Dao of Money

Chen Ren’s thoughts flowed like the river before a storm, the calm before inevitable trouble. Like any plan of his, starting a noodle business would never be smooth. It wasn’t just the rice, the vegetables, or the mortar that demanded attention— oh no, where there was meat, the wild animals came.

Trouble, in any form, seemed drawn to him like moths to flame. After all, the path of a cultivator never allowed peace for long.

And now, even this humble noodle stall had become a stage for confrontation. His hand tightened around the spoon as he remembered how the guard had approached him, all swagger and false bravado.

The man’s eyes spoke of arrogance, the kind born from ignorance. His words were aimed at attacking him and finding any reason to crumble the name Chen Ren had been creating around the marketplace.

Whoever sent him had no idea of him. No idea of who they were trying to bully. No idea that Chen Ren was a cultivator. That was a minus point for whoever was behind, not doing enough research.

But that was what made things interesting, wasn’t it? Most wouldn’t dare cross someone who could split stones with a finger, let alone simmer broth with a flicker of qi. The guard’s ignorance had saved his skin— just barely.

However, Chen Ren doubted they’d just give up and not try something more to accomplish whatever goal they had in mind.

He sighed, stirring the broth with deliberate slowness as all these questions and confusions came to his mind one after another. ”Where there’s meat, the beasts gather,” he muttered under his breath.

Being a cultivator had saved his stall this time, but Cloud Mist City nestled so close to a guardian sect and was home to more cultivators than he could count. He knew better than to rely on his status alone to protect him. A cultivator here was like a drop of water in the ocean— easy to blend in, easy to get swallowed by something bigger.

Even so, a small grin tugged at his lips. Let them come. Rivals or not, he had been in tougher battles than mere noodle stalls could ever provoke. If his enemies thought he’d be easy prey, they would soon discover just how deep the water truly ran. For the next two days, Chen Ren’s mind moved like the shifting clouds, mapping out scenarios, and contemplating every possible angle.

He wasn’t one for brute force, not when he could win with finesse. Violence, while always an option, wasn’t his first choice. His gaze flicked to the cat beside him, her amber eyes glowing as she looked at the streaming flow of consumers. She was his hidden trump card, a power he didn’t dare reveal to the world yet. Not while he was still weak and unable to protect himself against anyone of a higher realm.

His cultivation, though progressing, was still in the early stages of body forging. Any opponent above that realm would crush him like dry leaves underfoot. Thus, brawn had to take a back seat. His brain, however, was sharper than any blade.

So, he focused on his noodle stall for some time until he decided on what was best to be done next.

Fortunately, everything ran without a hitch.

He made more money each day, his hands growing more accustomed to the daily grind. The qi that once surged through his core was diminishing, just as the cat had warned him. But that didn’t stop him from keeping a vigilant eye on the horizon, half-expecting a debtor or some envious soul to appear, hungry for the wealth he was making. But no one came. Not yet.

On the third morning, an unease settled over him like a shroud. It wasn’t just paranoia; this was something real, something tangible. Old Man Tian’s hunched figure appeared near the stall, his weathered face grave with news.

“Young master Chen Ren,” the old man grumbled, his voice a low rasp. His eyes narrowed towards the broth as he looked back up at Chen Ren who gave him his undivided attention, ”I’ve heard it. For sure this time. They’re going to make their move today. They’re jealous your stall is minting money so fast.”

Though the facts were loud, his voice was comparatively low, cautious enough not to let anyone else hear.

Chen Ren subtly nodded, stirring his broth with a forced calmness he didn’t feel on the inside. “I see,” he replied evenly, his mind already running through his contingency plans. “Well, I’ve prepared everything. It should be fine. You’re sure they won’t act before the afternoon?”

Old Man Tian nodded, squinting toward the marketplace. “Yes, not before. They’re waiting for the crowds to build up first.”

Chen Ren smiled. ”Good. That gives me enough time to finish the morning rush.”

Old Man Tian nodded firmly. “I wish you all the best.”

Chen Ren exhaled slowly, his mind sharpening as he watched the old man.

