Dao of Money

When Chen Ren first found himself in the cultivation world, he’d entertained a few fantasies about what his path might look like. Would he become a sword-wielding prodigy, cleaving through sect rivals gracefully and skillfully? Or perhaps he’d find his calling in the intricate arts of arrays, mastering their complexities to shape the battlefield? And, like any man might in this strange, mystical world, he briefly considered the idea of amassing a harem— after all, that seemed to be a common theme in stories about powerful cultivators.

But making noodles? He’d definitely never expected that to be where he ended up.

Yet, here he was, running a noodle stall that had, in just a week, become the talk of the marketplace.

Every day, a steady stream of customers came by, drawn by the novelty of an eastern delicacy that no one else in the region was offering. It wasn’t just the taste of the noodles that brought them in— Chen Ren’s marketing tactics had spread his name throughout the streets like wildfire. Free samples, word of mouth from his customers and the curious spectacle of his stall with the long queue had made it impossible for anyone to miss it.

The man selling noodles, a dish unfamiliar to most, stood out even among the countless food vendors.

And then there were the kids.

Chen Ren had never been one to encourage child labour, but in this case, he saw it differently.

The group of street children who helped him were hungry, and for them, assisting with his stall wasn’t about earning coins— it was about earning a meal.

According to them, there had been days when they hadn’t eaten at all. Though Chen Ren hadn’t lived a life on the streets, he understood enough to sympathise with them. The thought of them going hungry left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he saw this as a way to offer them something better, however small it might be.

Over the days, he’d gotten to know the kids better. The leader of the group was a girl named Mei Lin, small but fierce, with sharp eyes and an even sharper tongue. She was the one who had organised the others, making sure they didn’t cause too much trouble around the stall.The boys followed her lead: Chun, the quiet one who always worked the hardest; Bo, who often tried to sneak extra noodles when he thought no one was looking; and Jian, the smallest but the one with the loudest laugh.

Thanks to his noodle business, the kids seemed to be in far better shape now. Their cheeks looked a little less hollow, and their energy had doubled, quite the difference from when he’d first met them.

From selling sixty bowls of noodles a day, Chen Ren’s business had doubled. He now dished out a hundred and twenty bowls, sometimes barely keeping up with the demand.

The small pot he used to cook noodles wasn’t enough anymore, and every morning, he had to haul back twenty pounds of noodles just to meet the appetites of his growing customer base. It wasn’t just the number of bowls sold that had increased— his profit margins did too.

All the ingredients were cheap, and thanks to a little bit of ingenuity (and the connections he had through Tang Xiulan), Chen Ren had managed to cut costs even further. Vegetables, which should’ve eaten into his profits, were basically free compared to the other costs.

Tang Clan regularly bought high-quality vegetables to serve to guests, but often, the excess went unused and would have spoiled if no one ate it. He figured he was doing them a favour by taking the leftovers off their hands. With the vegetables thrown into the mix, the noodles appealed more and even when they cost more, there was a steady base of customers who were willing to pay for them.

Still, despite his booming business, the road to clearing his debts was long.

Feng Ming’s threat had not disappeared, and even if Chen Ren managed to sell a hundred twenty bowls every single day for the next two months and save every last copper coin, he still wouldn’t be able to pay off everything. But that wasn’t the point.

The fact that he’d gotten this far at all was something worth celebrating. It was a start— A damn good one at that!

His noodle stall was only going to get bigger and better, proving that his earthly knowledge could, in fact, give him an edge in this world. This world wasn’t just about swords and qi, he thought to himself with a small smirk. Sometimes, noodles could prove to be effective, too.

There was something else, too. Despite being busy from dawn until dusk with the noodle stall, Chen Ren couldn’t help but notice that his cultivation had improved.

Just a week had passed since his breakthrough, but it felt like he had already made progress. It wasn’t much, but the flow of qi in his core was smoother, more natural. It was as if, somehow, the act of running his business was feeding into his cultivation.

“As I said before, progressing in one’s dao helps advance one’s cultivation,” the familiar voice of the cat echoed in his mind, a sly purr lacing her words. “Since you’re working on your stall, making money every day, you’re progressing your dao, and that’s why you’re seeing these changes in your cultivation.”

Chen Ren frowned, considering her words. He’d heard about martial daos before, but… no matter how much he thought about dao of money, it felt like something completely different than those. Far more powerful even. “So, you’re saying my cultivation’s improving because I’m selling noodles?”

“Yes, that’s what I’m saying”, the cat confirmed, her tone nonchalant. “But I’ve never seen such a dao in my lifetime. It’s an esoteric dao, something I don’t quite understand.”

Chen Ren’s frown deepened at that. “Esoteric dao?”

