Dao of Money

Han Qingshi barely had time to react.

A massive tongue shot toward him like a battering ram, splitting the air with a wet crack. He twisted instinctively, chains whipping from his hands as he slammed into the ground and rolled. Mud and water exploded upward as the tongue missed him by a hair’s breadth.

In front of him, a giant toad croaked—a deep, thunderous sound that vibrated through the lake. Its bloated body shifted as it rolled its tongue back into its maw, thick muscles rippling beneath slick, dark-green skin. The water around it churned violently, waves slapping against the muddy shore.

Han Qingshi’s eyes narrowed.

This was it. One of the strongest and rarest beasts in the outskirts of Goldspire City. Just locating the creature had taken him two full days of tracking, following broken reeds, half-dissolved carcasses, and the lingering stench of beast blood. Now that he was fighting it, he finally understood why the guild paid such an obscene amount of tokens for its head.

The toad was fast. Far faster than something that size had any right to be. Its body was dense, packed with muscle and strange vitality, and unlike wyverns, it couldn’t be dragged into the air and smashed down at will. Each of its movements sent shockwaves through the water.

But Han Qingshi only grinned.

Everything bleeds eventually.

The toad attacked again.

Its tongue lashed out, thicker than a tree trunk, moving with terrifying accuracy. Han Qingshi leapt forward instead of retreating, chains snapping around the tongue mid-flight. Metal clanged as he wrapped it tight, qi surging through the links as he planted his feet and pulled with all his strength.

For a moment, the beast actually stumbled.

Han Qingshi’s eyes lit up, but the next instant, the toad’s pupils narrowed. Its tongue recoiled with brutal force, yanking him off the ground and throwing him in the air.

“Damn—”

He reacted instantly, releasing the chain and twisting his body, using the momentum instead of fighting it. As he spun, both chains flashed outward, slashing across the toad’s face.

Metal tore into flesh. The blow split apart skin and muscle.

The beast screamed, a shrill, enraged cry echoing across the lake as blood turned the lake crimson.

But before Han Qingshi could press the advantage, the creature retaliated.

Its tongue shot out once more.

Han Qingshi was still in mid-fall. He tried to twist away, but it was too fast.

The tongue wrapped around his waist.

Cold, crushing pressure tightened instantly, squeezing the air from his lungs as the beast yanked him backward toward the lake.

He felt something crack.

Bone ground against bone under the crushing pressure of the tongue, pain exploding through his torso. His vision blurred, but he roared through clenched teeth and slammed his free fist into the slick, rubbery flesh wrapped around him.

Nothing happened.

So he punched again.

And again.

Each blow landed dull and wet, blood smearing across the tongue as he kept striking without rhythm or restraint. Finally, the toad shrieked, a piercing cry that rattled the air. Its tongue recoiled violently, whipping through the air, and Han Qingshi was flung aside like debris.

He smashed into the lake’s bank and rolled, dirt filling his mouth. He spat, coughing, every breath sending sharp agony through his chest. His ribs were broken—there was no doubt about it—and fire lanced through his back with every movement.

Yet when he looked up and saw the toad again, tongue still extended, blood dripping from the wounds he had carved into it, Han Qingshi smiled.

Adrenaline flooded him, drowning out pain, washing away fear and hesitation alike. This was it. This was what it meant to be a cultivator—meeting a challenge head-on, staking life against life to emerge victorious.

And he would claim victory against this beast.

He swung his chains, metal whistling through the air, just as the toad tore massive boulders from the far bank with its tongue and hurled them at him. Han Qingshi’s grin widened. One chain lashed out, smashing the first boulder mid-flight. But more of them followed.

He leapt off the ground.

Han Qingshi landed atop a flying rock, crushing it beneath his feet and using the collapse as a springboard. He shot forward, body cutting through the air as his chains blazed with qi, every link reinforced and hardened.

Then, he threw them.

The chain wrapped around the toad’s tongue once more, metal biting into flesh. The beast pulled, furious, and this time, Han Qingshi did not yield. He crashed down into the lake, water exploding around him, half his body submerged as he dug his feet into the muddy bottom.

