Dao of Money

Chen Ren moved towards the upper street, and the lower district fell behind him. The upper district felt quite the difference from what he just moved past, cleaner, quieter and had beautiful stonework that reflected the heavy lanterns that hung like floating jewels.

Regardless of everything else, the number of lessening people felt quite off. Normally, these districts weren’t supposed to be this hollow, even at midnight some people were strolling, coming back from bars and red light establishments.

But now, they ran back to their homes, constantly looking over their backs as if a monster would emerge out of the shadows.

Ignore the weird feeling.

He shook his head and started moving towards the destination he had in his mind. Behind him, Yalan trailed as if nothing in this world could bother her. She was a sight to behold. Her tail swooshed to the rhythm her back moved, and she was majestical—in every way.

Chen Ren’s worries faded away after seeing the fearless cat beside him. Even if something happened, he knew he had her protection and doubted that any demonic cultivator would be able to stand against her and if she could actually be defeated by one, then he never stood a chance to begin with.

Soon, the world narrowed until it was just him and the grand estate that was right before him.

The Feng Clan estate stood like a fortress, with imposing, tall walls. The gates were painted in a deep crimson and accented with golden carvings. It had the richness that came from the fortune from the trade of weapons and artefacts.

Yet for all that wealth, the clan had never reached the heights of true cultivation prestige. They had been merchants, not warriors, their legacy had been tarnished by generations of mediocrity.

And the current generation fared no better. Spirit roots were a rarity among them. Even their brightest star, Feng Ming, possessed only thirty spirit roots—a paltry number.Chen Ren let out a huffed breath from his nose. It was ironic how their paths had crossed.

Months ago, he and Feng Ming had met under different circumstances. Feng Ming, frustrated and bitter over his inability to enter the Soaring Sword Sect, had poured his grievances into Chen Ren’s ears. Back then, the previous body owner had been naive and had an inflated ego, therefore, he had boldly promised to help Feng Ming gain entry after he won the sect’s entrance examinations.

The memory left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Feng Ming, his entire body soaked with greed and desperation, had assumed that Chen Ren’s confidence was backed by strength. Eager to bind him in debt, he had handed over a small fortune to secure the man’s loyalty. But when the competition began, the truth was laid bare. The old Chen Ren’s lack of skill was as glaring as the midday sun, and his humiliating defeat was a spectacle the entire city still talked about.

Feng Ming’s mask had slipped after that. The once-amiable youth had transformed, his scorn sharper than the blades his clan forged and had barged right inside his room to collect the debt.

Chen Ren exhaled slowly and rubbed soothing circles in his palms. That was the past. The old Chen Ren was gone, buried along with his failures. The man who now stood before the Feng Clan gates was entirely different.

Today, he would settle this debt, once and for all. The pouch of silver at his waist wasn’t heavy, but its significance outweighed its weight. It was more than repayment; he could finally sever the ties. Feng Ming’s money had been a chain, but today, Chen Ren intended to break it.

Adjusting his robes, he stepped forward.

The faint clink of coins accompanied his movements, a sound that felt strangely like freedom.

Without any other thought, he stepped into the Feng Clan compound, his steps steady as his eyes swept over the scene. The guards stationed at the entrance stiffened as they saw him approach, their hands instinctively moving to their weapons. They crossed their halberds in front of him, blocking his way.

”Who are you?” one demanded sharply. His thick eyebrows were like two caterpillars looking down at him in an attempt to look scary.

”I’m Chen Ren, from the Chen Clan of Red Peak City. Feng Ming should be expecting me.”

The guards exchanged a glance. The stout and black-haired one rubbed his neck for a brief moment and a silent conversation passed between them. After a moment, the taller one replied, ”Wait here,” before disappearing into the depths of the compound.

Chen Ren took a step back, leaning casually against the wall beside the gate. He inhaled deeply, and calmed his soul, focusing on the faint rustle of leaves.

Minutes passed. He remained motionless.

“That fool hasn’t returned yet. Did he get lost or dropped dead on the way?” Yalan’s voice stirred in his mind, completely covered in pure irritation.

Chen Ren smirked faintly. ”No, I don’t think so. It’s a power move. Feng Ming’s trying to make me wait. He wants it to seem like he’s too busy, like I’m the one in need here. It’s petty but predictable.”

This was exactly why he’d gotten comfortable when the men walked inside. Just like Bai Shen, Feng Ming was another stereotypical young master who liked to make others feel like they were less important in front of him.

Yalan hummed in agreement.

