Dao of Money

Just a mortal.

That’s all he was, and all he’d ever be.

Gao Shun peered down across the village perimeter, standing on top of the newly erected ramparts of Meadow Village. The wood beneath his boots still smelled of fresh bark that was uneven and splintered in places. It was crude work—lashed logs and hammered stakes—and it would barely hold against a real beast rising. But it wasn’t meant to. Not really.

He knew that. After all, this would be the twenty-fifth beast rising of his life.

The real purpose of the wall, he understood, was to give men like him something to believe in. A line to stand behind. A symbol that maybe this time, things would be different.

Usually, he wouldn’t be so sure.

He’d passed most risings on the road—moving deeper into the Empire when he could, sheltering in rat-cold bunkers when he couldn’t. He’d seen towns hold. He’d seen towns fall. One time, he’d watched a city burn for three days while the nobles fled in sky carriages and left the rest of them behind.

He never had the coin to go where the sects were. And even if he did, the gates of those cities never opened for refugees like him. It was saddening, but it was his reality. Not just his, but the reality for many mortals.

A city could only take so much.

But here, in this muddy village where the main road still turned to soup when it rained, something felt… different. He didn’t want to say it aloud, but the thought lingered anyway—maybe they’ll survive this one.Because for the first time in his life, Gao Shun was standing beside cultivators. Real ones.

He’d doubted it at first, of course. Some new sect setting up themselves in Meadow Village? It sounded like a joke. It reminded him too much of that time in a western village when a scam artist painted his skin gold and paraded as an immortal. They built him a shrine. Worshipped him for a year until the beast rising started.

That day, the village had been annihilated. Everyone there had pinned their hopes on the so-called cultivator who blessed their wells and claimed to command the heavens. When the beasts came, he vanished. Vanished like smoke in the wind. Gao Shun remembered the screaming. The silence after.

That’s why he didn’t trust easily. Not the heavens. Not sects. And definitely not men with power.

But this time… this time was different. It felt different.

A massive pitch-black wolf sat next to him on the rampart, lazily licking its paws like it didn’t have a care in the world. It had the bulk of a cart horse and the muscle of a predator. No mortal could tame such a thing. And yet, the villagers walked past it like it was a well-fed farm dog.

Gao Shun kept glancing at it, more curious than scared now. Something about its round belly and half-lidded eyes made him think of the mutts back in his childhood home—the ones that slept by the hearth and begged for scraps. Honestly, the beast looked less like a wolf and more like a dog that had eaten too well for too long and simply kept growing.

Still, the urge to pet it stayed locked behind his ribs. He liked living.

He didn’t want to disturb a peaceful looking beast. As he looked at it, something happened. His eyes widened when the wolf’s ears twitched suddenly.

In an instant, its body tensed. Its nails extended from its paws and it growled. It was a low and a deep growl that felt like thunder in its throat.

Gao Shun froze, taking a cautious step back. Had it sensed his thoughts? Did it somehow know he’d imagined rubbing its stupid fluffy head?

Maybe he should move from where he was—

He immediately noticed where the wolf’s gaze was fixated. It was not on him. But beyond the wall, into the forest. Others began to notice too. The entire crowd looked beyond the wall.

That was when a figure moved through the gathering of guards and villagers atop the rampart, parting the crowd with silent authority. Zi Wen, one of the cultivators. The man was lean but carried himself like steel wrapped in skin, and the wolf—Little Yuze, the villagers called him—perked up at his approach.

“What is it, Little Yuze?” Zi Wen asked.

The beast raised its head and pointed its snout toward the trees.

A beat passed.

Then the man turned and shouted. “Everyone! Bows and guns ready! Beasts incoming!”

That was all they needed.

Gao Shun’s fingers tightened instinctively. His body moved without thought, reaching for the worn bow slung across his back. He wasn’t a soldier, but he’d hunted his whole life during his travels. Rabbit, deer, even the odd wild boar when he was lucky. Archery had kept him alive longer than luck ever did.

He pulled the string, testing the tension. It was old but dependable—like him. Nothing moved. The forest was still.

Maybe it was a false alarm.

