Dao of Money

As soon as Chen Ren saw Patriarch Leijun, memories rushed through him like a storm he didn’t ask for.

He saw it—the day his predecessor had been banished. The man’s cold eyes, the hard voice that had carved each word into his mind: “You’re trash. The Chen Clan has nothing to do with you anymore. You’ll amount to nothing and die crushed by your own foolishness. Leave!”

There had been more—too many words to count—and the worst part was that some of them had been true. That didn’t make them hurt less.

Now those words echoed again, twisting with the rage and hate that had once filled his predecessor’s heart. They rose like fire, pushing against the inside of his skull, begging to be let out. For a moment, it felt as if the hatred had only been sleeping, waiting for this exact meeting to wake.

But Chen Ren didn’t let it show. Not even a flicker.

He knew if he let his emotions slip, his killing intent would bleed out on its own. The air would change, and the old man would notice. So he pushed it down—slowly, deliberately—until his face was calm again.

Only then did he realize Patriarch Leijun had risen from his seat.

Chen Ren’s gaze met his for a heartbeat. Then, lowering his head slightly, he offered a short bow, just enough to show courtesy without submission. “It’s an honor to meet the Patriarch of the Chen Clan,” he said evenly.

Leijun’s sharp gaze studied him in silence, but he didn’t keep gazing at him, Chen Ren turned his eyes to the second man in the room—Chen Chenglei, his uncle. “It’s an honor to meet you as well, Elder Chenglei.”

Both men nodded in acknowledgment. Then Leijun’s expression softened a fraction, and his voice carried the weight of calm authority. “I believe it’s we who should be saying that to you, Renjie,” the patriarch said. “I’m glad you accepted my invitation. I’ve been hearing a great deal about your pills… and your master.”

Chen Ren smiled faintly, just enough to be polite. “My master tends to attract talk whenever he’s named,” he replied. “Every pill I have ever made is simply a reflection of his teachings.”

The words came smoothly, practiced, polite yet under that faint smile, Chen Ren’s thoughts burned quietly. He had gotten so good at lying that at this point, he had the confidence to even fool the Emperor.

“Your master must be quite the genius,” Patriarch Leijun said, voice smooth but heavy with curiosity. “Blessed by the heavens, no doubt. What’s his name?”

Chen Ren’s smile didn’t waver. “I’m sorry, Patriarch Chen,” he said calmly. “My master prefers to remain unknown. He’s a hermit now, and speaking his name might only draw trouble to him. That has always been the case with him.”

Leijun’s expression didn’t change, but Chen Ren could almost hear the thoughts behind that stillness—the silent calculations, the doubt, the subtle weighing of truth. But in the end, his pills had already proven their worth. The results spoke louder than any story he could tell. Whether the patriarch believed him or not didn’t matter. What mattered was that he had power, and power made belief easy.

Finally, Leijun gave a slow nod. “That’s alright,” he said, gesturing toward a seat. “Why don’t we sit?”

As Chen Ren moved forward, Leijun’s eyes flicked toward Yalan. “Will your spirit beast stay with you?”

Chen Ren inclined his head. “Yes. But don’t worry, she’s obedient and no threat.”

From the side, Chenglei gave a short chuckle. “I’m sure. She barely gives off the aura of a tier two spirit beast. I think we’ll be fine.”

Chen Ren didn’t look his way, but a faint thought slid across his mind: You couldn’t be more wrong.

The air in the room shifted slightly as they took their seats. Yalan sat beside him, her eyes half-lidded, acting as an obedient spirit beast who already looked bored.

Patriarch Leijun clasped his hands over the table. “I’m sure you’re curious why I’ve called you here,” he said.

Chen Ren nodded. “I suspected it has something to do with the pills I’ve been selling to the Yu Clan. Am I right?”

Leijun’s lips curved into a faint smile in return.

“You are, yes. You’re quick to catch on.”

“It’s not the first time clans or sects have become interested in my master’s creations,” Chen Ren said, keeping his tone mild. “But I haven’t done much business with them. The Yu Clan was an exception because of a friend.”

Chen Chenglei gave a thin smile. “Yu Murong, we know him.”

Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed a fraction. For a brief second, he let the smile fall from his face. “It seems your people have been digging for information about me. I thought it stopped at the men who followed me around the city yesterday.”

The room went still for a moment. Patriarch Leijun’s expression didn’t shift, but his son frowned, clearly caught off guard by how bluntly Chen Ren said it. Before Chenglei could speak, the patriarch turned his head toward him.

