Dao of Money

The air was thinner here. Tang Boming noticed it when he walked through the gates of Meadow Village. It was only his second time setting foot in the village, but the stillness of the place made it feel older than it was, as though it had endured simply by deciding not to move with the world.

There wasn’t much qi in the surroundings. Nothing dense or worth meditating in. Just the natural kind that clung faintly to rocks, wood, and breath. Still, it was peaceful. Tang Boming inhaled once, held it, and then exhaled slowly.

If I were a mortal, he thought, I’d probably want to retire somewhere like this.

But that peace—it raised questions. Had this place not been devastated by beasts?

On his way here, he had passed two other villages. One was in ruins, roofs collapsed, blood dried into the dirt. The other had been quiet in that unnatural way—abandoned, windows boarded up, livestock pens empty. The people had likely fled to the cities, somewhere the walls were higher and somewhere that cultivators kept the beasts at bay.

This region was always overlooked around this time of year. The Kalian Empire directed its forces to the borders, to places where threats could spark political instability or touch noble estates. Remote villages like this were often left to fend for themselves—until the next census, until a noble heir remembered they had land out here, until someone important cared.

And yet…

Here, there were children.He saw them as he walked down the main road—thin-limbed, red-cheeked, shouting at one another through the cold as they kicked around a worn leather ball. But there were no signs of trauma. No eyes peeking out of boarded-up homes. Even the elders moved freely, sitting under awnings or sweeping porches.

The Divine Coin Sect had a hand in this, surely. Whatever Chen Ren was doing here, it was working.

But how?

From what Tang Boming knew, the man barely had enough cultivators to fill out a training circle. Baby sects like his—barely a few moons old—struggled to recruit even a single wandering cultivator, let alone retain one.

And yet here they were. He adjusted the scroll case at his side, his thoughts already moving ahead to the meeting. Still… still, there were questions. How had he created peace here when stronger sects had fled or failed?

Tang Boming didn’t have the answers. But in his young age of seventy-eight years of living, he had learned one simple truth: everyone had their secrets.

And unless those secrets clawed into his life, he had no reason to chase them. Not everyone liked revealing those truths. So, he kept walking on the path that led him to the gates of the Divine Coin Sect.

If one could even call them that.

To him, it looked more like a large residence than a sect. There were no ornate pillars or formation flags fluttering in the wind. No guardians at the door. But Tang Boming had long since learned that in this world, appearances meant little. Power and reputation weren’t always carved in stone or gold—they often grew in silence.

He approached the gate and gestured to a passing mortal boy. The child paused mid-step, eyes going wide in recognition, then bowed and scurried off to announce his presence.

Not long after, a figure emerged from the side building. Familiar. Though not in the way he’d ever imagined seeing her.

Tang Xiulan.

Dressed in dark green robes with the faint coin and dragon emblem of the sect stitched near her collar, she walked toward him. She stopped a few feet away and offered him a bow.

Tang Boming returned it with one of his own, a little more hesitant. Because for a moment, seeing her here, in this role, stirred something he couldn’t name.

She straightened. “I’ve sent a mortal to inform Sect Leader Chen of your arrival,” she said. “You can wait in the reception room. There’s hot tea prepared.”

Tang Boming nodded, but his feet lingered for a breath too long before moving.

He followed her down a stone path, passing by a trimmed garden and a few mortals sweeping up fallen leaves. And then, just as the doorway to the waiting room came into view, the question slipped from his mouth.

“…Are you happy here?”

Tang Xiulan stopped.

Just like that.

She didn’t turn around. Didn’t answer right away. Her shoulders stiffened, and when she finally looked at him, her face had changed. The courteous calm had vanished, replaced with something harder—more guarded.

“Do you really care?” she asked with a flat voice. Whatever caution she had in her voice before was gone.

Tang Boming met her gaze. “Yes,” he said simply. “You’re family.”

She let out a breath. Not a laugh—not quite. More like a sigh tinged with something bitter. “That’s just a name,” she muttered. “I was a servant in the Tang household, remember? Maybe people treated me kindly enough, maybe I had a place. But that never changed who I was. Not really.”

