Dao of Money

If Chen Ren was being honest, he preferred this kind of war.

There was always something refreshing about knowing where your enemies were, when they’d strike and how. It was exhausting to keep looking over his shoulder, always wondering if there would be an attack or not.

This way, at least for the time being, he knew that the Darkmoon Sect was going to focus on the Flames of Merit trials. That meant, fewer assassination attempts (if they planned on it), fewer ambushes or fewer headaches. And it was a temporary break he welcomed.

And if he played right, if he could actually win this competition or at least do well enough to reach the finals, he knew that the reputation of the Divine Pill Apothecary would skyrocket.

The base they’d managed would be cemented in the city—prove the city and others that they were here to stay.

But…There was a problem. He had no clue what the trials actually were.

Did they just stand around and brew pills? In front of a cheering crowd? That seemed… dull. And suicidal, frankly. Their disciples wouldn’t be able to show their real method of making pills.

No, there had to be more to it.

And before replying to the Darkmoon Sect’s challenge, Chen Ren needed answers. The last thing he was going to do was walk into a trap just because it had the word “trial” written on the envelope.

So, after his discussion with Anji and Tang Boming, he left the apothecary.

There was one man who might know what the trials truly entailed—someone who had been part of Broken Ridge City long before Chen Ren ever arrived. Hun Tianzhi. Ex sect leader of Jadefire Hall. Now Elder of the Jadefire Hall Division under the Divine Coin Sect banner.

Chen Ren stepped into the Jadefire Hall grounds. He knew Elder Hun Tianzhi had buried himself in research. He had heard rumours about strange flames lighting up the sky from his window at odd hours and disciples getting chased off for simply knocking too loudly.

Still, he had hoped to catch the man without too much trouble. Unfortunately, that was wishful thinking.

“He’s been locked up for days, Sect Leader Chen,” said Tau Liu as they moved towards Hun Tianzhi’s workshop. “Hasn’t left since the apothecary opened. Says he’s close to a breakthrough, but he said that last week too.”

They stopped in front of a heavy wooden door, darkened by ash and scorched at the edges. Tau Liu knocked gently. “Master? Sect Leader Chen is here to see you. It’s… important.”

No response. The disciple turned with a sheepish expression.

“I’m sorry, Sect Leader. He often forgets the world exists when he’s like this.”

Chen Ren waved him off. “It’s fine. I’ll go in myself.”

“But, Master might get angry. Are you sure?”

“It’s important,” Chen Ren repeated, already pushing the door open.

A rush of dense, spiced air hit him—smoke and ash mixed with the cloying sweetness of burned herbs and something else… was that meat?

His eyes watered slightly as he stepped inside. The room was dim despite the sunlight trying to break through the soot-stained windows, and herbs lay scattered across every surface. Roots dangled from the rafters. Several meats—unidentifiable, mostly charred—hung from string hooks tied to the ceiling. Whether they were ingredients or snacks, he had no idea. He wasn’t about to ask.

The temperature was stifling, and a soft hiss filled the air—qi reacting with heat.

Then he saw him.

Elder Hun Tianzhi, hunched over a massive silver cauldron. His long hair was tied back in a frazzled knot, and his robes looked like they’d been used to wipe spills more than worn for comfort. Smoke and spiritual energy curled around him like a second robe, and the man didn’t move as Chen Ren stepped in.

He was simply too engrossed in what he was doing. So Chen Ren kept his silence, his arm crossed.

Fwoosh!

It didn’t take more than five minutes for the cauldron to blast qi, giving off flames that licked the ceiling, blackening it.

Instinctively, Chen Ren almost turned his defensive technique on and took a step back.

When the cauldron finally calmed, he saw Hun Tianzhi’s shoulders droop with frustration. The elder let out a long, guttural sigh.

“Heavens…” Hun Tianzhi muttered, moving to the blackened rim. “Why are you so cruel? These ingredients were decades old. And wasted in five minutes!” He reached into the still-warm cauldron and sifted through the ashy remains with his bare fingers, rubbing a bit between his calloused thumb and forefinger before letting it drift back down like burnt snow.

Only then did Chen Ren speak. “Elder Hun Tianzhi.”

And the man turned around, soot clung to his cheek like war paint, but his eyes—sharp despite the exhaustion—lit up with recognition.

“I thought I felt someone behind me,” he said, wiping his hands on a cloth. “But I figured it was just one of my disciples who came to nag me about dinner.” A crooked smile pulled at his lips. “Have you been waiting long, Sect Leader Chen?”

