Dao of Money

Feiyu stared at the diagrams tacked onto the board in front of him, a rare smile tugging at his grime-streaked face.

Rifles were scattered across the workshop—some complete, while others cracked open mid-modification. Bullet casings rolled underfoot, and gunpowder hung faint in the air. But none of it held his attention now. His eyes were fixed on the lines and curves sketched before him—the final schematic, the culmination of weeks of sleepless nights and forge-burned fingers.

This was it.

The breakthrough.

He could feel it. The pulse of qi gathering in his dantian, coiling with anticipation like a storm ready to break. Months of relentless forging, of pushing steel and soul into each weapon, had taken his cultivation soaring to the peak of the qi refinement Realm. Qing He hadn’t expected it. He hadn’t expected it.

But Feiyu knew now.

The forge was his dao. His rebellion against convention. It gave him more qi because what he was creating was revolutionary. It challenged even the heavens.

Sometimes, when midnight silence pressed down on him, he’d wonder, Would the heavens punish me for it?

But no tribulation had come. No divine backlash. Only progress. And now, just one more refinement—one final, perfect mechanism—and he would step into the foundation establishment realm.

And after that…

Feiyu’s smile deepened, softer this time.

Maybe, just maybe, he could return to Ashen City and ask out Lingyan. Properly. He’d heard enough to know she hadn’t given up, she was still waiting for him. He had made use of anyone who was on the supply wagon to Ashen City to get him more information, and he was even able to exchange letters with her.

Like he’d expected, her family had tried to marry her off—said she was too naïve, too distracted by childish thinking.

But she’d resisted.

Closed-door cultivation, that’s what she did. She came out only when the wagons arrived.

“Just a little more,” he muttered. “Let me break through… and I’ll come find you.”

Fortunately, no one had found out yet. But Feiyu knew better than to trust luck for long. They were skating on thin ice, and each passing day added weight.

He needed results and fast. The diagrams pinned before him might just be the answer.

His conversation with Sect Leader Chen still echoed in his ears. That man… either he was a once-in-a-century sage or had stumbled upon the tomb of one. Every casual observation, every offhand remark over dinner, felt like enlightenment in disguise.

And that night, when they’d been discussing guns, Chen Ren had spoken of a design that made Feiyu’s heart race. After pestering him with questions and sketching it out on scraps of paper, Feiyu knew he had to build it.

Something that could give the sect an overwhelming advantage. Something that could kill from beyond a hundred paces with a single shot.

He moved to his metal stockpile, dragging out bars and rods while muttering design tweaks to himself when the workshop door creaked open behind him.

Qing He stepped inside, walking with her painstaking shuffle—the one she claimed got people to “respect their elders and do their chores.” Ever since she’d said that with a straight face, Feiyu could never take her seriously.

Her eyes swept the chaos of the workshop. Tools scattered. Half-built guns. Burnt blueprints. She grunted, then squinted at the diagrams still pinned to the board.

“What’s this?” she asked, snatching a parchment like it owed her money.

“A special gun,” Feiyu replied.

Qing He sniffed. “What’s this weird thing stuck on the back?” She jabbed a finger at the long tubular structure etched on the rifle’s spine.

“That’s a scope,” he said, brushing some dust off a gear. “It’s to help the shooter see far. You look through it and you can fire a bullet at targets from way further than usual. But…The bullets we’ve got now won’t cut it. They drop too much at long range, and their force fades too fast. We need something sharper, faster, and heavier. Or maybe even… something entirely new.”

Qing He stared long and hard at the diagram again, then muttered under her breath, “Another one of Chen Ren’s ideas, huh?”

“Yeah. He just casually mentioned it. I picked it up and started to work on it.” Feiyu didn’t even try to hide his grin.

“You’re such a kid.” Qing He scoffed at him.

“Huh?”

“He knew you’d latch onto it. He probably wanted you to work on it.”

Wait… What? Feiyu couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He raised an eyebrow. “You mean that all this time, I’ve been working on something he wanted done? So why not tell me directly?”

Qing He shrugged, then began to pace, her hands behind her back like a grumpy elder in a marketplace. “Because you’re already handling too many things. You’ve got mortals helping you now, yes, but that doesn’t mean the weight on your shoulders is lighter. He’s probably trying not to dump more on you. But that doesn’t stop him from planting seeds in your head.”

“So he feels bad, but still wants me to do it?”

“Exactly,” she said, as if it were obvious. “That’s why he just… talks. Throws ideas around and sees what grows.” She turned back to the diagram, squinting. “What are these guns called again?”

“Sniper rifles,” Feiyu replied, straightening the edges of the paper. “Sect Leader Chen said that’s what they’re called. I think it’s a cool name. I’ve never heard of a word like ‘sniper’ before.”

