Dao of Money

A big ball of qi and herbs simmered in front of Chen Ren as he followed Wang Jun’s instructions precisely. But it turned out doing exactly as he said was far more time consuming than he had expected. The hourglass was already close to emptying out one side, and he wasn’t finished.

All around him, over half the alchemists had already stepped back from their cauldrons, arms crossed or hands behind their backs. Chen Ren inhaled the smell of charred roots, sharp powders and boiled spirit grass all around him, but his eyes were locked on the swirling mass inside his cauldron.

For the past two minutes, all the Darkmoon Sect disciples had turned their attention to him—some with narrowed eyes, others with curled lips. Scorn hung in the air like smoke. Even Tau Liu and Jie Foong, who had finished their own batches, looked concerned from their stations.

But Chen Ren didn’t look up. He didn’t fumble. He believed in Wang Jun’s formula.

Yalan’s voice rang through his mind. ”Now. Mix the Redwhisk Root and the Cloud Bell Leaf in. You’re almost there. Do it fast. You don’t have much time.”

His right hand stayed steady over the flame, but his left moved with purpose. Two final herbs—dried, curled, and soaked in qi—pressed between his fingers. He threw them in.

The mixture sizzled instantly. A golden flicker surged from the cauldron’s surface, bright and full of promise, then vanished just as quickly.

Chen Ren didn’t waste a breath. He pushed his spiritual qi into the mass, moving it through the thick, bubbling liquid, guiding it to every edge, every trace of unmixed herb and dormant energy. The concoction pulsed once. Then again. And then it calmed. He exhaled sharply and cut the flame.

A breath later, with a soft clinking sound, the pills began to drop into the collection dish at the bottom of the cauldron one after another. Twelve pills. They all glowed equally, and Chen Ren squinted his eyes, trying to take a better look at them. There was not a single one that was burnt.

No cracks. Check. No blackened edges. Check. For a second, he enjoyed the satisfaction that ran through his mind. He reached in carefully as the cauldron was still warm and slid the dish out. He had no time to test them for purity, but by the looks of it, he should be able to pass.

Thank you, he offered it to Yalan, whose only response was a purr of sorts.

Distracting him from his thoughts, the announcer’s voice came from the front of the stage.

”Time is up! Let’s see what our alchemists have cooked today. Please leave the pills on your workbenches. You will be evaluated there.”

As the announcer’s voice faded, Chen Ren watched a group of cultivators in muted gold robes move through the rows of alchemists, each bearing the insignia of the City Lord’s office. He hadn’t even seen them appear in the ground. They walked slowly, taking their time to evaluate every single pill in front of them. Chen Ren noticed the scroll and the jade evaluation slip two of them carried. And the other two behind simply walked forward, picking up pills, inspecting them under the dulcet sunlight, and much to his surprise, they ate them on the spot.

They didn’t say much. Just brief murmurs to one another, a scribble of brush on paper, then onward to the next.

Chen Ren kept his eyes on them, noting how quickly they moved past the first few tables. But when they reached the cluster of Darkmoon Sect disciples, their pace slowed. One of them picked a pill, popped it into his mouth, and grinned. The others followed suit, smiling after each taste.

They walked past the Darkmoon Sect disciples stations and judged two more before coming in front of Chen Ren. One of them gave him a once-over and looked down at the neatly arranged twelve pills.

Stroking his chin, he looked back up at Chen Ren.

”Qi Replenishment Pills… They look good.”

Chen Ren said nothing, just nodded politely and stepped back. There was nothing more to say. Let the pills speak. The man picked one up, placed it in his mouth, and paused.

His eyes widened.

A moment of silence passed, then the evaluator blinked and looked at the other pills. He took another. Ate it. Then another. Each time, his expression grew more intrigued.

”You’re from the Divine Coin Sect, right?” he finally asked, even his voice had that surprise layered in the high-pitched tone. “The ones with the flavored pills?”

”I’m the sect leader,” Chen Ren replied calmly.

The man paused. Then he smiled, just slightly, and nodded. ”I’ll remember your name.”

Without another word, he moved on to the next table, muttering something to the others in a whisper.

Chen Ren watched them go, uncertain. Was that… admiration? He looked down at his pills. They glowed faintly, radiating steady qi. Carefully, he picked one up and ate it.

The moment it dissolved, his eyes widened.

A surge of warm, vibrant energy coursed through him, smooth and dense without any waste. Just flowing qi, like a gentle tide across his meridians.

Seventy percent purity.

His breath caught. That explained it. With the strength he felt swirling in his dantian, there was no doubt—these pills had hit a quality few alchemists could claim, especially in a public trial.

