Dao of Money

Chen Ren hadn’t planned to stay three days.

Yet there he was, still in Jadefire Hall, sipping tea that had gone cold for the fourth time that morning, while Hun Tianzhi scrawled red ink across yet another clause of the contract. The old man wasn’t stalling. No, he was precise—disgustingly so. Every line was questioned, every vague word challenged. Chen Ren had half a mind to just toss the agreement out the window, but then again, each debate ended up improving the proposal.

Hun Tianzhi was too old to fall for sweet words. He wanted numbers, conditions and guarantees that things could work.

So he did what he did best—bargained without giving the full picture.

Because that was the truth, wasn’t it? Jadefire Hall was bleeding. Their pill revenue was nearly dust, their disciples were barely scraping by harvesting outside the border, and the debt was still chewing at the old sect’s bones. It wasn’t a fair trade—but it was the only one left.

Taking them in meant Chen Ren would be suddenly responsible for them. If he was honest, he had to dodge around the topic of how much wealth the Divine Coin Sect possessed. Alchemy was expensive, hence he knew Hun Tianzhi had expectations and with that came conditions that he insisted on having on the contract. That was fair in Chen Ren’s eyes but he didn’t want to say how much money they’d have right now.

Since it… wasn’t enough.

He had planned to succeed in the pill market and use that money to fund more in alchemy research, but he couldn’t tell it outright. The negotiations might have failed then and there, since it was necessary for Hun Tianzhi to believe that they would one hundred percent succeed. Hence, he simply agreed to the terms: Till they set up their pill business, relocation wouldn’t be necessary.

That provided Chen Ren enough room, and the old man didn’t seem to mind it, actually looking forward to it as having another go at the Jadefire Hall sect.

The debates didn’t end there.“How will my disciples be ranked in your sect?” Hun Tianzhi asked.

“There’s no inner or outer system in the Divine Coin Sect.”

“What?” Hun Tianzhi asked loudly, almost shocked by what Chen Ren said.

“We sort them by realm.”

The silence that followed was long. The old man frowned like he was trying to understand whether he’d heard blasphemy or brilliance. Before he could respond, Chen Ren dropped the next stone.

“We also have mortals.”

Now that had made Hun Tianzhi sit up straight. His lips parted slightly, brows pinching as though he’d just bitten into something sour.

“You can’t be serious. Mortals? As full members? That’s absurd. They’d slow you down. Worse—they’d be liabilities.” The word was spat out like a spoiled pill. It hadn’t ended there, it continued with Hun Tianzhi weighing all the cons on why Chen Ren shouldn’t have mortals or give them responsibilities around the sect.

Chen Ren didn’t argue with his points, because he knew this was non-negotiable. He had just met his eyes and said that he wouldn’t throw them out. He also didn’t reveal about his guns—not yet, or the fact that mortals would be needed with the pill production.

Hun Tianzhi had muttered something about decorum and folded the sleeve of his robe tighter, but he didn’t bring it up again.

Chen Ren half-expected the man to have a heart attack once he actually showed him the process of what they were doing. The worldview shift was going to hit hard but that moment wasn’t here yet. For now, the negotiations had to continue.

And they did even after a dozen cups of tea, four long walks, two short naps, and with more back-and-forth than a coin caught in mid-flip.

To his relief, Hun Tianzhi proved easier to work with than expected—as long as the conversations were concrete. The old man didn’t care much for big dreams, but once Chen Ren began talking about modified pill recipes—especially ones that hadn’t been brewed for centuries due to missing ingredients—Hun Tianzhi leaned in, elbow on the table, eyes practically gleaming.

That was when Chen Ren knew he had him.

They reached an agreement before the fourth day began. Hun Tianzhi would stay on as a researcher, focused solely on pushing alchemy forward, while Chen Ren would act as an investor of sorts—funding the operation, handling logistics, and taking care of every mundane necessity the old man didn’t want to deal with.

As for Jadefire Hall disciples, they would supervise the pill production Divine Coin Sect disciples performed.

Chen Ren had used the word “disciples” generously. He doubted Hun Tianzhi realized he meant mortals with no cultivation at all. But that was fine. Let him think there were alchemists back in the Divine Coin Sect—actual ones. By the time he found out the truth, the system would already be running too smoothly to question.

Besides, Hun Tianzhi wasn’t thinking about hierarchy. He was fixated on something else entirely.

