Dao of Money

The Corpse Lands were exactly as dangerous as Qing He had warned.

It had been a proud home of a powerful sect once and then, the entire region had turned into a cursed wasteland after its mysterious destruction. No one knew the exact cause—only that when the sect fell, the land changed with it. Miasma had crept out like smoke from a smoldering ruin, infecting the very air and soil, turning the dead into twisted mockeries of life. The name came later—Corpse Lands—but it had stuck fast.

According to what Qing He told, she’d recounted the rumors. Some said an experiment went awry. Others claimed the sect had been attacked by demonic cultivators. A few exaggerated about a cursed technique, something forbidden, too ancient to control. But her personal theory had stayed with him the most—a corpse collector. One of those foul demonic practitioners who cultivated death itself. If one of them had breached the sect’s walls, and their arts seeped into the earth… it would explain the endless tide of undead.

He didn’t know what was true, and frankly, he didn’t care. His eyes were on the treasures buried deep within—ruins laced with ancient runic weapons, long-forgotten manuals, and maybe, if fate smiled, recipes for pills and potions that he could use to breach deeper into the immortal market.

But therein lay the problem.

The Corpse Lands were crawling with other cultivators—most of them already at the foundation establishment realm. More than capable. More than dangerous. The undead themselves were no joke either. Tier 2 beasts roamed the mists like hounds, and Tier 3 threats were not uncommon. Even if he found something, others would find him. And in a place like this, law didn’t matter. Disputes were settled with blood, and the losers often didn’t stay alive for long.

Chen Ren’s current strength wasn’t enough. Not yet.

He would need to rely on Yalan completely—and he wasn’t sure the cat would agree. She had been watching over him from the start, more guardian than companion, and she hadn’t let him enter battles she thought he couldn’t win. This… this would be a stretch even by her standards.

Pushing the thought aside for now, he stepped into his workshop and slid the door shut behind him with a soft click. The earthy scent of herbs and ash welcomed him. He moved toward the low table and took out a cloth-wrapped bundle.

One by one, he unrolled the items.Qi replenishment pills.

Scarlet bloom healing pellets.

Bone-refining capsules.

He examined them in silence.

In the world of cultivation, spiritual products were categorized much like techniques—Mortal, Earth, Sky, and Heaven grade. These, unfortunately, were firmly at the bottom of that ladder. Low-tier Mortal-grade. Common enough that any outer disciple or early-stage rogue cultivator had likely bought them at least once. They did the job, barely, but lacked potency or refinement.

Still, they were all he had for now.

Chen Ren narrowed his eyes, picking up one of the dull green bone-refining pills and rolling it between his fingers. They smelled faintly of iron and camphor—unpleasant, but tolerable.

He had a lot to think about. And not much time to prepare.

Being the most common of spiritual products, the recipes for these pills were no great secret. Chen Ren had found several variations tucked within the books Qing He had sent him, all describing the basics in a clear and straightforward manner. But knowing how to make a pill and making a good one were two very different things.

Most sects added their own ingredients—special herbs, refined essences, or long-lost alchemical techniques passed down within their inner circle. That was how they increased the potency of their pills. That was how they gained an edge.

It was also why Chen Ren would never be able to compete with them. Not in raw strength. Not in raw potency. He knew better than to ask Qing He for those secrets. Even if she had access to them, sharing such knowledge would invite more problems than it solved.

But he didn’t need to walk the same path. Potency wasn’t the only thing that made a product unique.

There were other angles—effects that lingered longer, pills that dissolve faster, ones that were easier to absorb for certain constitutions, or even ones that simply had fewer side effects. If he could carve out a niche, create a formula tailored for a large number of people that was better in some way from the pills in the market, then he wouldn’t need to go head-to-head with the sects at all.

Still, before he could test anything, he needed a baseline. A standard.

He would have to break down the entire process—measurements, heating times, spiritual flow, ingredient sequence—everything had to be reproducible, teachable. If he wanted to build a supply chain, he couldn’t be the only one crafting pills. He had plenty of mortals under his wing, but not cultivators skilled in pill-making.

Alchemy required precision, discipline, and time—none of which his people had in abundance. Yet, there was one exception. Luo Feng.

The man was already managing his future herb garden with surprising dedication. Chen Ren had handed him a small pouch of common spiritual seeds after the tournament—rewards he had earned from the tournament but couldn’t store indefinitely. Pills could be sealed and preserved; herbs, less so. They decayed, lost their vitality, and became useless over time. It made more sense to put them inside the ground than on a shelf.

And Luo Feng had taken the task seriously. The spirit farm was beginning to take shape, tiny shoots poking through the enriched soil, visible faintly under the influence of the land’s weak spiritual energy.

If things went well, he might be able to bring him into the alchemy work later. But for now, it would be just him.

He rolled his shoulders and stretched his arms, feeling the back muscles tight. Letting out an exhale, he walked over to the side of the workshop where the cauldron was.