He looked up toward the stands.

Near the center of the spectators, Yalan sat. Around her, the members of Jadefire Hall and his own hired workers had filled an entire section. Even Hun Tianzhi sat among them.

With his people around them, Chen Ren had no need to worry about any secrets leaking. Either way, Yalan was talking to Wang Jun in her head and even now she used to be in some sort of a discussion with him as she looked at the crate containing the head next to her. But noticing his stare, her amber eyes met his.

“What?” she asked, sounding slightly annoyed that she was disturbed with her conversation with Wang Jun.

“How did Wang Jun know of such a method?”

“He said he found it while experimenting in his youth.”

“Then why didn’t he say anything earlier?”

Another pause. Then Yalan’s voice returned, exasperated. “He said you never asked for his help with this round.”

He didn’t have a reply to that. He really didn’t ask. Wang Jun was… something else. A genius, sure, but a petty, smug genius who apparently needed to be asked nicely before saving someone’s ass.

Still, it didn’t matter now. Judging by the reactions, the pills had spoken for themselves. He was going to win this round.

On the platform, the cultivators who had tasted the pills finally stepped forward. One of them held the parchment full of evaluations and handed it over to the announcer.

Chen Ren watched as the announcer scanned through the list, lips moving, eyes flicking from one name to the next. But then, the man paused. His eyes locked onto one of the parchments.

The announcer leaned to whisper something to the same cultivator who had tasted Chen Ren’s pills. Whatever the reply was, it made the announcer straighten and look up, a grin slowly spreading across his face.

With a dramatic flourish, he stepped forward and spoke, voice booming across the square: “If the last round was a surprise to the alchemists… this one is a surprise to me!”

That got everyone’s attention.

“The results show that only the best alchemists remain. Out of all the ones who began this trial, only twenty have passed to the next round!”

A huge cheer went up from the crowd. From where Chen Ren stood, he could hear some of the workers from Jadefire Hall whistling. Tau Liu let out a breath beside him, visibly relieved. But the announcer wasn’t done. His grin grew wider.

“Not only that,” he continued, voice now brimming with excitement, “but in the decades of this competition, only two people have ever managed to create a pill of seventy percent purity.”

Gasps rippled through the square. Heads turned. Even some elders in the crowd leaned forward.

The announcer raised a hand. “This year… we have a third.”

The crowd went still, breath held. And Chen Ren, arms behind his back, let the smallest, quietest smile tug at the corner of his lips.

“Chen Ren of the Divine Coin Sect,” the announcer declared, voice riding the wave of wind and qi, “has shown today that he’s a worthy contender, and a new power rising in the city!”

Another cheer erupted, louder than before. This time, it wasn’t just polite applause. It was genuine, stunned approval. The sound rolled through the square like thunder.

Chen Ren stood still as the noise swelled around him.

Then came the stares.

Dozens of alchemists turned to look at him—some wide-eyed, some whispering behind their hands. As if he were some long-lost relic unearthed from ancient ruins, something impossible made flesh. Even the three Darkmoon Sect disciples near the front looked like someone had slapped them with a fish. Their mouths hung open, disbelief plastered across their faces.

But Chen Ren wasn’t watching them. His eyes were drawn upward to the VIP stand above the square.

The City Lord himself stood clapping, a composed smile on his face. Around him, several officials nodded and murmured to one another, eyes flicking to Chen Ren with newfound respect. But none of that mattered.

Because the pressure he felt—sharp, suffocating, deliberate—was coming from him.

The Darkmoon Sect leader. Gao Moyue.

There he sat, expression tight, posture tense, his gaze fixed like a blade straight into Chen Ren. The man’s eyes bored into him, dark and searching, flitting occasionally toward the parchment in front of the announcer as if he couldn’t believe the results. He looked like he wanted to leap down from the stands and double-check the pill purity himself.

Even as the announcer continued naming the other alchemists who passed, the Darkmoon Sect leader’s gaze didn’t waver.

Chen Ren ignored him. He had other things to focus on.

The three Darkmoon disciples—despite their reactions—had passed. Just as Chen Ren expected. So had Tau Liu and Jie Foong, both looking slightly smug now that the results were public. That was good. The stronger the showing from Divine Coin Sect, the better the message it sent: they weren’t a one-man operation. They had depth.

The rest of the successful candidates were a mix of city clans and independent factions. Some wore robes with family crests stitched in gold, others bore the insignia of outer organizations. A few were in plain robes with no markings—rogue alchemists, most likely.

Chen Ren noted them carefully. He’d speak to them after the trials. Good alchemists were always in demand, especially those with talent but no backing. They’d either join the Divine Coin Sect… or become competitors. Better to make the first move.

