Dao of Money

When the guards arrived and refused to let him speak, Chen Ren knew it was bad news. They didn’t stop there—they grabbed his arm and began dragging him away. He could only glance back at the confused expressions of those gathered around the Tang Clan compound.

Anger surged through him, seeping from his core to the tips of his fingers. He wanted to burn the guards to ashes.

The past twenty-four hours had been anything but peaceful. First, the meeting with Feng Ming hadn’t exactly been pleasant. Then, he had narrowly survived explosions and had to fend off ethereal ghost rhinos bent on his destruction. And now? He was being hauled away on the suspicion of being a demonic cultivator.

At this point, he almost wished he was one, just so he could kill them all on the spot. Because, after all, there was only so much one man could endure.

Although Chen Ren lacked the strength to fight against qi refinement realm cultivators, he knew Yalan did. The small but ancient spirit beast could easily tear through them all with her claws and flames. Part of his brain, the impulsive part, urged him to unleash her, to ignore the consequences entirely. But rationality held him back. Regretfully, he had to consider the aftermath.

Causing a scene by opposing the city guards would mean going against the bureaucracy—and that would only spell more trouble for him and his budding business in the long run. He had no choice but to endure this indignity.

It was almost funny—or perhaps it was just his mind playing tricks on him during an unfunny situation. In Xianxia novels, protagonists always seemed to burn entire cities for one reason or another. He wasn’t one of them—it was for the best. Taking extreme measures would bring the wrath of the entire empire upon him.

After all, in Xianxia logic, there was always someone stronger—someone who would inevitably arrive to exact revenge for the chaos.

It was a never-ending spiral: one comes, only to be followed by someone stronger.

Chen Ren sighed. He didn’t want to be part of that vicious cycle. As frustrating as the situation was, he believed in his ability to find a way out. For one, he wasn’t a demonic cultivator. And two, he had the backing of the Tang Clan. If things spiraled out of control, he knew they’d step in to rescue him.At least, he hoped they would.

Therefore, suppressing the simmering anger and his urge to burn everything down, Chen Ren sat silently in the carriage. As the door slammed shut with an unnecessarily harsh thud, he took a deep breath and reached out to Yalan mentally, knowing she must be nearby.

”Stay close. Just in case.”

”Right here, on the roof. Don’t worry,” Yalan’s voice came through, calm and soothing, a much-needed balm to his frazzled nerves.

Even though he had a potential escape, he couldn’t stop his heartbeat from quickening, its rhythm pounding in his ears. ”Thanks,” he thought, glancing down at his hands.

Thankfully, they hadn’t cuffed him. He wasn’t sure if it was because the captain of the guards was confident in his strength or simply because Chen Ren hadn’t resisted.

Before he could ponder further, two more guards climbed into the carriage, one on either side, boxing him in.

“Well?” Chen Ren broke the silence, turning to the man on his right. He was tall, with brownish hair and clad in the standard green guard uniform. By the subtle aura he gave, he was a low star body forging realm cultivator.

Chen Ren expected at least a terse response from him; a conversation that might help him glean the information he desperately needed.

Instead, he was met with nothing. The guards sat rigid, their mouths clamped shut, gazes fixed straight ahead.

He waited a moment, then tried again. “Why am I being dragged off like this?”

Silence. Again.

Realizing it was futile, Chen Ren gave up. The rest of the ride stretched on in complete silence. He kept his mouth shut, letting the oppressive quiet hang heavy around them.

The carriage rattled along, its destination unknown to him. The journey was anything but comfortable. The guards on either side flanked him so closely he felt squashed, their presence acting as a constant reminder of his lack of freedom.

Looking out the small window, he found his only solace. The city outside bore the scars of recent destruction. Crumbled buildings lined the streets, their remains strewn across the ground like forgotten relics of stability. People wept openly as their ruined homes stood as testaments to the chaos.

Debris filled the air, while the cacophony of hammers striking, tools clanging, and voices shouting painted a grim picture of the city’s heart. Through it all, he could almost hear the pain raging in their hearts, unspoken but unmistakably raw.

Some people pointed at the carriage. They hurled curses and shouted incomprehensible accusations at the guards’ inability to do anything to stop the destruction. The guards seemed to ignore them, but he could see them frowning for a brief second.

