Dao of Money

Chen Ren’s carriage neared the gates of Meadow Village, and the heavy wooden doors swung inward without so much as a signal. The guards that were on duty straightened at once, thumping their spears lightly against the ground in acknowledgment. By now, his carriage was as familiar to them as the village chief’s own robes, and he had already sent word of his return days ago.

Normally, Chen Ren would’ve slowed the horses, leaned out, and exchanged a few words—asked after their families, the patrols, and whether the beasts had troubled the village a lot. But he already knew the answers. He’d gotten all the reports in letters: the beast risings had been nothing more than a nuisance, Zi Wen and Li Xuan had handled them steadily, and the villagers were safe. Hence, he simply made his way towards the sect building.

Throughout, their passing did not go unnoticed. Villagers paused mid-step, eyes widened as they spoke in whispers amongst themselves. He saw how they all pointed at his carriage, at the crest—the golden dragon that was of the Divine Coin Sect. By nightfall, every house in Meadow Village would know he had returned.

It struck him, not without a wry sort of pride, how quickly things had changed. Months ago, they didn’t care as much—the common folk considered him as a cultivator to be feared. But now, things have changed by a larger margin. He was most likely more reputable than even Chief Muyang. That thought amused him, because people sometimes clung to reputation harder than cultivation. Even if he woke up tomorrow with no qi, his reputation would not vanish with it.

In a way, all the risks he’d taken so far, made it seem worth it.

The carriage turned onto the path where it led to the sect gates, and wheels grinded softly against the smoother ground. Chen Ren leaned out the window, letting the breeze brush across his face, when he noticed the group standing in front of the building.

Qing He was at the front. She looked composed and calm on the exterior, but he couldn’t tell the same for the rest. Feiyu stood stall just behind, Zi Wen and Hong Yi flanked them, and a crowd of mortals clustered further back like a tide held at bay with Tang Xiulan. It was… quite surprising. He hadn’t received even half as much formality when he returned from his last business trip, and for the first time since coming to Meadows, a faint uneasiness spread through his chest. Because such a reception rarely meant simple joy.

He knew Qing He would never come out to greet him like this.

His suspicions thickened the moment he stepped down from the carriage and all of them looked at him like he had the answers to questions people didn’t dare to ask.

Yalan fell in step behind him as he walked forward.

Chen Ren offered Qing He a faint smile as he drew near, his tone laced with a touch of humor that belied the tension creeping into him. “I see you missed me enough to wait at the gates,” he said.

Normally, Chen Ren would have expected a sharp-tongued retort from Qing He, some playful jab about his arrogance. But this time, she said nothing. Her silence rang louder than words, and that alone made his steps slow. Something was wrong.

He let his gaze sweep across the others gathered. The cultivators standing behind her—Feiyu’s jaw tight, Hong Yi unusually grim, Zi Wen frowning as though caught between restraint and speech—none of them looked relaxed. Even Xiulan had a frown on her face. Chen Ren’s brows knit together.

It was only then he realized Li Xuan wasn’t among them. Did I miss something?

“Did the beast rising do any damage?” he cleared his throat after asking, still unsure what the hell was happening. His eyes flicked toward the crowd, then back to them. “Is Li Xuan okay? What is happening?”

“He’s fine. More than fine. Still on the walls, practically living there. Hunts every beast that comes near. At this point, he may as well make a bed up there.”

Chen Ren felt the knot in his chest ease, but only slightly. If Li Xuan was well, then this gathering wasn’t about casualties. “Then what’s going on?” he pressed. “Tell me.”

At last, Qing He exhaled, her shoulders sinking. She glanced at him, then at Yalan at his side, and her voice was low. “Let’s talk inside. You have Wang Jun with you.”

Chen Ren’s eyes flicked back toward the carriage where Wang Jun was. He gave a slow nod. Zi Wen stepped forward immediately. “I’ll handle him. You all go ahead.”

