Dao of Money

Tiefang sat with his back straight looking at the dozen scrolls that lay open in front of him like ribs of a beast. They were all marked in crisp strokes, so fresh, he still smelt the ink. Broken Ridge City sales counts. Profit margins. Ratios of loss. Pill fluctuations. He scanned each line without pause, his mind calculating faster than his hand could move.

To his left, the incense burned, the smoke curling lazily around the still room.

Every fifteen days, this was the ritual. Every fifteen days, the numbers passed through his fingers like water, and the lifeblood of the Darkmoon Sect’s pill trade flowed where he pointed.

On the floor before him, three disciples knelt in silence—Ningkai, Quen, Udang, ready to answer any question that might arise.

As the most powerful outer sect elder of the Darkmoon Sect, he was responsible for their pill business since the majority of the alchemists that worked to make those pills were outer sect disciples. It angered him to even think about how those disciples worked day and night just to keep the sect running and prosper, yet the real benefit was taken by the inner disciples and those nepotistic products.

He was still enraged by the fact that Sect Leader Gao Moyue hadn’t done anything about the problem, but he had done his part. Everything else rested with the upper echelons of the sect.

He was an important figure within the sect—after all, he had reached the peak foundation establishment realm and was the only one at that level serving as an outer sect elder. But some matters were better left untouched.

Tiefang shook his head, attempting to shrug his thoughts and picked one of the scrolls, glancing at the disciples from above the parchment.

Huh… Their breathing was quiet. Postures discipline, but he knew that something was off. It was so obvious with all the sleeve tugging, how Quen completely avoided his gaze and how Udang kept looking at Ningkai.

Now that he noticed how nervous they were—was something wrong? Had they made a mistake?

He reached for the scroll without a word, his fingers steady even as his thoughts swirled like a storm-tossed sea. Questions pressed against his throat, but he swallowed them down. There would be time for that.

The soft rustle of parchment accompanied each flip as he moved through the monthly sales records. Familiar numbers greeted him. Regular pills—consistent. One line dipped slightly—expected fluctuation from Ironroot Defense Pill. Another had climbed, a pleasant surprise. Golden Vitality Pill. He gave a faint nod. So far, everything was within the bounds of normalcy.

The Sect Leader’s words echoed in his mind. “The sect bleeds when silver slows. Fix it.”

He opened the next scroll.

His pupils contracted the moment the inked numbers came into view.

A sharp breath slipped from his nose. He blinked once, twice, then let a pulse of qi wash through his meridians, clearing his senses. Trying to see if what he saw was real. Still, the numbers mocked him with their permanence.

The two best-selling pills—the ones their sect was famed for, Qi Replenishment pill and Bone Refining Capsules—had plummeted.

Not dipped even, dropped.

A quiet tremor passed through the air as his qi surged uncontrollably for half a breath. His fingers curled tighter around the edge of the scroll. A crease formed.

The disciples stilled. One shuffled backward as if distance might shield them from what they already knew was coming.

He lowered the scroll with measured grace, setting it on the desk as though it were fragile porcelain.

“...I see,” he murmured.

He closed his eyes briefly, swallowing the bitterness building at the back of his throat. They had chosen silence. Perhaps out of fear. Perhaps out of shame, but there was no time for games, he needed answers.

“Explain.”

The word landed like a stone in a still pond.

His eldest disciple, Ningkai stood from his seated position and walked forward, robes brushing the stone floor as he bowed deeply. “It’s not the Darkmoon Sect’s fault, master. We’ve maintained the same refinement schedules, same selling points. Our distribution routes are untouched. Production quality remains consistent.”

“And yet,” Tiefang interrupted, “we’ve lost twenty percent of our core sales in two weeks.” He couldn’t help but glare at them. “Did the entire city suddenly decide they’ve cultivated enough? Did enlightenment striked the masses overnight?”

Ningkai’s lips thinned and he looked down. “No, Master. The shift wasn’t internal. It’s—external. Beyond our influence. It’s another shop.”

That again? Was he trying to shift any blame?A slow dread crawled down his spine, coiling tighter with every beat of silence. He exhaled, flicking his sleeve aside and narrowing his eyes.

“What’s the name of this new competition? I didn’t hear anything about a new sect moving into the city and the dip is too huge for a green sect to do so.”

Udang stepped forward, eyes lowered. “It’s a new sect, Master. They call themselves the Divine Coin Sect. Their storefront is known as the Divine Pill Apothecary. It’s all over the city right now. And every cultivator heading into the town is moving there to stock up.”