Looking at the state of things… I can see why the city guard came for me this morning, he thought, watching the angry and despairing passersby.

Until now, his short time in the city had taught him that the guards were slow-moving and likely corrupt. But this time, they had acted quickly—too quickly. It was clear that due to the murders and the attack, their reputation was all-time low.

They had likely gotten orders from someone higher up too.

“Catch the demonic cultivator as soon as possible.”

Chen Ren could guess the likely source— City Lord Li Baolong himself.

But why he had gotten taken in was still a mystery. Though, he had an idea.

As his mind tried to make sense of it, a dull ache began to throb in his temples. He flinched, rubbing the sides of his forehead. Timing… he mused bitterly.

In life, timing was everything—being in the right place at the right moment could open doors. But in his case, he’d been in the wrong place at the worst possible time.

Someone had likely spotted him entering the Feng Ming Clan estate the previous night. He’d taken his time there, staying longer than he should have. Then came the explosion. And, as luck would have it, he’d been close enough to witness the devastation—and endure its aftermath.

That must be why they detained me, he thought grimly, his headache worsening.

His theory solidified when he recalled the guard’s announcement during his arrest: they suspected him of being a demonic cultivator.

Chen Ren let out a slow breath, forcing the tension in his chest to subside. A misunderstanding, he told himself. Nothing more. If he kept his composure and explained himself, surely they would see reason.

That was assuming they’d even bother to look at the truth with reasonable eyes. If not, Chen Ren could only guess what fate awaited him.

Worst case scenario, I would have to stay in whatever cultivator prison they have in this world.

The thought crept in, dark and unbidden, sending a chill rippling across his body. He shook it off, refusing to entertain it further.

Instead, he did what he had learned to do best—ignore everything. His gaze stayed fixed on the passing streets outside the window. Roads blurred into shops, shops into houses, and houses back into more winding roads. The turns of the carriage, the jostling, and the suffocating lack of space clawed at him, stirring nausea that he forced down with sheer will.

Finally, the carriage ground to a halt.

The guards to his sides exited first, their heavy boots landing with purpose. They held the door open, but there was no courtesy in the gesture. Only cautious, wary stares that silently screamed mistrust.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Chen Ren stepped out, the fresh air doing little to ease the dread pooling in his chest. His eyes rose to meet the imposing structure before him—the City Guard Station. Its gray stone walls loomed like an unyielding fortress, cold and unwelcoming.

“Move,” barked the guard who had sat to his right. The man’s tone carried the weight of command, stiff and edged with unspoken threats.

Chen Ren offered no resistance. He followed their lead, passing the iron-gated entrance flanked by dozens of guards. Their eyes bore straight ahead, statuesque in their discipline, giving him no more acknowledgment than they would a passing shadow.

Inside, the oppressive silence of the corridor made each step echo ominously. The number of guards dwindled as they moved deeper, but their presence still pressed heavily on Chen Ren’s shoulders.

The path ended abruptly before two towering mahogany doors. Chen Ren’s eyes instinctively flicked back to the guard, whose expression stayed cold and unyielding.

“Go in and wait,” came the terse instruction.

Chen Ren’s frown deepened, but he swallowed his retort. Am I not innocent until proven guilty? He thought bitterly but kept his silence.

With a reluctant nod, he pushed the doors open.

The room was barren, save for a lone wooden table and two chairs. The heavy doors slammed shut behind him with a force that rattled the ceiling, sealing him in.

Chen Ren let out a long sigh, his body sagging like dead weight as he dragged a chair out and slumped into it. The effort of holding himself together had taken its toll, even in this short time.

The ride from the Tang Compound to here had been excruciating. His body didn’t ache as much as he had expected—thanks to the pill he’d taken earlier—but his legs still throbbed with soreness.

Chen Ren’s gaze drifted across the sparse room, seeking distraction in its details. His eyes caught faint carvings etched into the stone walls—runes.

They are probably part of an array, he realized, his mind sharpening. The intricate designs radiated faint traces of power, almost imperceptible unless one knew to look for them. He leaned forward, examining them closely, noting their differences in style and purpose. There wasn’t just one array at work here. The overlapping patterns suggested multiple layers of enchantments, each reinforcing the room’s defenses.