“Not long,” Chen Ren replied smoothly. “Only long enough to witness a minor explosion and some ash whispering.”

Hun Tianzhi chuckled. “Alchemy is often closer to a battlefield than people like to admit.” He gestured behind him. “I was trying to recreate one of the pill recipes you gave me. The Flameheart Revival Pill, remember? The one that called for the phoenix feather as a catalyst.”

Chen Ren nodded. That was one of Wang Jun’s creations—powerful, potent, and rare enough to be worth a fortune.

“I tried substituting phoenix feather with fire-horned roc and giant crows’ feathers,” Hun Tianzhi continued, “both fire-aspected, both theoretically compatible. But I think I overestimated the spiritual density… or maybe undercooked it.” He looked back at the cauldron with a faint scowl. “It’s all ash now.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Chen Ren said with confidence.

“I’d better,” Hun Tianzhi muttered. “I only have three roc feathers left.”

Chen Ren stepped forward, pulling the letter from his sleeve. “But that’s not why I’m here.”

Hun Tianzhi turned fully now, his brow arching. “Has something happened?”

Chen Ren pointed at the doorway with his thumb. “Why don’t we move to your chambers? I need your advice on something.”

“Let’s go then. Not like the cauldron’s going to blow up again… I hope.” Hun Tianzhi gave a tired grunt and nodded.

They left the smoky, herb-littered workshop behind and walked through the quieter streets to the former sect leader’s chambers. Along the way, Chen Ren gave the elder a full rundown—what had happened with the spy, the fake ingredients list, the sedated disciple and the aftermath.

It turned out that Hun Tianzhi hadn’t even known the details.

“My disciples mentioned something about a mole,” he admitted as they climbed the wooden stairs. “But I told them to handle it. Been too busy trying to decode this Master Wang Jun’s notes. Every time I solve one page, it throws ten more questions at me. You need to let me meet this elder one day.”

Chen Ren chuckled. “Sounds like him. As for a meeting, I will ask him.”

Hun Tianzhi nodded with a smile and Chen Ren felt the old man was enjoying his life as an elder who could research the whole day without needing to worry about the future of the sect, or how to keep the cultivators well behaved.

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After that, Chen Ren began to talk about the Darkmoon Sect sending a challenge to participate in the Flames of Merit trials. The elder’s whole demeanor changed to serious.

They reached the elder’s chambers—a wide, warm space with shelves full of worn manuals and dried herbs hanging from every corner. The moment they sat down, Hun Tianzhi leaned forward.

“So,” he said, fingers tapping against the tea table. “From what you’ve said, this challenge… It’s not just pride. Darkmoon Sect is going for blood. They want to use the Flames of Merit Trials to erase Divine Pill Apothecary’s legitimacy.”

Chen Ren nodded. “That’s what I thought too. They’ll try to make sure we don’t even pass the first round. If that happens, the gossip will write itself—saying our pills are made by novices. It might stick, especially if they lower their own prices to our level to drive us out completely. And If we don’t participate, they would try to make us look like novices.”

Hun Tianzhi’s eyes sharpened like whetted blades. “And if any of those things sticks, then all the groundwork you’ve laid will start to crumble. You might survive the debt term, but your name will never recover in this part of the empire.”

“I know,” Chen Ren said. “That’s why I won’t back down. I’ll participate.”

Hun Tianzhi leaned back, arms crossed. “Good. You shouldn’t. Backing down now would look worse than failure.”

Chen Ren gave a half-smile. “That’s why I came to you. I want to know more about the competition. I’m guessing Jadefire Hall participated in the past?”

“We did the last time… and even the time before that. But unfortunately, my disciples weren’t quite at the level to win any rewards. Tau Liu reached the final round—but he was crushed in it. Brutally,” The elder grimaced at the memory.

“So only disciples can participate?”

“Not necessarily,” Hun Tianzhi said, waving a hand. “There’s no rule barring elders or higher-level cultivators from entering. But doing so is a matter of face. Imagine a peak foundation establishment cultivator walking in to compete against early qi refinement disciples. Even if he wins, the crowd won’t cheer for him—they’ll sneer. It reeks of desperation.”

“But Darkmoon Sect has foundation establishment elders, right?”

