Dao of Money

Chen Ren had come to understand something about the world: there were many ways to make people talk. Some required silver, some required patience, and some required nothing more than the right ear in the right place. The most common way was to buy information. Every major city had its shadowy network of brokers, men and women who made their living whispering secrets for coins. Another was to scatter men across inns and taverns, listening as drink loosened tongues and gossip slipped free. With sharp senses, even a body forging realm cultivator could catch every slurred word, every careless slip. Chen Ren was almost certain Tang Boming had used both methods to gather the flood of knowledge he always seemed to possess.

But Chen Ren did not want to follow that road.

Money was easy to spend, difficult to protect. A broker who smiled today could sell him out tomorrow, and Chen Ren had lived long enough in the Chen Clan to know that information was guarded as tightly as cultivation manuals. As for placing men in taverns—who would he send? How long would it take before they earned trust, before rumor separated itself from truth? Too long, too messy. And every word still needed to be weighed and tested.

No. He had no patience for that. What he needed was information that was quick and clean, something he could use the moment he heard it.

He had thought of this even before their journey to Red Peak City. A simpler method: find someone who talked too much. A blabbermouth was worth more than a dozen spies, and thankfully, every city was full of them.

So, once they were settled, Chen Ren stepped out into the streets with Yalan beside him. A slight change in posture, a different rhythm in his step, and the mask hid his true features so well even his own clan would not know him. The city buzzed around them—merchants calling out wares, hawkers shoving food at passersby, drinkers already stumbling out of inns despite the hour. Somewhere in this sea of faces, Chen Ren knew, was a loose tongue waiting to betray its secrets.

Wang Jun had been left behind with a book. Luo Feng had gone to wander the seed market, chasing after rare sprouts and the chance of new books on spirit farming. Zhou Ping had been sent to scour the city’s markets. Alcohol, perfume, cloth, even dyes—if there was a coin to be made, Chen Ren wanted to know about it.

Red Peak City was no dusty backwater. Wealth flowed here in carriages and silk bundles, and merchants came from half the empire to taste a share of it. If he could find the right person, someone with loose lips and a weakness, he might draw out not only gossip but also business opportunities.

Beside him, Yalan’s voice slipped into his mind like a whisper of wind. “That face and robes. You look… unappealing.”

Chen Ren glanced down at himself. The robes were fine, cut from spirit-woven silk that shimmered faintly in the light. Lines of silver ran along the hems, catching the eye even when he wished they wouldn’t. Classy, expensive, the kind of clothing that turned heads. And they did—everywhere he walked, people stared. Yet he knew it wasn’t only the robes. The mask had given him a face sharper than his own, handsome to the point of arrogance, sculpted to draw attention rather than hide it. Exactly what he wanted.

“Unappealing?” He let a small smile curl at the corner of his mouth. “You know why I chose this look.”

Yalan gave him a side-eye, her whiskers twitching. “It feels less like you’re searching for someone to manipulate and more like you’re looking for a lover.”

Chen Ren visibly shuddered. “That’s the last thing I want. Just play along.” His gaze swept the street ahead, where tavern signs creaked in the afternoon breeze. “We’re almost at the ‘Wooden Gold Tavern’”

Yalan arched a brow. “In the afternoon? Who would even be there this early?”

Chen Ren’s smile widened. “Someone who loves alcohol and good food. The kind of person who talks too much, and exactly the person we want.”

The tavern was easy to spot, its wide red roof gleaming under the afternoon sun. Like most buildings in Red Peak City, it carried the color that had given the place its name. Chen Ren knew the place well from memory—its reputation, its patrons, and most importantly, the kind of talk that spilled freely within its walls.

He pushed open the heavy wooden doors without hesitation.

The air inside was warm, thick with the smell of stale wine and roasted meat. Yet the place was far from lively. Only a scattering of men sat around the tables, most of them mercenaries by the look of it. Their armor was battered, their blades resting casually at their sides. The scrape of tankards and the low murmur of conversation filled the room, but Chen Ren’s eyes moved quickly across them. These weren’t the kind of men who hoarded secrets—brutal, straightforward types at best. Nothing he wanted.

He strode past them anyway, boots clicking against the wooden floor, and claimed a table at the back. The largest one in the tavern. Yalan slid into the chair beside him and sprawled out.

A waiter hurried over, bowing with the careful respect given to someone who looked wealthy and important. Chen Ren ordered without hesitation: the finest alcohol they had and a plate of steak to go with it. When the man retreated, Chen Ren leaned back in his chair, settling into patience.