So this is why the guard captain seemed so confident, Chen Ren mused. He tapped his fingers lightly against the wooden table, piecing together the puzzle of the arrays to pass the time.

From what he recalled about arrays—a brief but enlightening chapter from the book he’d studied yesterday—they were as varied as the stars in the sky. Each array drew on different materials and principles to achieve specific effects.

If I were designing a room like this, he thought, what would I include?

The silence around him was stifling. Likely the work of a [Null Voice Array], which suppressed all sound from escaping—or entering—the room. The walls themselves bore signs of reinforcement. The thick lines and angular patterns suggested a [Stoneheart Array], designed to make the structure nigh-impervious to force.

But what truly piqued his interest were the subtler carvings that were there. Chen Ren guessed these might belong to a [Truthseeker Array].

Although the world wasn’t advanced scientifically, it wasn’t far-fetched for magic to replace modern tools like lie detectors. The thought tugged at the corner of his mind, thinking of ways he would be able to use arrays to make new products to sell.

As his thoughts drifted, another realization crept in, unbidden.

Qing He.

Her name surfaced in his mind carrying a sense of disappointment, at himself. He’d been looking forward to today’s lesson on cultivation disciplines, eager to absorb her insights. The regret settled in his chest, mingling with the frustration of his current predicament.

Another thing to fix when this is over, he thought, shaking his head lightly.

Still, he took comfort in the knowledge that Qing He would likely understand. For now, he needed to focus on navigating this mess before he could return to what truly mattered.

The faint hum of the arrays in the walls was the only sound in the room until the door creaked open. Chen Ren’s gaze snapped up as the guard captain entered. His face bore a casual indifference, but Chen Ren didn’t miss the subtle sharpness in his eyes—he was a man used to commanding attention.

The captain carried a cup, steam rising lazily from its contents. He moved with unhurried grace, placing the cup on the table and sliding it toward Chen Ren.

“Here, drink this,” the captain said, his voice calm, almost friendly. “Apologies for the abrupt way we brought you in, but orders are orders. We couldn’t risk letting a suspect roam free while the investigation is ongoing.”

Chen Ren glanced at the tea, then at the captain, his expression unreadable. Tea, in this situation? Either this man is absurdly confident, or this is part of some strategy.

His mind immediately jumped to the possibility of something being mixed into the tea. A truth serum? A sedative? But the arrays in the room already ensured he was at their mercy. Any resistance now would only make him seem more suspicious.

With a small nod, Chen Ren decided to play along. He picked up the cup, the warmth radiating through his fingers. Blowing gently on the surface, he took a cautious sip. The familiar flavour of oolong greeted him—nothing unusual, at least in taste. But it helped him with the nerves, calming his headache.

The captain’s lips curled into a faint smile. “I suppose introductions are in order. My name is Cai Tao. I’m one of the guard captains here in the city.” He leaned back in his chair, his demeanor almost casual. “It’s nice to meet you, Chen Ren. I’ve heard quite a bit about you recently, but I never thought our first meeting would be under such... peculiar circumstances.”

Chen Ren raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly have you heard? Good things or bad?”

Cai Tao chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that seemed rehearsed. “A mix, I’d say. Your businesses have been quite the talk of the city lately alongside your Trial by Might against Bai Shen. A hardworking and righteous cultivator trying to make an honest living? That doesn’t exactly scream ‘demonic cultivator,’ now does it?”

He paused, his gaze narrowing slightly. “But as you might guess, personal opinions don’t matter when it comes to enforcing the city’s laws. Regulations exist for a reason, and my feelings can’t interfere with my duty.”

Chen Ren set the cup down, his fingers idly tracing its edge. “Fair enough. So, Captain Cai, what now?”

Cai Tao’s smile didn’t waver. “We talk. I have a few questions, and I hope you’ll indulge me.”

Chen Ren studied him for a moment. His earlier impression of Cai Tao as a forceful, combat-ready man during the detainment at the Tang Clan compound clashed with the seemingly amicable demeanour he displayed now. It was clear this was a performance, a calculated attempt to put him at ease.

