Dao of Money

Li Xuan’s fists were clenched at his sides as he tried to calm his raging qi. He forced himself to focus inward, but the violent energy refused to settle—which meant that his mind was far from balance. But his feet didn’t halter.

He had learned a long time ago that a cultivator’s qi mirrored their emotions, and this unruly force revealed a truth he didn’t want to face—he was not at peace. For the past two weeks, the turbulent energy had followed him like a shadow, throughout his recovery period in his home.

The city lord’s estate, his home, should have been a place of comfort.

His mother had tended to him herself, applying medicinal herbs to his wounds, her soft hands working on him as they always did. She had even gotten pills from an affluent alchemist to help him overcome the paralysis that had gripped him after the battle. They’d worked on him efficiently.

“You did well, my son,” she had said, her voice filled with pride. “You stood tall against a demon. Few could say the same. You will grow stronger, I know it.”

It wasn’t the first time she had spoken such words. As a child, whenever he lost a sparring match against older or more skilled opponents, her voice had been his anchor, a balm for his wounded pride. Yet this time, her encouragement felt hollow, unable to reach the depths of his unease. He’d given her a nod, not commenting on the fact that no matter what, he had still lost.

His father’s reaction had been different. The disappointment in the city lord’s eyes had been subtle but undeniable, like a cold wind cutting through Li Xuan’s fragile sense of accomplishment. Though his father had accepted the truth—that his opponent had been the demonic cultivator who had terrorized the city and wasn’t an easy opponent to face—Li Xuan knew the man had expected more. Expected victory, like he always did.

And perhaps that was what stung the most. His mother’s reassurances, his father’s quiet judgment, neither could quell the storm within him. The demon’s mocking laughter still echoed in his mind, the memory of his defeat replaying with merciless clarity.

He sighed as he paused mid-thought, his qi flaring for a moment before settling into its calm state. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes as he tried to steady chaotic thoughts. But annoyingly, the qi flared up once again.

This won’t work… He needed control—over his qi, over his emotions, over himself. But the harder he tried, the more calmness seemed to slip away, like sand through his fingers.

This wasn’t like him. The Li Xuan he had been before the battle, before the defeat, would never have let himself falter. But the Li Xuan of now—he wasn’t sure who that was anymore.

But he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had let his mother down. No matter how much he thrived to grow stronger, in the end, he had been weak. That realization gnawed at him, leaving an ache deeper than his injuries. In truth, he had also disappointed himself.

Hence, as soon as he had recovered, he had left for the sect, not wanting to stay in bed any longer.

The steps carved into the mountain shadowed before him, and he climbed them at an uncharacteristically slow pace.

He mulled over his defeat, the demon, his parents, and most of all, what his master would say when they met.

His qi flared wildly at the thought of his master, and it took every ounce of focus to suppress it. His master had entrusted him with a simple yet monumental task—kill the demonic cultivator, bringing glory to the sect and himself. But instead, Li Xuan lost. Lost in front of thousands, and he knew the sect would be buzzing with the news. A core disciple like him, bested by a body-forging realm demon, was nothing short of disgraceful, no matter the tricks the demon had employed.

What stung even more was the person who had killed the demonic cultivator in the end.

Less than a year ago, Li Xuan had defeated Chen Ren with ease. Yet now, Chen Ren had slain the demon Li Xuan couldn’t. And not just slain it—Chen Ren had gone further, forming a spirit contract with a dragon, a heavenly creature revered above all else.

It felt unreal, like a tale spun by drunken storytellers. But the traces of heavenly qi lingering in the air during his recovery had been undeniable. His father’s confirmation only solidified it. Chen Ren had done the impossible.

Step by step, Li Xuan climbed, his qi lashing out as his thoughts spiraled.

By the time he reached the sect gates, he felt drained, both physically and mentally. He barely remembered flashing his sect token to the disciples guarding the gate or the brief nod they gave him. He trudged through the inner sect towards his residence, his mind heavy with unease.

