Dao of Money

As Chen Ren’s carriage rolled out of the sinkhole’s outskirts and onto the lonely road leading away from Red Peak City, someone tracked each of his movements from far away.

Chen Eain.

He had finally recovered enough to stand—a shaky, painful sort of recovery, but enough to walk again. He didn’t dare go near the sinkhole where the qi was thick; he had a gut feeling that Renjie would sense him the moment he stepped close. So Eain had stayed in the city, watching everything with a family artifact.

And everything he had seen… everything he had learned… left him chilled to the bone.

If he hadn’t witnessed it with his own eyes, he would have laughed it off as nonsense.

The Chen clan’s banished waste helping the Yu clan break their way deeper into the sinkhole? The same boy who once was thrown out of the city was now dealing pills that all the clans fought to buy? Pills that his father couldn’t stop praising?

Impossible. Maddening. Fucking Infuriating.

The way he had found it out was way worse.

As soon as he could drag himself upright a week ago, he had sent spies crawling through every inn and alley to find out who this “Renjie” was—this supposed master alchemist’s disciple who had ruined his expedition and reputation. His grudge with the Yu clan could wait; his dantian still ached with every breath, and he could barely circulate qi without coughing blood.

So his hatred looked for an easier target. The root of the humiliation—Renjie.

He wanted to know what kind of man he needed to kill.

But then his spies reported him heading toward the Lingtang, walking quietly beside that strange cat-beast. Eain’s brows had knotted. Who went into the Lingtang without having someone to pay respects to? Did the man have a connection with someone in Red Peak City?

Family? Friend? He didn’t know, but he decided to follow him himself, especially after getting the report of the man’s carriage being seen at the city gates.

Once the carriage stopped at the line to go out of the city, Eain made a quick decision. Following on foot was pointless. He won’t be able to move fast without his qi anyway. Instead, he quickly headed towards his estate to pick something up, then moved swiftly toward one of the sentinel watchtowers at Red Peak’s walls. The guards never questioned him—he was still Young Master Chen Eain, after all—so they simply stepped aside and bowed as he climbed up.

He brought a treasured artifact with him: an Eagle Eye Lens, a polished golden spyglass etched with runes that allowed sight for thousands of miles into the distance. He only needed a general direction, then he could dispatch mercenaries he trusted to keep Renjie under tight watch. A man selling such rare pills would never remain hidden for long; the pills would almost make a splash and attract attention.

He knew that well.

He set up the lens against the watchtower railing, eyes narrowing as the image sharpened… and then widened.

Renjie and his small group had not moved toward the outer roads heading into this plains like he expected. Instead, they made for the sinkhole.

That wasn’t shocking by itself. His father had said Renjie was a decent cultivator, and alchemists always needed materials. Hunting beasts for alchemy materials, that made sense.

But then—

As Renjie stepped off the carriage, he was holding a severed head.

Eain froze.

A. Severed. Fucking. Head.

A cold jolt shot through him as he pressed the lens harder against his eye, trying to focus. The carriage roof and the movement made it hard to see clearly, but he knew what he saw.

Was he always traveling with a severed human head? Why was he carrying it like a trophy?

Demonic cultivators did things like that. Cultivators that had lost the way and now walked wicked paths. People who should be burned alive under the sun.

His stomach knotted with a creeping sense of unease.

Then as he watched, Renjie leaped straight into the sinkhole with that spirit beast cat beside him. The others gathered the head back into the carriage as if it were normal.

It wasn’t normal.

Nothing about this man and his group was normal.

Chen Eain’s grip tightened on the spyglass until his knuckles cracked.

If Renjie was tied to demonic practices… If he was building power through such cursed practices, then Chen Eain’s humiliation in the sinkhole, his injuries, his disgrace before his clan—

It all made a terrifying kind of sense.

That had been the moment Chen Eain’s spine went cold.

By then, he was already convinced he was watching demonic cultivators in disguise. Why else would a wandering alchemist carry around a severed head like a treasured artifact? Why else would they speak so casually beside the sinkhole—feeding on lizard beast meat under a fire’s glow like barbarians? He had always found those beast disgusting to even touch, much less eat. Crude campfire cooking, no hint of even using salt… every sight made his lip curl further.

Savages. Devourers of anything that moved. Definitely not righteous.

