Dao of Money

For a moment, Chen Ren thought the man was glaring directly at him. The intensity of his gaze felt like it could pierce through the crowd, locking him in place. But then, the man’s eyes shifted elsewhere, and he turned, disappearing into the throng of spectators without a second glance.

“What’s wrong?” Yalan asked, her voice laced with curiosity as she perched on the railing.

“Nothing,” Chen Ren replied evenly, though his thoughts were still racing. “Can you see through that man?”

Yalan tilted her head, her small eyes narrowing as she scanned the crowd. “No. He seems to have some sort of detection-blocking artefact. But I don’t think he’s that strong. Probably a bit weaker than you, actually.”

“Is that so?” Chen Ren mused, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Then I’m just being paranoid. He seems like one of the competitors, but if he’s not that strong, he probably won’t do well in the tournament.”

Yalan’s tail flicked once. “Yeah, you should just focus on selling your stuff and your battles. Leave the rest to fate.”

Chen Ren nodded, though a lingering unease remained in his chest. His mind drifted back to that night with the spectral rhinos, when even the shadows felt much more dangerous than they actually were. Since then, paranoia tugged at him every now and then. He supposed it was inevitable, given that the demonic cultivator hadn’t been caught yet.

He could be anywhere, Chen Ren thought grimly. But like Yalan had said, it would take either a fool or someone incredibly reckless to attend a tournament crawling with cultivators.

He exhaled, shaking off the feeling, and was brought back to the present by a shout. “Hey, ice cream man! Over here!”

Chen Ren turned to see a burly man waving him over impatiently. He grabbed a bowl, scooped out a serving of ice cream, and walked over to hand it off. The man grunted his thanks before digging in, leaving Chen Ren to return to his stand. ***

The battle royale round ended quickly, the competitors falling one by one as the arena grew quieter, leaving only the strongest standing. Chen Ren had hoped to spectate the entire event, watching the clashes of cultivators to learn more about his potential threats, but most of his attention was consumed by his stall and the handcart he had set up inside the arena.

Seeing other vendors peddling their goods made it clear that he wasn’t the only one with this idea, many had bribed the guards to set up shop inside the arena. Though, unlike his ice cream and chips, their sales were much slower, their goods were not as unique or appealing to the crowds.

Day by day, Chen Ren found himself selling over three hundred bowls of noodles, about one hundred and fifty packs of chips, and around a hundred servings of ice cream. While it seemed like the ice cream wasn’t making as much, its price was higher than the other items, and unlike noodles or chips, it had a dedicated group of recurring customers who returned for it every day in the arena.

At a glance, it was clear Chen Ren was doing well. He was pulling in hundreds of silver wen every day, and his qi was constantly swirling within him, rising as his cultivation slowly increased with each passing moment.

He could feel a breakthrough coming, the pull of his cultivation urging him to step forward. But Chen Ren held back. He didn’t want to use the opportunity just yet—he was saving it for the semi-finals.

A small voice in his mind warned him that he might not even reach the semi-finals, but he chose to ignore it.

Confidence in his abilities was key, especially knowing he had many tricks up his sleeve. If he was honest with himself, he felt he could hold his own against even a qi refinement realm cultivator. But fortunately, or unfortunately, he never got the chance to test it.

After all, each of his opponents kept surrendering.

“Zichen surrenders! Chen Ren wins the round and secures his place in the semi-finals!” An official announced and was followed by a brief pause, his voice ringing clearly through the arena. “The defeated cultivator Meng Tou will receive the standard rewards for the top 8— five spirit stones, three pills, and one weapon of his choice!”

A ripple of murmurs spread through the crowd, though Chen Ren hardly noticed. He allowed himself a small smile at the announcement, but his attention was already on his opponent. The man’s face was twisted into a grimace, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. Every fiber of his being radiated frustration and humiliation.

Meng Tou had surrendered without even launching a single attack, a decision influenced by something far beyond his control.

The man’s shoulders shook with barely restrained anger, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts. He cast one final glare—at Chen Ren, then at the sky—before stepping off the stage. His movements were stiff, as if each step was an effort to hold himself together.

Chen Ren’s smile faded, replaced by a more somber expression. A pang of sympathy tugged at him. He understood too well how it felt to be powerless, to have no choice but to surrender before even launching one punch.

