Dao of Money

Shen Linao’s gaze stayed on Tu Wei’s face. His scowl continued to get deeper. It wasn’t merely the boy’s presence that soured his mood—though after weeks of staring at that same pale, anxious expression, even that was enough to test his patience. What bothered him was the unspoken aura around him, the boy didn’t even speak yet, but there was a noticeable tremor in his shoulders.

His downcast eyes already whispered what he feared—failure.

Of course it would be failure. Shen Linao could read it in the faint twitch at the corner of Tu Wei’s lips, in the way his disciple shifted his weight as though wishing the ground would swallow him whole. He had sent all his disciples into the field, and this whelp—too young, too green—had been left behind only because someone had to play errand boy. The others should have returned with results. Instead, they sent Tu Wei back like a crow bearing ill tidings.

When the boy finally forced words past his lips, Shen Linao’s prediction proved true. “Master… reports have come from Senior Brothers and Sisters. None of them have found the medallion. We’ve scoured Cloud Mist City and the surrounding prefectures, but… there’s nothing.”

The chamber fell silent. Shen Linao’s fingers curled against the armrest of his chair until the wood groaned in protest. Anger boiled in his chest, threatening to spill over, yet he forced his breath to stay steady.

“It is there. If the Great Lord said so, then it is there. Must I walk out of this sect myself to seize it? Are all of my disciples so worthless?”

“No, Master. It is just… the medallion has no aura. There was nothing to grasp and no qi signature to follow. Even divinations scarcely reveal a thread. It is as if fate itself toys with us, slipping away each time we draw near.”

Shen Linao rose, the long sleeves of his robe whispering against the floor as his shadow fell over Tu Wei. “If you cannot catch this ‘fate,’ then tell your brothers and sisters they will serve as the next offering. Their blood will not be wasted. I am certain its essence will fuel a higher divination, strong enough to drag the medallion’s hiding place into the open.”

Tu Wei’s breath hitched. He dared not raise his head. The air between them continued to grow thick and thicker.

At that, Tu Wei’s shoulders trembled. He bowed even lower, the crown of his head nearly brushing the cold stone floor. The boy knew better than to argue. He knew, too, that his master’s words were more whip than blade. Shen Linao did not truly believe blood sacrifices could pry open the medallion’s secrets—if such rituals worked, the Great Lord would already have seized them all long ago. But fear had its uses. Fear kept his disciples running themselves ragged instead of growing lax, kept their eyes sharp and their nerves frayed.

Tu Wei might not grasp the weight behind the medallion, but Shen Linao did. Its power was reason enough, yet beyond that lay something far more precious: a favor from the Great Lord himself. To fail here would mean losing that chance forever. He would sooner bleed this sect dry than allow it to slip from his grasp.

A sharp scoff broke the silence as Shen Linao straightened, dismissing the boy’s trembling form with a flick of his sleeve. “Enough about the medallion. There are other matters to tend to, matters regarding the thieves.”

Tu Wei’s head lifted slightly, confusion flickering in his eyes until Shen Linao’s next words came, smooth as venom. “That pest, Chen Ren. Has he returned to that little village of his?”

The disciple swallowed, then nodded quickly. “Yes, Master. A day ago. My spies saw his carriage entering the village. He hasn’t stepped out of the sect hall since, but… I’m certain he received the letter.”

“Good.” Shen Linao’s lips curved, not quite a smile, more a predator’s baring of teeth. “Then let us hope he has the sense to do what’s right, deliver everything back to me, with his head laid at my feet as interest.”

“Master… What if he didn’t return everything? We… we do not know what lay hidden in the vault.”

“Then I have an idea. Even if he obeys, even if he hands me what I demanded, his village will be erased all the same. Fire, beasts, whatever cloak we choose, it matters little. The ashes will tell us all there is to know, and no one will question it.” The corner of his mouth lifted at his own thought. “After all… villages falling to beasts is no rarity in this land. Who would waste their breath searching for what exactly happened?”

“Then… Master, should I place more men around the village? Tighten the watch?”

Shen Linao’s hand flicked through the air in dismissal. “No need for that yet. We still have days to prepare. If you swarm the place now, that spirit beast might notice. That cat is their true guardian, likely the only reason those insects thought they could stand against me.”

Even now, he still had no idea how such a meager sect had managed to tame such a creature. A meridian expansion realm beast, he could count on one hand the number he’d seen in his lifetime. Each was worth more than a sect’s treasury, and yet… Chen Ren’s little group had one as a guardian.

But curiosity was a luxury. What mattered was not how they had it, but how he would take it for himself. With a beast like that at his side, the balance of power would shift overnight. No longer would he play the part of a regent, shackled by the title while the so-called sect leader still sat above him. No, he would tear that farce down. With the Great Lord backing him and the beast enslaved at his heel, the position would be his.

Especially now. He could feel it in the winds of the Empire, the subtle cracks beginning to spread. Change was coming. And he intended to stand at the peak when it broke.

His gaze settled once more on Tu Wei.