“You should have ordered something for me too,” Yalan said, her tone flat but her eyes glinting with amusement.

“You can share my steak,” Chen Ren replied, tilting his head toward her.

“I doubt it will be spirit beast meat.”

“This place is more about alcohol than food,” he said, lips curving slightly. “I’ll get you something proper once we’re done here. It shouldn’t take more than a few hours.”

“You’re awfully confident.”

Chen Ren’s eyes flicked toward the door, already imagining who might stumble through. “Afternoon is when the worst of the young masters stagger in here, demanding wine. Half-drunk already, their tongues loose before the first cup even touches their lips.”

“And with a war going on?” Yalan asked softly. “Do you think they’ll still come?”

Chen Ren let out a quiet snort. “More, during a war,” he said, his tone certain. “These drunks are useless even if they’re born into the right families. When swords are drawn, no one cares about them. They’re left behind, ignored, and so they drink all the harder.”

Yalan only sighed, shifting into her seat, stretching as though she had settled in for a nap.

Chen Ren, meanwhile, let his ears wander. The mercenaries nearby spoke loud enough for half the room to hear. At first, their talk brushed against something interesting—a hunt in the Sinkhole, chasing some beast for its parts. His focus sharpened for a moment, but the subject passed as quickly as it came. Soon enough, the talk returned to what truly stirred their blood: prostitutes. Crude laughter, boasts, and comparisons filled the air, drowning out anything useful.

Chen Ren’s lip twitched in disappointment. Mercenaries were cultivators in name, but their ambitions rarely reached higher than their next cup of wine or warm bed.

Time slipped by in this haze of voices. The steak and alcohol arrived at last, carried by the waiter who bowed with exaggerated respect. No doubt he had mistaken Chen Ren’s bearing and robes for that of a powerful clan heir. That was fine. Illusions were meant to be believed.

Chen Ren tasted the steak first—decent enough, though nothing to impress. The alcohol burned more than it pleased, but he drank anyway, letting the image of indulgence build around him. He wasn’t fond of alcohol, but appearances mattered more than preference.

Even after half the meal was gone, the door remained quiet. No spoiled young masters barged in demanding cups, no loud voices spilling secrets with their arrogance. But Chen Ren did not mind. Patience was a blade he had learned to sharpen well. If it took another round of wine to keep the mask in place, so be it.

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Yalan snorted beside him, eyes half-lidded. “I could have been exploring the city instead of sitting here. Checking on some… past matters.”

Chen Ren tilted his head, studying her. “What matters?”

“Just things I left unfinished.” She changed her posture to turn to his opposite side. “Nothing that concerns you.”

Chen Ren opened his mouth, ready to press Yalan further, but the creak of the tavern door broke his thought. A loud, grating voice followed almost instantly.

“Bring me the best wine you have! Young Master Yu has come to drink!”

Chen Ren’s head turned. The newcomer strode in with the swagger of someone who believed the world owed him respect. He was a burly man, his robes embroidered with gold threads that screamed of wealth, though the way he wore them made them seem more gaudy than noble. His long black hair was tied up with a bright ribbon, bouncing as he moved toward the counter.

The waiter who had served Chen Ren earlier stiffened, color draining from his face as the young master bore down on him.

“Where’s my wine?” he demanded, slamming a heavy palm on the counter.

The waiter swallowed, his voice trembling. “Young Master Yu… the boss said… you must first pay your tab before we can serve you more.”

The man’s nostrils flared. “Didn’t you already send it to my family?”

“We did,” the waiter stammered. “But there was no reply. We even went to your clan’s gates, but the guards said… you must pay for it yourself.”

Young master Yu’s face darkened. He stomped his foot so hard the floorboards rattled. “Nonsense! Lies! The great Yu Clan would never turn away their own young master.”

“I’m only repeating what happened…” The waiter edged backward, clutching his tray like a shield.

“It doesn’t matter,” he snapped, stepping forward with clenched fists. “Bring me the wine and food now or else!”

It looked as if the young master was about to strike the poor man. Around the room, the mercenaries kept drinking, their eyes glinting with amusement at the unfolding scene but not a single one moving to interfere.

Chen Ren’s gaze slid to Yalan. I told you so.

Yalan answered only with a soft, dismissive snort.