He had nearly rushed back to inform his father—his heart pounding with imagined merit—when Renjie and the cat spirit beast finally emerged from the sinkhole.

And his world tilted.

The man who stepped out was not Renjie. Not a stranger. Not a hired alchemist.

No, those sharp brows and narrowed eyes belonged to someone Chen Eain knew better than he wished.

It was Chen Ren.

The trash his clan had thrown away. The failure who had vanished without leaving a ripple.

For a heartbeat, Chen Eain thought his mind was broken from fatigue or that the healer had missed a head injury. He ripped his gaze away from the artifact, sucked a breath through his teeth, and dared another look.

Still he saw the same face.

Still Chen Ren… walking confidently in Renjie’s clothes.

And the others—the cat, the two man, the severed head—accepted it as if nothing had changed. They greeted him with the same respect they’d shown Renjie.

Which meant… They knew.

Chen Ren had changed his face. Chen Ren had infiltrated the clan. Chen Ren had fooled everyone.

Had he turned to demonic arts after his banishment? Had he returned to drag the Chen Clan into the abyss? Were those pills—supposedly unique and efficient—actually poison meant to rot them from within?

But the pills passed his grandfather’s tests. They strengthened the Yu Clan and helped them reach deeper into it. So then—

What was the bastard planning?

Chen Eain’s breath turned shaky. His palms sweated against the artifact. Every answer led only to darker questions.

So many questions slammed inside Chen Eain’s skull that he thought his head might split open. His first instinct was to storm down the tower, chase Chen Ren, and tear answers out of him with his own hands.

But reality clenched around his heart like a vice.

He could barely circulate qi without feeling his dantian scream. He could barely stand against wind stronger than a breeze. If he confronted Chen Ren now… he would die.

He knew that truth far too well. Heavens hated geniuses, especially ones like him. He was sure of it. They waited for any moment of arrogance to send a punishing strike.

So what could he do?

Chen Ren had already slipped away from Red Peak City. Even the heavens seemed to help that bastard now.

Rage twisted into helplessness. He wanted to cut Chen Ren apart—piece by piece—after realizing he was the one who had empowered the Yu Clan… who had caused Chen Eain’s humiliation in the sinkhole… who might have even plotted his death.

They must have known his delving schedule. They must have waited for him to fall into the trap.

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But if Chen Ren was truly a demonic cultivator, then he was not alone. He had a backing—strong enough to produce those terrifying pills. Strong enough to fool two clans at once. And Chen Clan’s elders, even his father, were already praising the man’s miracle pills.

Would they ever listen to him? To the injured disgrace who got himself beaten half-dead?

No. Not a chance.

Chen Eain shut his eyes, forcing his breath into a steady rhythm. Ideas rose—wild, desperate, foolish—and he crushed them one by one. His hatred begged for blood, but his instincts screamed for caution.

Down below, wheels creaked over stone. Chen Ren’s carriage rolled farther and farther away… until even the artifact, with its thousand-mile sight, could no longer trace him.

Chen Eain finally tore his gaze away. His jaw tightened. His teeth ground until his gums hurt.

He turned to the city guard who had been standing quietly beside him.

“Tell the guard captain I said thanks,” he muttered, voice rough. “I’ll be leaving now.”

The guard bowed, clueless to the storm boiling inside him.

Chen Eain descended the watchtower in uneven strides. Each step sent a sharp sting across his core, a reminder of how close his dantian had come to collapsing. The healers had warned him—walk slowly, breathe evenly, do not strain yourself.

He ignored almost all of that.

Pain gnawed behind his ribs, yet his mind burned hotter.

Chen Ren.

His face—his disguise—his schemes. The reason his body now felt like a broken shell.

Chen Ren had taken his revenge fully. He had almost crippled Chen Eain, humiliated him, and fled the city under a different name.

And Chen Eain? He was too weak to even walk without wincing.

The taste of that truth was more bitter than blood.

He moved with a stiff gait through the streets. Buildings blurred past as his thoughts spiraled. The clan would not believe him—why would they? To them, Chen Ren was a name of the past, and he had no proof other than his words that Renjie and him were the same person. They wouldn’t accept that he was a danger… let alone a demonic cultivator.

How do I chase someone so far out of my reach? How do I kill someone who vanished into the night? How do I bring him down… when even walking hurts?