“Recipes,” he’d said at one point, practically salivating over the old scrolls Chen Ren had casually mentioned. “Do you really have records of the Verdant Flesh Pill? And the Azure Draught?”

What he had was the recipes provided by Wang Jun, the ones the head had wanted him to use for the pill business.

“Fragments,” Chen Ren had replied. “Not complete. But with some work...”

Hun Tianzhi had waved a hand as if to say: Leave the work to me.

That ended that discussion.

Chen Ren’s plan was simple. Pour spirit stones into developing long-lost pills. Rebuild them using new ingredients, new methods—make them sustainable. And once that was done? Brand them as Divine Coin Sect exclusives.

He couldn’t rely on low-grade recovery pills forever and had to venture out in the future. He needed to plant the foundation of it now.

Fortunately, once everything was talked about, Hun Tianzhi was more than ready to agree to the cooperation.

Chen Ren expected the old man to visit the sect first, see things for himself before agreeing completely. But he’d been trusting. If Chen Ren held true to the promises, he’d assured things would go fine between them. Therefore he had agreed with a bow, knowing this kind of trust could go a long way if done right—especially considering Hun Tianzhi didn’t even insist on doing a qi oath. It was a calculated risk the old man took, but Chen Ren intended to make sure that he and his disciples wouldn’t have anything to worry about.

But even after they’d discussed everything, there was still one thing left—the debt.

It was honestly the most risk he’d taken in a business deal till now. Five thousand low-grade spirits stones. Enough to ruin most small sects, and the root cause of their disciples fleeing like startled geese. But it was the most necessary part of getting himself an alchemy hall and shop.

One thing for certain, he was confident in paying it back in a month or two of opening the shop. He knew that things could go wrong and his business wouldn’t do well as he expected, but he believed even the lowest estimation of it would make him breakeven. There was a problem, though.

If someone used the debt to try to strangle his business before they could pay back, it would ruin things and turn them into shambles.

From what Hun Tianzhi had shared, the money hadn’t just come from some neutral city lender. It had come from a man named Daoist Xu Leiyan, a retired foundation establishment cultivator and a member of the merchant guild in the city who, apparently, had traded pill bottles for pleasure houses. The man had a few mortal wives—or concubines, depending on how charitable one wanted to be—and a history of lending to struggling sects. Struggling sects that Darkmoon Sect conveniently ended up destroying.

Chen Ren didn’t believe in coincidence. He didn’t trust Xu Leiyan, and he didn’t trust anything even remotely connected to Darkmoon Sect.

Which was why, when the clerk at the office of Xu Leiyan handed him the transfer document and asked him to confirm the terms, Chen Ren cleared his throat.

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“I’d like to add a clause.”

The young clerk, barely older than twenty and still smelling of fresh ink and nervous sweat, blinked at him. “Clause?”

Chen Ren nodded. “Yes. I want it in writing that for the next ninety days, you can’t claim or seize any properties or assets under my name.”

The clerk looked baffled. “You… want us to not be able to collect on the debt?”

“I want a buffer window,” Chen Ren said smoothly. “Ninety days. No asset collection. No pressure visits. No subtle threats. After that, all standard terms apply.”

The clerk frowned, looking at the scroll again, then at Hun Tianzhi, who sat beside him with a quiet, guilty look—like a man watching someone willingly step into the same trap he had once fallen into.

“I can’t change the interest rate,” the clerk warned, his tone slightly defensive. “This is one of the highest-risk debts on our books. Nine percent monthly is standard.”

Chen Ren raised a hand. “I’m not arguing that. Keep the rate. I’m asking for a clause in the new contract. The debt is changing ownership. That gives room for renegotiation. Ninety days is all I need.”

The clerk still didn’t look convinced. From the side, he glanced at Hun Tianzhi, who hadn’t said a word yet.

“Daoist Hun,” the clerk said carefully, “I’ve advised you before, haven’t I? Selling your shop, the cauldrons, even the land—those would’ve eased this months ago.”

“I wouldn’t be able to cover it,” Hun Tianzhi said suddenly. “Even if I sold both the sect grounds and the shop property in Broken Ridge City.”

Chen Ren turned his head slightly, listening.

“The shop might fetch a decent price,” the old man continued, “but the sect property? It’s worthless to most. Rogue cultivators don’t need a place like that, and every sect or clan already has their own lands.” He paused. “As for my personal artifacts and cauldrons… those aren’t for sale. Not now. Not ever.”