Qi surged through his legs. Muscles bulged grotesquely as he anchored himself in place and bellowed, veins standing out across his neck.

This time, it was a tug of war.

He kept pulling, intent on overpowering the toad, but it was anything but easy.

They were evenly matched in cultivation, and the beast had the advantage of sheer mass. Its body was enormous, strength rooted in muscle and core.

But Han Qingshi had never been someone who knew how to give up.

He forced more qi through his meridians, letting it coat his body until his skin took on a metallic sheen. His veins visibly bulged, and his teeth ground together as he pulled again, and again. His muscles screamed, fibers feeling as though they were on the verge of snapping, but he refused to release his grip.

Finally, the toad stumbled.

That was all the opening he needed.

As the massive body splashed into the lake, Han Qingshi surged forward, chains flashing. He slammed them into the beast’s back with all the force he could muster. The blow didn’t rupture its organs like he’d hoped, but it tore deep gashes across its thick hide. Blood poured out, staining the water crimson.

The toad shrieked, its round eyes narrowing into furious slits.

Han Qingshi didn’t give it a single moment to recover.

He wrapped the chains around his fist and drove blow after blow into the creature’s face, metal crunching against flesh. The toad lashed out with its tongue, trying to keep him at bay. Han Qingshi caught it mid-swing and yanked, attempting to rip it free from the beast’s mouth.

For a heartbeat, they were locked into another deadlock. The toad roared and hurled its full strength into the struggle, swinging Han Qingshi through the air like a weapon.

This time, he didn’t let go.

Instead, he looped his chains tightly around the middle of the tongue and used the motion to his advantage, letting the swing carry him forward. He rocketed straight toward the toad, body cutting through the air like a projectile.

The beast tried to retreat.

It was too late.

Han Qingshi slammed into one of its eyes, puncturing it on impact. Hot, foul blood burst out, coating him in red as the toad let out an ear-splitting scream. The force of the collision dragged them both beneath the surface of the lake.

Water closed over them.

And the toad’s screams echoed, muffled and furious, through the depths.

Part of its eye tore free, drifting uselessly in the water, and pain finally overwhelmed the beast.

Han Qingshi felt it—the moment its resistance faltered.

He surged forward, qi erupting from his core, and drove himself in close. One hand twisted around the tongue, winding it tight around his forearm so the toad couldn’t lash out again. With the other, he began to punch.

Again.

And again.

Each strike landed squarely on its face, bone and flesh collapsing under the repeated blows. The lake churned around them, clouds of blood blooming with every impact. The toad’s movements grew sluggish until finally its body went slack.

It stopped breathing.

Han Qingshi didn’t release it immediately. He waited—counted his breaths—until he was certain there would be no sudden counterattack. Only then did he kick off the corpse and swim back toward the surface.

He emerged near the bank, dragging the massive tongue with him. Water poured off his soaked robes as he planted his feet on solid ground and pulled. Muscles screamed, but inch by inch, he hauled the enormous body onto the shore.

The toad wasn’t completely dead yet.

Its chest still twitched faintly. One ruined eye stared blindly at the sky, its face a smashed, bloody mess.

Han Qingshi clicked his tongue in mild annoyance.

“Enough.”

He reached into his spatial ring—one that he had bought inside the city—and drew out a heavy axe. Without ceremony, he raised it and brought it down on the toad’s neck.

Fat and sinew gave way under the blade. Blood splashed over his boots, warm and sticky, soaking into the ground, and trailing into the lake. The stench was overpowering, and Han Qingshi doubted anyone would be able to use the lake’s water for a long time.

He didn’t care.

With a final, brutal strike, the axe bit deep, and the massive body finally went still.

A familiar chime echoed in his mind.

[You have been rewarded five thousand tokens for killing the Lake-Tyrant Toad]Han Qingshi exhaled slowly, chest heaving. Five thousand tokens—just from one kill.