On the way, whispers reached his ears—disciples murmuring about his defeat. The rumors were exaggerated, painting his battle in horrifying detail. Some claimed the demon had nearly killed him. Others added embellishments, like how he had begged for mercy. He heard it all, though no one dared approach him.

Li Xuan knew why. They were afraid to be the first to step forward. But beneath that hesitation, he could sense the undercurrent of excitement. His defeat meant they could challenge him, using the excuse of ”trading pointers.” It was inevitable.

He had been in their place once, a fresh disciple eager to climb the ranks. Back then, he had fought and won every challenge with unshakable confidence. Now, that confidence was a distant memory. As he entered his quarters, Li Xuan clenched his fists, unsure if he had the strength to face the trials that awaited him.

Li Xuan’s steps eventually brought him before the imposing doors of his master’s chamber. He steadied his breathing and called out, ”Master, Li Xuan is here.”

”Come in.”

As Li Xuan pushed the heavy doors open and entered, an oppressive aura washed over him, pressing down like a weight on his very soul. Instinctively, he fell to his knees and kowtowed, his forehead nearly touching the floor. His master’s presence was overwhelming, a testament to the vast gulf between their cultivation levels.

The silence stretched until Master Xiaosheng’s voice, sharp and cutting, broke through. ”Li Xuan, I sent you to the tournament expecting victory. I gave you a task, yet you failed—not only in winning but also in succumbing to a demonic cultivator. Do you understand the shame you have brought upon the righteous path? For a disciple of my lineage to falter so pitifully, I am left questioning if your mother’s blood has truly weakened you.”

The remark struck a nerve, and Li Xuan felt his qi swirl violently, mirroring the storm in his heart. But he forced himself to remain composed, suppressing the chaos within. ”Master,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with regret, ”I accept any punishment you deem fit. There are no excuses for my failure.”

Master Xiaosheng’s gaze bore into him, cold and calculating. ”You will receive your punishment once I have concluded the sect meetings.” He paused, then continued, ”But for now, tell me what you know of this Chen Ren.”

Li Xuan froze at the mention of the name, his thoughts racing for the reason why his master was asking about him. The Chen Ren he had defeated a year ago and the one who had stood victorious in the tournament seemed like entirely different people. After a moment’s hesitation, he spoke carefully. ”Chen Ren is... confident, intelligent, and resourceful. I fought him before, but the man I faced and the one he has become now are worlds apart. He has grown immensely.”

His master’s eyes narrowed. ”Is it true he bonded with a dragon?”

Li Xuan hesitated. ”I did not witness it myself,” he admitted, ”but there were enough credible witnesses for it to be true.”

Master Xiaosheng frowned deeply at that.

”The sect wishes to bring him in. We need to learn more about the elusive dragons that have vanished from this world. Yet he rejected us.”

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The silence following that statement was thick, laden with his master’s discontent. Li Xuan dared not speak further, silently contemplating the implications of his master’s words. Months back, Chen Ren himself had taken part in the entrance exams to make his way into the Soaring Sword Sect, but now he didn’t wish to do so. Why was that?

”That old fool Elder Yan even defended him,” Li Xuan’s master sneered, cutting through his thoughts. ”Said we shouldn’t force him, as if such a talent could be left to roam free! But mark my words, I’ll have a meeting to decide the sect’s official stance regarding this Chen Ren. Until then, I’ll be busy. Go train or meditate upon your failure, Li Xuan. When I’m done, I’ll inform you of your punishment. Just know this—fail me again, and you’ll need to find another master! Dismissed!”

Li Xuan didn’t wait for further dismissal. Bowing low, he turned and left the room, his thoughts swirling like the chaotic qi in his dantian.

There was nothing more to say.

But instead of returning to his chamber to rest and reflect, he let his feet guide him to a place that had always offered solace—the forest where he trained every day. The massive trees and rustling leaves brought a sense of calm that he hadn’t felt since the tournament. Because here, in the middle of the wilderness, he could forget everything else except the Dao of the Sword.