With that, the group shifted. Qing He, Feiyu, Xiulan and Hong Yi fell into step with Chen Ren, while Zi Wen turned back toward the carriage. The mortals began unloading crates and bundles, their chatter filling the air, but it all blurred into background noise as Chen Ren walked toward the sect building.

The familiar corridors greeted him. Normally, he might have asked questions before they even reached a room, but instinct held him still. Patience was one of the few disciplines he’d learned to wield well. Yet every step sharpened the tension until it coiled tight inside him.

As soon as they entered a private chamber, Qing He didn’t wait for him to sit. She turned around, “You are in a lot of trouble.”

Chen Ren blinked away, trying to make sure if he heard the correct thing. “Why? What happened?”

She reached into her sleeve and produced a folded letter. It was sealed, but had already opened once before. She placed it on the table.

“We received this two days ago. It’s from the Blazing Ember Sect. You should understand what that means.”

For the first time since stepping into the village, Chen Ren froze.

The name alone was enough to churn the air in his chest. His fingers closed around the letter almost mechanically.

How had they figured it out so soon? How much did they actually know? The thought gnawed at him as he stared at the seal. Did they know he had taken the vault? That he had burned down their disciples? The questions pressed harder and harder.

Chen Ren drew a slow breath, forcing his mind to still. Speculation would do nothing. Only answers mattered. His fingers slid beneath the flap, as if he were defusing some invisible trap. The parchment unfolded with a faint crackle, its scent sharp with smoke and iron.

The letter was short—just a single page—but the words burned hotter than any tome filled with curses. At a glance, it masqueraded as something almost cordial, a casual invitation written in measured strokes. But beneath that thin veneer, the venom was clear.

The Blazing Ember Sect had found him out. Not merely that he had stolen what they called their rightful property, but that he had killed their premier disciples. Their demands were scrawled in black ink without hesitation: the return of everything taken, the severed head of Chen Ren, and the lives of all who had stepped foot in the vault that day.

His grip on the parchment tightened.

And then he saw Yalan’s name. His eyes narrowed. They knew of her existence, down to the detail of her strength. The letter dripped with mock generosity: they would spare her life and enslave her instead, branding that humiliation as a “concession” because her display had impressed the man who wrote the letter—Sect Regent Shen Linao.

Bile rose in Chen Ren’s throat.

The ultimatum was set with chilling simplicity. Twelve days. At the end of that time, they were to bring everything—and everyone—to a meeting at Thousand Graves Valley. He knew that place well. A stretch of land that was situated in between Cloud Mist City and Blazing Ember sect, so close to their sphere of influence that walking into it would be little different from stepping directly into the sect’s jaws.

If they refused, the letter promised retribution. Not just against the Divine Coin Sect, but the entire Meadow Village.

Chen Ren’s jaw clenched, the faint tremor of his qi betraying the storm inside. Did they truly expect him to deliver his own head to them like some obedient dog? The absurdity of it almost made him laugh, but he could see why they thought such arrogance would go unanswered. To them, the Divine Coin Sect was nothing more than an upstart gathering, a candle flickering in the wind. Other than Yalan, there were no powerhouses to shield it.

And the worst part? They weren’t entirely wrong.

Chen Ren read through the letter once, then again, his brows knitting tighter with every line. The words didn’t change, but they pressed heavier on him the second time around. Finally, he lowered the parchment and looked at the others gathered, his frown deepening. With a quiet gesture toward the table, he said, “Why don’t we sit?”

He opened the letter and placed it in front of Yalan. Her sharp amber eyes ran over the words. Chen Ren could tell the exact second her eyes went from curious to anger to a fury so raw it bled through her qi. By the time she was done, her claws were out, and there was fire scorching her tail.

“They want your head,” she spat, her voice trembling with contained rage. “But me? They want me chained like some beast. That is worse than death.” She leaned forward, scowling, her teeth bared. “Those sons of whores. Who do they think they are to enslave me? I’ll enslave their own kin, bind their children, and make them grovel for daring to even imagine putting a collar on my neck!”

The air rippled faintly with her killing intent, and more than one person in the room shifted uneasily.