Combined with what he already had, it wouldn’t take long to get enough to ascend to the next floor. If he hunted a few more such beasts, he would even have enough to lend to his junior disciples. The thought brought a rare flicker of satisfaction to his eyes.

He wiped blood from his face, then instinctively opened the rankings.

And froze.

His name wasn’t at the top.

For a second, his mind rejected what he was seeing.

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“…What?”

At rank one was a name that was nowhere near the top yesterday.

[Chen Ren - Rank 1 - 25,000 tokens.]

His brows knitted together as he stared, disbelief slowly giving way to irritation.

“How could that be?” he muttered, but knew what he was seeing was the truth.

The pagoda wouldn’t make mistakes. Rankings didn’t lie which meant this wasn’t an error.

Han Qingshi closed the interface, jaw tightening, eyes darkening as a single thought repeated in his mind.

Who the hell is Chen Ren… and what did he do to get there?

Sure, he had seen that name a few times while scrolling through the rankings before, but he had never expected it to overtake him.

Chen Ren.

Han Qingshi frowned. The man wasn’t from any Guardian sect, nor did he belong to a noble clan. Of that, he was certain. If he had been, the name would have been impossible to miss. He would have surely heard about him growing up.

Instead, Chen Ren was… no one.

He recalled one of his men mentioning something about Princess Yanyue partnering with this man to open a shop in Goldspire City. Han Qingshi had dismissed it at the time. The pagoda rewarded hunting, slaughter, and the discovery of treasures, not playing merchant behind a counter.

At least, that was what he had always believed.

As he stared at the rankings again, a sliver of doubt crept into his mind.

Was my approach wrong?

The thought lingered for only a heartbeat before he crushed it.

No. Of course not.

The path he walked was the path of the heavens themselves—struggle, blood, and conquest. Strength gained through battle was the only strength that truly mattered.

And yet he had been bested and as he stared at the rankings, a thrill stirred in his chest.

Han Qingshi had always enjoyed being first. It proved his superiority, forced others to bow their heads and acknowledge him. But there was something even better than standing at the peak.

It was seeing someone above him, and dragging them down.

The thought ignited his ambition, a sharp, electric excitement coursing through his veins. He wondered, briefly and intently, how this Chen Ren would fare in a fight. If the man truly stood at rank one, then he should have the strength to justify it.

But where would he even find him?

Han Qingshi frowned, realizing he had no idea where Chen Ren was, or even what he looked like.

His gaze dropped to the massive corpse of the toad at his feet, blood still dripping from its ruined body. The job here was done.

He turned away.

Finding Chen Ren—that would be his next task.

And when he did, he would see for himself whether this so-called rank one could survive a duel.

A smile spread across his face.

Qi surged into his legs, and with a single powerful leap, Han Qingshi vaulted across the lake, splashing down on the far bank before vanishing into the distance, heading straight back toward Goldspire City.

***

Chen Ren found himself staring at a blank page far longer than he liked.

For over a day now, the same question had circled his mind again and again and again—What kind of plays could possibly satisfy Xiangrui? The city lord had made it painfully clear that anything less than ‘Liang Shan’ and ‘Hua Yun’ would be dismissed without a second thought. And judging by the man’s temperament there would be no second chances, he could tell that much.

One mediocre script, and the doors of the castle would be close to them forever.

That alone made Chen Ren cautious.

The easiest option would have been to adapt more classical stories, especially plays with complex emotions, tangled relationships and tragic endings. ‘Liang Shan’ and ‘Hua Yun’ themselves had been inspired by Shakespear, refined and reshaped to fit this world, but beyond those, his memory of theatrical works was fragmented at best.

Worse, such stories needed extra care, like perfect pacing, deep character development and even subtle dialogues.

That was all the time he didn’t have.

So he abandoned that route entirely.

Instead, his thoughts turned toward something far, far more straightforward.

Mythological tales.

They were simple at their core—good versus evil, mortals challenging the divine, heroes defying fate. They didn’t rely on subtlety to leave an impact. They relied on spectacle, struggle, and meaning. And more importantly, they could be adapted easily into the framework of cultivation.