“Just keep watch. Prepare everything at the meeting site as I instructed. They will likely refuse, believing that spirit beast can shield them. Let them. We will crush them and bind the beast under our banners. And see to it that nothing leaves that village for Cloud Mist City. You said Li Baolong’s brat is there, the one tied to the Soaring Sword Sect. I won’t risk word spreading. If even a whisper reaches their ears, it will complicate things. With the beast rising swelling, outsiders will not look at most reports… but we cannot gamble on their caution. Not with this.”

Tu Wei pressed his forehead to the ground. “I will do as you command, Master.” With that, he rose, bowing deeply before retreating from the chamber, his steps quick, as though eager to escape the oppressive weight of Shen Linao’s presence.

Once the boy’s footsteps faded into silence, Shen Linao leaned back in his chair and exhaled, letting all the stress go through his nose. For a brief moment the scowl slipped, replaced by weary shadows. His fingers pressed into his temples, rubbing slow circles as if he could knead the stress from his skull.

The medallion. The Divine Coin Sect. The endless cries of fools in his sect whining about deaths during the divination array. Useless, all of them. Did they not realize that such sacrifices were the natural order? Power demanded a price. If they balked at that, they had no right to even call themselves cultivators.

He clenched his fist, nails biting into flesh. Soon enough, all their voices would be ashes on the wind. Once he pried open the sect and took every last treasure within, there would be no one left to oppose him. No medallion too hidden, no beast too wild, no sect too lofty.

But before that… he would make certain that Chen Ren’s head burned first. That upstart dared to challenge his sect. Shen Linao would see to it that his skull became the torch that lit the fire of his rise.

***

The next two days blurred into one long grind of thought, scrolls, and bitter silence. Chen Ren spent every waking moment clawing at the problem of the Blazing Ember Sect, searching for any thread that could be pulled, any weakness to exploit.

Most of what he had came from Anji. Months ago, she had poured out what she knew, scrawling notes with a hand that trembled with both grief and fury. As the daughter of the last sect leader of the Void Blade Sect, she had every reason to remember their enemies in detail. The names of elders, the structure of the sect, the strengths of their factions—she had written it all, even though each word seemed to reopen a wound.

And always, Shen Linao’s name surfaced. He was the one who had led the charge that ended her father’s life. One of the strongest standing pillars of the Blazing Ember Sect. Anji’s handwriting had grown jagged when describing him, as though hatred alone could pierce the page.

Chen Ren tapped his knuckles against the table. His mind was feeling heavy. He didn’t doubt that Yalan could contend with Shen Linao—her power was in a realm beyond most—but Shen Linao would never come alone. And that was the true danger. By Anji’s estimate, the Blazing Ember Sect could field not just one monster, but many. Numerous qi refinement realm cultivators that would be enough to drown a battlefield. Dozens of foundation establishment realm disciples and elders, the kind that emerged as a force to overwhelm small clans in the blink of an eye.

Stolen novel; please report.

If he were Shen Linao, Chen Ren thought grimly, he would not come in strength to parley. He would lay an ambush, a cage of cultivators snapping shut around them the moment they arrived.

A dull ache pulsed at his temples. He pressed his fingers there, trying to knead away the pressure. He had faced giants before, titans of coin and cunning who sought to crush him in the marketplace, and he had survived by scheming, by knowing when to yield and when to strike. But this—this was different. Here, he could not slip away behind clever schemes or subtle manipulations. This was not negotiation. It was a storm of blades, and he stood on the wrong side of it.

Even if he armed every mortal with muskets and blades, gathered every cultivator he knew, and leaned on the Tang Clan until their coffers bled, he would still not match the force that Blazing Ember Sect could bring.

So he forced himself into a rhythm. Hours spent poring over Anji’s notes, memorizing every line of sect hierarchy, every habit of their elders, every possible schism. Hours spent walking the village, listening to his allies. He asked each of them their thoughts, their fears, their solutions. Even if none had the answer, their words might shake something loose in his mind.

Yet with each passing day, the sense of time thinning grew sharper. The noose was tightening, and unless he found something, anything, they would all choke beneath it.

Hong Yi’s solution had been simple—cowardly, perhaps, but simple. “We should run,” the man had said, his face pale in the lamplight. “That’s the only way. Live to fight another day.”

Feiyu, in contrast, hadn’t wasted words. He had buried himself in the workshop, hammering iron, pouring powder, refining the long barrels of his newest prototypes. His mind was fixed on weapons, particularly the sniper rifles he had sketched out weeks ago. Where Hong Yi dreamed of escape, Feiyu forged the tools for a desperate stand.

Zi Wen had suggested turning to Li Xuan. “If anyone can help us, it’s him. His connections stretch wider than we can imagine. Even if he’s tangled in sect politics, his word still carries weight. Sect Leader, Chen Ren, we can get his help.”

Chen Ren had been tempted. Deeply tempted. The thought of leaning on Li Xuan’s ties to the Soaring Sword Sect was like an open door in his mind. But he could not ignore the fractures he had already sensed in Li Xuan’s relationship with the sect. After all, why else will he still be here.

