Dao of Money

Chen Ren froze.

The Darkmoon Sect Leader Gao Moyue casually strolled toward him. His hands were clasped behind his back as if he was just out for an afternoon walk. But with the pressing weight of his gaze, there was nothing casual about his presence.

From behind, another figure walked in, draped in black and silver robes. They both had similar long, snow-white goatees, and both moved inside slowly, unhurried steps—all the while their auras so tightly concealed that no ordinary passerby could tell how strong they were cultivation-wise.

Why here? Why now? Did they visit the shop to cause trouble? To destroy it outright? Maybe not, it was too crude for a man like Gao Moyue. Or maybe he wanted to threaten Chen Ren by appearing in person. If that was the case, that would be a loss of face for him… unless, of course, something else was at play.

He would find out soon enough.

When they were around fifteen feet away, they shoved haggling customers aside easily, showing off that they’d never known the meaning of waiting in line. Soon, they reached the counter, and Gao Moyue’s gaze fixed on him.

“I think we should talk in private,” the sect leader said.

That was quite straight. Curiosity got the best out of him and Chen Ren nodded back. “Yes, let’s go to my office.”

He turned to Anji, who was staring with wide eyes at the scene that was unfolding.

“Anji, please handle the shop until I’m done speaking with Sect Leader Gao Moyue.”

She swallowed and nodded.

Without further delay, Chen Ren walked toward the back, resisting the urge to quicken his pace. He allowed himself one glance over his shoulder—just enough to confirm the sect leader’s steady approach behind him as the elder shadowed him.

As they crossed into the quieter corridor, Chen Ren’s gaze flicked around, checking every corner without moving his head too obviously.

“Don’t worry,” Yalan’s voice slid smoothly into his mind. “I’m seeing everything. If they try anything, I’ll intercept.”

His shoulders eased, tension uncoiling slightly. With her here, at least he wouldn’t be entirely at their mercy.

They reached his office soon after. Chen Ren pushed the door open, gesturing toward the chair opposite his own desk. “Please, have a seat.”

Only after the sect leader settled did Chen Ren take his own.

Chen Ren noticed it immediately—only Gao Moyue took the offered seat. The elder in Darkmoon robes remained standing, hands folded before him, head slightly bowed.

Chen Ren’s brow arched and the sect leader followed his eyes to look at the elder.

“He doesn’t need to sit,” he said evenly, keeping his posture straight. “He hasn’t earned it.”

The elder’s shoulders dipped, his gaze sinking to the floorboards.

Chen Ren filed the scene away in silence. Internal sect business—none of his concern. His attention returned to the man before him, and their eyes locked across the desk.

“I’m sorry,” Chen Ren said. “I don’t have any tea prepared for you. Things have been… busy here. I didn’t expect your arrival.”

“That’s fine.” Gao Moyue leaned back slightly, and gave a slight shrug as if he owned the space. Even the aura that excluded him dominated the space. “I didn’t want to come here. But I realized we’ve never been formally introduced. As sects competing in the same market, it’s pertinent to do so.”

He paused, his words lingering like a blade held just above the skin.

“You should know this already,” Gao Moyue continued, “but I am Gao Moyue, sect leader of the Darkmoon Sect for the last one hundred and fifty years, and a meridian expansion realm cultivator. I have overseen Broken Ridge City since the Empire made it a border city.”

Chen Ren nodded. He knew all of this already, but courtesy demanded formality. “I’m Chen Ren, Sect Leader of the Divine Coin Sect… and a qi refinement realm cultivator.”

A sharp huff escaped Gao Moyue. “Hearing you say that makes me realize how incompetent my sect has become. It seems I’ve been too uncaring for too long.”

The man caresses his goatee.

Chen Ren quirked an eyebrow. “Are you here to tell me you only lost because your sect had become incompetent?”

“No.” Gao Moyue’s black eyes sharpened. “You did well. Far too well for an Emerging sect to have any right to, and you have my respect for that. What I’m here to do… is assess you.”

Assess me? Personally? “Not here to threaten me, then?” Chen Ren asked, already wanting to know what was actually going through his mind.

Gao Moyue shook his head. “My presence is threat enough. And hearing you speak to me like that… It tells me you have backing. No one moves their mouth in front of a superior without it.”

Chen Ren didn’t rise to the bait. After a moment, he said evenly, “I just don’t think you can do anything to me now. I understand your plans, Sect Leader Gao Moyue, and I have to say, you have dominated the city for a long time. But the City Lord has looked at me favorably. I don’t think you want to do anything to me right now.”