”Shall we just break the gate down? It would save us both time and patience.”

Chen Ren shook his head at that. ”Let’s wait a minute more. Then we’ll see if this gate can withstand my [Thundering Punch].”

Fortunately for the gate, the guard returned just then, looking slightly flustered. It could be the midnight coldness crawling to his face—but Chen Ren doubted that was the case.

He gestured stiffly.

”You may enter. Follow the servant; she’ll take you to the young master.”

Chen Ren pushed off the wall with an easy grace, brushing past the guard without a word. A young servant girl awaited him just beyond, bowing politely before motioning for him to follow. Her steps were quick, and Chen Ren kept pace, his eyes taking in the grandiose surroundings of the estate. Manicured gardens, passionately carved stone paths, and the sweet scent of incense filled the air, all designed to flaunt the Feng Clan’s wealth.

After weaving through several courtyards, they stopped before a large sliding door. The servant turned to him. ”Young Master Feng is inside.”

Chen Ren nodded, his hand reaching for the door. With a firm push, the panel slid open, revealing the room beyond. He stepped in, the door closing behind him with a quiet thud.

The room Chen Ren stepped into was spacious, almost cavernous. The polished wooden floor reflected the harsh glow of lanterns hanging from the ceiling, and the air carried a faint trace of sandalwood incense. It seemed like the entire compound was made to his taste.

The walls were filled with racks of weapons— swords, axes, and halberds displayed like trophies. Among them, Chen Ren’s eyes caught the designs of talismans encased in protective glass. He narrowed his gaze at one in particular, its surface marked with runes. Though he couldn’t identify its exact purpose, the runic patterns suggested it was a fire-aspected talisman, likely capable of causing explosions in battles.

He had taken a look at a similar design while looking through the book just hours back.

After a quick survey of the room, Chen Ren’s attention shifted to the man seated at its center. Feng Ming sat cross-legged on the floor, a porcelain cup of tea cradled in his hands. He looked much the same as always—neatly groomed, with an air of smug confidence that radiated from the smirk tugging at his lips. It was an expression Chen Ren found uniquely irritating.

Even as his eyes focused on Feng Ming, he said nothing, his focus seemingly on his tea, as though Chen Ren’s presence was an afterthought. The silence stretched, a subtle challenge hanging in the air. But Chen Ren understood these power games well. He didn’t speak, didn’t move—he merely stood there, his expression calm and unreadable.

Time ticked by, and the faint clink of Feng Ming setting his cup down broke the silence at last. “Chen Ren, you’re here,” he said lazily, as though the ten minutes of waiting hadn’t happened.

Chen Ren’s lips twitched, his voice laced with dry humor. “Yeah, for the last ten minutes. Your eyesight must’ve gotten pretty weak if you couldn’t see me standing so close.”

This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

Feng Ming coughed lightly, his smirk faltering for a moment before returning. “Your tongue is as sharp as ever. Either way, I don’t have time to waste on you. Why are you here?”

Chen Ren folded his arms, his voice calm but firm. “My messenger should have told you already. I’m here to take back my medallion. It’s a family heirloom, and leaving it in the hands of a creditor is a disrespect to my ancestors.”

Feng Ming’s smirk widened, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Ah, your medallion. You forget, Chen Ren, that I took it because you couldn’t pay your debt. If you want it back, I’ll need—”

Before he could finish, Chen Ren flicked a pouch toward him. It landed on the table with a heavy thud, the clink of coins unmistakable. “There’s 500 silver wen in there, with interest. Standard rate. Now, hand over the medallion.”

Feng Ming froze, his gaze flickering to the pouch. After a moment, he opened it, the shine of polished silver reflecting in his eyes. His expression shifted, the smirk fading into something more complicated. He looked back at Chen Ren, a trace of surprise creeping into his voice. “I heard you’ve abandoned cultivation altogether and started dabbling in business. But I didn’t expect you to succeed so quickly… Or is this money from that idiot Bai Shen? Just so you know, I could defeat him with my eyes closed. He’s hardly a worthy opponent.”

Chen Ren grunted, his tone flat and impatient. “You don’t need to concern yourself with where the money came from. Just give me my medallion so I can leave.”

Feng Ming shook his head, an irritating smirk creeping back onto his face. “Relax, I was just making a conversation.” He reached into the drawer of the low table beside him, pulling something out and tossing it toward Chen Ren. The gleaming object spun in the air before Chen Ren instinctively caught it. His fingers wrapped around the cool hilt of a sword.