Then the ground trembled beneath his feet. Once. Twice. Like distant drum beats getting closer.

A roar erupted through the trees. It wasn’t one beast. It wasn’t even two.

It was a whole damn herd, he could tell.

From the edge of the forest, trees cracked and splintered as hulking shapes burst through. Bull-like creatures—snorting steam, eyes glowing with fury—charged across the open earth like an avalanche of muscle and hate.

Gao Shun swallowed.

The twenty-fifth beast rising of his life had begun.

And seeing the beast, he wasn’t sure if the ramparts—or hope—would hold.

Gao Shun’s breath caught in his throat. Those things—those beasts—were going to smash through the ramparts in a single blow. He could feel it. The crude walls would crumble like straw huts before a storm.

He didn’t wait.

He nocked an arrow, drawing the string back until it creaked with strain. His fingers held steady. All he could do now was wait.

Then, the voice came.

“Attack!” Cultivator Zi Wen’s command cut through the air.

Dozens of bows twanged in unison. Arrows flew like a swarm of wasps, raining down on the oncoming monsters. Most simply bounced off—useless against the thick, armor-like hide of the bulls.

But some, like his, found purchase. One of Gao Shun’s arrows sank into a soft spot near the beast’s throat. A spurt of blood followed.

It didn’t stop.

None of them did.

The creatures charged forward. Their tongues were out, salivating to take a taste of their blood. It was sickening in the stomach, and Gao Shun felt death was coming. Every time an arrow hit the bulls, they didn’t care. Didn’t stop for a second and continued pouncing forward.

Fuck! This is not working!

One of the bulls leapt high, its massive frame blotting out the sun for a moment as it came crashing down toward the wall.

He couldn’t run. Couldn’t breathe.

Bang.

A sound came from behind, tore through the air and hit the beast. Gao Shun blinked in both awe and shock.

What is that? Another sound came. Something long and metal, fast as lightning—shot through the air and slammed into the beast mid-flight. Its body jerked back, limbs twitching as blood erupted from fresh, precise wounds.

More followed.

Each shot drove another beast backward. Flesh tore, blood sprayed, and for the first time… the monsters fell.

Loud shouts escaped their mouths when they were about to die.

The beasts, once unstoppable, now writhed on the ground, howling in agony. Their charge had faltered—stopped cold.

Before Gao Shun could even process what had happened, Little Yuze leapt from the ramparts with terrifying grace. Its form blurred, and suddenly its claws gleamed with a strange, iridescent energy. No longer a lazy, oversized dog—now it moved like death given shape.

It tore into the fallen beasts with visible fury. One slash—dead. Another leap—another cry silenced.

With every kill, the villagers screamed in triumph. Cheering, shouting, their voices filled with disbelief and hope.

Gao Shun found himself yelling with them, his throat raw, his heart pounding. He was cheering Little Yuze. But even as the euphoria built, a question gnawed at him.

What just happened? What had hit the beasts?

Zi Wen hadn’t moved. He was right there—ten paces away, watching like the rest of them.

And Gao Shun knew there were no other cultivators on the rampart right now.

So what was it?

But before Gao Shun could think further, another growl ripped from Little Yuze’s throat.

Still crouched beside a mangled corpse, the wolf’s fur bristled again—and then the forest howled. This time, it wasn’t the bulls.

They came in dozens—smaller, sleeker beasts, their red fur like embers under the sun. Fox-like things with too many tails and eyes that glowed gold. Gao Shun’s blood ran cold.

He knew those. Ember foxes.

Tier one beasts—swift, agile, and worst of all, climbers.

He’d seen them scale stone walls like spiders, biting through tendons and vanishing into the chaos. These things didn’t knock gates down. They climbed over them and tore people apart from the inside.

Gao Shun’s fingers moved fast, pulling another arrow from his quiver, cursing under his breath. They had to stop them before they reached the ramparts.

He nocked it, lifted his bow, took aim—

The same loud sound interrupted him. Then another followed. And another.

Before his arrow ever flew, the foxes were already tumbling backward through the air, bodies twisted, blood spraying in wild arcs. Dozens fell in seconds.