With every sentence, his eyes widened as he realised what was going on. The name was vaguely familiar… Where did I hear it? Where…

As he thought for a moment, it clicked.

Jadefire Hall. That failed husk of a sect, swallowed by debt and left to be abandoned. Recently, someone acquired it. He had dismissed them at the time, assuming they’d drown under the debt and the expenses of keeping a sect alive. But they’d taken a large share of spirit stones from Darkmoon Sect when he hadn’t been looking.

But how?

He made direct eye contact with his disciples, and they straightened as if yanked by invisible strings.

He didn’t speak the question. But they understood it anyway.

How?

Ningkai grimaced, as if the words themselves tasted bitter on his tongue.

“They’re selling their pills… for three spirit stones each.”

Three? That was barely above cost.

“And that’s not all,” he continued, voice tight. “They’ve introduced a new type. A variant of the Qi Replenishment Pill, but it leaves a lingering taste in the mouth.”

“Taste?” he echoed, narrowing his eyes. “What taste?”

Udang stepped forward, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I… tried one, Master. It worked just as well as ours. And it tasted like… mint.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

“Mint? Are you speaking of dessert or cultivation pills?”

Ningkai didn’t flinch this time. Instead, he dipped his head and reached into his robe, retrieving a small pouch.

“I brought some for you to examine, Master. Please… see for yourself.”

He took the pouch slowly, weighing it in his palm. The drawstring was silk, not standard hemp, and a faint scent clung to it—cool and herbal. His brow creased as he untied it and drew out a single pill.

The surface was smooth, almost waxed. It was of a completely different colour and its texture felt strange, something he’d never seen on a Qi Replenishment Pill. He placed it on his tongue.

A moment passed. Then it melted. Coolness spread across his tongue. His pupils shrank.

The qi came rushing in—refined, efficient, smooth as flowing water. His meridians lit up as if soothed by a healer’s touch. And then came the aftertaste. Just like his disciples had said, it tasted like mint.

He stared at the pouch.

Then picked out another and placed it on his tongue.

The same reaction. The same burst of clean qi, the same flavor threading through his senses. His throat tightened.

This wasn’t some cheap gimmick. These pills weren’t just real—they were good. The purity was slightly lower than the sect’s own, but the structure was stable, the dissolution perfect. And the flavor—he couldn’t ignore it. It left an impression, one that would make first-time users remember and return.

He felt his hand tightening around the pouch as the question ‘how’ rang in his mind.

Alchemy recipes weren’t playthings. They were legacies—refined over decades, centuries. It took years to even adjust ratios, much less reinvent a pill entirely. Yet here it was. A pill that worked… and tasted good.

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And if they had done this with Qi Replenishment Pills, they could do it with other pills. His thoughts spiraled.

He looked up, the dread now fully nestled behind his eyes.

“How?” he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. “How in the name of the heavens did they manage this?”

No one answered because clearly no one knew the answer. And that was the most dangerous part.

Were they preparing for this for years?

His thought gnawed at him as he stared at the pouch in his hand.

Was this why Jadefire Hall had folded so quickly, why their sect leader hadn’t left despite there being nothing left in his sect?

Too many questions, but there was no answers.

Only one truth remained, a new force had entered Broken Ridge. And it wasn’t leaving quietly.

He turned to his disciples.

“They’ve taken the first strike,” he said. “We must strip them of every advantage they hold. Have you uncovered anything about their pill recipe?”

Ningkai bowed again, shame creasing his brow. “No, Master. We attempted to break down the components… tested it with flame separation, talisman arrays, even spiritual resonance. Nothing yielded. Whatever they’ve done… it’s beyond standard alchemy. You know how hard it is to find a pill recipe by breaking down a pill.” He paused, hesitating. “But there is something else—something strange.”

Tiefang raised an eyebrow. “Speak.”

“It’s the price, Master. They’re selling them at three spirit stones. That’s just enough for us to break even. Yet they’ve given away hundreds already. No signs of scaling back. If anything, they’re increasing output.”

That… was indeed a question that raised so many others.

“You believe they have a backer that’s giving them a treasure chest worth of resources to keep the low prices going,” Tiefang said slowly as the realisation dawned upon him.

Ningkai nodded. “We suspect so, we weren’t able to figure out more information on the Divine Coin Sect. But… There’s also the possibility, Master… that their recipe is simply more advanced than ours. Streamlined. Efficient enough to profit even at that price. If that’s true… the entire market in Broken Ridge will collapse.”