At first, he’d considered Old Man Tian as a possible culprit behind his troubles. They had a rivalry, after all. The old man had his stall nearby, and while their competition wasn’t exactly cutthroat, it was enough to raise suspicions. But Old Man Tian was no fool.

He’d been the one to help Chen Ren secure the elusive permit for his stall in the first place. If he had wanted him out of the way, he could have easily tipped off the guard about his status as a cultivator. Fortunately, Old Man Tian was wise enough not to take the fight against a cultivator.

Shaking off the thought, Chen Ren returned to the moment just as the old man spoke again.

”So, if all goes according to plan, you’ll lend me the kids, right?”

Chen Ren gave a slow nod. ”Yes, for an hour. They’ll help advertise your stall, but you’ve got to feed them twice in return. Daily. No shortcuts.”

He grinned, his yellowed teeth showing. ”Yes, yes, I will. I’m fair.”

With a satisfied nod, the old man turned to shuffle back toward his own stall, hurrying through the crowd knowing the morning rush was about to begin. As soon as he was out of earshot, Xiulan’s soft voice cut through the morning air. “You sure it’s okay to give away your marketing tricks like that?”

Chen Ren smirked, his gaze still fixed on the swirling broth before him. “It’ll spread no matter what. At least this way, the kids get more food. The only reason Old Man Tian’s even asking through me is because his breath scared them all away.”

Chen Ren snickered at his own words while Xiulan let out a small chuckle, her amusement clear as they moved toward the bustling stall, which started getting busier considering more people were coming.

The line of customers waiting for noodles stretched longer with each passing minute as he and Tang Xiulan got to work.

The clatter of bowls and the murmur of conversation filled the air, as Chen Ren worked in rhythm with the growing demand, dishing out one bowl after another in almost mechanical movements as his muscles grew accustomed to the motion.

Hours passed by and soon, the sun was halfway through setting. Afternoon was here and with it, the crowd doubled, adding in the workers who were here to grab lunch.

“Here you go,” Chen Ren handed a bowl of vegetable noodles to an older woman. She grabbed it with both her hands and then balanced it in one hand to pay seven copper wen.

Chen Ren retrieved the money with a small smile and focused on the next customer.

Everything was moving, just as planned, but he knew this peace wouldn’t last.

Yalan, who had been lounging lazily in the sun, suddenly opened one of her flared amber eyes. “I see some movement up ahead,” she told Chen Ren, her voice smooth as silk.

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Chen Ren’s gaze swept across the bustling crowd before locking onto two men moving purposefully through the throng. Unlike the leisurely pace of the other customers browsing stalls and sampling goods, these two stood out immediately. He squinted his eyes to take a good look at both of them— to clearly know what he was going to be dealing with.

The first man who stormed forward was a tall, skinny figure with broad shoulders. His dark hair fell in disarray around his forehead, and his brows were knitted together in a fierce scowl. His black eyes burned with indignation, radiating a palpable intensity that made those around him instinctively step back as he walked, pushing past them and clenching his fists.

In a pronounced difference, the second man trailed behind him, frail and gaunt, as if he had not gotten a proper meal in days. His skin was a sickly shade of pale, and beads of sweat dotted his forehead, betraying his distress.

Dark circles under his bloodshot eyes hinted at exhaustion, while his trembling hands grasped the edge of the tall man for support. Each unsteady step he took seemed to echo his nausea, and his thin lips were drawn tight, a silent plea for respite from the situation he found himself in.

”Here it comes,” Chen Ren muttered under his breath, bracing himself.

The two men barged through the line, causing a stir among the waiting customers.

The angry one, face flushed with indignation, wasted no time before raising his voice. ”Everyone, stop eating those noodles!” he shouted, pointing a trembling finger at Chen Ren’s stall. ”They’ll make you sick! You might even get poisoned! This man is vile, feeding low-quality food to innocent people! Look at my brother— he ate here yesterday, and now he’s been puking his guts out all day. The herbalist says he won’t heal for a week!”