“I wasn’t aware of that,” Leijun said evenly. “Chenglei, did you send men to follow Renjie?”

Chenglei blinked, hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, Father. I did.”

Leijun clicked his tongue and looked back at Chen Ren. “Then I must apologize for my son. I had no intention of having men tail you after sending the invitation. It seems my son acted ahead of me, and without any thought. He could be like this. Trust me, the Chen clan had no intention of antagonising you.”

Chen Ren’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s fine. I simply don’t like people being that interested in my life. I hope it won’t happen again.”

“It won’t,” the patriarch said. “You have my word.”

Chen Ren let the matter drop. It wasn’t worth the breath and it had already served its purpose of letting the Chen clan know that sending people to tail him was useless and was just going to make him angry. This was how these people worked; for what they were about to discuss, he needed to show that he was no pushover.

He leaned back slightly. “Anyway,” he said, voice light, “let’s return to the main topic. You should know the only reason I sold those pills was because of a friend yet you called me here.”

Patriarch Leijun folded his hands over his lap, his tone as even as still water. “I’m well aware of your arrangement with the Yu Clan,” he said. “But no one said you couldn’t have a partnership with the Chen Clan as well.”

Chen Ren’s brows lifted slightly. “Wouldn’t that jeopardize my friendship with the Yu Clan?”

Leijun’s smile was faint, the kind that didn’t touch his eyes. “From what I’ve heard, you’re a traveler. Travelers rarely stay in one city for long. Friendship shouldn’t bind you so tightly. You’d do better to think about what we can give you, and how much it will help you on your path. You would always have a friend in the Chen Clan.”

Chen Ren tilted his head. “And why can’t the Yu Clan give me the same? I’m sure they’re evaluating my worth as we speak.”

Leijun gave a soft, dismissive scoff. “You’re new to Red Peak City. You wouldn’t know. The Yu Clan are merchants, first and last. They buy, they sell, they barter, but true power doesn’t come from trade. They can’t give you the cultivation resources we can. You’re young and talented; you’ll appreciate what we offer.”

Beside him, Chenglei nodded quickly. “My father’s right. The Chen Clan produces the strongest cultivators in the city. What we can provide—no one else could.”

Chen Ren went quiet, lowering his gaze in thought. He stroked his chin in thought. To the two of them, it must have looked like he was seriously considering it. Inside, he was only playing the role, letting silence stretch so they could fill it with promises.

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A second passed. And another. And before the silence would get too awkward, he looked up.

“I’d like to know what you can offer me,” he said. “But I’m guessing the pills you want will be as many as what I’ve already sold to the Yu Clan.”

Leijun’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction and nodded. “You’ll get far more value from us than from them,” he said smoothly. “Trust me—the Yu Clan has been underpaying you severely.”

Chen Ren gave a faint grin, leaning back slightly in his chair. “I like the sound of that,” he said. “But I don’t need more spirit stones. I have enough right now, and if you’re offering to buy the same pills, I can sell them to you at the same price as the Yu Clan. What I’d prefer instead are artifacts or martial techniques on top of the spirit stones.”

“Hah!” Chenglei’s face brightened immediately. “That’s fine. We have plenty of artifacts and martial techniques, especially for cultivators in the qi refinement and foundation establishment realms. I’m sure you’d find something to your liking.”

Chen Ren shook his head. “No. I don’t want those. I have enough resources to break through to the next realm.”

Patriarch Leijun tilted his head slightly, studying him. “Then what exactly are you looking for?”

“It’s not for me,” Chen Ren said, lowering his tone a little. “You need to understand—my master oversees the creation of all these pills. We’re not an establishment that sells to the public. My master doesn’t need spirit stones. He only agreed to sell to the Yu Clan because I requested him, also because he recently took on a few new disciples—it was good practice for them, and in return, they got a few resources.”

He paused, as though weighing his next words carefully. “If I ask him to prepare more batches, he might refuse. He dislikes anything that looks like greed. To convince him, I’d need something… that he wants.”

Leijun’s eyes narrowed slightly, but his tone stayed smooth. “So, what you want are resources for your master.” A flicker of unease crossed his gaze—gone almost as quickly as it came. “But from what you’re implying, he must be quite powerful. The kind of man who wouldn’t be satisfied by ordinary offerings. Only the Guardian sects carry resources that could impress someone like that.”

Chen Ren caught the hesitation in the old man’s tone, and almost smiled. “My master doesn’t always care for strength,” he said lightly. “Sometimes he just likes… collecting things. Rare artifacts, odd materials—he calls them trinkets. I’m sure the Chen Clan has a few of those lying around.”