Tang Boming didn’t argue. He couldn’t. She was right. The way she had been treated in a place she could call her own home was—not right. Something akin to shame bloomed in his chest, making him look away for a moment, then, back at her. “Still,” he quietly said. “I want to know, are you happy here?”

Tang Xiulan was silent.

Then she exhaled again, softer this time. “Yes,” she said at last. Her gaze drifted to the hallway beyond the reception room. “I am.” She paused, the words catching on her tongue before she continued. “I have actual responsibilities here. I manage things. People come to me when something needs to be done. No one judges me for who I was—because most of them don’t know. And even if they do, it doesn’t matter. Not really.”

She looked at him again.

“For them, I’m just the one who keeps things running. That much is enough for me.”

Tang Boming smiled faintly, a rare softness brushing the edges of his normally composed face.

“I’m happy for you,” he said and he meant every syllable.

Tang Xiulan didn’t reply, but she gave a shallow nod and continued leading him to the reception room. The door was already open, and inside, a pot of tea sat on the low table, steam curling gently from the spout.

Tang Boming stepped inside, settled himself with a straight-backed posture, and let out a slow breath.

Tang Xiulan, standing at the threshold, gave him a formal bow. “I hope your conversation with Sect Leader Chen goes well.”

He returned the nod, watching as she turned to leave. Just before she stepped out, his voice caught her retreating form.

“…Hope your life in the sect goes great too, sister.”

She paused—but didn’t turn. Then, with silent steps, she left. The door clicked softly behind her.

Tang Boming’s gaze lingered on it for a moment before he lowered his eyes to the tea in front of him. His hand hovered near the cup, but didn’t touch it.

Too late?

The thought drifted uninvited into his mind.

He had neglected family for decades. Not out of cruelty, but convenience. A choice made quietly over time. His parents hadn’t cared much—they were practical, indifferent as long as the clan name was upheld. But his siblings? He had no relationship with them.

He had sacrificed all of that in the name of advancement, chasing realms and stages, hoping that the next bottleneck would bring him closer to something meaningful—immortality, maybe.

Now, he wasn’t so sure.

Maybe it was time to mend a few things—before it truly was too late.

The door creaked open again.

He straightened instinctively.

Chen Ren entered the room, his presence as grounded as ever. Simple robes, sharp eyes, and the aura of authority surrounded him easily. But what drew Boming’s attention was the woman behind him.

An old lady with silver-streaked hair, walking with an elegance that made the air shift subtly around her. There was no overt show of power—but even from a glance, Tang Boming felt the pressure.

Qing He, if he remembered correctly. Tang Yuqiu had mentioned her before—called her a master of cultivation, someone even her father gave respect to. That fact alone made Tang Boming’s nerves stir. She didn’t look like Chen Ren’s master, but… who knew? Again, in this world, appearances often lied.

He stood and gave them both a respectful bow—deeper when facing her. Chen Ren didn’t waste time.

“Let’s skip the small talk,” he said, stepping forward and settling down across from him. “I’m interested in the information you’ve brought.”

That was Chen Ren—always to the point.

Tang Boming smiled, the nerves fading beneath a layer of trained professionalism. His back straightened just a little more as he took the scroll outside.

“Very well,” he said. “Let me begin… though I don’t know if you’re going to like what I have to say.”

***

As Chen Ren stepped into the room, he immediately sensed something hanging in the air.

It wasn’t spiritual pressure, no, it can’t be—it felt personal. Tang Boming sat at the table, his posture composed, but his gaze had been lost somewhere just a moment before—some lingering thought he clearly hadn’t shaken off yet. Chen Ren noted it, but didn’t press.

Everyone had their ghosts.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Chen Ren asked at his previous statement.

Tang Boming’s smile didn’t change. “Because the situation is far worse than even I feared when I first started looking into it.”

That set the tone.

“As you already know, most sects operate with internal sect economies. They refine pills, manuals and weapons and circulate them through their own disciples—part of their training and a source of control. But beyond that, the truly powerful sect don’t stop there.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“All of the Guardian Sects sell their pills externally,” Tang Boming continued. “In cities with high cultivator populations. They dominate local markets, supply minor sects, wandering cultivators, and even the nobility. Especially the Emerald Sun Sect—you know, the one focused almost entirely on alchemy.”