“They do,” Hun Tianzhi said, “but I doubt they’ll risk them. The number of foundation establishment cultivators in the city is low—Darkmoon included. But more than cultivation, what really matters in the Flames of Merit is alchemical skill. Most participants are Mortal Grade. Sometimes an Earth Grade slips in, though not often. And Sky Grade…” Hun Tianzhi chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Sky Grade alchemists don’t come to this kind of trial.”

Chen Ren let the information settle, recalling how alchemists were ranked in the Empire. Mortal, Earth, Sky, Heaven. One could achieve the grade only if they could make one pill of that grade. Sky grade alchemists were dime a dozen and the ones that were there were all taken by the Guardian sects and the royal family. By that standard, he was firmly in the Mortal Grade. He could make Mortal Grade pills with reliable success. But that wasn’t much.

Darkmoon Sect wouldn’t hold back. He was certain they’d send Earth Grade alchemists they had—especially after the embarrassment they had suffered. They wouldn’t rely on cheap tricks anymore. They’d try to outshine him in broad daylight.

Which meant that he needed to find a way for his own sect disciples to do better than them.

“Who did Darkmoon Sect send last time? Was it core disciples?”

Hun Tianzhi moved a hand through his beard—Chen Ren only now noticed that the ends were slightly singed, probably from his last explosive failure.

“A sect can only send three disciples, and they usually go with their outer sect ones,” he said. “Once, I saw a core disciple, but that was rare. He was someone who was participating on a bet.”

“Why? Wouldn’t sending a core disciple improve their odds?”

“They function like two different sects. The outer sect is packed with alchemists running pill workshops, handling city logistics. The inner sect trains combat cultivators. From what I’ve heard, the place is riddled with nepotism. Every elder has a dozen grandkids, and they all get slots in the inner sect whether they have talent or not. So the outer sect disciples are the ones who do the real work.”

Chen Ren folded his arms, thinking. “And they win with just those outer sect disciples?”

“Every single time I’ve seen them participate,” Hun Tianzhi confirmed. “It’s also a power play. A message to the city: ‘Even our outer sect trash can outdo your elites.’ Makes their sect look untouchable.”

Chen Ren nodded. If they pulled the same tactic again—and won—then people would surely say that even Darkmoon Sect’s low level disciples were better than Divine Coin’s best. The implication alone could poison their reputation for years.

But knowing who they might send wasn’t enough. Chen needed to understand everything.

So he began to ask specific questions, one after another.

“How is the competition structured exactly? Where does it take place? Who attends? Are there judges?”

Hun Tianzhi, to his credit, answered all of them patiently. Chen Ren sat still, going over everything he had just learned.

The structure of the competition was more or less what he’d expected. The first round tested their knowledge of herbs—recognizing them by sight, smell, even age. The second was about consistency—brewing multiple pills in a single batch, all identical. Then, there were rounds about creating pills with limited ingredients, creating a specific pill and so on. And the final round, the most important, was creating a unique pill, something that stood out.

The scale was far bigger than he thought. The city lord would attend. Officials, sects, clans, hunting teams—everyone with influence in the region would be watching. And that made it even more dangerous.

Chen Ren leaned forward slightly. Their sect wasn’t ready.

Not one of their disciples came to mind as a surefire win. Even Tau Liu, who Hun Tianzhi claimed was one of their best, had only reached the final round before losing. That wasn’t enough, especially not this time when there was so much at stake.

If they entered and lost, Darkmoon Sect would spin the story however they wanted. They’d say the Divine Pill Apothecary was a fluke. That their pills were flashy but unreliable. That even their best couldn’t match an outer disciple from a real sect.

Reputation mattered in alchemy. Maybe more than anywhere else in the empire. So he couldn’t trust Tau Liu to win this time. But he needed to win if he had any hope of cementing the Divine Pill Apothecary’s reputation. Which meant he needed tricks up his sleeve.

Chen Ren sat calmly, thoughts whirlwinding through his mind.

He had schemed his way through the tournament in Cloud Mist City—he had to do the same here. Because if anything, that was his expertise, and he had no remorse for doing so.

In this world, cultivators were harsh, brutal, and unforgiving—the worst kind of opponents to have, and at times like this, you had to use everything to get to the top. Especially when it was a sect like the Darkmoon Sect who stood on the other end. A tyrant.

But what could he use? A way to make sure he was going to win—no matter what.

He stayed quiet for a moment longer, thinking it through.

Then, a face came to mind. Right.

And with it, a plan started to form.

***

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