Placing the basic ingredients for the qi replenishment pill onto the workbench, he began sorting them by age, type and dryness. His hands moved without a pause, eyes narrowed in focus.

Today wasn’t about breakthroughs. Today was about repetition. Standardisation.

He’d had some success with pills before—some being the key word.

Truthfully, his results had been passable at best. Potions were where he truly shone. There was a fluidity in crafting them, a kind of intuitive precision that made it easier for him to manage. But potions weren’t as sought after by cultivators. Pills were cleaner, more concentrated, and far more versatile. They lasted longer, stored better, and came in dozens of specialized types. A single pill could boost qi circulation, calm the mind, restore broken meridians, or even awaken dormant bloodlines.

He’d often wondered why pills held such prestige over potions, but he had shelved that question for later. There were too many pressing concerns for these types of musings.

Moving over to his cauldron, he set out the herbs he needed for a basic qi replenishment pill. Alchemy in this world wasn’t as straightforward as it had been in the world he came from. It wasn’t merely about chemical reactions or combining ingredients in the right sequence. Here, he had to draw the qi out of the spiritual herbs, guide it, bind it, then compress it under controlled heat and pressure until it formed a pill.

Simple to describe. Complicated to perform. Especially when trying to standardise the process. He eyed the first few herbs as he began to heat the cauldron, the flame shifting into a blue-white hue under his qi’s influence. The familiar hiss of warming metal filled the air.

Then the door creaked open.

Chen Ren turned, surprised. He had been too focused to sense anyone approaching. He narrowed his eyes at Anji who stood there, her eyes being different than usual.

They looked at him directly, but she seemed to be in deep thought. Her stance screamed urgency, restraint, a small flicker of… fear? And something else entirely. The kind of expression someone wore when they had just outrun assassins and knew that jumping off a cliff sounded like a better option.

He didn’t speak immediately, letting the silence stretch, hoping she’d break it first.

But when she didn’t, he sighed and decided he needed to break the ice.

“Do you need something?” he asked. “I doubt you’re here to greet me for my glorious return. We already met at the shooting range.”

Anji shook her head slowly, her hands clenched at her sides. “I heard… about your talk with Senior Qing He. About you going to the Corpse Lands to find treasures.”

Her voice didn’t tremble. Not quite. But there was weight in it. Enough for Chen Ren to straighten and let the flame beneath the cauldron die down. He gave her his full attention. This wasn’t going to be a casual conversation.

Chen Ren nodded slowly. “Then… are you worried?”

He didn’t wait for a reply before continuing. “I am thinking of going to the Corpse Lands. Our sect’s short on too many things. I know it’s dangerous, but if I decide to go, I’m going to—”

“I’m not worried,” Anji cut in. “I know you need manuals,” she continued. “Cultivation techniques for the disciples. Xiulan told me about it.”

He paused, her words settling in more than he expected. Xiulan told her? That meant the two had grown closer than he’d realized. He didn’t mind it—there was no harm in it—but still, a part of him had hoped things like that wouldn’t spread too far. It wasn’t exactly a secret, but…

He had wanted the sect to look a little more prestigious in the eyes of outsiders. A bit less desperate.

He sighed. “It’s true. I do need them. That’s the main reason I’ve been considering the Corpse Lands,” he said, then tilted his head slightly. “But why are you asking?”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Anji hesitated.

He caught the flicker in her eyes—like she was weighing something, some unspoken cost.

“What if you don’t have to go to the Corpse Lands?” she asked softly.

Chen Ren gave her a wry smile. “Then I’d be a terrible sect leader. Can’t even provide a proper cultivation manual for my disciples? What kind of face would I have left?”

She shook her head. “No. I meant… what if there’s another place you can look for manuals?”

His smile faltered. His eyes narrowed, not in suspicion, but in realization. Slowly, he straightened.

“You’re serious,” he said.

Anji didn’t reply, but she didn’t need to. Her silence was confirmation enough. His mind whirled. Another place? If such a site existed—and it was less dangerous than the Corpse Lands—it could change everything. He wouldn’t have to gamble his life just to scavenge some ruined scrolls. It was the best possibility he’d heard in weeks.

But that only raised more questions.

Why now? And why had she never mentioned this before?

He had known from the beginning that Anji’s background wasn’t ordinary. The way she carried herself, the way she observed others, and even the way she knew how to read and write—it all hinted at a past buried under layers of half-truths and avoidance. But knowing of a place where cultivation manuals could be found?

That was another level entirely.

He studied her closely now.

“If there really is such a place in the empire,” he began slowly, “wouldn’t the other sects have already scoured it clean? Something like that wouldn’t stay hidden for long.”

Anji didn’t hesitate. “No, they can’t.”

His brow rose.

“It’s a hidden location,” she said. “Even if someone finds it, they wouldn’t be able to open the sect vault on their own.”