Chen Ren frowned. The name wasn’t unfamiliar. The Emerald Sun Sect had always been mentioned whenever he had read about great alchemists in the empire. They were the richest Guardian sect for a reason. Competing with them wasn’t just a bad idea—it was suicidal. Not just for him, but for any sect.

“I’ve ignored any region where their presence is dominant,” Tang Boming added, clearly sensing where Chen Ren’s thoughts had gone.

Chen Ren gave a slow nod. “That’s fine. I have no plans to run headfirst into a powerhouse.”

Tang Boming unrolled part of the scroll. “That’s why I focused on regions tied to the Established Sects. Ones that still command presence, but don’t completely control the flow of pills. I looked into details from seven cities—places where the market is active, but not locked. Every single one has a healthy number of cultivators, Emerging sects, and at least one or two clans vying for influence. There you can get a foothold. Build a customer base among wandering cultivators and rogue ones. Then, once your name and supply line are stable, start supplying the smaller clans and Emerging sects. That’ll open doors—without drawing too much attention early on.”

Chen Ren gave a small nod.

He already knew what Tang Boming was saying was true. Selling pills to clans and sects—especially those trying to claw their way up the hierarchy—would be nearly impossible for someone like him right now. They wouldn’t see him as a threat or a supplier. They’d see him as a nobody trying to punch above his weight.

A baby sect with no foundation, offering pills they could get from anywhere else? They’d laugh. Or worse, they’d crush the business before it even drew its first breath.

No, he thought. The smarter path is the rogue cultivators. Wanderers. Drifters. The new ones trying to rise, who don’t have clan support or sect backing. They’d buy anything that gave them an edge. Especially if the price is right.

That was the plan.

Target the cities. Build slowly from the bottom.

“What are those seven cities?”

“Lianhai, Tiandu, Golden Bell City, Cloudmere, Redwing Hold. Jiushan and Broken Ridge.

“All seven have a decent cultivator population,” he continued. “Some more than others. A few have well-established clans that control portions of the pill market. None of them are completely dominated by a single sect, though all of them have multiple powers vying for control.”

He paused, letting the weight of that sentence settle for the next stretch of time that felt like thirty hours to Chen Ren as the man gave him all the information he had gathered on them.

Tang Boming broke down regional economics, trade flows, and black market routes. But most of his time was spent detailing the power structure of each city, which clans were influential, which sects had territory nearby, their known highest-level cultivators, the kinds of pills they produced and sold, and—most critically—the rivalries that existed between them.

Chen Ren absorbed everything.

Competition wasn’t a problem in itself. It was expected. But the type of competition mattered. And in every city he heard about, the same pattern emerged, too many players.

In Golden Bell City alone, five mid-tier clans were battling for pill market control. In Redwing Hold, an Established sect had burned down two storefronts in the last year to maintain monopoly. Jiushan had a tangled mess of alliances that shifted with the seasons—one deal too successful, and the other side would step in to crush it.

Even if Chen Ren could carve out a corner of the market, it wouldn’t be long before he’d be forced into conflict—not with one power, but several. He didn’t want that. Not now.

By the time the briefing ended, only one city remained in his mind—Broken Ridge.

Less tangled than the others. Not without risk but manageable. Not many clans had roots there, and the pill market was still fluid. Cultivators passed through often. Independent powers hadn’t fully sunk their roots in.

It wasn’t ideal. But it was viable. And right now, that was enough.

“You said in Broken Ridge City, only the Darkmoon Sect holds the majority share in the pill market,” he said. “What about the rest? Surely there were other powers there before.”

“There were. Over the past few years, several clans and minor sects have tried to gain a foothold. But one way or another, they’ve all been pushed out.”

Chen Ren frowned. “Pushed out?”

“Outcompeted. Undermined. Disbanded,” Tang Boming said flatly. “Whatever leverage they had—pill sales, supplier networks, even storefronts—eventually vanished. The Darkmoon sect took over most of it. They’re the biggest player now by a large margin.”

There was a pause, and then Qing He spoke. “How?”

