Dao of Money

Luo Heng’s fists crashed against the boulder.

”[Mountain Splitting Strike!]”

A surge of energy coursed through his limbs, filling him with the illusion of boundless strength. His knuckles met stone, the direct impact sent a dull vibration up his arm, and for a small second, he felt as if he could shatter mountains—but when the dust settled, only a minor dent marred the rock’s surface.

He withdrew his hand and unclenched it, feeling the warmth of the power that had just moved inside him.

He grinned at what happened. A week ago, attempting this would have left him with shattered bones. Now, as a cultivator of the Divine Coin Sect, he was more than just mortal and the strength flowing through his veins was proof of that.

He stood up on the hill that overlooked the village, and continued his training.

Below, villagers passed by on the worn dirt path, their baskets heavy with tools and seeds. He recognized many of them—people he had grown up alongside. He waved. Normally, they’d have stopped for a quick conversation, or even made a light joke in the passerby. But things had changed.

They hesitated, offered a quick bow, then hurried on.

Luo Heng sighed, lowering his hand. He was used to it now. Ever since he had stepped into the path of cultivation; and in between the little time that had passed, everything had changed.

It wasn’t the sect’s fault—mortal members were still treated kindly and they had a pretty good reputation in the village. It was the title of ‘cultivator’ that made the difference.Sect Leader Chen had once told him that many cultivators were arrogant and unapproachable, making mortals wary of them. Luo Heng understood that. He had been a mortal for most of his life.

He just hadn’t expected to be on the receiving end of that distance. It was odd to see such a big difference in such a short time, and he found himself nodding awkwardly more than ten times a day when they bowed so deeply.

Shaking his head, he turned back to the boulder, preparing to strike again—but his gaze drifted toward the sky. The sun hung low, streaking the horizon with gold. He suddenly realised that the time to practice was over and he had to give his attention to a different type of training than just trying to smash boulders.

He exhaled through his nose, letting out the frustration. ”I need to think,” he murmured.

Turning away from his training, he made his way down the hills toward his farmlands.

As he arrived, his mind calmed—relief flooded. The scars of the locust infestation were healing. The earth, once barren, was tilled anew. Fresh sprouts pushed through the soil, fragile yet resilient.

Luo Heng smiled, his heart warming with emotions. The next harvest would be a good one. The village would recover.

And maybe, given time, so would he.

He moved toward the large tree overlooking his farmlands, the rough bark a familiar comfort beneath his hand as he sat down. He exhaled deeply, the scent of freshly tilled earth filling his lungs and the golden light rays from the sun warning him.

He reached into his robes and pulled out a book—”Dao: The Path of a Cultivator.”

Sect Leader Chen had given it to him, saying it was an essential guide. As he turned it around and admired the ancient parchment, he realised that it hadn’t done him much good—he could barely read it.

Miss Tang Xiulan had helped him decipher the words, but even then, the book made his head hurt. The letters made his insides cry. It was the most philosophical nonsense he had ever read. At times, he even felt like it’d been better if he could just throw it away and never look at it.

Apparently, cultivators weren’t just people who absorbed energy and acted like gods. They had to choose a path—their Dao—and dedicate themselves to it. It was a complex process, but an extremely essential one.

Miss Xiulan had explained that the book mainly focused on the Martial Dao, but Sect Leader Chen had insisted there were many Daos beyond just that.

His Senior Brother Zi Wen was proof of that. He had connected with the Dao of Taming, and somehow—Luo Heng still didn’t understand how—that had made Little Yuze, his wolf, stronger.

Stronger, bigger, and with sharper teeth.

It was scary. Luo Heng frowned. That was exactly why he preferred boulders now. Boulders didn’t have fangs or claws that could accidentally tear him apart.

Chuckling to himself, he flipped open the book.

The words blurred before his eyes—still gibberish. But the illustrations caught his attention. They depicted a cultivator sitting in a meditative stance, seeking to connect with their Dao.

Luo Heng sighed. He knew he was supposed to do the same.

But despite training, despite learning techniques, despite trying to force himself to love martial arts…

He still felt no closer to Martial Dao.

Luo Heng flipped through the pages, eyes scanning the words that Miss Xiulan had patiently helped him decipher. The Martial Dao was said to be the easiest to connect with. It was the foundation of countless cultivation paths, the most direct route to strength.

And yet—he felt nothing.

According to Sect Leader Chen, there were always other paths. Maybe he was meant to be an alchemist, refining herbs into miraculous pills. Or perhaps an array master, manipulating space itself with complex formations. He could always learn and advance if they were meant to be his path. Because the books spoke of such people with reverence, describing their abilities as mysterious and unfathomable.

But Luo Heng had never so much as held a cauldron. And even if the idea of learning alchemy intrigued him, it was curiosity, not a pull.

That was what Senior Brother Zi Wen had described—a pull, an undeniable instinct. When he had found Little Yuze, he had known, deep in his heart, that they were meant to be together. Like something in the universe had clicked into place.