He didn’t know when he entered the Chen Estate. The guards recognized him at once, bowing and pushing open the gates without a word. That snapped him back to reality, and he forced his breathing steady as he made his way deeper into the compound.

He stopped only when he reached a familiar courtyard.

His father was there, as always, sword in hand—polishing the blade with a care that bordered on devotion. Chen Chenglei lifted his head the moment he sensed a presence. Concern flashed across his expression the instant he saw his son.

“Eain? You should be resting.”

After the incident in the sinkhole, Chen Chenglei’s concern had become suffocating. Guards shadowed Chen Eain wherever he went. Servants reported his meals, his sleep, even his bathroom timings. Even stepping outside required a reason, and even today, he had to sneak out.

But this conversation could not wait.

Chen Eain paused, forcing calm into his breath before speaking.

“Father, are you free?”

At once, his father paused polishing the sword and gestured him in.

“Yes. Come. You just returned from a walk?”

“I did.” Chen Eain nodded lightly. “I feel much better now.”

A relieved smile tugged at his father’s lips. “That’s good. It seems the healers’ concoctions are helping.” His gaze sharpened. “But why are you here? You don’t intend to speak about entering the sinkhole again, correct? If so—forget it. You are barred from that place until you step into the foundation establishment realm.”

Chen Eain reflexively pressed his lips together. He hated being barred from something, hated being treated like a fragile vase. But he wasn’t here to argue for a suicide return. He knew better than that. Revenge against the Yu clan would come, but not when he was so weak.

So he shook his head.

“I’m not here to ask about the sinkhole.” His tone was steady. “I understand. The clan war is heating up. I must stay out of unnecessary danger.”

Chenglei nodded approvingly. “Good. Father was right. A defeat can teach more than a victory. You finally see your limits.”

Chen Eain lowered his gaze for a heartbeat, then lifted it again with a sharper light.

“I do,” he admitted. “But I also want to expand them. Because what good will they be if they’re holding me.. back?”

Chen Chenglei’s brows drew together. “What do you mean by ‘expand them’? I’m not letting you exhaust your dantian. If that’s your idea, forget it. Go and rest.”

Chen Eain clenched his fists at his sides. The truth clawed at his throat—Chen Ren is alive. Chen Ren is Renjie. Chen Ren is a demon wearing our bloodline’s skin. He wanted to scream it. He wanted his father to rally the clan, to hunt, to kill.

But he knew exactly how that would go.

They would not believe him.

The Chen Clan would not move against Chen Ren until he had proof. Solid proof. And there was no way to get it.

So he forced a calmer answer and said the one thing that might help him kill Chen Ren.

“I want to go on a cultivation journey.”

The polishing cloth slipped from Chenglei’s fingers. “A journey? Now? When your dantian is still unstable?”

“Precisely because it is.” Chen Eain stepped forward, voice low and tight. “Red Peak City is a battlefield. The clans won’t hesitate to send assassins if they learn I’ve recovered even slightly. It’s too dangerous in the city.” He let the implication hang. “So, I should secretly get out to the outside world where they won’t focus. I will broaden my experience. When I return, I will surely have stepped into the foundation establishment realm.”

His father’s jaw tensed. “You can barely circulate qi. How will you survive wilderness travel? I will not send you to your death.”

“I don’t need to go alone,” Chen Eain pressed quickly. “Send guards. Send as many as you wish, at least until my body fully recovers. After that, I will dismiss them and continue my journey properly. I want to learn beyond these walls. I need to grow under the vast sky—not sit like a sick dog waiting for strength to return.”

Silence fell thick as stone.

Chen Chenglei studied him, staring into his eyes—Chen Eain knew what he saw; the stubborn determination, the burning humiliation hidden beneath his calm. That kind of determination was something his father had, now passed onto him. Just like he expected, slowly, his resistance wavered.

“…Where do you intend to go first?”

Chen Eain allowed himself a small, confident smile.

“Cloud Mist City. I’ve always wanted to see it. And our clan has business partners there. It is a safe start.”

But the true reason burned deeper. Chen Ren had once screamed his dreams loud enough for the entire clan to mock before leaving: I’ll join the Soaring Sword Sect! You’ll all regret doubting me!

Cloud Mist City was the place he would have gone to first. It was the obvious place to dig up his secrets. To find out what had happened to him, find his strength and weaknesses, and then to kill him.

***

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