His thoughts drifted to his previous opponent, the girl he had faced in the top 16. She had looked on the verge of tears as she surrendered, her head bowed in defeat. The memory of her trembling hands and downcast gaze lingered uncomfortably in his mind. He hadn’t known what to say then, and even now, words seemed inadequate.

Instead, he had sent Xiulan to offer her some ice cream after the match. It was a small gesture, hardly enough to erase the sting of defeat, but he hoped it had brought her a sliver of comfort. Watching her accept it with hesitant gratitude had lightened the weight on his chest, if only a little.

Ice cream was, after all, a good comfort dessert.

The world wasn’t kind, and it was easy to feel sorry for those forced to give up, but in his heart, he knew he would’ve won against both of them regardless of their circumstances. He tried to think of it positively.

The competition wasn’t about fairness; it was about survival. And though he knew it was a bit underhanded, scheming was part of the game. There were no rules barring him from using every trick at his disposal, and the so-called righteous cultivators here were no different than the bloodthirsty murderhobos, all pride and ego, willing to do anything to stay on top.

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Still, the boos of the crowd affected him a bit. Their discontent was palpable—jeers and shouts of “coward” and other insults rang through the air. They were disappointed by the lack of a fight, and though he understood why, it didn’t make it any easier to bear. He turned toward them, meeting their eyes for a brief moment, and silently vowed to turn their boos into cheers next time.

The trick might not work in the semi-finals, but he’d make sure they wouldn’t be disappointed again.

Before stepping off the platform, Chen Ren’s gaze shifted upward. He noticed a special area in the arena, elevated above the crowd, reserved for important figures.

It looked like a VIP box at a sports match, and in it sat a few individuals, observing the events below. Among them, his eyes landed on an old man with a large beard, dressed in robes that immediately told Chen Ren he was from the Soaring Sword Sect. Chen Ren vaguely recalled him from the sect entrance examinations. He caught Chen Ren’s eyes with the air of someone who had seen it all, someone who wouldn’t easily be impressed.

His eyes seemed… calculating, observing him from above and taking everything in.

Next to the elder sat a burly man, his intense gaze focused on the arena with a scowl on his face. His expensive robes indicated his high status, and the way he spoke angrily to a man seated to his left confirmed his importance. Chen Ren recognised him immediately—the city lord, Li Baolong. From the way he glared at the proceedings, Chen Ren guessed that the city lord was none too pleased with how things were unfolding.

He probably disapproved of Chen Ren’s unorthodox methods. But as long as he didn’t break any rules, there was nothing the city lord could do to him.

As he took in the scene, Chen Ren couldn’t help but notice the differences between Li Xuan and his father. The city lord and his son clearly didn’t share much in terms of appearance. Chen Ren had expected some resemblance, but Li Xuan didn’t seem to look anything like the older man, suggesting he must have inherited his features from his mother.

After giving a respectful bow toward the distinguished figures in the VIP box, Chen Ren turned away. He wasn’t here to cater to the whims of the powerful. He had his eyes on the prize—preparing for the semi-finals. With his next fight on the horizon, he knew it might not be able to get away with it without fighting.

***

The city lord, Li Baolong, sat in the elevated stands in the arena, his eyes never leaving it. His lips were tightened in frustration as he watched the battle end in surrender. His gaze landed on the young man who had gotten an entry into the semi-finals without a single scratch on him and the crowd’s harsh words and boos that followed him. Their discontent was palpable.

Li Baolong clenched his jaw, his anger simmering beneath the surface. “Isn’t this a mockery of our city’s tournament?” he muttered under his breath, his words leaving his mouth heavy with disdain. His leg continuously bounced up and down impatiently. “Someone makes it to the semi-finals and hasn’t even bled once in the process? Not a single exchange of blows, no real effort. Why is everyone surrendering like this to this man? What’s his background?”

A steward standing nearby, his posture stiff with unease and the long hours of standing, quickly leaned in to answer. “Lord, he’s a man from Red Peak City. His name is Chen Ren and he has gained some notoriety for two reasons. First, he won a Trial by Might against Bai Shen, the young master of the Bai Hu Trade Association. Second, his businesses, particularly his perfumes, are becoming quite popular among mortal women in the region. However, the real reason behind the surrender is a rumor. It is said that Cang Rui of the Cang Clan has spread word that anyone fighting this man will earn the ire of his clan. According to the rumor, only Cang Rui is allowed to defeat him.”