The clerk glanced between the two of them, then leaned forward on his desk. “But you’re handing your sect and its debt over to this man?”

“We’ve discussed the terms.” Hun Tianzhi folded his hands. “And they’re fair. He’s offering better conditions than any I’ve been given in the past two years.”

The clerk hesitated, then nodded. “Then I won’t ask further.” He turned back to Chen Ren. “You do know if you fail to make even the interest payments, we’re fully entitled to act?”

“I know. And I will pay the interest on time. All I’m asking is that no other actions are taken—no seizures, no forceful visits—for ninety days, as long as I make those payments.”

The clerk leaned back, squinting at him. “I don’t get it. If you’re confident about paying, why the buffer window?”

Chen Ren offered a faint smile. “You’ll understand in the next three months. I’m not asking you to take a loss. You’re getting your interest. I’m simply limiting the damage others can do if things go… unexpectedly.”

The clerk looked uncertain. “Still… it’s not up to me. I’ll have to speak to my father.”

“Your father?” Chen Ren raised a brow.

The young man straightened slightly, pride creeping into his tone. “I’m the twenty-ninth son of Daoist Xu Leiyan.”

Ah.

Chen Ren quietly adjusted the young man’s status in his mind. Twenty-ninth son might not hold much power, but it was still better than being some nameless clerk.

“Very well,” Chen Ren said. “Please speak with Daoist Xu. I believe he’ll see reason. What I’m asking won’t harm your business at all.”

The clerk frowned and rubbed his palms together. “Maybe. But he’ll still want to know your reasoning.”

Chen Ren didn’t answer with words.

Instead, he reached into his robes and pulled out a small pouch, placing it gently on the table. The clerk picked it up, gave it a careful sniff, and his eyes lit up.

“Are these pills?”

“Qi Replenishment pills,” Chen Ren said. “Each one tested at sixty percent purity. Consider it a small gift, for the trouble of presenting this proposal in the best light.”

The clerk weighed the pouch in his palm for a long moment. Greed flickered in his gaze before he cleared his throat. “Very well. I’ll bring this to him and start drafting the contract for transfer of ownership. I hope you won’t regret this.”

Chen Ren smiled.

“I won’t. This—” he tapped the scroll on the table “—might just be the most important part of everything I plan in Broken Ridge City.”

***

Thankfully, the clerk came back with good news. His father had agreed to the ninety-day clause Chen Ren asked for. This meant for the next three months, no one could try to take Chen Ren’s property or resources because of the debt—even if he hadn’t paid it off yet. It gave him a sense of relief and a clear deadline. He now had exactly three months to get his business up and running, and to start making money before anyone could cause trouble.

The pill shop that used to belong to the Jadefire Hall sect was still in great condition. Chen Ren had already looked through it and found that there wasn’t much work needed. They just had to remove any traces of the previous sect, clean the place up, and give it a new name. He asked Anji and Tang Boming to handle all of that while he focused on something more important—the production side of things.

Instead of setting up the pill-making in a new place, Chen Ren decided it would be smarter to use the old Jadefire Hall building. It already had enough space and all the alchemy tools were still there. He didn’t have to waste time or effort moving anything around.

To get started, he called for the mortals from Divine Coin Sect who had been training under Qing He. These people had been learning the standardized pill-making method, and within a few days, they arrived at the new location, bringing with them the materials they needed.

Chen Ren had picked three types of pills to start with. All of them were in high demand and used common ingredients, which made things easier. He also bought more ingredients from the local market in Broken Ridge City. Thanks to his method of standardization, they could make a much larger number of pills in each batch compared to traditional methods. In no time, they would have enough pills for a full-scale launch.

When Chen Ren explained the plan to Hun Tianzhi, especially the part where mortals would handle the actual pill-making, the old man was shocked. At first, he didn’t believe it and even got angry. How could mortals make pills without qi? It went against everything he had been taught.

Chen Ren didn’t want it to escalate into an argument. Instead, he asked Hun Tianzhi and his disciples to take a qi oath that they wouldn’t share the method with anyone. This was important because the method was easy to copy, and Chen Ren wanted to keep it a secret advantage. The disciples and the old man agreed—probably because they were too curious to say no.

And then came the real surprise.

When Chen Ren finally showed them how the mortals made pills using spirit water, set timing, and perfect measurements, it left them stunned. They just stood there, watching the whole process, silent. It was clear that everything they thought they knew about alchemy had been shaken.

In the end, some even looked like they were questioning their life choices.

***

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