His brows furrowed as he held it up, glaring at Feng Ming. “What is this? I gave you my medallion, not a sword.”

Feng Ming leaned back lazily, waving a hand toward the weapon. “That sword is forged from Black Vein Iron, and the handle is made from the bone of a tier-two beast. It’s worth far more than 500 silver wen. Take it as compensation instead of your medallion.”

Chen Ren’s expression darkened, his grip tightening around the sword. He could feel everything inside him coiling with rage as he looked at him. “Are you joking with me? This wasn’t our deal.”

Feng Ming shrugged nonchalantly. “Apologies, but I already sold your medallion. Got a great deal for it, too. Consider yourself lucky—I’m compensating you better than you deserve. You should be happy to get a sword like that after defaulting on your—”

Before Feng Ming could finish, Chen Ren’s patience snapped. A surge of qi burst forth from him, crackling lightning snaking across the room in a brilliant flash.

In a blur, Chen Ren sprinted forward, faster than Feng Ming could react. His hand shot out, grabbing the collar of Feng Ming’s robes and slamming him against the wall with a resounding loud noise.

The smirk vanished from Feng Ming’s face, replaced by wide-eyed panic. “W-What are you doing?!” he stammered, struggling against Chen Ren’s grip, but the iron-like fingers didn’t budge.

Chen Ren’s voice was low, laced with the hum of barely contained fury. “Give me my medallion, or I’ll burn you to ash with my lightning.”

Feng Ming thrashed, trying to escape, but the realization hit him like a stone: he was utterly powerless. His voice trembled as he choked out, “H-How? How are you this strong? You—you were only at the third-star body forging realm before!”

He could hardly speak with the grip Chen Ren had on him. Feng Ming seemed to quiver as his eyes glowed faintly with the charge of his qi.

“I’m at the seventh star now. And unlucky for you, you’re still at the third. If I wanted, I could kill you here and now.”

Feng Ming’s face turned pale. “T-There are laws in the city! You can’t just—”

Chen Ren’s lips curled into a dangerous smirk. “You broke the law first when you refused to return what was mine. I’ve already proven my strength once in a Trial by Might. I could easily win another. This time, I might even keep the right to kill. Do you want to gamble on that?”

The room fell into tense silence, the only sound the faint crackle of lingering lightning dancing across Chen Ren’s fingertips. And the heavy breathing of Feng Ming coming out in gasps.

His voice trembled as he spoke, “No! No! I’ll get you your medallion. Just release me!”

Chen Ren let go, watching as Feng Ming stumbled forward, his hands trembling. The once-smug young master moved with a nervous, jerky gait, heading toward the far corner of the room. Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed as he followed every step, ready to act if Feng Ming attempted anything. He cast a quick glance toward the door, ensuring no guards stormed in to intervene.

Feng Ming reached a large desk and bent down, opening a hidden compartment beneath it. From inside, he pulled out a small, ornate chest. He placed it on the table, hesitating for a moment before opening it to reveal the medallion resting within.

Chen Ren’s gaze immediately locked onto the heirloom. Its familiar dull sheen brought a slight sense of relief, but his voice was sharp. “So, this is what you call sold?” He stepped closer, picking it up and inspecting it thoroughly. The medallion looked the same as he remembered—old, unassuming, and yet undeniably sturdy. No scratches or marks had tarnished it. He turned to Feng Ming with a piercing glare. “Why did you lie?”

Feng Ming flinched, averting his eyes. “I… I wasn’t able to figure out what material it’s made of,” he confessed. “And since you said it’s a family heirloom, I knew it must be valuable. My clan deals in weapons and artefacts, so I’ve seen almost everything, but this medallion… my best appraisers couldn’t determine its origin. That’s why I got greedy.”

Chen Ren’s brow furrowed. His medallion, a keepsake he had never thought much about, suddenly seemed to carry more value. His mind wandered briefly to Yalan and the strange circumstances surrounding his ancestors. If they had been powerful enough to bind someone like Yalan in a debt of servitude, then perhaps the medallion wasn’t as ordinary as it appeared. Still, it had never displayed any signs of being a spirit artefact.

Looking back at Feng Ming, he asked, “What did your appraisers find out?”

Feng Ming swallowed hard, his hands twitching nervously. “Not much. Just that it’s old—very old. There’s some strange writing etched on the back, but it doesn’t match any known script in the empire or any region my appraisers are familiar with. Beyond that, nothing. Trust me.”