Luo Heng felt none of that.

Martial arts were cool, but that was it. Alchemy sounded fun, but he had never liked fire. Maybe it was because of his Earth-aspected roots. And as for arrays… he wouldn’t even know where to start.

It left him stranded.

He sighed, staring down at the book before smacking it against his forehead.

”Am I just untalented?” he muttered.

He knew his spiritual roots were weak. That much had been clear from the beginning. But Sect Leader Chen had said that a strong Dao could overcome weak roots—if only he could find it.

Luo Heng exhaled, shaking off the creeping doubts. His gaze drifted past the book, past his hands, past his confusion—toward the farmlands below.

The soil had been freshly tilled, dark and rich, the first hints of green peeking through in delicate sprouts. The smell of earth was thick in the air, damp with the promise of growth. The more he focused, the thicker the smell felt, like heaven. He could already imagine it—in a few months, the fields would be full, bursting with life. Stalks of golden wheat swaying in the wind, their heads heavy with grain. Rows of leafy greens stretching toward the sun, their leaves glistening with morning dew.

Over by the lower fields, he pictured a rice paddy, the water shimmering under the sunlight, reflecting the sky like a giant mirror. Further ahead, rows of vegetables—lush cabbages, their leaves curled tightly, bright red chili peppers, standing tall, and bean vines creeping up wooden poles, twirling toward the heavens.

A deep warmth settled in his chest.

And then—something stirred.

It was faint at first, like a ripple in a pond. But as he let his mind wander, as he envisioned the farm flourishing, that ripple turned into a current. A strange energy seeped into him, flowing through his veins like the steady pulse of the earth beneath his feet.

Luo Heng’s breath caught.

Qi.

Instinctively, his hand drifted to his chest, feeling the unfamiliar sensation pooling in his dantian. Was this it?

Was this… his Dao?

A memory surfaced—a conversation with Sect Leader Chen.

”When you find your Dao, you’ll know. It won’t be forced. It won’t be something you chase. It will come to you, like a seed finally sprouting after the right season of rain.”

Luo Heng’s hands clenched into fists.

He turned his gaze back to the fields—not to the past, but to the future.

He saw what could be—not just crops, not just survival, but abundance. A farm unlike any other, a place where the land flourished beyond mortal limitations. A place where he could cultivate, not through battle and bloodshed, but through nurturing life itself.

And as that thought took root, more Qi rushed into his dantian.

It wasn’t violent like a martial technique. It wasn’t blazing like the fire of an alchemist’s cauldron.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

It was steady. Grounded. Deep.

Like the earth beneath him, unshakable.

***

Young Master Zhu Renjie of the Zhu Clan strode through the bustling streets of Ashen City, his smug smile on full display for everyone to see.

Today couldn’t be better.

He had finally bested his second cousin in a spar—a feat that had eluded him for far too long. Both of them were body gorging realm cultivators, but his cousin had always been stronger, taller, tougher. Yet today, Zhu Renjie had proven himself superior. He had defeated the guy so badly that it would be spoken in his clan for quite some more time.

And what better way to celebrate than to parade through the streets, soaking in the admiration of the common folk?

As he moved, the people of Ashen City recognized him. Their heads dipped in respectful bows, some murmuring greetings, others keeping their gazes lowered in deference.

This. This was why he preferred walking over taking a carriage.

There was a certain thrill in seeing mortals bow before him. A reminder that he was not just anyone, but Young Master Zhu Renjie of the main branch of the Zhu Clan. A cultivator. A man destined for greatness. A man that should be feared by the many.

And the feeling of being revered was intoxicating.

One of his lackeys, Luo Min, leaned in with an eager smile. “Young Master, are we going to the same place?”

Renjie smirked. “Of course. There’s no better place to celebrate.”

His other lackey, Wu Phan, chuckled knowingly.

And so, the three of them continued their leisurely stroll until they reached their destination—a towering, four-story establishment that gleamed even beneath the dusky sky. The Scarlet Pavilion.

It was the most renowned courtesan house in all of Ashen City. The exterior alone boasted wealth, with red lanterns hanging elegantly from carved eaves and silk drapes shielding the entrance from prying eyes.

Without hesitation, Renjie stepped inside, his lackeys close behind.

The moment he entered, the receptionist, Manager Qiu, straightened and quickly greeted him with a deep bow.

“Young Master Zhu! You honor us with your presence today. The Scarlet Pavilion has missed you.”

Renjie flicked his sleeve with arrogance. “I’ve been occupied with my cultivation. But tonight, I celebrate a victory over my second cousin. I am sure you know what to do.”

Manager Qiu’s expression lit up. “A most worthy occasion, Young Master! Allow me to summon our finest courtesans for you. Please, take a seat—we shall serve you and your esteemed friends at once.”

With that, Renjie strode toward the lavish seating area, already anticipating the indulgence that awaited him. He settled into the center seat, sprawling comfortably as his lackeys took their places on either side. The sweet smell of incense and perfume filled his nostrils, and the faint music blending with the soft laughter of courtesans in the background was just what he needed.