At his outburst, a murmur of uncertainty rippled through the crowd like someone blew a horn through the silence. Customers froze mid-bite, their chopsticks suspended in the air as they exchanged bewildered looks. Some stared down at their bowls, looking as if the once-tempting noodles now appeared less appetising under the scrutiny of accusation, while others cast wary glances toward Chen Ren, uncertainty flickering in their eyes.

A few patrons instinctively backed away from the stall, their movements hesitant and cautious, as if they were retreating from a looming threat.

Whispers flitted through the air, weaving a line of doubt among the onlookers. “Did you hear what he said?” one woman murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “Sick from the noodles? Is it true?”

The atmosphere thickened with suspicion, as the aroma of the freshly cooked noodles, once enticing, was now tainted by the accusation.

Chen Ren could feel the daggers of doubt piercing through the air and trying to stab him.

He looked to his left, ignoring the whispers for a second. A child near the front of the line clutched his mother’s hand tightly, his wide eyes darting between the angry man and the noodles, trying to comprehend the sudden shift in mood.

Now, how can I let you ruin a nice meal? And my reputation?

Chen Ren narrowed his eyes and stepped forward.

”What nonsense are you spouting?” His words cut through the growing commotion, but the angry man wasn’t finished.

”Spouting lies, am I?” The man’s face twisted into an exaggerated mask of righteous fury. He jabbed a finger toward his pale, nauseous companion. ”Look at my brother! He’s practically on his deathbed, and all because of your noodles!”

Chen Ren’s gaze flicked to the sickly-looking guy, then back to the accuser. ”You decided to bring your brother who’s on his deathbed to sprout bullshit? Seems like you care about accusing me more than your brother. Tell me, what proof do you have that my noodles caused this?”

His voice was steady, but his qi simmered in his dantian, ready to rise at a moment’s notice.

The man seized the opportunity, launching into a dramatic tale. ”My brother here is an apprentice scribe. We’re so poor we can only afford one meal a day, and yesterday, he spent it on your wretched noodles!” he spat the words one after another in extreme slowness to emphasise his point. ”Now he’s so ill he can’t even stand properly. You can’t deflect responsibility this time. Return my money tenfold, and publicly apologise for poisoning him!”

A sharp anger flared in Chen Ren, but his expression remained straight. He let just a flicker of his qi surface, his eyes gleaming with a subtle, icy chill. It wasn’t much, but enough to send a ripple of unease through the man in front of him. The accuser faltered, taking a nervous step back as if an unseen force had brushed against him.

But before Chen Ren could press further, a voice rang out from the edge of the marketplace. ”What’s going on here?”

A guard, tall with broad shoulders, made his way through the crowd. His face was rugged, framed by a jawline that could have been carved from stone, and his dark hair was cropped short, highlighting the sharp angles of his features. His eyes swept over the scene with an air of authority, hand resting casually on his hips. His armour bore the crest of the city watch, gleaming in the sunlight as he stepped closer, his presence instantly silencing the gathering commotion.

Chen Ren’s eyes flicked to the guard, and his thoughts shifted. This wasn’t the same one from before.

He guessed that the previous guard must’ve gotten spooked and backed out. This new one had a different air— he wasn’t just here to intimidate. He was part of the plan, a second pawn set in motion.

Chen Ren’s jaw tightened, but he forced himself to remain calm. Whatever scheme was unfolding, he was ready for it.

The angry man immediately moved towards the guard, telling his fake story, face strained with rage.

After hearing the man’s story, the guard took a deep breath and turned toward Chen Ren, his expression serious. ”Is it true? You fed this man’s brother noodles, and now he’s sick? You need to come with us to the guard station, so we can solve this problem once and for all.”

Guard station? So they planned to drag him through the city’s bureaucracy to ruin him, and the guard was playing along. The air around Chen Ren seemed to still as his annoyance built.

”There’s no proof he even ate my noodles,” Chen Ren said, his voice steady yet sharp.

The guard crossed his arms, unimpressed. ”It doesn’t matter. Someone’s accusing you of making them sick, and the law is the law. We’ll solve this at the guardhouse. Now, come quietly.”