Chen Ren reached out. “Your anger is justified,” he said softly, “but we need to think calmly about it.”

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Her head snapped toward him, eyes burning. “Why end it calmly? We can go and burn them to the ground.”

It was Qing He who answered. “We can’t.” She folded her arms, her eyes narrowing slightly. In the midst of the storm, she stood eerily calm. “Blazing Ember has far more cultivators than we can muster. The one who wrote that letter—Shen Linao—he’s the current sect regent. He’s at the meridian expansion realm.” Her gaze slid toward Yalan. “You might be able to face him one-on-one, but he won’t be alone. Blazing Ember has dozens of foundation establishment cultivators. Dozens. You’d be swallowed the moment you made a move.”

Yalan’s lips twisted into a bitter sneer. “So what do you suggest? That I cut off Chen Ren’s head myself and put a collar on my own neck? Would that satisfy them?”

Her words were venom, but the hurt buried in them wasn’t lost on Chen Ren. He leaned forward, placing a firm hand on her back, feeling the fur twitch beneath his touch. “No. We won’t give in to their demands. Not yours, not mine, not anyone’s. I enjoy living far too much to die on their terms, and I won’t let them take you.” His grip tightened slightly, in reassurance. “But we do need to think of how to get out of this. All of us knew this day would come.”

Hong Yi’s face had gone pale. His fingers fidgeted against the hem of his sleeve before he finally spoke. “Not so soon.” His eyes lifted toward Chen Ren, haunted. “You told me it would take years before anything like this happened.” His throat bobbed with a swallow. “I don’t… I don’t want to be hunted again.”

A heavy silence followed his words. Chen Ren looked at the man straight in the eyes and said, “You won’t be.”

Those three words reeked of confidence that he didn’t have. He held Hong Yi’s gaze until the fear in it dimmed slightly. But inside, his own certainty wavered. He had come back hoping for rest, a chance to fix his star space in peace, yet Blazing Ember had chosen this moment, the worst moment to bare their stupid fangs.

His eyes dropped back to the letter on the table. The scorched parchment seemed to mock him with its calm, neat strokes. He read it again, lips moving silently, tracing each word. Once. Twice. A third time. With each pass, the fury cooled and his thoughts sharpened.

Letters like this—they revealed a lot more than just threats. Of course, threats often wrapped themselves in arrogance, but arrogance often revealed truths. By the third reading, he thought he had begun to see the cracks.

Finally, he leaned back, eyes sweeping across the tense faces around him. “At the very least,” he said slowly, “we can confirm a few facts before we decide how to act.” He tapped the edge of the letter. “But first… let’s wait for Wang Jun and Zi Wen. This threatens the sect, and they should both be here.”

The others nodded wordlessly.

It wasn’t long before the door creaked open. Zi Wen entered, carrying a lacquered wooden box in both hands as though it were something delicate. He set it down on the table, then undid the clasps.

The lid swung open, and out rolled a round, disembodied head, eyes blinking rapidly as Zi Wen reached in and plucked him free, setting him upright on the table’s surface.

“I hate being carried like that,” Wang Jun grumbled, shaking slightly as if trying to restore dignity to his floating locks of hair. “There need to be better ways than putting me in a—”

He stopped mid-complaint, his sharp eyes darting around the table. The silence, the taut expressions, the weight in the air—it all pressed down too heavily to ignore. His brows furrowed. “What happened?”

Chen Ren didn’t waste words. He picked up the letter, his voice steady as he read it aloud, each line landing heavier than the last. When he finished, the silence returned.

Wang Jun’s expression shifted, his usually mischievous features paling slightly. He turned toward Chen Ren, his mouth twitching into something between a grimace and a reluctant smile. “You,” he said, “have a penchant for stumbling into these kinds of situations.”

Chen Ren exhaled through his nose, a humorless smirk tugging faintly at his lips. “If I hadn’t, you’d still be sleeping.”

For a moment, the head just stared at him, then let out a sigh that seemed to rattle in his throat. “I don’t know,” he said, “if that would have been better… or worse, given the situation you’re in now.”