A moment later, servers arrived, setting down a tray of fine porcelain cups and a bottle of unfamiliar liquor.

Renjie lifted his cup, his brows furrowing as he inspected the liquid within. A white coloured drink swirled inside, reflecting the candlelight in an oddly mesmerizing way.

His smirk faded slightly. “I don’t think I’ve seen this before. It’s not what I usually get when I come here.”

Manager Qiu, who had been watching closely, immediately stepped forward. “Ah, Young Master, you have a keen eye! This is moonshine—a special drink, unique in the whole world.” He puffed out his chest, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “We’ve only managed to acquire a single bottle of it. It’s strong—perfect for cultivators. I’m sure you will love it.”

Renjie’s smirk returned. “Hmph. Let me be the judge of that.”

He swirled the moonshine in his cup, inhaling the sharp, potent scent before taking a slow sip.

The burn hit instantly, searing its way down his throat, but instead of coughing, Renjie let the warmth spread through him, his eyes widening in surprise. There was a depth to the taste, a fire that felt almost invigorating, as if it were fueling his qi instead of dulling his senses.

Meanwhile, his lackeys, Luo Min and Wu Phan, had taken cautious sips of their own—only to cough violently, their faces scrunching up as they struggled to handle the burn.

Renjie let out a low chuckle, finishing the rest of his cup in one smooth motion before slamming it down on the table. “Now this is good. Strong. Just how I like it.”

Luo Min wiped his mouth, still wheezing. “Y-Young Master, do you truly like this stuff?”

Renjie shot him a sharp look. “What would you know? This is real liquor. It can satisfy a cultivator like me.”

Then, without hesitation, he eyed their still-full cups and snatched them both up before they could protest.

“If you’re not drinking it, I will.”

And just like that, he downed both their drinks in a few gulps, the burn intensifying but only making him crave more.

Turning back to Manager Qiu, he set his cup down with a loud clunk, eyes gleaming. “Bring me more.”

The receptionist hesitated for a second, but seeing Renjie’s expression, he quickly nodded and signaled for another serving.

One after another, Renjie drained each new cup, his head growing light, a pleasant buzz settling in his mind. Yet instead of dulling his senses, the moonshine made him feel alive, his qi subtly humming in response to his good mood.

After finishing yet another glass, he leaned back and exhaled. “Good stuff.”

Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, he turned to Manager Qiu, waving lazily. “Send a crate of this to my estate.”

Manager Qiu’s eyes widened. “A… a crate?”

“Yes.” Zhu Renjie leaned forward, propping his elbow on the armrest as he gazed lazily at Manager Qiu. “Make it a full crate.”

The manager, who had been about to instruct the servers, suddenly froze. A flicker of hesitation crossed his face before he forced a polite smile. “Ah… I can’t, Young Master.”

Renjie’s expression darkened instantly. “What?”

Manager Qiu’s fingers twitched, clearly regretting his words. “W-What I mean is… we don’t have a full crate.”

Renjie’s eyes narrowed. “Then bring me whatever you have.”

“That’s just it, Young Master.” Manager Qiu hesitated, then spoke quickly, trying to appease him. “We… only had one bottle. There’s no more stock.”

A beat of silence.

Then, a sharp crack echoed through the hall as Renjie slammed his hand against the table. His Qi flared just enough to make the nearby cups tremble.

“What do you mean?” he demanded, his voice sharp with irritation. “Where did you get it from?”

The manager paled but quickly shook his head. “I don’t know, Young Master! A man came here yesterday, selling moonshine. He claimed it was made for cultivators, and I thought I’d buy a bottle to see if our esteemed guests would enjoy it… But I don’t know who he is or where he came from.”

Renjie clicked his tongue, glaring. “Useless.”

Manager Qiu swallowed hard, lowering his head as Renjie shoved himself up from his seat.

“I’ll find more of this alcohol myself.” His robes flared as he turned toward the door.

Behind him, Manager Qiu called out hastily, “Young Master! What about the courtesans?”

Renjie didn’t even glance back. “I don’t care about them right now. I need more moonshine until I’m satisfied.”

His voice was filled with genuine hunger, his pulse quickening at the thought of tasting that burn again. It had been so long since he’d found a drink that could actually make his qi stir and mind dizzy–in a good way. He needed to find this.

Leaving his stunned lackeys behind, he strode swiftly into the streets, his feet automatically taking him toward the only place he thought might have it.

The Alehouse.

It wasn’t the most dignified establishment out of everything his clan owned, but if anyone in this wretched city had rare liquor, it would be there. Pushing through the heavy wooden doors, he stepped inside, his presence commanding attention. His gaze landed immediately on a man and woman behind the counter.

Without hesitation, he took a step forward, voice booming loud across the room.

“I, Zhu Renjie, Young Master of the Zhu Clan, need moonshine!”

***

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