”No.” Chen Ren’s voice dropped an octave, and the edge of his patience showed. ”You can’t take me based on nothing but hearsay.”

The guard’s eyes hardened as he ran a hard hand through his jaw.

“I heard you are a cultivator, but you still have to follow the city’s laws. And don’t think you’re above them— there are cultivators among the city guards as well. So, comply.”

Chen Ren frowned. The man didn’t look like the type to bulge if he only used his words, but he wasn’t going to let them ruin his reputation so easily. If he really went to the station, rumours would spread that his noodles actually made people sick, no matter if he came out innocent or not.

He glanced at the crowd— dozens of eyes fixed on him, waiting for what he would do next.

”Wait,” Chen Ren said, voice rising just enough to capture everyone’s attention. He turned to the sickly man and his accuser. ”You’re not just claiming my noodles made him sick— you’re tarnishing the reputation of my stall. I can’t let that stand.”

Before the guard could respond, Chen Ren strode to his stall, scooping up a bowl of freshly made noodles. He held it out toward the guard. ”Here. Try it.”

The guard eyed the bowl, suspicion thick in his gaze. ”I won’t eat bad noodles.”

Chen Ren shrugged, calm and composed. ”Fine. I’ll eat it myself.” Without hesitation, he took a generous bite, chewing slowly as if savouring the flavour. Then, he turned, facing the crowd now gathered around the scene.

”You see that?” Chen Ren’s voice rang out over the murmurs. ”If my noodles were bad, why would I eat them myself?”

The tension in the air shifted as people began to exchange uncertain glances, and the unease that had crept into the crowd started to dissipate.

Chen Ren met their gazes one by one, making sure they saw his calm and certainty. ”My reputation— and my stall’s reputation— are on the line. If my food was dangerous, I wouldn’t serve it, and I definitely wouldn’t eat it.”

The guard faltered for a moment, and the crowd’s whispering grew louder as they started to reconsider the accusation. Chen Ren wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood tall.

The crowd had begun to sway in Chen Ren’s favour when a voice cut through the rising murmurs.

”Just accept that your noodles made someone sick,” a deep, grating voice came from across the street.

All the eyes, including Chen Ren’s own, turned towards where the voice came from.

The speaker was an older man with a broad chest, a grizzled beard, and a sneer that never quite left his face. He looked like he could fight with two men at the same time and end up winning for how his physique was built— but again, looks could be deceiving.

His name was Jiang Wu, a stall owner who sold steamed buns. Behind him, stood his two burly sons, arms crossed, their expressions mirroring their father’s contempt. ”You’re just trying to save face. But everyone here knows that when there’s smoke, there’s fire.”

Jiang Wu’s words struck a chord with some of the onlookers, their uncertainty flickering back to life as they glanced between Chen Ren and the sickly man. The balance was delicate— too delicate. Chen Ren’s fingers twitched at his side, the glint in his eyes sharpening as he regarded Jiang Wu with a cool gaze.

Before Chen Ren could respond, the guard stepped forward again, voice firm. ”Enough of this. You need to come with me, cultivator or not. We can settle this at the guardhouse.”

Chen Ren’s stance remained unyielding, his voice calm but resolute. ”I won’t go with you. If you want to move me, you can try.”

The guard bristled, hand moving toward his baton as if testing Chen Ren’s words. But just as tension threatened to break, a voice, clear and commanding, echoed over the crowd.

”What’s going on here?”

All eyes turned toward the source of the voice. Walking toward the scene was Tang Yuqiu, the young miss of the Tang Clan, with her maid trailing a step behind her. Her presence suddenly became obvious in the marketplace chaos— a figure of poise and authority amidst the rabble.

Her eyes briefly scanned the situation, landing on Chen Ren with a raised brow.

Chen Ren felt a smile tug at his lips. Finally, it was time to turn this around.

This was the shift he needed, and it couldn’t have come at a better time. He gave her a respectful nod as she reached the front, his mind already racing through the next steps of his plan.