Drawing his blade, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. The load of the sword in his hand felt familiar, grounding. He took his stance, letting the rhythm of his breathing align with the pulse of his qi. For a moment, peace overcame him.

But then, his master’s words echoed in his mind. Your mother’s blood has weakened you.

His grip tightened on the hilt as his qi swirled violently, breaking the fragile calm. He didn’t fight it this time. Instead, he unleashed it, lightning crackling in the air as his emotions surged unchecked.

His sword moved in an arc, slashing through a nearby tree.

The wood splintered, and the tree crashed to the ground, but Li Xuan didn’t stop. Strike after strike, his blade cut through trunk after trunk, each swing accompanied by bursts of lightning that scorched the earth.

“I am not weak!” he yelled painfully.

The forest became a battlefield, trees falling like soldiers under his resentful assault. Lightning danced wildly around him, lighting up the destruction he wrought. Splinters and shards of wood flew in every direction, some cutting into his flesh, drawing blood, but he didn’t care. He was lost in the craze, his qi spiraling out of control as his strikes grew faster and more erratic.

“I am not weak!” he shouted again, his voice breaking as his knees buckled.

Finally, the storm of lightning around him dissipated, leaving behind a hollow silence. Li Xuan dropped to the ground, panting heavily, his sword slipping from his grasp. His body ached, his qi drained, and as he looked around, he saw the devastation he had caused. The forest clearing was littered with felled trees, an entire stretch of wilderness reduced to rubble by his rage.

He took a shaky breath, his chest heaving as realization set in. His qi, now calm, pulsed faintly in his dantian. The anger that had fueled his frenzy dissipated, leaving behind an emptiness that was almost unbearable.

He whispered to himself, “I can’t keep doing this. If I let my anger rule me... if I keep losing control like this, I’ll become no different from the demonic cultivators I despise.”

Closing his eyes, Li Xuan took several deep breaths, each one slower and more deliberate than the last. He sat there amidst the destruction, the scent of charred wood and ozone heavy in the air, and began to meditate. He had to regain control—not just of his qi but of himself.

Because if he didn’t, he knew he would never rise again.

As Li Xuan sat amidst the carnage of the forest. His breathing steadied a faint clarity began to emerge from the storm of his emotions. He focused his thoughts, letting the silence of the surroundings seep into his mind. Slowly, like a trickle of water carving through stone, his anger gave way to contemplation.

Chen Ren.

The name echoed in his mind, sharper than the whispers he had heard on his way to his chambers. He thought of the man he had defeated not so long ago—a man who had seemed destined for mediocrity. Chen Ren had fallen, humiliated in their duel. Yet, instead of wallowing in defeat, he had risen stronger.

Far stronger.

He had fought and defeated cultivators far above his level, slain a demonic cultivator who had bested Li Xuan, and formed a spirit contract with a dragon—a feat that seemed like a legend told by elders rather than reality. The contrast between them felt like a chasm, and Li Xuan’s fists clenched as the truth settled deep within him.

Could I do it?

The question stabbed at his pride, but the answer was uncomfortably clear. Not like this. Not while anger ruled his heart and chaos consumed his qi. Not while he let his failures weigh him down rather than lift him up.

If he wanted to rise, if he wanted to reclaim his honor, he had to start from the foundation. Control his anger. Master his qi. Refine his swordsmanship. Only then could he think of restoring the pride he had lost.

Li Xuan exhaled slowly, his breath a plume of frost in the crisp mountain air.

Perhaps this is the will of the heavens.

The heavens, after all, did not allow anyone to ascend without trials. They struck down the promising, tested their resolve, and forged the worthy in the fires of adversity. Was this his trial? A hammer blow meant to temper him into something greater?

Shaking his head, Li Xuan rose to his feet. His body ached from the exertion, blood seeping from shallow cuts where splinters had pierced his skin, but he ignored it. He sheathed his sword, his grip firm and resolute.