And like that, without further ceremony, the announcer raised a hand, silencing the square once more.

“Let us begin… the third round of the alchemy trials!”

***

Gao Moyue couldn’t believe his eyes.

For a moment—just a moment—he genuinely wondered if he had slipped into qi deviation without noticing. Perhaps some residual poison from a failed pill, or an inner demon he hadn’t cleansed properly. That would explain the delusion in front of him.

But no. His breathing was steady. His qi flowed smoothly. His mind was sharp. Unfortunately, the reality was far worse.

The sect leader of the Divine Coin Sect had actually produced a seventy percent purity Qi Replenishment Pill in a public trial.

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Gao Moyue clenched his jaw, his gaze locked on the figure below as Chen Ren stood calmly by his table, barely reacting to the cheers that rang out in his name.

It made no sense.

Alchemists who could reach seventy percent purity at his age—hell, at any age—were rarer than phoenix feathers. Such individuals were treasures, golden roots any sect would fight over just to have them under their banner. Years of investment, protection, status, they were given everything.

And yet… Divine Coin Sect had produced one. A minor sect with no deep roots. No official patronage. No damn business rising this fast. How?

Gao Moyue had been watching him from the start of the trial. From the ingredients used to the timing of flame control, Chen Ren hadn’t done anything revolutionary. He was smooth, practiced, but nothing had stood out.

Except… that moment.

Right at the end. The order of ingredients had changed.

Was that the secret? Could it really be that simple?

He didn’t know. But he was going to try it the moment he returned to his chambers. That, and every possible variation around it. He didn’t care how long it took—he had to figure it out.

For now, he held his tongue and kept his eyes forward as the announcer—an energetic qi refinement cultivator who thought too highly of his own theatrics—began presenting the next round’s ingredients from his spatial ring. A puff of smoke here, a twirl of flame there. All for show. Barely a flicker to someone like Gao Moyue.

Yet the mortals and low-level cultivators cheered like they were watching divine sorcery. He sighed.

Beside him, the city lord, Bai Huiqin, leaned forward, nodding at something one of the ministers said. Whispers passed back and forth between the officials, most of it irrelevant until the name Chen Ren came up.

That made Gao Moyue listen.

The man speaking was the Minister of Civil Works—an annoyingly shrewd official who rarely praised anyone.

“Our Broken Ridge City seems to have found itself a new star,” the man said, adjusting his spectacles. “An alchemist with that level of talent… he won’t stay hidden long. Even the Emperor’s court might come calling.”

Gao Moyue couldn’t respond to that. His lips were pressed in a thin line, his hands gripping the edge of the balcony rail.

A star? No. Stars were admired. Chen Ren was a threat.

Another voice joined the conversation, smooth and knowing—the Minister of Commerce, a sharp-eyed man who always seemed one step ahead when it came to profit and power.

“It’s a shame he already has his own sect,” the minister said with a polite smile, glancing toward the city lord. “I’m fairly certain you would have liked him working under you, my lord.”

The City Lord, seated in his high-backed chair of lacquered wood and inlaid jade, stroked his beard thoughtfully. “He’s certainly a promising prospect,” he mused aloud. “How long has he been in the city?”

“I believe it’s only been a few weeks, my lord. But… have you heard of the flavored pills?”

“Flavored pills? Is that some form of candy?”

A few of the ministers chuckled, but the first one quickly clarified, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. “No, my lord. The Divine Coin Sect has altered the taste of their alchemical pills, and they are still effective, but now easy on the tongue. It’s becoming wildly popular among the hunters. They say even children stepping on the path of cultivation can take them without gagging.”

As the City Lord’s curiosity grew, the minister reached into his robes and produced a small pill in a jade container. “Here, try one.”

Gao Moyue stared.

You’ve had it on you this whole time? he wanted to shout. Are you his damn salesman now?

But he held his tongue, watching instead as the City Lord took the pill with mild curiosity and popped it into his mouth.

A beat passed. Then Bai Huiqin’s lips parted. Gao Moyue saw a trail of saliva dripping down his beard as he licked his lips.

“This is… really good.”

The minister beamed, clearly proud of himself. “Exactly as I said, my lord. Divine Coin Sect is different. I believe our city stands to benefit from their growth. We need innovators. You’ve seen the capital, they’re full of alchemists like this. And look at how they’ve prospered.”

Gao Moyue saw the immediate change from neutrality to interest.

Damn it.

He clenched his fists under the table, nails digging into flesh. After all these years of reading the man, he could tell exactly what was happening: the City Lord’s view of Chen Ren was tilting.