Yalan’s report had cut through his hesitation: there were cultivators already watching the village. The moment they tried to send word out, Blazing Ember’s net would close.

Then there was the city lord. Chen Ren had considered pulling that string—Li Xuan’s father might still be moved by favor or debt—but Cloud Mist City itself was drowning. Merchants talked of battles against wave after wave of beasts, nests spilling high-tier monstrosities into the walls. Even with the Soaring Sword Sect stationed there, the warfront was too busy. What help could make it through in time?

Chen Ren’s fingers drummed against the table as he listened, weighed, dismissed. In this world, goodwill was a fantasy. Nobody would bleed for them simply because the Blazing Ember Sect walked in with demonic cultivators. Every hand wanted payment, every savior a prize. What price could he offer that would arrive before Shen Linao’s blades?

None.

Which left him with only one road. Solve the problem at its root. Find the flaw. He had learned in his old life that no matter how high or proud, every opponent had an Achilles heel. A crack in the armor, a flaw in the system, a weakness they would kill to hide.

Blazing Ember Sect would be no different.

His headache throbbed sharper, but beneath it his instincts surged with clarity. They chanted the same refrain over and over: There is a way. Find it. Strike it. And live.

And Chen Ren, by now, had learned to trust those whispers.

Chen Ren’s days became an endless churn of parchment and whispers. He sifted through Anji’s notes until the ink bled into his vision, prodded Zi Wen for every tale merchants had muttered over their cups, even pulled Qing He aside to ask what she knew of powers that might secretly oppose the Blazing Ember Sect. But each answer turned into smoke. They weren’t certain enough or sharp enough to cut through Shen Linao’s shadow. Until of course, he stumbled on it.

At first, the whole idea felt nothing more than a footnote, buried in the margins of Void Blade’s records, one among hundreds of half truths and rumors, collected more for spite than for strategy. He almost skimmed past it, the way he had done a dozen times before. But this time, something made him pause. He read it again, then again, and again until the threads began to tighten.

It was so obvious it mocked him.

A weakness hidden in plain sight, overlooked only because he had been too focused on strength, numbers and weapons. But once it clicked, once the pieces aligned, his chest tightened with something he hadn’t felt in days—hope. It was fragile, but it was there.

It was not a guaranteed path. Far from it. If it failed, they would all be corpses on scorched earth. But for the first time, there was a chance to rip the Blazing Ember Sect’s claws from their throats.

He clenched the parchment, mind racing, and by nightfall he had made his decision. He sought out Qing He, the one person who might actually make such a reckless gambit possible.

When he laid out the plan, her expression hardened. She didn’t answer at first, only stared at him, lips pressed into a thin line, as though waiting for him to laugh and admit it was a joke. When he didn’t, she finally spoke.

“Are you insane? Do you even realise how risky this is? Before the plan has the slightest chance to succeed, you might already be dead.”

“I know. That’s why I’ll stall. As long as I can buy the time, the rest can move. We still have days before the meeting. That’s more than enough to prepare, enough to place backups around the site.” His jaw tightened. “After everything, after dragging us all this far, I refuse to be the first one to throw myself into a suicide mission. If I die, it will be after I’ve exhausted every plan I can put into motion.”

His voice rang with more steel and courage than he felt. Inside, his pulse hammered, every beat reminding him that the line between genius and desperation was thin. But outwardly, he let only calm resolve show. Because in this game, even resolve could be a weapon.

Qing He’s brows furrowed so tightly they nearly touched, her voice rough with disapproval. “But this is a suicide mission, kid. Do you really think it will work? Cultivators aren’t reasonable.”

Chen Ren leaned back slightly, meeting her sharp gaze without flinching. “I don’t believe any cultivator is reasonable,” he said quietly. “And yet, I’ve still done well enough for myself.” A thin smile tugged at his lips. “Besides, even if this fails, I’m confident I can still run. Yalan will be a massive help… and if worse comes to worst, maybe you’ll finally show me some of your moves.”

That earned him a sharp snort. Qing He crossed her arms, but the faint twitch at the corner of her mouth betrayed her. “My bones don’t bend the way they used to. But fine. I suppose I can count on you to run fast enough not to drag me down.”

Chen Ren grinned wider at that, the brief levity cutting through the heaviness between them. Still, he saw the shadow in her eyes, the worry she couldn’t quite mask. She had been at his side long enough, seen him crawl through schemes and fights that should have killed him, and he knew her faith in him was not easily given.

Her tone softened, though her gaze did not. “But you wouldn’t have come to me with just this. Not unless you’ve thought of other things. I know you too well, boy.”

Chen Ren exhaled through his nose, his grin settling into something steadier. “Not everything,” he admitted, “but I have a skeleton, at least. A framework.” He leaned forward, eyes glinting as if the plan itself was fire in his chest. “Let me tell you what I’ve pieced together…”

***

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