Qing He gave a small nod. Names didn’t interest her much unless they meant something functional. Her eyes scanned the diagram again. “You planning to add any arrays to this scope?”

Feiyu exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Aside from the runes we’ve already etched into the other guns for stability and recoil… I don’t have the knowledge to add anything new. I’m thinking I’ll make the model first. Test it. Then see what kind of runes can be added later. As for array, I don’t know if I will find a suitable one.”

Qing He narrowed her eyes, then looked at him. “Give me a paper.”

Feiyu blinked, surprised. His heart skipped a beat. “Really?”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t get emotional on me. Just pass it.”

He practically shoved a parchment and quill into her hands, and for the next five minutes, Qing He scribbled in absolute silence. Her strokes flowed from memory like water. Feiyu could only watch in awe as the page filled.

Finally, she handed it to him.

“Make sure you carve these into the inside of the scope,” she said.

Feiyu took the parchment, his eyes scanning the tight, fluid scribbles that Qing He had written out so effortlessly. At first glance, it looked like a small, simple formation—one that might be used for basic reinforcement or sight enhancement—but something about the layering of runes caught his attention.

“What is it?” he asked.

Qing He leaned closer, tapping her finger against the central glyph. “An array that lets you see far. Real far. Assassins used to craft small viewing tools with this etched into the lenses. With just a slight adjustment, they could see near or distant targets. But that’s not all.”

Feiyu’s eyes widened slightly. “There’s more?”

She nodded. “It doesn’t just enhance sight—it can pick up signs of movement. Life. Qi fluctuations from humans and beasts across a wide radius. Not perfectly, but enough to mark heat or motion over terrain.”

“That’s…” Feiyu struggled for the words. “How’s that even possible?”

“There’s a lot of things array masters have made over the centuries. Most of it is forgotten. Some of it buried on purpose. These kinds of devices were discovered after a demonic sect was destroyed in the north. The cultivator who led the charge razed their libraries, but a few items slipped through. One ended up in a wandering cultivator’s hands. My master had a book that mentioned the designs.”

Feiyu stared at her. “And you never told me?”

“I just did,” she said flatly, walking toward the door.

“But—”

She raised a hand, cutting him off without even turning back. “Use it well.”

And then she was gone, the workshop door creaking shut behind her.

Feiyu stared at the array in his hands, a dozen questions rising and falling in his chest like a tide he didn’t know how to stem. Who was Qing He, really? She acted like an old woman at times, shrewd and difficult—but then she’d turn around and drop things like this in his lap. Secrets from fallen sects or forgotten arrays used by assassins and warlords. And she knew them like bedtime stories.

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But the questions faded quickly, replaced by the gleam of invention—the itch in his fingers.

This array…

It changed everything.

He gently laid the parchment beside the diagram for the sniper rifle. His eyes roved between them, the pieces falling into place in his mind like puzzle tiles finding their shape. It wouldn’t be easy. Carving this array into something as small and delicate as a scope would take precision, patience, and more qi than he was used to spending in a single session.

But it would work.

And if he succeeded, this wouldn’t just be a long-range weapon.

It would be a hunter’s eye. A scout’s dream. A god’s finger stretched across the battlefield.

Feiyu couldn’t help his mind. His hands moved with renewed energy as he reached for the metal components.

He had work to do.

And somewhere just beyond this breakthrough, he could feel it—his cultivation trembling, pushing against the limits of the qi refinement realm. He was going to break through by building a weapon even cultivators would fear.

***

Chen Ren sipped his tea with a beam on his face. The taste was bitter, spiced just how he liked it—an acquired taste, much like victory. He leaned back in the chair in his office at the Divine Pill Apothecary.

It had been a week since the spy left.

He could only imagine the state of the Darkmoon Sect now. A part of him wondered if the spy was still alive. Knowing what kind of men ruled that sect, it was unlikely. Chen Ren wasn’t particularly concerned, nor did he feel sympathy.

If the bastard was dead, then so be it.

The man had pretended to be Han Fei. Had used his name, his face and tried to steal things that weren’t his.

And Han Fei had paid the price.

Chen Ren’s smile faded slightly, the tea losing its flavor as memories surged forward. The real Han Fei, when they’d finally found him tucked away where the spy had left him drugged, had looked more like a corpse than alive. His entire body was pale, his hands trembled and he’d been fed sedative pills, and the worse part—the effects lingered.

They’d almost broken him.

Chen Ren’s knuckles tightened around the teacup before he set it down gently.

He hadn’t made a decision yet, but he intended to send Han Fei back to the sect for recovery—far from all this. He deserved that much.