With a faint smile of his own, Chen Ren nodded. “Go on. I’m all ears.”

Cai Tao’s face remained impassive, though his gaze bore the intent of a predator. He leaned forward slightly, his voice calm yet edged with an undercurrent of accusation.

“First of all, I believe you already know this, but Feng Ming died in yesterday’s explosion.” He paused, watching Chen Ren’s expression carefully. “What do you think about that?”

Chen Ren’s composure faltered, just for a moment. Though he had seen the devastation and guessed Feng Ming’s chances were slim, a small part of him had clung to the possibility of survival.

He didn’t particularly like Feng Ming—memories of the man’s attempt to scam him for the medallion flared in his mind—but death, especially one as violent as that, felt excessive. Snuffing out those thoughts quickly, he realised Cai Tao was studying him with the precision of a hawk.

Chen Ren exhaled and spoke, his tone even. “I feel sad, of course. We weren’t particularly close, but he was an acquaintance. He was too young to die like that. I can only hope the heavens will be kinder to him in his next life.”

Cai Tao’s lips curled into a humourless smile. “Acquaintance? Interesting. From what I’ve heard, the two of you were closer than that. Drinking buddies, frequenting the same brothels...”

Chen Ren grimaced, the memories of the previous body owner’s less-than-savoury nights surfacing unbidden. “I won’t deny that. But Feng Ming wasn’t the only one I drank with or visited brothels alongside. That doesn’t mean we were close friends. Besides,” he added with a pointed tone, “I’ve stopped going to brothels altogether.”

Cai Tao nodded slowly, as if accepting the statement. “True enough. You may have stopped going to brothels, but you didn’t stop meeting Feng Ming. In fact, according to my findings, you owed him a sum of money—500 silver wen, to be exact—and you met him yesterday, not long before his death.”

Chen Ren didn’t flinch. He had anticipated this line of questioning. “That’s correct. I owed him 500 silver wen, and I’ve been working hard to pay it off. That’s the only reason I went to see him yesterday—to pay my debt and cut ties for good. I left right after that.”

“Are you sure that was all you did?” His gaze flicked to Chen Ren’s shoulder, lingering on the bandages beneath his robes. “After all, you’re clearly injured. The servants at the Tang Clan compound confirmed you were resting due to those wounds.”

Chen Ren’s brows furrowed, but he held his ground. “What are you trying to say?”

Cai Tao pointed at Chen’s shoulder. “That wound on your shoulder—looks like it was caused by a blade. Feng Ming was a sword cultivator, wasn’t he? According to your version of events, you simply left after paying your debt. But don’t you think it’s quite a coincidence that Feng Ming died so soon after your meeting? It doesn’t seem far-fetched to me to put two and two together.”

Chen Ren met Cai Tao’s gaze steadily. “Coincidence or not, I’m not the demonic cultivator. I get that it’s suspicious—the timing, my injuries—but injuries alone don’t prove guilt. I was at the wrong place at the wrong time, nothing more.” He leaned back slightly, his voice calm but firm. “It’s unfortunate that the demonic cultivator attacked after I left, but you can’t pin that on me.”

Cai Tao smiled at that, almost mocking his words. ”Yeah, it doesn’t prove anything, but there’s one more thing. We suspect the attack was by a demonic cultivator, but it’s still just suspicion. The timing of the attacks, targeting high-profile individuals like members of big clans or wealthy merchants, makes sense. But I wonder... is it really him? The previous murders were done silently and we’ve yet to see him or her summon beasts to aid in the attacks. Till now, the demonic cultivator had been trying to stay in the shadows, but this time it was different. And that could be a sign of an impersonator—someone using the image of a demonic cultivator to cover their own deeds.”

He paused, letting the words settle. And the next words; they came out of his mouth slowly. ”And if I think about the ability to summon beasts, it’s clear that it must be tied to some sort of spirit artifact—a rare and valuable item. The kind of thing most often found in the hands of the large clans. And speaking of which, aren’t you from one of those big clans in Red Peak City?”

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

PS - This is a small arc. I’m clarifying because I know some RR readers get miffed with such arcs, but it won’t be like that.