He lowered his bow, eyes wide.

Little Yuze didn’t even move this time.

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He scanned the battlefield, then looked at the rampart, following the direction of the thunderous blasts. That’s when he saw them.

Men and women—mortals, just like him—stationed behind crates and barricades at different points along the wall. They held strange metal weapons in their hands, short and stubby, gleaming with polished barrels. Gao Shun’s breath caught in his throat. What is that?

He looked at the people. One of them he recognized.

A young man who wore the gold-stitched robes of the Divine Coin Sect.

Just as he watched, the man lifted the weapon, adjusted his stance, and curled his finger—

Bang.

A flash occurred and a projectile followed. One of the fox-beasts dropped mid-leap, skull shattered. More followed—one after another. Without a break, the beasts fell to the ground, dying on the spot, all killed by that one young man.

The mortals killed them… all.

Gao Shun’s mouth fell open.

The man hadn’t used any cultivation technique. No glowing runes or hand signs, meaning he was really mortal. Just a twitch of the finger—and a beast died. He looked at his own bow. Then back at the strange weapons.

Those foxes… they weren’t weaklings. They were spirit beasts. Things that would take five men and still leave with a leg in its jaw. And these mortals were butchering them like livestock.

His eyes darted across the rampart, and realization dawned.

Every single person wielding one of those weapons wore the robes of the Divine Coin Sect. The pieces slid together in his mind.

Gao Shun gripped the railing tightly.

The Divine Coin Sect had brought something new to Meadow Village. A weapon that could let mortals kill beasts.

A spirit artifact, probably—but not like any he’d ever seen. Not a flying sword, nor a glowing talisman, nor a jade ring that summoned fire. Just a metal tool in a mortal’s hand. One that could kill beasts.

And the man who used it? Just a mortal like him.

Gao Shun’s heart thudded with something he hadn’t felt in years. Not just awe—possibility.

Was it really just the weapon that made the difference? Could he… use it too?

With the ramparts quiet now, and no more beasts spilling from the trees, he looked toward Zi Wen. The young cultivator stood at the edge of the wall, his robes slightly blowing in the wind, expression distant.

Gao Shun took a breath, swallowed his hesitation, and walked forward.

When he reached him, he gave a deep bow. “Lord Zi Wen, I have something I wish to ask… about the spirit artifacts that let mortals kill the fox-beasts.”

Zi Wen turned to him, brows raised. “You mean the guns?”

Gao blinked. Guns? So that was what they were called. Strange word. But he nodded quickly. “Yes, those, Lord Cultivator.”

He hesitated then pushed forward.

“Can I use one? To help fend off the beasts?”

Zi Wen’s gaze sharpened immediately.

Gao Shun raised his hands in alarm. “I would never dare run away with it. I only wish to defend the village. Truly.”

Zi Wen was quiet for a beat. Then he sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want you to fight. We need every hand we can get.” His eyes turned serious. “But the guns are only given to sect members. I can’t give one to you unless you’re part of the Divine Coin Sect.”

Gao’s brow rose at that. The door hadn’t shut—only narrowed.

He licked his lips, then said carefully, “Then… may I become one?”

Zi Wen stared at him. “You want to join the sect? What do you do?”

“I—I’m a merchant, my lord. I’ve traveled to most of the Eastern provinces. I know trade routes, supplier names, tax rates, ore prices and even if that’s useless, I have hunted a lot—” he stopped, realizing he was rambling.

Zi Wen, surprisingly, chuckled.

“A merchant, huh?” He seemed thoughtful. “Then Sect Leader Chen might be interested. He likes merchants.”

Hope flared in Gao’s chest.

Zi Wen added, “If he agrees to take you in, then yes—you’d be allowed to carry a gun.”

Gao Shun’s eyes lit up. A mortal in a sect. That alone would make him higher ranked in standing than most mortals in the Empire.

“Where can I find Sect Leader Chen?” he asked quickly, afraid the offer would vanish if he didn’t act fast.

Zi Wen’s smile turned wry. “You can’t. He’s in closed-door cultivation right now.”