Pushing his chair back, Chen Ren rose and walked toward the counter. His steps were unhurried, deliberate, and yet each one drew eyes in the quiet tavern. The waiter noticed him first, his desperate gaze locking onto Chen Ren as if he were salvation itself.

But instead of helping, Chen Ren reached out and seized the waiter’s collar in one smooth motion.

The waiter’s eyes went wide as Chen Ren’s grip tightened on his collar.

“Don’t you hear the young master?” Chen Ren asked crudely. “He wants food and alcohol. Why aren’t you understanding your place and giving him what he wants?”

The man trembled. “It’s not my decision—it’s what the owner—”

Chen Ren cut him off sharply. “It doesn’t matter. Can’t you see? Young Master Yu is from a reputable family. By forcing him to make a scene in your tavern, you drag down his reputation. Do you really think you’ll keep your head if word of this spreads?”

The waiter’s face drained of blood. His knees seemed ready to buckle, and for a moment Chen Ren thought the man might faint. A pang of guilt flickered through him, and he resolved to leave a generous tip later. But the act was working—better than he had hoped.

Across from them, Young Master Xu’s scowl faded into surprise. Then his expression shifted, a pleased, almost smug smile tugging at his lips. His gaze lingered on Chen Ren, a spark of wonder glinting in his eyes.

Chen Ren turned smoothly, offering the man a shallow bow. “Young Master Yu, this waiter—and his owner—are nothing but fools. I’ll deal with them properly later. For now, if you wish to dine, why not join me? A man of your standing deserves better company. I would be honored to share a table with someone from such a distinguished family.”

Yu’s gaze flicked up and down, taking in Chen Ren’s robes of spiritual silk, the handsome face carved by the mask. After a moment, he gave a satisfied nod. “I would like that. Are you a traveler?”

“Yes. Of a sort.” Chen Ren inclined his head, voice smooth. “My name is Renjie. Why don’t you go ahead and take a seat at my table? I’ll be with you shortly, after I deal with this man.”

“Good. Good.” Young master Yu’s smile widened as he strutted toward the largest table at the back, clearly pleased with him.

As the young master moved away, Chen Ren loosened his grip on the waiter. With a subtle motion, he pressed a small pouch of coins into the man’s hand before letting go.

The waiter still stood frozen, clutching the pouch of coins as if it were the only thing anchoring him to the world. His eyes were wide, a man who had just glimpsed death in the space of a heartbeat was now handed a lot of money.

“Wha—why?”

Chen Ren leaned in and cleared his throat. “Just bring me the strongest alcohol you have and good food—whatever that man likes. Don’t question anything. I’ll cover it, and there’ll be another tip once I’m done.”

The sudden change left the waiter blinking, mouth half open, as though his mind could not catch up. But Chen Ren was already turning away, moving toward the back table where Young Master Yu had planted himself like a lord on a throne.

His gaze wasn’t on the wine, nor the food, but on Yalan. She sat there lazily, tail curling with bored grace, her feline eyes half-lidded as if the world itself wasn’t worth her time.

When Chen Ren slid into his seat, the man’s chin tilted. “That cat is yours?”

Chen Ren’s lips curved. “Yes. A spirit beast I bought from a beast master. Just a hobby of mine.”

Yalan’s snort was soft, derisive, but Young master Yu didn’t even notice. His eyes widened instead, surprise and envy mixing on his face. “Must have cost a fortune.”

“A little,” Chen Ren admitted easily, and crossed his arms. “But I’m generous with money. A cultivator measures wealth in years, not coins.”

He lifted a glass and slid it across the table. “Here. Try this. It’s good. I’ve ordered more.”

He accepted it, lifting the drink with both eagerness and vanity. He took a sip, his frown melting into a grin. “Mm. It is good. You’re generous and well studied. Refined, even.”

Chen Ren waved the compliment away smoothly. “I could say the same. You carry yourself with distinction. Strong, dignified.”

The words hit their mark. Young master Yu’s face flushed, pride blooming where anger had wilted earlier. “You have a good eye, Renjie. I’m from the Yu clan. Most here aren’t worth my time, but you—” he leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice as though sharing a secret, “—you seem like someone worth knowing.”

Chen Ren returned the smile, his eyes warm, his posture open. “Then I would be honored to know such a personality as yours.”

But behind the mask of courtesy, his thoughts were sharp. He was never taught to not take free food and flattery from a smiling man… a fool who thinks himself clever is really the easiest prey of all.

***

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