As for the Darkmoon Sect…

They wouldn’t take this lying down. For them to send a spy so quickly, so early into the apothecary’s rise, meant one thing, they were already feeling the heat. Their pill sales were falling. Their name was starting to lose its weight. He had taken a bite out of a behemoth, and now, the beast had noticed.

His eyes flicked to the small letter on the corner of his desk.

A merchant had just requested exclusive rights to stock and sell their Qi Replenishment Pills in bulk outside the city.

That was the fifth such request this week. So yes, he understood why Darkmoon was rattled.

The grin returned to his face as he leaned back again. The spy had been bait, and they’d taken it. The ingredients they’d thought the Divine Coin sect used were enough to brew a disaster if anyone tried to mimic the process. He almost pitied whoever had the job of testing those pills, almost.

But there was another concern that lingered in his mind, since sending a spy didn’t work out, they might try something even more desperate.

Assassins were a real possibility. But he doubted it would go beyond that. Proper sect wars in the empire were rare, and an Established sect that had been the pinnacle of the city for ages going against an Emerging one in broad daylight was embarrassing.

In the shadows? That’s where most sects died.

But can it be something else? Would they send more spies? Or try a scheme like the one they’d used against Jadefire Hall?

Chen Ren doubted it. The disciples that had stayed with Hun Tianzhi after the sabotage were the loyal ones—the kind who wouldn’t budge no matter how enticing the offer. They had already made their choice, and Chen Ren respected that.

He tapped his cup gently on the table, letting his mind wander through possibilities. Poison? Sabotage? Assassins? He wouldn’t put any of it past Darkmoon Sect. His fingers curled tighter around the porcelain as he took another sip—just as the door creaked open.

He glanced up.

Anji stepped through first, followed by Tang Boming, who looked a little less guarded but still serious. There was a piece of parchment in Anji’s hand, the paper folded tightly and sealed in a dark wax that bore no crest.

His focus moved to the parchment.

Anji raised it slightly. “The receptionist at the inn handed it to me on my way here,” she said, walking forward. “Apparently, it’s from the Darkmoon Sect.”

Chen Ren’s jaw tightened. His hand rose instinctively, and Anji placed the parchment in his palm.

He cracked the seal immediately.

The message was shorter than Chen Ren had expected. He thought it’d be a message threatening him to leave the city or belittling him in any way. Instead, it was simply a declaration for a challenge. It was a duel but not the common kind.

He scanned the lines again just to be sure, then set the parchment down on the desk. “Flames of Merit Trials?” he said aloud. “I think I’ve seen banners about that around the city.”

“It’s all over the streets. The inn’s discourse is starting to shift towards it too. Seems like the whole city is getting ready,” Tang Boming said.

“We overheard a few merchants talk about it too. Apparently, the competition only happens once every three years, and the top sects and clans use it to show off their alchemists and gain reputation. Not only from Broken Ridge City, but nearby ones too,” Anji added. “It seems they want to challenge us in the field we are fighting over—alchemy.”

Chen Ren agreed. “It seems like it. But we need to learn more on this trial before accepting it. I’m assuming it’s almost akin to a city festival.

Tang Boming nodded. “It is. Basically, it’s like any other city tournament—meant to entertain the mortals and give cultivators a chance to prove themselves. It started about fifty years ago. The City Lord at the time thought the city was too stagnant. Everyone either stayed cooped up or ran off to the wildlands. Being an alchemist himself, he understood the importance of alchemy to Broken Ridge. So he founded the trial—got sects, clans, and even rogue cultivators involved. Turned it into a full event. Rewards are massive. Even just showing up gets you a cauldron. That’s why people flock to it.”

Chen Ren nodded slowly, thoughts drifting to Cloud Mist City’s tournament. He remembered the chaos but also how many people have travelled from the nearby villages and towns just to spectate.

Darkmoon Sect wanted to crush them and win the competition, just to tell the city that they still had the best alchemists in this part of the empire.

Even if they couldn’t fully recover their business, a strong win would tilt the city’s trust back toward them. And trust was currency to cultivators. They would see Darkmoon Sect bask in a wave of renewed glory and wonder if they had judged them too soon.

And worse?

They’d probably slash prices—temporarily—after the win, just to bleed Chen Ren’s operation dry. Especially with the debt looming like a sword over their heads. The bastards definitely knew about the three-month period.

They’re going for a killing blow, Chen Ren thought. It was clever. Annoyingly clever.

He sat there, frowning at the parchment, the implications weighing heavier by the second.

Then Anji’s voice cut through his silence.

“What are we going to do, Sect Leader Chen?”

He only looked up.

What were they going to do?

He could refuse the challenge. It wasn’t mandatory. But that would be seen as cowardice. Worse—admission of inferiority. Their reputation would plummet harder than if they lost. The sect might survive, but the business would be gutted.

Well, what could he do now?

***

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