Dao of Money

Chen Ren stepped into the back room with Anji and Yalan in tow. The wooden door clicked shut behind them, muffling the noise of customers and their conversations. Inside, the room was quieter than a grave, the only sound a soft creak as they took their seats.

Anji’s eyes were already on him, wide and awaiting an explanation. Her knuckles brushed the edge of the desk, fingers twitching as if resisting the urge to reach for her ledger.

Chen Ren didn’t blame her. He knew that having a spy in their midst was a disaster.

They had built everything on secrets—the flavour-infused recipes, the refining techniques, the uniform purity. If even a piece of that leaked to Darkmoon Sect, they wouldn’t just lose business. They’d be finished.

Though that would have only been the case if Chen Ren didn’t already know about it.

Anji broke the silence. “What spy?” she asked. “And when did the Darkmoon Sect send one?”

“It’s one of the mortal workers,” he said. “Han Fei. I don’t know when it happened. But I know that he was replaced by a disciple of the Darkmoon Sect.”

Anji blinked. “Han Fei’s been working diligently since we opened the shop. Had it been a spy all along?”

“Not the same person. I noticed it two days ago. His soul felt off. Warmer than it should be, it was much stronger. He’s a cultivator pretending to be him,” Yalan said. “He’s at the peak of qi refinement. Not bad at acting, but not good enough either, and obviously he could act only so much. He’s just too proud in how he moves. Too straight in the back. The man can’t even carry crates like a proper mortal—doesn’t hesitate when he should, doesn’t sweat when he must. I had my suspicions.”

Chen Ren nodded slowly. “Most likely one of their outer sect disciples. Strong enough to defend himself, but not valuable enough for the sect to miss if he’s caught.”

“A throwaway,” Yalan muttered.

“Exactly,” Chen Ren said. “And poorly trained. And clearly someone sent in a hurry and not bred for infiltration.”

Chen Ren took a glance around the room to notice Anji’s brows knitted together.

“It still doesn’t make sense. Did the Darkmoon Sect have something like Hong Yi’s artifact?”

Chen Ren shook his head once. “No,” he said. “It’s not an artifact. He’s using a pill. You remember how Tang Boming and I were looking into the sect’s techniques and specialties, right?”

Anji nodded.

“We spoke to anyone who would talk—rogue cultivators, old hunters, wandering peddlers. Honestly, anyone who’d seen their disciples in the wildlands. Most of them repeated the same thing—they were extremely good with the shadow arts. Their whole sect leans on it. But that wasn’t all.

“There were mentions of how they were really good with esoteric pills that were centered around stealth.”

It wasn’t really easy to get that information. A lot of people weren’t comfortable talking like that. It was even harder to link that information to them sending a spy. But he and Tang Boming were able to put two pieces together.

When they were researching, not every lead made sense and most of the rumors were false. But when a sect’s been around for long enough, and the sect was big enough, one would see the patterns, even through the noise.

Out of all the pills he could think of that were centered around stealth, what made the most sense were ones that could change someone’s appearance. It was an effective way for the Darkmoon Sect to go, since they wouldn’t be able to overpower them with the debt for a while.

They confirmed it when they moved through pill shops that the Darkmoon Sect owned. Tang Boming had requested different types of stealth pills before coming to the shapeshifting ones and the shopkeeper had frozen, saying he needed to speak to someone. Those weren’t available on the shelves and one needed to shell out a lot of money and be strong enough to get their hands on them. Just to confirm, Tang Boming offered over a hundred spirit stones for it and a little extra for the employee and manager, but they only said that even though the pills existed, they weren’t available to outsiders.

“So… they sent someone to steal our recipes,” Anji said, sounding as if she was in deep thought.

Yalan nodded. “They’re trying to figure out how we’re making these pills cheap—and how we modified them without losing purity.”

“Yes, and I spoke with Zixin earlier,” he said, recalling the conversation he’d with one of the new mortal workers. “He mentioned that Han Fei was asking about the next pill run—said he wanted to go up to Jadefire Hall to ‘help carry the load.’”

Yalan’s brow twitched. “To snoop around.”

Chen Ren gave a slow nod. “Most likely. He’ll try to look into ingredients, methods—anything we don’t have out in the shop.”