“Yes,” the cat continued, her voice tinged with frustration as if she was explaining something common. “Esoteric daos are unconventional paths. They pop up every so often, but they’re rare. Few practitioners of these daos ever make a name for themselves because they don’t follow the usual paths— like swordsmanship or alchemy. The last one I heard about was a century ago. Some guy managed to merge to the dao of farming… I think he had a giant chicken that guarded his barn and annihilated a few sects.”

He blinked. “A giant chicken?”

“That’s right,” she purred, amusement bubbling in her voice. “He and the chicken wiped out entire sects that tried to mess with him. At least that’s the rumour that travelled to my ears. So, while these esoteric daos aren’t common, they can be powerful in their own way.”

He briefly moved his eyes away from her and watched the stall. His eyes drifted over the crowd. Business was booming, and his plan to expand was coming together. But it wasn’t just the money that interested him anymore.

To his eyes, all these people seemed as if they were giant balls of qi, his to claim.

“So, it means the more money I make from my stall, the more I’ll progress in my cultivation?” He asked, his voice echoing in his mind, aimed at the cat who was in the process of stretching her body after half of a day just lying around.

The cat’s voice responded in his head, her tone unimpressed. “Not exactly. You’ll progress for a while, but it’ll get harder. You’ll hit a point where the stall alone won’t be enough.” She flicked her tail lazily. “Even in martial daos, you can’t just rely on the same moves forever. You have to learn new techniques, face new challenges, or do something meaningful to advance. It’s the same for you… whatever-you’re-calling-this-dao. Money dao? Business Dao? Noodle Dao?” She chuckled softly in his head. “Either way, just selling noodles won’t be enough in the long run.”

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“So, you’re saying I’ll need more businesses than just this noodle stall to keep progressing?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Yalan purred, her voice amused. “It gets harder, not easier. Eventually, the stall won’t cut it, and you’ll have to find new ways to challenge yourself. Even the best cooks can’t give the same dish to their master everyday. They will lose their heads if they do so.”

Chen Ren’s eyes flicked to Xiulan, who was handing out bowls of noodles to another satisfied customer. She was running things smoothly, which was good because it gave him time to think.

The cat’s words made sense. He had already been considering expanding beyond the stall. While it was fun to grow his little operation from nothing into something more substantial, like a business empire— McDonald’s of the cultivation world— he knew it wouldn’t be enough.

He had no intention of making his entire life revolve around selling noodles, even if it was turning out to be a surprising success.

I was anyway thinking about making new things. Despite having magical kung fu, the common population severely lacks things that could make life easier, Chen Ren thought to himself. The idea of having multiple ventures appealed to him.

There were too many opportunities in this world to ignore. Plus, if his cultivation was tied to his business success, why not expand? He wasn’t going to limit himself.

As his thoughts shifted, another nagging memory came to the surface— the dragon. He hadn’t asked Yalan about it yet, not since the day the dragon first appeared.

It had vanished just as quickly as it had come, leaving him with questions that had been clawing at him for a week now. The dragon hadn’t reappeared, but he couldn’t get it out of his head.

I should probably ask about the dragon, he thought, but just as the question was about to form in his mind, movement at the front of the stall caught his attention.

The line was moving up, but instead of another customer, a man in a guard’s uniform stepped forward, disregarding the long line completely.

Chen Ren’s eyes looked over the man, taking in the details. He was broad-shouldered, standing a little taller than most, with a rough stubble covering his square jaw. His uniform was well-worn, the kind of attire that had seen its fair share of dirty work. His eyes were sharp, but there was something off in the way he looked down at Chen Ren— like he was sizing him up.

Chen Ren stepped forward, his voice light. “Do you need some noodles?”

The guard didn’t respond right away, his gaze lingering on Chen Ren for just a moment too long, as if they were locked in some kind of silent contest of will.

Chen Ren raised his eyebrows, wondering if this was about to turn into some strange show of strength, but before he could speak again, the guard’s voice rumbled low.

“I’ve gotten a tip that you don’t have the licence to open a stall here,” the guard said, looking around at the people whose attention slowly started to shift towards them.

Chen Ren opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, the guard slammed his fist down on the edge of the stall. The wooden surface shook under the force of the blow, sending one of the bowls teetering dangerously. But before it could fall, Chen Ren’s reflexes kicked in, and he caught the bowl mid-fall, placing it safely back on the counter.

“I do have a permit,” Chen Ren said calmly, his eyes narrowing as he met the guard’s gaze.

The guard scoffed. “Where is it, then?”

Chen Ren reached into his robes, his fingers brushing against the familiar texture of parchment as he pulled out the permit.

The paper had a slight crinkle to it, a sign of its frequent use over the past few days. He had prepared for this exact scenario, knowing that in a city like this, a rising business was bound to attract some unwanted attention. With a calmness that he didn’t feel on the inside, he extended the permit to the guard.

The man snatched it with deliberate slowness, his eyes scanning the document as if trying to find something—anything—that could be used against the stall.