“Chen Ren,” he muttered, “I will defeat you. The man who killed the demonic cultivator. Dragonheart.”

His gaze swept across the ruined clearing, the destruction standing as a testament to his emotions—wild, uncontrolled, and wasteful. That would not do. Not anymore.

“I will defeat you,” he repeated, louder this time, his voice cutting through the quiet like a blade. “And I will reclaim my honour like a righteous cultivator should. Just you wait!”

The words hung in the air, a vow etched into the fabric of his being. With one last glance at the destruction he had wrought, Li Xuan turned and began the walk back to the sect, his steps steady, his mind sharper.

The path ahead would be long and arduous, but that was the way of the heavens. And he would tread it, step by step, until he stood above all—including Chen Ren.

***

Qing He turned the lock on the door of her tea stall with a soft click, pausing for a moment before stepping back to give the empty shop one last look. The late evening light filtered through the windows, showing off the worn wooden tables and the simple counter. Her eyes lingered at a particular spot near the window, where a solitary chair stood slightly askew, as if someone had just risen from it.

That was where Chen Ren always used to sit.

She sighed. “By now, he should be far away from the city. Off on his dangerous endeavour, building a sect of all things.” She shook her head, the corners of her mouth twitching. “I don’t know why, but somehow, I feel like he might just pull it off.”

Her thoughts wandered, unbidden, to the golden dragon. A magnificent creature no one had bonded with for centuries, perhaps even longer. Yet, that brat had managed it. The sheer audacity of his achievement spoke of destiny—an immense, cosmic design Chen Ren seemed at the center of.

Destiny was not something Qing He usually placed much faith in. She had lived long enough to see it twisted by human hands. And yet, in this case, she could not deny the pull of something greater. The thought unsettled her, but it also brought a spark of curiosity.

She shook her head again, more firmly this time, brushing away the nagging thoughts. “Destiny or not, he has a long road ahead,” she murmured.

Her footsteps were soft against the wooden floor as she walked down the narrow staircase leading to her private quarters above the shop. The upstairs were quiet, and it was the complete opposite of the noise that usually filled the stall during the day. Her ears craved this sort of quietness.

She paused in front of her library, her fingers brushing softly over the spines.

Without hesitation, she entered it and selected a specific book out of the few dozens she had carefully brought with her to this mortal town. Her hand moved to the back of the bookshelf, pressing a hidden button. With a soft mechanical whir, the entire shelf slid to the side, revealing a secret compartment embedded in the wall.

Inside lay a small collection of books, their covers aged and dusty from years of concealment. Qing He knelt and carefully removed the topmost book, her fingers brushing away the layer of dust to reveal its intricate cover.

The cover was a masterpiece of detail and artistry, depicting the Four Heavenly Beasts.

At the top, the Crimson Phoenix soared gracefully. Opposite it, the Black Turtle coiled protectively around a serpentine dragon, its shell gleaming with emerald colour. Below them, the White Tiger crouched, its eyes fierce and intelligent, its stripes jagged like streaks of lightning—a symbol of martial might and unmatched ferocity. But it was the final figure in the centre that commanded Qing He’s attention—a Golden Dragon.

The dragon’s scales seemed almost alive, shimmering with a lustre that spoke of untamed power. Its piercing eyes glowed with ancient wisdom, and its sinuous body coiled as if ready to spring from the cover itself. The detail was so vivid, Qing He half-expected to feel the dragon’s aura emanating from the book.

She opened the book with care, the pages crackling faintly under her touch. The first image was a portrait of the golden dragon, its form rendered in stunning detail, surrounded by celestial clouds and rays of divine light.

Her eyes lingered on the image as she muttered, “It seems like I need to do some reading of my own for what’s to come.”

***

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

PS - Li Xuan will have a good arc I think a lot of people will like. Thank you for reading volume 1. I know there were criticisms by the end of it, but I believe you all be satisfied with volume 2 since Chen Ren will be relying on his wits more.