Dao of Money

Despite how much Chen Ren appreciated Tang Boming’s ability to gather information, he quickly learned that good intelligence on sects was still hard to come by.

The markets were full of rumors—whispers about this sect being on the decline, that sect harboring grudges, another having an internal dispute—but none of it could be taken at face value. What was true and what wasn’t had to be verified through effort, patience, and well, direct probing. If they gambled on bad intel, any negotiations he initiated could collapse before they began.

That said, Tang Boming had managed to pull together a few worthwhile leads.

After cross-verifying sources and leaning on some of his merchant contacts, he was able to map out several lesser-known sects that had a history with the Darkmoon sect and hadn’t fared well under their dominance. Some had lost territory, others disciples, and a few had simply faded into irrelevance under pressure.

But gathering names was the easy part. The real challenge came right after.

Getting a meeting with a sect leader—even from an Emerging sect—turned out to be more difficult than he had expected. Most weren’t interested in any kind of partnership, and fewer still wanted to listen to a stranger cultivator talk business. They were focused on selling their pills and maintaining whatever scraps of respectability they had left. A few had already decided to leave the city altogether, hoping to rebuild elsewhere.

That was when he really understood just how ego-driven alchemists could be.

He did manage to secure one meeting, though—with the sect leader of the Aqua Azura Sect, a small, two-generation sect operating out of a narrow corner shop in the lower district of Broken Ridge City.

Property prices in the city were infamously steep. Rent wasn’t paid in wen, but in spirit stones, and nearly all the good locations were owned by cultivators. Even having a small storefront meant something, especially for a sect clinging to relevance.

He understood and respected that. So he came prepared. In fact, he approached the meeting with every intention of treating the Aqua Azura Sect as an equal, no matter how small he knew their name was. It wasn’t as if his own sect was a Guardian Sect.But it went much worse than even his lowest expectations.

The sect leader, an old man with a hunched back and the constant stink of booze on his breath, spent the entire meeting rambling about the “glorious legacy” of his sect. Every attempt Chen Ren made to steer the conversation toward practical terms was brushed off, ignored, or derailed by slurred stories of “once upon a time” achievements.

And when Chen Ren finally brought up the actual proposal—partnership, investment, shared infrastructure—the old man leaned back, narrowed his bleary eyes, and slurred,

“If you want us to even consider your little scheme, boy, we’ll be needing majority revenue. Seventy percent at least. We’re the ones with the legacy, after all.”

Chen Ren just sat there, staring at him in disbelief.

He knew some cultivators had their heads shoved too far up their own asses, drunk on the importance granted by being born with spirit roots. But he hadn’t expected a sect leader to be like that.

That was enough reason to leave then and there.

Chen Ren didn’t even bother sipping the tea that Yalan quietly warned had some weird chemicals mixed in. He walked out without a word, leaving the old man and his delusions behind.

After that disaster, Chen Ren decided not to waste all his time on sects. Instead, he shifted focus to independent alchemists—rogue cultivators without sect affiliations. In theory, they should’ve been easier to deal with. No reputation, no politics, no legacy egos or inner circle drama.

In theory.

Because it didn’t take long for him to realize there was a reason these people were unaffiliated. He spoke to four—and each one turned out to be more frustrating than the last. All of them wanted a ridiculous amount of resources just to consider joining the Divine Coin Sect. Two of them even looked down on him for being a “mere” qi refinement realm sect leader, not even noticing that a meridian expansion realm beast was sitting beside him the whole time.

By the end of it, Chen Ren was starting to think this entire plan had been a terrible idea.

That was when Tang Boming returned with good news. Another sect had agreed to hear him out.

Unlike the last few, this one actually had a reputation. And according to Tang Boming, the sect had even carved out a decent foothold in the city before the Darkmoon Sect targeted them. They were known as the Jadefire Hall, a sect formed out of a pure love for alchemy.

Their focus had been research rather than profit or power—especially on advancing alchemical techniques, testing ingredients, and innovating new recipes that most cultivators didn’t bother with.

But of course, that kind of focus made them a soft target.

The Darkmoon Sect had picked apart their core disciples within months. Poached their top alchemists, undercut their ingredient suppliers, and spread subtle rumors that turned customers away. Now, there were whispers that their sect leader was planning to step down and worse, disband the sect entirely.

The more Chen Ren heard, the more perfect it sounded. A research-driven sect. Out of favor with the heavens. Desperate, but still holding on to some pride.