That gave him pause.

A sect vault?

So that was it. A hidden vault belonging to a sect—untouched, sealed away, inaccessible to outsiders. But not to her. The way she spoke, the certainty in her voice, the quiet control—it all pointed to one thing, Anji knew the internal workings of this vault. And that meant her connection to it ran deeper than he’d previously guessed.

She had just confirmed what he’d suspected, though he hadn’t expected the truth to come this soon.

“Do you have a way to open the vault?”

Anji nodded slowly.

“And… Do you know what’s inside?”

Her lips twitched—not quite a smile, more like restrained emotion.

“I have an idea,” she said. “Cultivation manuals. Secret techniques. Some of them are easily Earth grade. Weapons, all of them spirit artifacts. And a whole sect inheritance that even I have no clue about. But it’s real. And it’s powerful enough to elevate any sect to an Established Sect overnight.”

Chen Ren’s eyes widened.

That… that was beyond anything he expected.

If even half of what she said was true, this vault wouldn’t just solve his problems—it would propel his sect into prominence. With Earth-grade techniques alone, he could begin recruiting serious cultivators. In the Empire, those were rare treasures. Most sects reserved them for their most promising core disciples. Guardian sects might grant one or two to inner disciples, but never to the outer ranks.

Techniques like that could help someone leap ranks. Fight above their cultivation. Survive battles they had no business surviving. And that wasn’t even counting the inheritance she hinted at.

With all that combined… It would be worth risking everything. But there was still one question burning in his mind.

“How do you know all this?” he asked carefully. “I can’t imagine this kind of knowledge being available to just anyone. Even a sect’s inner disciples might not know of a hidden vault like this.”

“It’s not. Very few people know about it,” she said. “And I can’t tell you more unless we’re on the same page.”

Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed slightly, waiting.

“If I tell you everything,” she continued, “you’ll have to go with me to the vault. No turning back.”

He nodded without hesitation. If this was real, he had to go. Only a fool would pass up an opportunity like this. But still, he needed questions to be answered.

“Then let me ask this,” he said. “If we do get access to the vault, how would we divide what we find?”

Anji answered almost immediately. “I’ll take the inheritance. I want access to the manuals, but you can keep and use them however you want—so long as you don’t sell them to any sect, clan, or outsider not affiliated with your sect.”

Chen Ren fell silent.

It was a sharp deal. The inheritance might very well be the most valuable thing in the vault—possibly a bloodline legacy, techniques tailored to a specific cultivation path, maybe even unique methods that could reshape a sect’s foundation. Something priceless. He wondered why a mortal like her needed the inheritance. She couldn’t possibly use it, but it didn’t look like she was going to budge from her condition.

He could try to negotiate. But… None of this would even be an option without her.

The inheritance wasn’t his to begin with. And he knew it.

So after a moment, he nodded.

“That’s fine by me.”

Anji exhaled slowly, her shoulders easing in the faintest show of relief.

“Before I reveal anything else,” she said, her voice more composed now, “I want a qi oath between us. On everything we discussed. That way, we can trust each other.”

Chen Ren didn’t react immediately. He just studied her face, the seriousness in her eyes. Then he gave a slow nod. “That’s fair. But we’ll need to discuss the wording first. Oaths aren’t something you rush.”

“It’ll be simple,” Anji replied. “Both of us will go to the vault. You’ll protect me, and I’ll lead you all the way to the entrance and unlock access. Once we’re inside, we divide the spoils like we discussed—me taking the inheritance, you keeping the rest.”

Chen Ren raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue.

“There’ll be no betrayals,” she added. “Neither of us will go back on our word. The oath ends when we leave the vault safely, but even after that, you can’t attempt to take my life or the inheritance—directly or indirectly.”

Chen Ren tapped his fingers against his arm, thinking it through.

“That works for me,” he said after a moment. “But I might have to bring others along. And I’ll need you to explain every danger we’re walking into. Clearly.”

Anji gave a small nod. “That’s fine. But they’ll have to swear the same oath.”

“Deal.”

With the terms set, they moved to the center of the workshop. The air stilled as he pulled on his qi, weaving it into the space between them. He drew patterns in the air with his qi, sealing his qi to his words. The symbols shimmered in the air and disappeared ever so slightly.

“I promise to…” Chen Ren put everything to words, and that rippled the qi around him. Anji stared at him and said the same words. And then, she let out a breath. She looked like she’d just passed a point of no return.

Chen Ren noticed.

“So,” he said, voice quieter now, “can I know everything? About the vault. And about you. I want to know what I’m getting into—even with the oath.”

Anji looked at him, long and hard, then gave a slow nod.

“I’ll tell you everything,” she said. “Since we’ll be working together from now on.”

She paused, just for a heartbeat.

And then the next words out of her mouth shattered the silence between them.

Words that made Chen Ren’s heart still in his chest.

***

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