His lips twitched slightly as he read the details, and the crease in his brow deepened, betraying his frustration.

“It’s a new one,” the guard muttered, his voice carrying an edge that suggested he was searching for a reason to doubt.

Chen Ren didn’t flinch. His expression remained neutral, though a small smirk threatened to tug at the corner of his lips. “The stall is new too,” he replied coolly, his gaze unwavering.

The guard’s eyes flicked up from the permit, locking onto Chen Ren’s face. “I’ve heard you’re selling some kind of… eastern delicacy,” he said, his tone dripping with suspicion. “Is that true, or are you faking it?”

For the first time, Chen Ren’s brows lightly knitted together. Faking it? Yes, he was doing that, but the guard had no reason to care about that.

His voice was firm as he responded, “I got it from the east. You don’t see anyone else selling noodles like mine, do you?” He leaned in slightly, his gaze narrowing. “And even if it were fake, I didn’t hear any regulation about false advertising. Did I miss that section in the guidelines?”

The guard opened his mouth, clearly ready to argue the point, but he faltered once he saw Chen Ren’s sharp gaze. “There is…” he began, his words trailing off uncertainty.

Chen Ren seized the opportunity. “There isn’t,” he said, his voice sharp but calm. “I read the guidelines thoroughly. I even asked the clerk who issued me the permit. There’s nothing in there about false advertising. So if you want to accuse me of something, make sure you’re ready for the consequences. And remember—” his voice dropped slightly, “I’m not a mortal.”

The guard’s eyes widened ever so slightly, the shift in Chen Ren’s tone clearly unsettling him.

His gaze flicked downward, taking in Chen Ren’s robes. For the first time, he seemed to truly notice the fine quality of the fabric, the noticeable patterns woven into it. His expression changed, the initial aggression fading into something more cautious.

Without another word, the guard handed the permit back, his movements stiff. “I’ll be keeping an eye on the stalls from now on,” he muttered, the earlier bluster gone from his voice. “Don’t do anything shady.”

Chen Ren simply nodded, watching as the guard turned and walked away, his back a little too rigid, his steps a little too quick. The tension in the air seemed to lift slightly as the man disappeared into the crowd.

He let out a long, measured sigh, the weight of the interaction slipping off his shoulders.

“What was that about?” Xiulan’s voice broke through the moment, and Chen Ren turned to see her standing nearby, her brow furrowed in confusion.

“My first guess was a bribe,” Chen Ren said, shaking his head slightly. “But he didn’t ask for anything when we were talking. Never even hinted at it. I think it’s more than that.”

Xiulan’s frown deepened. “More than that? What do you mean?”

Chen Ren’s gaze flicked toward the spot where the guard had stood moments ago. “He didn’t take anything from any other stall. Not even a glance in their direction. He came straight to us. And then he left, just like that. He probably wanted to cause trouble for any little thing he could find, but got scared once he realised I’m a cultivator. He was aiming for us specifically.”

“That’s… bad news,” Xiulan said softly. She crossed her arms, a frown settling on her brow as she considered Chen Ren’s words. “Do you think someone is targeting us?”

“Potentially,” Chen Ren replied, his voice steady. He leaned against the stall, gazing out at the bustling crowd that had formed, the scent of his freshly made noodles wafting through the air. “After all, we did get big in such a short amount of time. People are bound to be jealous of a growing rival business. It’s human nature. Now we need to think about who might be out there trying to get us and prepare for whatever comes our way.”

Xiulan nodded, something akin to caution glinting in her eyes as she returned to her tasks, deftly arranging bowls and garnishing the noodles with fresh herbs.

But before Chen Ren could delve further into his thoughts, a familiar voice piped up from his mind. “This seems annoying, but I’ve seen it a lot before.”

He knotted his hands together and stared at the dissolving crowd, thinking of what Yalan had just said. “Where have you seen this?”

The cat’s voice was almost nonchalant— as always, yet there was an undercurrent of seriousness. “I was part of a sect once. You wouldn’t believe how much infighting there was whenever a talented individual rose to prominence. People who felt threatened by that talent would either try to pull them into their camp or eliminate them entirely. It was fairly straightforward.”

Chen Ren felt a chill run down his spine at her words. The life of a cultivator was often harsh, but hearing it from someone who had lived through it made it all the more real.

Yalan continued, “And if anyone tries to kill you, well… guards are mortals anyway.”

Chen Ren shook his head slightly, then stopped doing it, noticing how he might look to the outsiders. “I don’t want to kill anyone, especially not over a noodle shop conflict. There are better ways to resolve this.”

“Like what?” the cat pressed, her curiosity piqued.

He fell silent for a moment, considering his options. Then, after a pause filled with contemplation, he finally spoke. “I might have a few plans. But first, we need to find out who we’re standing against.”