It was the exact kind of opportunity he had been hoping for.

Without wasting another second, Chen Ren made his way up the peaks where the Jadefire Hall was located, Tang Boming and Yalan trailing behind him.

He didn’t know how this meeting would go.

But for the first time in days… it felt like the odds weren’t completely against him.

The mountain trail narrowed the further they went.

Spiky cliffs flanked them on one side while thick, frost-dusted pines clung stubbornly to the other. Wind howled between crags. Chen Ren found himself unintentionally pulling his robes tighter, even if he didn’t actually feel the cold.

They had been climbing for nearly two hours now. And still, there was no sign of the Jadefire Hall.

Behind him, Tang Boming let out a tired sigh, shifting the large satchel slung over his back. Inside it, they’d brought a small gift to the sect leader. “We should’ve asked for a neutral location to talk,” he muttered, rubbing his shoulder. “Even the messenger I sent last week said he got tired from all the climbing…”

Yalan, who had long since stopped walking and started leaping over jutting boulders like a nimble mountain goat, glanced over her shoulder. “Why the hell is their sect so far up the peak anyway? It’s not like they’ll get better qi up there.”

Tang Boming snorted. “Apparently the sect leader likes the view from the top. Says it gets his creative juices flowing. Better mindset, better odds at discovering new pill recipes.”

Chen Ren almost rolled his eyes. “The more I hear about this guy, the more it sounds like he’s better suited for research than leading a sect.”

Tang Boming chuckled. “Well, you’re not wrong. From what I heard, he started the sect after winning a small regional alchemy tournament—Eastern Alchemy trials. Also spent a few months in a traditional sect and hated it.”

“Why?” Yalan asked, hopping down to join them for a moment.

Tang adjusted the strap of his bag again. “Because alchemists at lower levels have it rough in big sects. No matter how talented you are, they don’t give you proper respect until you can craft at least an Earth-grade pill.”

Chen Ren frowned. “Isn’t that the same for every cultivator?”

“Nope,” Tang said, shaking his head. “If you’ve got a good spirit root or blow the entrance exam out of the water, elders will fight over you. Martial cultivators train hard, but if they have talent, they get treated well early on. But alchemists? They get dumped in the work halls. Told to refine pills day and night with garbage ingredients until they prove they’re worth anything.”

Chen Ren nodded quietly to himself as they walked. A sense of pride swelled in his chest—not arrogant or boastful, just solid, earned pride. His new system of pill standardization was rough, unrefined even, but it worked. If more sects adopted it, countless alchemists wouldn’t be shackled to their cauldrons, grinding out Mortal grade pills day and night. They could focus on creativity, research… on actually growing.

But he also knew most sects would never touch his methods nor would he give it in. Tradition ran deep in this world—so deep it suffocated innovation.

It made sense, but it wasn’t for him. He considered himself lucky; lucky to have people like Anji, Wang Jun and Qing He who didn’t care too much for rules or pride or old ways. They were people who looked at results.

As they continued their climb, the cold air thinned and sharpened. The clouds felt close now like curtains drifting lazily above their heads.

The view, however, was breathtaking.

Chen Ren paused briefly to glance across the deep gorge that split this mountain from the one directly opposite them. That distant peak—swathed in mist and faint flashes of array light—was unmistakably the home of the Darkmoon Sect. He narrowed his eyes, trying to make out more, but the thick layering of illusion and concealment arrays distorted everything. It looked more like a blurred smear across the landscape than an actual stronghold.

And beyond the sect?

Chen Ren saw the wild lands—The official term for the land beyond the city.

Cliffs, ridges, deep green woods crawling across slopes like spilled ink. And here and there, distant booms echoed across the air, followed by flashes of red and gold. Cultivators fighting beasts. Or insectoids.

He kept his eye on those lands while walking, wondering what a battle would be like with an insectoid until the delineation of a stone gate emerged from the edge of the path, sculpted right into the mountainsides.

It wasn’t grand. Not like the jade arches or soaring towers of other sects. It was plain, almost humble. Two worn pillars, one cracked across the middle and held together with some crude sealing talisman. A crooked wooden sign hung above the gate, its paint faded from years of wind and sun.

Someone sat beneath it.

A lone man, robes draped lazily across his body, eyes half-lidded and arms folded. His hair was tied up in a messy knot and a broken sword leaned against the wall beside him.

But the moment Chen Ren and his party stepped closer, his body tensed.

