingers pressed harder into the stone. His blood was boiling with rage as he cursed the boys under his breath.

He didn’t answer them again. Answering them would be giving them what they wanted. Instead, he cursed them silently again, one by one, planning exactly how he would get back at each of them the moment he was released. His imagination was creative.

He kept kneeling. For hours.

Until a voice cut through the heat.

“CITY PEOPLE ARE HERE!”

The courtyard erupted.

Every boy turned toward the path that led down the mountain, their eyes shining with excitement. City people meant novelty. City people meant stories from a world they hadn’t seen in months, in years. Some of them came here at thirteen, others at ten, and Qilan Mountain swallowed time in its own way.

Curiosity was the only rebellion they had left.

One boy nudged Clem, who had just joined them. “Maybe they’re here for you,” he said with awe. “Maybe your sister finally came to take you back.”

Clem straightened instantly, a grin blooming across his face. Clem, the Old Master’s seventh disciple was a spoiled, pampered young man who is convinced the world rotated around him. He’d only been here six months, yet the boys adored him like he carried the scent of the city on his sleeves.

Clem was sent here by his eldest sister to serve punishment and as a way for him to lay low for the coming months.

The way he speaks was so different from them and even though he had only been here for a few months, he had proved that he was better than them in the city aspect. So he was treated differently.

“It could be her,” Clem said proudly. “About time too. I can’t keep living like a mountain goat.”

They laughed and clung to his every word.

“Clem, don’t forget us when you go back,” one begged. “Bring us sweets!”

“And some real shoes! And city clothes!”

“And maybe a music box!”

Clem puffed up. “Of course I’ll send things. Except Cai. That one can rot in here. He's been here for years, I don't think he's going to ever leave this mountain.”

The boys cackled again. Cai didn’t move, didn’t even bother to look up. But his lip curled slightly, the promise of future retaliation tucked safely behind his teeth.

Then the temple bell echoed once.

The boys rushed to the Master’s open courtyard, a wide stone space that wasn’t quite a temple. The Old Master stood there, his long white hair tied high and posture straight as a sword. Before him were three men dressed in black, their presence too controlled and unmistakably city-trained. It was obvious that they were bodyguards, without question.

The boys exchanged excited looks. “He’s looking at Clem!” one whispered, trembling with anticipation.

“It’s really him!”

“They’re here for him!”

Clem beamed, already imagining his triumphant descent from Qilan Mountain.

He stepped forward, rehearsing his farewell speech under his breath. “I’ll miss all of you… I’ll write letters… I’ll send gifts…”

The Old Master raised a hand, signaling him. Clem ran immediately with eagerness and stopped before them with the grin of someone convinced the world was about to fold neatly at his feet.

The Old Master didn’t return the smile.

Instead, he said, his voice calm:

“Go and get Cai. Tell him to pack his bags and change into something decent. Quickly.”

Clem’s grin cracked. He looked at the three men again, their faces blank, unreadable, absolutely not looking at him.

His throat tightened.

“Master…” he whispered, his voice suddenly small. “They… they’re not here for me?”

The Old Master inhaled slowly, as if preparing himself for the boy’s heartbreak.

“No,” he said simply. “Hurry up and get Cai.”

Clem didn’t move at first. He stood frozen in front of the Old Master, face pulled tight, pride leaking out of him like air from a stabbed drum. Then he swallowed hard, bowed just enough to look obedient, and turned away slowly.

The moment his back faced the Master, his expression curdled.

He stormed toward the training yard where Cai was still kneeling, his footsteps loud and petty. The boys trailed after him like uncertain shadows, waiting to see how badly his pride had been wounded.

Clem reached Cai and kicked a small stone in his direction — not hard, but sharp enough to show his bruised ego.

“Get up,” Clem snapped, voice edged with bitterness. “Master wants you. Pack your things. Now.”

Cai raised his head, sweat dripping down his chin, brows knotted in a frown. “What for?” he asked flatly. “To beat me again?”