That was very bad news.

And worse yet, the ministers kept feeding it. Praising him like a hero. Why? What did they even get from it? Influence? Bragging rights? A chance to ride the wave of a rising star?

He didn’t know. Didn’t care. If he could remember their damn family names, he would’ve cursed every one of them on the spot.

It was unnatural.

Gao Moyue had known these ministers for years—leeches wrapped in silk, parasites who spent more time polishing their boots than doing their actual jobs. The only thing they were good at was sniffing out the scent of power and clinging to it like flies to honey.

And now they were praising Chen Ren?

It didn’t sit right. That sort of talk wasn’t born out of goodwill or civic pride. There was something else behind it. Something he needed to investigate. Maybe the Divine Coin Sect had offered incentives. Or maybe Chen Ren had made a few quiet deals while no one was watching.

Either way, this sudden surge of support wasn’t natural. It reeked of politics.

Gao Moyue clenched his teeth. He wanted to speak up, to throw doubt on the rising praise, to remind the City Lord that one good pill didn’t make a genius. But…

His eyes went back to the arena.

There, Chen Ren stood with the same irritating calm on his face, hands moving swiftly as he prepared the ingredients for the third round.

Heavens! Why must you do this to me? Gao Moyue almost cursed at his luck.

Anything he said now would make him look bitter. Jealous. Like some old cultivator threatened by a bright-eyed greenhorn who’d stolen the spotlight. He couldn’t afford that. Not with the City Lord watching. Not with the ministers muttering praise like gospel.

He had a reputation to maintain. So he swallowed the bile in his throat and said nothing.

The third round was already in full swing. It was one of the more difficult tests—requiring the alchemists to produce any viable pill from a limited and randomized set of ingredients. A test of creativity, knowledge, and adaptability.

Frankly, Gao Moyue always felt it was better suited for rogue cultivators, the kind who survived on scraps, who had to learn how to improvise without the luxury of storerooms or perfect manuals.

But the rounds weren’t chosen by him.

They were chosen by the City Lord. So he simply watched.

The Darkmoon disciples were holding their own, to his satisfaction. Even that idiot spy, who had nearly embarrassed them in the past week, looked surprisingly competent now. He might even make it to the next round.

But Gao Moyue’s attention remained fixed on Chen Ren. He kept his expression composed, unwilling to let even a twitch of distaste show on his face.

But inside, he was seething.

Chen Ren was doing well.

From the ingredients laid out in front of him, Gao Moyue could tell what the boy was attempting: a Five Flow Stabilizing Pill—a relatively obscure Mortal grade concoction. Common enough for any decent alchemist to recognize, but rare in the sense that few chose to specialize in it. It required specific timing and even more specific temperature control. Most would struggle to make something passable, let alone refined.

And yet, Chen Ren was moving as if the process had been drilled into him since childhood. As if he had done it dozens of times before.

Gao Moyue’s stomach twisted because his instincts screamed that this was very, very bad.

Because if Chen Ren finished the pill successfully—and all signs said he would—then there would be no stopping his momentum. He would easily qualify for the final round. And once he got there… everything could change.

But still, Gao Moyue controlled himself.

He calmed his breathing, let his fingers rest against the ornate armrest of his chair, and smoothed out the frown that threatened to creep onto his face. He had lived long enough to know that letting emotions show in front of rivals—even potential ones—was the same as handing them a weapon.

So he let Chen Ren perform well. Let the boy impress a few ministers. Let him stir up excitement among the rabble. He might reach the final round—but that was all he’d do. Because Gao Moyue knew what was coming.

The last round wasn’t judged by ministers or crowd sentiment. It wasn’t based on cheers or fancy presentations. It was judged by one man—the City Lord himself.

And Gao Moyue had made damn sure that round would be his.

To ensure the win, He’d gone so far as to personally create custom pill recipes for the final challenge. Concoction no other sect in the city could even think of. A formula born from his own insights as a meridian expansion realm cultivator, refined to perfection, and tailored to fit the ingredients the City Lord would provide.

There’s no way Chen Ren will be able to match that.

He might be clever. He might even be talented. But a greenhorn like him—no matter how flashy—couldn’t possibly match a pill designed by someone with decades of cultivation, alchemical theory, and real-world refinement under his belt.

In the end, the final round would go exactly as he intended. His sect would win.

And when that happened—when all eyes turned to Darkmoon Sect in admiration once more—Gao Moyue would make his move.

Divine Coin Sect would not walk away from this trial unscathed.

He would crush their rising name.

And Chen Ren—with all his smug calm and irritating innovation—would be fucking buried before he could ever call himself a rival.

***

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