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His eyes sharpened immediately as he pushed himself to his feet. His fingers brushed lightly against the hilt of the sword—not drawing it, but clearly preparing himself.

“Who are you all?” he said sharply in a hoarse voice. “State your purpose.”

Chen Ren stepped forward, hands behind his back.

“We’re here to speak with your sect leader. We have already sent a messenger,” he said. “He agreed to hear us out regarding a business proposal.”

The man frowned. Then his eyes narrowed further as he looked over Tang Boming’s heavy satchel.

“Name?”

“This is Sect Leader Chen Ren of the Divine Coin Sect,” Tang Boming said, stepping closer to the guard. “We sent a messenger ahead. Your sect leader agreed to meet with us.”

The sleepy-eyed gatekeeper blinked again, his gaze flicking between Chen Ren and the satchel-laden Tang Boming. Despite the apparent fog in his mind, some instinct pushed him to focus when Chen Ren took a step forward and let a thread of qi roll off his body like smoke caught in sunlight.

“Can we go in?” Chen Ren asked casually.

The man straightened immediately, nearly stumbling over himself as he moved to open the gate. “Y-yes, please go in,” he said hastily, gesturing them through with both hands like he was brushing aside invisible curtains.

Chen Ren exchanged a glance with Tang Boming, who just gave a helpless shrug. The gate creaked open and they stepped inside.

And within seconds, Chen Ren frowned.

It was too quiet. No, it was empty.

Chen Ren looked around—broad walkways, clearly demarcated housing buildings, training grounds, and several specialized workshops were built into the stone of the mountain itself. The infrastructure was good. Very good. Far better than the ragtag compound the Divine Coin Sect had grown from.

But it all felt abandoned.

There were no disciples sparring in the yards. No murmurs of training, no sounds of trial and error from alchemy rooms. Even the buildings themselves looked like they had been left in a hurry—some doors slightly ajar, some windows covered with grime, the scent of unused incense lingering in the air.

“They really did lose a lot of people…” Chen Ren murmured to himself.

He had known that. Tang Boming had told him. But this—this was something else. This was a ghost sect.

After nearly ten full minutes of walking, and just as Chen Ren was about to turn around and call back the sleepy guard, footsteps echoed down the stone path. He turned around and saw a short man walking towards them.

He wore red robes, the kind dyed with expensive herbs, and the symbol of the five elements—metal, wood, water, fire, earth—was woven into the cloth over his chest. The emblem matched the one the gatekeeper had worn, marking him as a disciple of the sect.

But unlike the guard, this one was alert. His beady eyes studied their group even as he bowed deeply at the waist. Tang Boming returned the bow politely.

Chen Ren simply offered a nod. His status as sect leader meant he didn’t need to bow to a disciple, and the man didn’t seem offended in the slightest.

“You must be Sect Leader Chen Ren. I apologise. I only got to know about your arrival minutes ago,” the man said. His voice was clear, with a slight rasp—like someone who’d spent more time breathing in herb smoke than fresh air. “I am Tau Liu. Core disciple of the Jadefire Hall. Sect Leader Hun is waiting for you. Let me lead you to him.”

Chen Ren gave a small smile. “Then let’s not waste his time.”

With a polite nod, Tau Liu turned, leading them deeper into the sect grounds—toward whatever was left of a place that had once tried to stand tall beneath the shadow of a much darker moon. The three of them followed him as they moved through the quiet, echoing streets. Even here, right in the middle of the sect, the absence of other disciples remained unsettling.

Trying to make conversation, Tang Boming spoke up. “I’ve heard a great deal about Master Hun Tianzhi. To meet such an honoured alchemist in person… It’s an honour in itself.”

Tau Liu offered a small, prideful smile. “I’m glad you think so. I’m thankful to the heavens every day that I get to learn under him. Sadly…” his smile dimmed slightly, “some people don’t realise how fortunate they are.”

Tang Boming prodded gently. “I heard a few of your disciples were taken in by the Darkmoon Sect.”

The smile vanished completely. A flicker of anger flashed across Tau Liu’s face before he composed himself. “The heavens punish the unloyal,” he said tightly. “And I’m very sure they’ll come to realise their mistakes in time.”

“I’m sure they will,” Tang Boming said diplomatically, leaving it at that.

Throughout the remainder of their walk, Tang Boming continued to pry more information—on sect affairs, on recent alchemical developments, and on Sect Leader Hun—but Tau Liu was careful. He was being polite, but extremely guarded. Beyond what they already knew from rumours and reports, he gave away nothing.