He exhaled slowly. “If cultivators grow used to lower prices,” he murmured. “We won’t be able to sell our pills at current rates. Not without bleeding the sect dry.”

“Precisely, Master. Word’s already spread through the lower halls. The junior alchemists in our workshops—they’re panicking. They think the apothecary’s rise will put us all out of work,” Ningkai said.

A pulse of irritation flickered through him.

“Then calm them down,” he snapped, but the anger quickly gave way to weariness. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “We’ve barely recovered from the unrest after the deaths of the outer sect disciples. If another ripple starts now, the inner elders will begin to whisper behind closed doors.”

He didn’t need to say more. Everyone in the room knew what happened when whispers turned to accusations. Positions shifted. Heads rolled. And his wouldn’t be the first—but it would be the most visible.

This cannot be allowed to continue.

He clenched the pouch tight enough to make it crinkle.

If the Divine Pill Apothecary is allowed to grow, the Sect Leader himself will peel the skin from my bones. Slowly.

It wasn’t enough to beat them in price. That ship had already sailed. He had to strike quickly—cripple the fledgling business before it took root. And more importantly… he needed their recipe.

His eyes narrowed.

They don’t have a backer, he thought. If they did, they wouldn’t have needed to swallow Jadefire Hall. Guardian sects haven’t meddled in Broken Ridge in generations, and the royal family wouldn’t touch us—not unless they’ve gone mad.

That only left one answer.

They made the pills themselves. Improved the recipe. Somehow.

He needed it.

No, he corrected himself, we need it. Or we’ll be obsolete before the year ends.

But how?

They had withdrawn all embedded spies from Jadefire Hall months ago when it collapsed. Anyone sent now would stick out like a sore thumb. The Divine Coin Sect would be wary. And every movement from there would be tracked.

He glanced at his disciples, knowing full well that any of them sent in could be caught… or worse. It wasn’t a risk he could justify. Simply analyzing the pills wouldn’t work either. They needed to learn it by seeing it for themselves. And for that, he needed to find a different approach.

Maybe rumors in the market and some hooligans breaking their shop would sabotage their business. Another faint thought stirred in the back of his head. The debt.He remembered now. Jadefire Hall had been drowning in it before they sold themselves to this upstart sect. And debts didn’t vanish with a name change. They lingered.

They’re still bound. They must be. And if that’s true…

One meeting with Xu Leiyan—the moneylender whose coffers ran deeper than most sects—and this little upstart sect might find itself crushed under paperwork rather than martial techniques.

But that was just one angle. The recipe… that was the real prize.

Without it, they’d always be chasing shadows.

His eyes flicked toward his disciples. “Do you know where they’re making the pills?”

Ningkai gave a short bow. “I believe it’s still at the Jadefire Hall grounds, Master. I’ve seen carts moving from there toward the apothecary early in the morning.”

“Do you want us to sabotage it?” Quen asked, stepping forward and speaking for the first time ever since he’d started to analyse the sales, eagerness tucked just beneath the surface.

He shook his head. The young man was always ready to throw hands.

“No. They’re too close to the city walls. And Hun Tianzhi may have fallen in rank, but he’s still an expert cultivator. We risk too much sending anyone in.”

The room fell quiet.

“I’m willing,” Quen spoke up again. “If that’s what it takes, Sect Leader.”

A flicker of regret flickered through his eyes.

He didn’t doubt the boy’s loyalty—but this was no test of courage.

It was a game of shadows.

He stood up and turned away from them, folding his hands behind his back, and let the silence stretch. Ideas spun through his mind, some complex and fragile. He’d spent decades outmaneuvering rival sects, bleeding them dry with fake scandals, fake clients, even fake breakthroughs. But that had always been to break.

This time… he needed to take. You couldn’t just burn a house and expect the recipe inside to survive.

If I destroy them too fast… the formula dies with them. No alchemist worth his salt will part with a recipe under pressure. And if they do… it’ll be fake.

He exhaled for the nth time today, out of frustration at the growing thorn at their side. Then lifted his chin as something struck his mind.

“I have a plan. You’ll need to do it perfectly. One mistake, and we’ll have a lot of problems sniffing down our necks. Worse, we might lose the chance entirely.”

His disciples dropped to one knee in unison.

“Command us, Master.”

Tiefang turned to face them fully now.

“Well, here’s what I’m thinking…”

***

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