Wang Jun went quiet for a long moment, his eyelids drooping half-shut as though he were lost in memory. Then he gave a bitter chuckle. “If I had even half of my former strength,” he said, his voice rasping with both pride and regret, “I’d crush the Blazing Ember Sect myself. Burn them to ash for what they did to my people. But as you see…” he wobbled slightly, the sight of his severed body speaking louder than words, “…a head can’t do much.”

Chen Ren’s lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile. Truthfully, he doubted the head’s claim. There was no question the man was hiding far more than he let on—his past power, his knowledge, his secrets—but Chen Ren didn’t think he could single-handedly solve this. Not anymore. He was best used as he was now: a consultant.

“I don’t think any of us can simply burn down the problem,” he said, his eyes sliding toward Qing He. “Can you?”

She shook her head at once, her ears swaying faintly with the motion. “Even I have my own chains. At best, I could speak with this Shen Linao who sent the letter. He seems to be the one in charge.”

“He is,” Chen Ren said, recalling the tidbits Anji had shared. “From what I’ve heard, he’s the current sect regent.” He tapped a finger against the parchment on the table. “But we’ll come to him later. First, there’s something else. The letter tells us more than it intended.”

“Like what?” Wang Jun asked.

“Like how it doesn’t even mention you.” He gestured at the floating Head. “From the letter, it’s clear they know what happened in the vault. But if they truly saw everything, if they had all the details… surely they would have mentioned a talking head. That they didn’t mean their information is incomplete.”

Hong Yi hummed. “So they only know about the fight with Wang Fu?”

“Exactly. And I think it’s clear how they found out.”

Qing He’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Divination. I thought the same. But if Shen Linao divined the entire battle, the cost would have been steep.”

“Steep doesn’t matter to him,” Chen Ren replied. He tapped the letter again, harder this time. “It’s apparent from the tone—he’s Wang Fu’s master. He has written that we killed his disciple, so he’s probably a demonic cultivator. For someone like him, the cost of prying into fate would mean little if it gave him a chance at something he’s chased for years.”

“That’s the second reason I believe he sent us a letter,” he said at last. “Instead of going through the bureaucratic way—marching to the capital and filing a complaint against us.”

Zi Wen’s brows rose, and after a moment he gave a sharp nod. “Exactly. If he had gone that route, the case would fall under the Inquisitors’ eyes. They’d send their hounds to question us, and the moment we mentioned Blazing Ember’s dabbling in demonic arts…” Zi Wen’s lips curled faintly. “…they’d come under scrutiny instead.”

A murmur of agreement rippled around the room. Even the head bobbed slightly in place, acknowledging the point.

“There’s more to it, though. From the wording alone to the location of the meeting, he’s not proposing a parley. He’s setting up an ambush. If we don’t comply with every last demand, stepping into that valley will be walking into their jaws.”

The others shifted uncomfortably, but he pressed on.

“At the same time, it’s not all bad. The letter betrays their thinking. Shen Linao believes us to be weak. Other than Yalan, he’s certain we have no powerhouses to rely on. And if he truly used divination to spy on the battle, then he knows what we showed there. We didn’t win by strength, but by tricks and guile. He sees the upper hand in his grasp.”

Chen Ren’s jaw clenched. “That means he underestimates us.”

But the words rang hollow even to himself. Underestimation was useful only if they had a card left hidden. Right now, their hands were nearly bare.

There was one reality—they could neither run nor refuse. If they fled, Blazing Ember would hunt them to the ends of the earth. If they resisted outright, the sect would descend here in force, and the village would burn for it. He could already picture it: ordinary lives scattered like straw before a fire. That was something he would not allow.

The tension in the room coiled tighter. Chen Ren stared at the letter, then at each of their faces in turn, before finally voicing the single question that haunted his mind.

“How,” he said slowly, “are we going to stop the Blazing Ember Sect?”

The silence that followed was deeper than before, pressing into the marrow. Despite every detail laid bare, every possibility turned over, not one of them answered.

***

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