Eventually, they arrived before a large wooden sliding door etched with subtle patterns of flame and mist. A weak medicinal scent seeped through the seams.

Tau Liu stepped aside and gestured with an open palm. “You may go in, Sect Leader Chen. My master is expecting you.” He added after a pause, “Only you. Your… pet and disciple will remain here.”

Chen Ren almost chuckled at that, especially when he saw Yalan’s eyes narrow, her body stiffening at the word pet. He didn’t correct it. There was no point—and it might be fun to tease her about it later.

Tang Boming handed over the bag to Chen Ren and without a word, he stepped forward and entered. The door slid shut behind him.

The room was simple. A single table rested on top of a woven mat, flanked by two cushions. Behind it, a modest bookshelf stood, filled with scrolls and what he guessed as alchemical tomes. He scanned his surroundings more and realised that there was no ornament, or ostentatious display of power. Not in any way that mattered.

For a moment, he felt like he’d stepped into a scholar’s retreat rather than the inner sanctum of a sect leader.

And at the table, sitting quietly, absorbed in a book was the man he had come to meet.

Hun Tiazhi.

He was dressed in clean but faded robes dyed a deep ember red. He had calm features with a neatly trimmed beard peppered in silver and thin fingers that turned the pages of his book with care. His hair was tied in a simple knot, and the aura around him was restrained. Chen Ren immediately noted the round jade necklace around his neck.

Hun Tiazhi looked up from his book, closed it, stood and offered a light bow.

“I am Hun Tianzhi, sect leader of the Jadefire Hall,” he said with a composed smile. “I received your letter. It’s quite rare to see someone so young already leading a sect.”

“Chen Ren, sect leader of the Divine Coin Sect. It’s an honour to meet an alchemist of your reputation.”

He offered the satchel he’d been carrying.

“There’s moonshine inside—strong alcohol. Cultivators love it. One of the products my sect makes.”

Hun Tianzhi stared at the satchel for a few seconds and accepted it with a small nod, setting it down at the corner of the table. “Thank you. And… reputation? I haven’t done much worth to have it in a while. But your kindness is appreciated.”

He motioned to the cushion across from him. “Please, have a seat.”

Chen Ren accepted the offer, settling onto the cushion as the older man poured tea into two ceramic cups—one for himself and one for his guest. The act was simple, but it wasn’t lost on Chen Ren. Pouring tea for another was a gesture of respect. Already, this meeting was going better than the last one he’d suffered through.

He lifted the cup and took a sip—mildly bitter with a medicinal note. Fitting, considering the host.

“I walked through your sect on the way here,” Chen Ren said, setting the cup down gently. “It’s serene. Peaceful. The layout and structure reminded me of the Soaring Sword Sect, in some ways.”

At that, Hun Tianzhi’s eyes lingered on him a little longer, as if reevaluating him. “You’ve been to Soaring Sword Sect?”

Chen Ren nodded. “Not as a disciple. I had already founded the Divine Coin Sect by then. I killed a demonic cultivator in the past year that Soaring Sword Sect was after, and Vice Sect Leader Yan Xiu invited me personally as thanks. I made a short trip there.”

What Chen Ren was doing was simple—textbook, even. He was establishing his reputation, making it known that he wasn’t some wandering rogue or greenhorn with delusions of grandeur. Mentioning the Soaring Sword Sect and Yan Xiu, no less was a quiet way of setting the table.

This is who I am. These are the people who know me.

He had no need to show off his cultivation. Hun Tianzhi had likely already guessed it and deemed it not significant. So, connections mattered the most. And while both their sects were “Emerging,” there was no doubt that Hun Tianzhi’s Jadefire Hall Sect had more history, more foundation… more pride. Chen Ren wasn’t trying to overshadow that. He was simply levelling the field.

The old man seemed to recognize it too.

But he didn’t seem interested in playing the same game.

He exhaled quietly, setting his teacup down as his gaze turned faintly dry. “It seems you’ve caught the attention of a few powerhouses already. And yet, here you are… in the crumbling halls of a sect on the verge of closing. Why?”

Chen Ren knew what it was; it was an invitation to stop dancing around and speak directly.

Chen Ren appreciated that. In truth, he preferred it.

He met Hun Tianzhi’s eyes. “Like I said in my letter,” he said evenly, “I have a proposal. I want your sect… to be acquired by mine.”

***

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