Chen Ren studied him for a moment before nodding. “Fine. But next time, don’t lie to me. I’m not the same person you used to know.”

Feng Ming opened his mouth as if to respond, but Chen Ren had already turned, striding toward the door. Behind him, Feng Ming hesitated, a shift of something—perhaps fear, perhaps regret—crossing his face. But Chen Ren didn’t look back, exiting the room with his medallion in hand, the heavy door sliding shut behind him with finality.

The door creaked softly as he slipped out of the mansion, his robes brushing against the cool stone steps. The night was still, the faint noise of wind and leaves the only sound accompanying his hurried steps. Tilting his head to the heavens, his eyes locked onto the silver crescent moon, its position confirming what he already feared. The mist would be forming by now, creeping along the walls.

The streets were emptier than he’d expected. Not a single lantern flickered in the windows, and the silence pressed against his ears like a weight. Even the usual nocturnal scurry of small creatures seemed absent. His brows furrowed as he quickened his pace, the medallion clutched tightly in his palm.

“Yalan,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, “do you know what this is?”

Her presence stirred faintly within him, her voice soft but laced with curiosity. “No. This medallion has been passed down since the first of your ancestors I served. They believed it was some kind of war medal, a relic of victory. But after what Feng Ming said... even I’m uncertain.”

He traced the etchings on the back of the medallion with his thumb, their unfamiliarity gnawing at him. “Can you read the script?”

“I can’t,” Yalan admitted with a rare note of frustration. “I know much about cultivation techniques, formations, and ancient artefacts, but languages and scripts aren’t my domain. You’ll need to investigate this yourself.

A heavy sigh escaped him, his breath clouding briefly in the cold night air. “One more mystery to solve,” he muttered, slipping the medallion into his pouch as his steps quickened.

Rounding a bend, his attention caught on a figure moving parallel to him down the adjoining street. The man’s face was obscured beneath a wide bamboo hat, and a dark cloak hung loosely around him, swaying with his strong strides. A sword hilt jutted over his shoulder, its grip wrapped in worn leather.

He slowed, his gaze narrowing as he watched the man’s movements. Something about him—it wasn’t just the sword or the hat—felt... off.

His instincts prickled, a faint warning curling in his chest like smoke. He shook the feeling off and pushed forward, turning into a narrow alley.

“Yalan,” he whispered again, his tone sharp this time, “did you see his soul?”

“No,” she replied quickly, while her fur straightened as she craned her neck outside the alley to look at the back of the man. “I used my [Soul-Seeing Eyes], but... he’s shrouded. That cloak must be crafted to block detection, even at this high level.”

He slowed, the unease twisting into a knot in his stomach. “Why would someone need to hide like that? And at this hour?” His voice dropped to a murmur. “Don’t tell me…”

Chen Ren’s muttering trailed off as a faint, painful groan reached his ears. He froze, the sound cutting through the stillness like a blade. Heart pounding, he stepped around the corner, his boots splashing into something wet. The coppery tang of blood hit his nose instantly, and his gaze dropped to the crimson pool spreading beneath him.

Two guards lay sprawled on the cobblestone street. One was lifeless, his head severed cleanly from his shoulders, the grotesque wound still oozing. The other gasped weakly, his chest heaving in shallow, ragged bursts. Blood poured from the stump where his hand had been, pooling beneath his mutilated body.

Chen Ren’s eyes widened, his breath catching as he crouched by the dying man. “Hey!” he said urgently, his voice shaking. “What happened here? Who did this?”

The guard’s lips quivered, his bloodied mouth trying to form words, but no sound came. His body convulsed once, twice, then stilled, his lifeless gaze fixed on the void.

“Yalan,” Chen Ren called out, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Look at the wounds,” she said grimly, her voice heavy with warning. “They were made by a sword. Precise, ruthless.”

“A sword?” Chen Ren echoed, his stomach twisting. His mind snapped back to the man he had seen earlier—the bamboo hat, the cloak, the sword on his back. The pieces clicked into place like a lock turning, and a cold dread seeped into his veins. “It’s him,” he whispered, his voice hollow. “The demonic cultivator.”

Before he could process the revelation, a deafening explosion shattered the silence.

The ground trembled beneath him, and a blinding flash of light tore through the darkness, forcing him to shield his eyes. The shockwave hit like a hammer, leaving his ears ringing and the world around him spinning.

Instinctively, he dropped low, his heart pounding in his chest as the echoes of the blast faded into a harrowing silence.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon.

Happy new year! Forgot to wish last chapter.