Gao’s face fell.

“But,” Zi Wen added, “he’ll be out soon. Likely when the next wave of beasts comes—he’ll show up.”

Gao Shun stared at him. And then, slowly, a smile tugged at his lips. He hadn’t seen Sect Leader Chen, only heard about him, but if he could really accept him as a member and let him use these guns, then it would change everything.

Hence, for the first time in his life, Gao Shun felt the urge to meet a cultivator and hoped that he would be out of his closed door cultivation soon.

***

Chen Ren had heard a saying before. Cultivators need a calm mind to begin their path.

It always sounded like something sect elders said to keep disciples from running off after every impulse—a pretty excuse to make meditation feel more important than it was.

He used to think that, anyway.

But now, sitting cross-legged in the quiet of his chambers, staring blankly at the flickering lamp on the table, he knew it was true.

He couldn’t enter his star space.

No matter how long he sat there, no matter how many breathing techniques he cycled through, his consciousness remained scattered—like a jar of water filled with ash. It felt clouded and chaotic for no reason.

Even his account books, once a comfort, lay untouched. The columns of numbers blurred when he looked at them, his focus fraying before it even began.

The reason was simple.

The medallion. Or more accurately—what he had seen when he bound it. He felt like he was in the middle of a game of immortal chess. Not as a player, but… a pawn. A small, insignificant pawn that had been picked up, moved, and now stood in a position he didn’t understand. He didn’t know who was playing the game, or why, or even what the rules were.

But he understood this much, pawns die early.

If he wanted to survive—no, if he wanted to change the outcome—he couldn’t remain a pawn. He had to evolve. Upgrade himself. Maybe even… become a player.

But he wasn’t there yet. Not even close. And that truth weighed on him like a millstone around his neck.

Even Yalan, for all her knowledge and faith in him, had stepped back. She’d said this wasn’t something she could help with.

“Calming your mind isn’t a magic trick, Chen Ren. You have to find the stillness on your own.”

He’d thought about using herbs—something to still his thoughts, open the doors to cultivation. But that felt like cheating. Worse—it felt like a crutch. And once you needed a crutch, you couldn’t run without it.

No. He needed to win this battle in his own head. He inhaled deeply and decided to take a different approach.

Rather than dwell on the bad—the things that hadn’t happened yet—he chose to focus on the good that had. In the past year, he had won a cultivation tournament, launched new businesses, and expanded the ones he already had. They were no longer just sources of coin—they now gave him a steady income and small but consistent flows of qi.

With so much of it accumulating, he knew that reaching the foundation establishment realm was only a matter of months. That kind of speed was nearly unheard of. Even once-in-a-generation geniuses, nurtured by powerful clans and blessed with heavenly roots, rarely advanced so fast.

And him? He had low spirit roots—the kind most sects wouldn’t even bother to take in.

As he thought through each achievement, his breathing grew calmer. He knew the road ahead would be hard—filled with schemes, enemies, and involve the Gate of Immortals he’d glimpsed during the medallion binding. But he had come so far, so fast.

Sometimes he forgot that.

And forgetting was a quick way to spiral into the illusion that he wasn’t doing enough. That he wasn’t enough.

There was always room to grow—but today, he had to acknowledge what he’d already built.

And he had friends. Real ones.

Yalan was first in that list. He knew she would stand with him when trouble came. Whether it was because of the pact that bound them, or their friendship… he couldn’t be sure. But he hoped it was the latter.

Then there was Xiulan, Yuqiu, Qing He, Zi Wen, Feiyu, Luo Feng, and others—each one now a thread in the fabric of his life. A sect, even if not all of them were cultivators.

But with the guns they now wielded, they had become something more. A force. Especially with Feiyu and Qing He constantly developing newer designs.

Thinking of these things, Chen Ren slowly felt the weight lift from his chest.

Sometimes, focusing on the positive instead of the endless unknowns was enough to reset the mind. To let the chaos settle.

And as he held onto that quiet fulfillment, he felt it. His connection to his star space returned, gentle but firm—welcoming him.

Chen Ren smiled. It was finally time to accumulate his gains.

***

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