Some of the boys snickered, expecting Clem to make a joke. But Clem wasn’t laughing. His jaw worked as he tried to swallow the humiliation.

“They’re… here for you,” Clem muttered through clenched teeth.

The yard went quiet.

One boy gasped. Another elbowed his friend, whispering, “He’s lying, right?”

“Maybe he hit his head.”

“Impossible.”

“Cai? For what? To clean their shoes?”

Clem snapped around and glared at them. “Shut up! If Master said they’re here for Cai, then they’re here for Cai. Why would I lie?”

The boys fell silent — not because they believed him, but because Clem rarely spoke without confidence. And even in anger, there was no hint of a joke in his voice.

Cai stood slowly, every muscle in his body protesting after the long punishment. He dusted his palms on his rough trousers, eyes narrowing.

“They came… for me?” His tone was not awe — just suspicion and disbelief layered over simmering irritation. He’d suffered hours of painful punishment, knees raw, pride blistered. Being summoned now felt like an insult on top of injury.

Clem didn’t care about Cai’s disbelief or his anger. He just wanted this over with. “Go, Cai,” he said tightly. “Master said to change into something decent. So don’t go there smelling like rotten eggs.”

Cai shot him a glare sharp enough to peel bark from a tree, but he turned away and stalked toward the small hut where he kept his few belongings.

…

Some minutes later, he reappeared.

Cai walked toward the Old Master’s courtyard dressed in the finest robe he owned, a dark, simple garment that had once been far too big for him but now fit well enough. His hair was tied back, though strands still fell across his forehead, and he carried a worn bundle under one arm.

His expression was carved from pure confusion, with irritation simmering beneath it. He’d just knelt in the sun for hours, sweat soaking through his punishment clothes, heat blistering his patience… and now suddenly he was the center of attention?

He didn’t like it. The boys watched him approach, staring with a mixture of awe, jealousy, suspicion, and shock.

“Is this real?” one whispered.

“Maybe they mistook him for Clem.”

“But… the Master called him by name.”

“Cai? What would city people want with Cai?”

Even Clem, sulking at the back of the group, muttered, “Don’t let it get to your head. Probably some pity visit.”

Cai ignored them all, tightening his grip on his bundle. Every part of him was tense, not from fear, but from the feeling that life was about to flip without asking for his permission.

And Cai hated surprises.

He stepped into the courtyard, her eyes moving from the Master to the three black-clad men who stood like carved stone. Their gazes landed on him instantly, assessing him from head to toe in a way that made the back of his neck prickle.

Cai swallowed once. “Master… why am I here?” he asked, his voice edged with annoyance.

The Old Master didn’t answer immediately. Instead, one of the men stepped forward and bowed low. “Young Master, we are here to take you home. You’ve been summoned by your grandfather… the Patriarch of the Arrows Family.”

A wave passed through the training yard. The Arrows Family?

Even boys who had never set foot off Qilan Mountain in years knew that name, the kind of name that could shake the whole world if it wanted to.

Cai’s brows knitted. He looked from the kneeling man, to Clem who was pretending not to stare, to the Old Master… then back to the man again. “Are you sure you’re here for me?”

Why is the Patriach summoning someone as useless as him after all these years?

The Old Master didn’t answer immediately. He held Cai’s gaze for a long, heavy moment. It was the kind of stare that carried years of frustration, patience, pain, and something else Cai didn’t recognize anymore. Then, slowly, the Old Master’s face softened. A small smile tugged at his lips, the first Cai had seen in years.

“It’s time to leave Qilan Mountain, child.”

A cold breeze swept through the courtyard as if the mountain itself exhaled. But before Cai could speak, before he could take a single step toward the life waiting beyond these cold stones, another man in the group lifted his head, met Cai’s eyes, and said quietly:

“Your grandfather is dying… and he named you as the one he wants to see last.”