Once that realization settled in, the first choice became obvious.

Hercules.

Chen Ren leaned back, eyes lighting up as the structure formed naturally in his mind. The twelve labours translated perfectly into twelve trials on the path to immortality—each one harsher than the last, each one demanding strength, endurance, and will. The conflict with Hera could be reshaped into defiance against the Heavens themselves, a cultivator cursed, obstructed, yet never broken.

It was almost too perfect.

He knew the twelve labours by heart. Writing the first draft took barely any time at all—pages flowed beneath his brush, his hand moving faster than thought. In an hour, the skeleton of the play was complete.

Editing, however, was another matter entirely.

Chen Ren trimmed mercilessly. Excess dialogue vanished. Secondary threads were cut short. Anything that slowed the pace was removed. The action had to keep moving. The hero had to struggle. And subtly—very subtly—he added moments that mirrored Xiangrui himself. A ruler revered by mortals. A figure whose name echoed through the world. A godlike presence observing the trials from above.

Flattery also needed to be done right, and he added it in a way that it would be invisible until someone really focused.

By the time he finished refining the script, Chen Ren felt confident enough to move on.

The second story came to him just as easily. Instead of making it directly about a mythological character from Earth, he centered it around Ragnarök.

Chen Ren reshaped Ragnarök into a cultivation epic, placing City Lord Xiangrui himself at the center of the tale. In this version, Odin became a ninth realm cultivator—an existence standing at the edge of the heavens—who entrusted the main character based on Xiangrui with the fate of the world. A ruler chosen not because of bloodline alone, but because only he possessed the ambition and will to grow fast enough to stand against the end of all things.

It was a classic hero’s journey.

And this time, it was even faster to write.

Chen Ren was careful—very careful—to ensure that nothing in the script could be interpreted as mockery or insult. The protagonist was flawless in presence, decisive in action, and revered by both gods and mortals alike. His failures were framed as trials imposed by fate, never as personal weakness. Every victory reinforced the idea that the world survived because he stood at its center.

By the time he finished the second play, four days had already passed since his last meeting with Xiangrui.

That fact weighed heavily on him.

Yalan had started barging into his room more frequently, each time bringing fragments of troubling news. Some cultivators—bold or desperate—had already begun moving toward the sixth floor. Every day Chen Ren delayed was another day he fell behind in information, leverage, and opportunity.

He couldn’t afford that.

So he resolved to finish the third play in a single day.

For that, he chose simplicity. A story known as Ramayana.

A grand tale from Hindu mythology. A prince wronged by his family. A demon lord who threatened the world. A journey across land and hardship to reclaim what was lost and restore balance.

It was perfect.

Chen Ren adapted the prince into the heir of a vast empire, his exile reframed as a cultivation trial imposed by destiny. The demon lord became an ancient spirit beast, corrupted by time and power. Loyalty, duty, righteousness—every theme translated cleanly into the language of this world.

Despite its simplicity, the story carried weight. And by the end of the day, it was complete.

Two days still remained before Xiangrui’s deadline, but Chen Ren had no intention of waiting. The moment the ink dried, he sought out Princess Yanyue and brought her with him straight to the castle.

This time, the entry was effortless. The guards even welcomed them.

It felt as though Xiangrui had been waiting for them all this time.

The moment they were ushered in, the city lord didn’t bother with pleasantries. He asked for the plays immediately. Chen Ren handed over the scripts, and one of the maids quietly placed sweets and tea before them as Xiangrui began to read.

The room fell silent as pages turned.

Chen Ren watched carefully, reading every shift in expression, every pause, every narrowing of the eyes. Time stretched until finally, Xiangrui set the scripts down.

He looked up and what he said next caught Chen Ren completely off guard.

“Are you sure,” Xiangrui said slowly, “that you don’t want to stay behind and take charge of the arts in this city?”

He leaned back, eyes gleaming.

“I can pay you a lot.”

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

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