Tang Boming gave a short exhale. “I didn’t dig too deep into all the methods. But one of their known strategies is… recruitment. Specifically, they recruit the alchemists of their competitors.”

Chen Ren blinked.

Qing He raised a brow. “And the alchemists just… leave?”

Tang Boming shrugged. “Apparently so. The sect doesn’t pressure the power itself. They just offer better resources to the talent. And from what I heard, most of those alchemists don’t even look back. That alone breaks their rivals. If your alchemist leaves, your product vanishes. Your market collapses.”

Tang Boming continued, “Broken Ridge City is on the southern border. On the other side of the region lies the territory of a race of insectoids. Massive beasts with natural armors, glands, and unique internal organs—all of which are extremely valuable for cultivators. Some parts are used directly in pill refinement. Others can replace spiritual herbs altogether. On top of that, the insectoids are intelligent. They build nests over ancient ruins and treasure grounds. Human cultivators often cross the border to hunt, harvest, and scavenge.”

“And the Darkmoon Sect take advantage of it?” Chen Ren asked.

“They have one of the most successful hunting teams in the region,” Tang Boming nodded. “They bring back materials and relics—treasures others rarely get their hands on. They offer those directly to the alchemists they recruit. Not just spirit stones or empty promises.”

Qing He nodded slowly, a trace of wry amusement curling at the corner of her lips.

“It makes sense,” she said. “Cultivation is a pragmatic path. Loyalty doesn’t mean much unless there’s an equal return. Most people would sell their allegiance for a furnace full of rare cores and a stable cauldron.” She looked at Chen Ren. “It won’t be easy.”

She was right.

For cultivators—any kind of cultivator—treasures held more sway than oaths or banners. Power came from resources, and no one walked the path of cultivation hoping to stay in the shadows. If the Darkmoon Sect truly offered rare ingredients and relics from the insectoid territories, it wasn’t hard to imagine why alchemists abandoned their allegiances without looking back.

He didn’t even know the full extent of the offers they were making. But whatever they were, they worked. His thoughts were pulled back by Tang Boming’s voice.

“So,” the man asked, his tone carefully neutral, “you’re going to Broken Ridge?”

Chen Ren looked at him. He didn’t speak immediately, but after a long breath, he gave a slow nod. “It looks like the best option among all. Only one dominant player… and a lot of rogue and low-level cultivators cycling through. The types of pills I’m aiming for won’t help those in the higher realms anyway.”

Tang Boming gave a slight nod in return. “Then I’ll collect more detailed information. The Darkmoon Sect, their structure, their key figures, and the local sect and clans.”

“Do that,” Chen Ren replied.

But even as he said it, he felt Qing He’s eyes on him. He didn’t need her to speak. Just in the quiet gaze she leveled at him, he understood the unspoken question.

You picked a city. But what exactly are you going to sell?

He had chosen the battlefield. But he hadn’t yet forged the weapon.

And in truth, he still hadn’t cracked the code of standardized pill-making. No method that didn’t rely on personal skill. No array structure that mortals could operate with consistency. No reliable way to mass-produce anything that could stand against even second-rate mortal grade pills.

What he was trying to do was aiming to revolutionize pill making itself.

A madman’s dream. And yet, what other choice did he have?

He couldn’t compete with reputation. He didn’t have ten alchemists on call or cauldrons forged in divine flame. If he was going to do this—really do this—he needed to make a new system. One no one else had. But was he really doing that?

That thought stirred something in his chest. He stood up abruptly, pushing back his chair.

Tang Boming blinked, surprised. “Leaving already?”

“It was good meeting you,” Chen Ren said with a nod. “Thank you for your help—as always. Give Yuqiu my regards too.”

“I will,” Tang Boming replied and bowed again.

Then Qing He looked at him. “Where are you going?”

Chen Ren looked over his shoulder. “I need to research pill making,” he said. “So I’m going to read.”

“Read what?” she called out.

“We’ve got dozens of old books now,” he said, already stepping toward the door. “Alchemy. Arrays. There should be something in there that can help me.”

He walked through it and was already on the way to the library they’ve created. Hope burned in his heart and he wished he was right.

***

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