Leijun’s hand twitched slightly against the armrest, and Chen Ren knew he had him thinking. He raised an eyebrow. “A collector?”

Chen Ren nodded lightly, a faint smile playing at his lips. “Yes. My master has an eye for rare things. I know his tastes well. Once, he paid an entire bag of high-grade spirit stones to a sect leader—just for a ring he liked. It wasn’t even a spatial artifact, just one engraved with intricate runes that no one knows the function of. If you have anything like that, I believe I could persuade my master to sell to you.”

For a heartbeat, silence hung in the room. Both Leijun and Chenglei exchanged a glance—subtle, but full of conversation. Leijun stroked his goatee over and over. It was clear that neither had expected that kind of request, but neither objected either. Everyone knew that cultivators of higher realms had their eccentricities. Some collected weapons, some collected bones, and others… oddities.

Finally, Leijun gave a slow nod. “Our founder started as a merchant,” he said, voice thoughtful. “Over the centuries, the Chen Clan has gathered a fair number of artifacts—some so old we no longer know how to use them. You may find something your master would appreciate.”

Chen Ren’s eyes lit up, though it was more performance than truth. “That sounds promising. I believe my master would certainly like something out of your collection. Would you mind showing me before we continue this discussion?”

Leijun hesitated for a moment, then smiled faintly. “Very well. But remember—many of these artifacts are precious. We don’t let outsiders get inside, but I will make an exception for you. Handle them with care. If you wish to inspect anything personally, ask first.”

“Of course,” Chen Ren said smoothly, inclining his head. “I understand completely.”

The three of them rose. The patriarch gestured for him to follow, leading them through a long hallway lined with carved pillars.

“Where we are heading,” the patriarch said, “is our Vault Room.”

As they walked through the long stone corridors of the Chen estate, Patriarch Leijun kept probing for more information with each step. His tone was mild, but he was clearly trying to learn more about his background. He asked where Renjie had spent his childhood in, which sects he’d visited, and what parts of the Empire he liked the most. His voice wasn’t intruding but his eyes never stopped studying him. He was looking for small details to patch together his identity.

Chen Ren, however, gave him nothing solid. He answered with the same vague stories he had once told the Yu Clan—mentions of spending his childhood wandering across different cities, talking on the Guardian sects and a few old Established ones, and saying how he liked the Empire as whole—but no names, no places that could be traced back to him. Every word was shaped to sound honest while giving nothing away.

Their talk thinned as they reached the end of the hall. The patriarch stopped before a wide, reinforced wooden door carved with faint runes that ran across an array. He pressed his palm against it, and at once, light rippled through the grain. Lines of azure rune-light coiled across its surface like veins of lightning before the door groaned open.

In his mind, Yalan’s calm voice echoed. “That’s a [Qi-Signature Seal Array] Only the person who’s qi is registered in the array can open it.”

Chen Ren said nothing, merely stepped forward, and at once, his eyes widened seeing the room.

Woah…

The room stretched wide and deep, lined with shelves and glass cases that gleamed under suspended light orbs. Every shelf was filled: jade bottles sealed with wax, ancient scrolls tied with golden thread, rings and pendants resting atop velvet cloth, weapons mounted neatly along the walls—blades, staves, and bows of every make. Unlike the Soaring Sword Sect’s chaotic vaults, this one was pristine, arranged with a merchant’s precision.

He hadn’t expected this much. Whatever front the Chen Clan kept, they were far richer than he had imagined.

Patriarch Leijun stepped beside him, hands clasped behind his back. “I hope you can find something that suits your master’s taste,” he said. “Everything here was either won through battle or purchased by our founder generations ago.”

Chen Ren gave a small nod and began to wander slowly through the aisles, eyes gliding over each case. Chenglei trailed close, pointing things out—an ornate fan made of phoenix feathers, a cracked jade mirror that still hummed faintly with qi, an artifact that looked almost like a telescope—but Chen Ren only smiled politely, not stopping once.

He kept looking.

And then he saw it.

His steps faltered as his gaze locked onto a small, dull medallion resting in a sealed glass case. It looked nearly identical to the one he already carried—its surface etched with faint concentric runes, its edges blackened by time.

Without hesitation, he moved toward it. The closer he got, the more certain he became.

But before his hand could even brush the glass, Patriarch Leijun’s voice came from behind him—steady, almost apologetic.

“I’m sorry if that caught your eye,” the old man said. “I’m afraid that piece… cannot be given away.”

***

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