Li Baolong’s face darkened further, the disbelief etched across his features twisting into a mixture of anger and incredulity. “That’s bullshit!” he snapped, his voice rising. “If that’s the reason, then what does it say about this tournament? A man who doesn’t even break a sweat in his victories, and people surrendering left and right? It’s all because of rumors?” His voice dripped with derision as he leaned forward, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the chair’s armrests. “This is disgraceful! Where’s the honor in this?”

His anger mounting, Li Baolong turned sharply toward the man seated to his right, a figure draped in deep purple robes and adorned with an air of reserved authority. “Lord Cang, is that true?” his voice carried a biting edge, the question less a query and more a demand for an explanation.

The man, Cang Huasheng, maintained his composure despite the pointed accusation. He inclined his head in a show of respect, though his expression betrayed a flicker of discomfort. “I must apologize, Lord Li,” he said. “It is true that my son, Cang Rui, has always been hasty in his words. He was deeply offended by this man, and perhaps his pride got the better of him. It seems he may have spoken out of turn, and for that, I take full responsibility. But rest assured,” he added, “there is no way this man will make it out of the semi-finals. I will personally ensure that whoever fights him doesn’t hold back in their match.”

Li Baolong’s anger simmered, his lips pressing into a thin line as he nodded sharply. “Do that,” he said curtly. “And next time, tell your son to keep his mouth shut. Spreading such rumors brings a very bad flavour to the tournament. At this rate, even someone entirely unworthy could make it to the semi-finals.”

Just as the tension in the room seemed to settle, a voice cut through the charged atmosphere. “Unworthy? I doubt that, Lord Li.”

The words came from Elder Yan Xiu of the Soaring Sword Sect, who had been quietly observing the proceedings from his seat. His voice was calm yet carried a weight of authority that commanded attention.

Li Baolong’s gaze snapped toward Yan Xiu, his brow furrowing in confusion and annoyance. “What do you mean?” he asked, his tone laced with scepticism. “Do you think a mere seventh-star body-forging realm cultivator is worthy of making it this far? Greater cultivators have failed long before reaching the semi-finals. Even the man who surrendered just now was at the ninth star.”

Yan Xiu nodded thoughtfully. “You are right, Lord Li, but cultivation realms aren’t everything.” He paused, eyes narrowing at parts of the crowd. “Despite the surrenders, that man’s entire body stance was fitted for battle as if he was prepared for even a fight rather than a surrender. His eyes—there was no fear in them. Moreover, one of his hands was very close to the pockets of his robes. He has planned things in advance. He might not have great cultivation, but I don’t think he’s here just because of circumstances. He might just surprise you.”

Lord Li Baolong opened his mouth to respond, but just then, another figure entered the box, cutting him off.

“I agree with that.”

Everyone turned as Tang Jihao, the esteemed elder from the Tang Clan, walked in. His complexion looked a little better than the last time they had seen him, and even his walk—exuded an air of dignity.

Li Baolong raised an eyebrow, a little surprised. “You look to be having better health now, Tang Jihao.”

Tang Jihao gave a modest smile, nodding respectfully. “My daughter’s success has made my illness much more tolerable,” he said. “I didn’t want to miss watching the tournament, so I came here in person.”

Everyone nodded in acknowledgment, and Tang Jihao settled into a seat beside them. Li Baolong, however, was still deep in thought. He turned toward him. “What do you mean, you agree with elder Yan Xiu?” he asked.

“Chen Ren lives with me.” His eyes were distant as he looked at the arena, seeing how people were mingling with each other. “And I must admit, I’ve been surprised by him every step of the way. I’ve seen him push through situations that would have broken most others. I have confidence in him. His abilities go beyond what others might perceive at first glance.”

Lord Li Baolong studied Tang Jihao closely. “Confidence is good, Tang Jihao,” he replied, “But I don’t think just that will help the young man. After all, soon there will only be four people left, and none of them will be weak enough to surrender. He’ll have to fight—really fight—and then we will see if he’s actually worthy.”

Tang Jihai turned in his seat slightly and looked at Li Baolong in his eyes. He offered a gentle smile and said, “We’ll see, Lord Li. We’ll see if my confidence in him is misplaced.”

The city lord snorted, clearly not convinced. “We shall, indeed! But when the real battle begins, only the strongest will remain. We’ll see how your young friend fares then.”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.