The sect leader’s smirk was… slow. He stared a beat longer and rolled his shoulders back. “The City Lord would indeed be… displeased if I moved against you. But you are still a new sapling. The Darkmoon Sect’s roots are far too deep. Don’t hide behind the City Lord. That’s the fastest way to grow complacent. In the coming years, I doubt you will have much chance to relax.”

“I’ll think about your words,” Chen Ren said. His voice was light, but his eyes didn’t waver. “But I believe I’m relaxed enough even now.”

The air shifted.

Gao Moyue’s aura suddenly swept forward before he could blink twice. Chen Ren felt death’s icy, unforgiving grasp tighten around his throat. As the weight crushed against his chest, his face turned pale and his breath caught.

Still, he forced himself to look up, glare meeting glare.

It was just a show. He wouldn’t dare act here. If he did, Yalan would have all the reason she needed to strike.

As expected, the suffocating pressure eased, like a tide retreating from the shore.

“At least,” Gao Moyue said, voice low, “you don’t seem like a puppet placed here by someone else.”

Chen Ren took a slow breath, the air tasting sharper than before. “I believe you should tread carefully, Sect Leader Gao Moyue. Next time you do that… I won’t just sit still.”

“Oh? Really?” Gao Moyue’s eyes narrowed, and a dangerous edge crept into his voice. “I would like to see—”

He stopped mid-sentence.

Color drained from his face.

Chen Ren’s lips curved. He knew that look. The sudden stillness in the man’s posture, the movement of his hand muscles—Gao Moyue was feeling it now. The same oppressive weight that had gripped Chen Ren moments ago… only this time, it was pressing down on him.

Unlike Chen Ren, Gao Moyue hadn’t been ready for it.

For several seconds, the Darkmoon Sect leader sat rigid, his qi surging instinctively in search of the source. Invisible tendrils of spiritual sense rippled through the room… but if he found anything, it didn’t show. His expression shifted once, almost imperceptibly, before settling into something carefully neutral.

Yalan must’ve stopped. Because the man’s posture eased.

In the corner, the elder still hadn’t moved. His head remained lowered, the faintest air of detachment about him, as though what happened here was not worth witnessing.

“Ah,” Gao Moyue finally said, a wry note slipping into his voice. “It seems I truly underestimated you. You really are full of tricks.”

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“You haven’t seen even half of it,” Chen Ren replied back. “So I suggest you don’t try shows of power again.”

“Very well.” Gao Moyue inclined his head, an acknowledgment without submission. “I see your strength now. I think we’ll make fine rivals in this city. I suppose the heavens can’t let one man benefit forever—it must create balance. And it has… with you and me. I’ll leave your sect alone for now.”

Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t think I believe that.”

“Hmm, good thinking. Because, me, leaving your sect alone doesn’t mean there won’t be repercussions,” Gao Moyue said with a faint smile. “I believe it’s time I reminded my disciples why they are the best in the city. That will keep me… occupied. Too busy to meddle with your little shop. But don’t relax too much, Chen Ren. We will clash our qis again soon.”

He rose from his seat, turning toward the door. Halfway there, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder.

“But,” he said, “I do have one question before I leave.”

“What?”

“How did you get those greedy bastards of officials to speak in your favor?”

Chen Ren hesitated, weighing whether to answer. The truth was, a man like Gao Moyue would find out eventually. Even if he didn’t say it outright, he’d use his resources and connections to find out. Better to choose the framing himself.

“Like you said,” Chen Ren replied evenly, “they’re greedy, but they like to pretend otherwise. They like to show they’re honest. I simply gave them a way to do both.”

A faint crease formed between the sect leader’s brows. “And what was that?”

“The city has a big betting market,” Chen Ren said, “especially during the trials. I told them who to put their money on. Seeing how confident I was, they ended up placing at least a little on the winner. They grew wealthier without losing a shred of ‘honor’… and I gained some fans among them. The betting market didn’t even expect me to pass the first round, much less win.”

For a moment, Gao Moyue simply stared at him, the corners of his lips twitching as if savoring the answer. Then he nodded once. “You’re smart.” He paused at the door, a faint smile curving his mouth. “I will remember your name, Sect Leader Chen Ren.”

With that, he left, the elder falling silently into step behind him.

Chen Ren didn’t relax right away. He sat there, still and silent, listening to the sound of their footsteps fading down the hall. Five long minutes passed before he finally exhaled, leaning back into his chair.

If he was right, Yalan was already shadowing them, following at a safe distance to see where they went next.

The entire meeting had been taut as a bowstring—more an assessment than an outright threat, though the warning was clear.

Revealing the presence of a meridian expansion realm cultivator in their midst… Perhaps it was a risk. But it was also a deterrent. If nothing else, it might make them think twice before acting openly.

No… whatever came next from Darkmoon Sect would be quieter. More subtle. And likely aimed where he least expected.

And honestly, Chen Ren didn’t care much.

He had accomplished what he’d come to Broken Ridge City to do. The debt was gone, wiped clean. His footing was solid now, the kind that couldn’t be easily shaken. Every week, spirit stones would flow in—a steady stream he could rely on.

If he managed to expand the business to other cities, the Divine Coin Sect’s economy might one day rival that of an Established Sect.

But that was for later.

For now, he needed to take stock of what he had. Even as he sat there, the faint chime of the shop’s front door drifting through the walls hit his ears. He could feel it—a thin trickle of qi, subtle yet constant, flowing into his dantian. Every pill sold carried a sliver of benefit back to him, and though the flow was small, it never stopped.

It was like feeling the first drops of a rainstorm that, given enough time, could flood an entire valley.

***

Shen Linao kept the frown from touching his face.

Each breath he drew seemed to stoke the fire in his chest, feeding the anger that clawed at his ribs. It took every thread of his willpower not to bark out his frustration at the sight before him.

The massive chamber—once the secret vault of the Void Blade Sect—was now stripped bare of its treasures. Where once priceless artifacts might have rested, there now sat two dozen disciples, their crimson robes dulled with dust and sweat. Every one of them was trained in the discipline of divination, though most had never been called to attempt anything of this magnitude.

They sat cross-legged, eyes shut, breaths steady, qi streaming from their bodies in pale threads. The streams twisted together in the air, feeding a roiling cloud suspended in the chamber’s center. It pulsed faintly, an embryonic mirror that would soon—he hoped—show him the vision he sought.

Through it, they would tear through the veil of space and time, stretching the threads of reality itself to peer into the past. They would see what had happened here months ago. They would see who had killed Wang Fu and the others. They would see who had stolen the treasures that were rightfully his.

But it was taking far too long.

Maybe he shouldn’t have killed the ones who refused to give their lives for the “greater good” of the sect. With more experienced seers, the process might have moved faster. Still, what choice did he have? Divination was an art that devoured life force, and most of these disciples were only at the qi refinement realm. They would die here today, and he felt no remorse.

They had accepted their fates.

He wanted the treasures. That was all that mattered.

But patience was bleeding from him by the moment. Six hours had passed already, and the swirling mirror was still unstable. His mind was too unsettled to cultivate, his body too tense to rest. All he could do was stand there and wait, wondering if all his sacrifices would finally reveal the face of the unknown enemy… or if the vision would dissolve, leaving him with nothing but corpses and failure.

Just as Shen Linao felt the last threads of his patience fray, something shifted among the seated cultivators.

Three of them shuddered violently, thin streams of blood trickling from their nostrils before they slumped sideways to the ground. A flare of qi burst from their bodies, followed by the faint shimmer of their life force, both drawn upward into the swirling cloud above.

Shen Linao’s lips curved into the first real smile he had allowed himself all day. It was starting.

One after another, more disciples followed. Some went rigid before their meridians ruptured with sickening cracks, threads of qi leaking out in ghostly streams. Others simply collapsed, their hearts stilled in an instant, their dantians hollowed out like spent lanterns.

Each death fed the cloud.

From its churning grey, it bled into a misty white, and with every passing breath faint hues began to seep through—gold, red, deep indigo. Shen Linao narrowed his eyes, focusing on the shifting shapes within.

There.

A vague silhouette stood at the heart of the cloud, surrounded by other blurred figures. Wang Fu was not yet among them, but Shen Linao knew he would appear soon. Divinations rarely played out in neat order—especially not with fledgling diviners—but if the time frame was right, the truth would unravel before him.

The shine in his eyes grew sharper. He leaned forward, drinking in every detail as the unstable vision rippled and formed.

Then, faint but distinct, came the first clear words—one of the shadowed figures calling out to the first silhouette:

“Sect Leader Chen Ren.”

***

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