Now there was only one question left about the situation.

“What are we going to do about it, Sect Leader Chen?” Anji asked. “Should we banish him?”

Chen Ren didn’t answer right away. His eyes narrowed as he considered the whole situation from a distance. He didn’t want to act rashly on an issue this serious—one wrong move could affect them all.

“No,” he said at last. “That won’t teach the Darkmoon Sect anything. They’ll just send another. And then another.”

“They’ll think we’re weak,” Yalan added.

“Then what if we capture him?” Anji probed again.

“They’ll claim he’s not theirs,” Chen Ren said. “Too many disciples. One disappearance won’t even ripple their pond. That spy likely knows it, too.”

Silence stretched as Anji fell into thought. She straightened her back and began pacing the room. Chen Ren watched her think for a solid five minutes—until her eyes suddenly widened, and she turned back to him.

“You’ve already thought of something, haven’t you?” she asked.

Chen Ren’s lips curled into a thin smile. “Naturally,” he said. “But this time, it won’t be us defending. It’ll be them bleeding. But before anything else, we need to be sure the real Han Fei is alive. If they’ve killed him…”

Then it was a tragedy. One that they weren’t able to stop.

“I’ll trail the imposter,” Yalan said, rising to her paws. “If he’s dead, I’ll find the body. If not, I’ll find the cell.”

Chen Ren gave her a nod of trust. “Do it quietly. If they sense we’re aware, we’ll lose our chance.”

Then Chen Ren looked back at Anji, eyes gleaming now.

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“Now,” he said, folding his hands before him. “Let me tell you the plan.”

***

Yeqing had thought—naively, it now seemed—that he’d long moved past the days of standing behind a counter like some outer disciple desperate for merit. Yet the heavens, in their twisted sense of humor, had brought him full circle. Once more, he found himself surrounded by shelves of pills, ink-stained ledgers, and the mind-numbing chatter of haggling cultivators.

In front of him, a group of rogue cultivators—dusty robes, half-dulled blades, and the stench of beast blood still clinging to their boots—stood bickering like fishwives in a market.

“For the third time, esteemed cultivator,” Yeqing said, voice as smooth as aged tea, “we cannot offer a discount on those pills. They are already priced far lower than market standards.”

He even bowed slightly, pressing palms together, lips curled in the gentlest smile he could muster.

The leader of the group, a burly man with thick wrists and a body-forging realm aura that made Yeqing’s skin itch, slapped his hand against the wooden counter.

“But last time we got ten percent off,” the man growled.

Yeqing’s smile twitched.

If he’d been wearing his real face—if he were dressed in the black and grey of the Darkmoon Sect—this brute wouldn’t have dared raise his voice. But alas, he was a mortal today. A helpful, cheerful little shop assistant with no cultivation to speak of.

He forced his shoulders to relax. “That was a one-time offer,” he said gently. “A promotion for our grand opening. Now that operations are smoother, we’ve returned to standard pricing. If there are discounts in the future, you’ll certainly be among the first eligible.”

The man narrowed his eyes. “Tch. I still want an extra pill.”

Yeqing resisted the urge to scoff. These low-level mongrels barely had a grasp on etiquette, let alone tact. He thought briefly of snapping the man’s wrist just to hear it crack.

But instead, he dropped his gaze to the tray of pills and conjured the soft humility he had once wielded years ago while managing his sect’s peripheral shops.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said, glancing up. “You buy these now, and I’ll speak with our manager on your behalf. Since you’re one of our regular customers, perhaps next time we can offer something a little more... generous.”

That did the trick.

The man puffed up, clearly pleased to be offered a promise of discount. He turned to his companions and gave a nod. “Fine then. We’ll take it for your price.”

Yeqing bowed again. “A wise choice.”

Yeqing’s fingers moved as if he’d done this many times, tucking the bottles into a cloth pouch and tying it shut with a crimson string. The rogue cultivator snatched it from his hand, popped open the seal for a cursory sniff, then tossed a bundle of spirit stones across the counter.

They clinked like coins at a beggar’s feet.

Yeqing waited until the group had disappeared through the shop doors, their rough laughter fading into the streets beyond, before slumping forward with a silent exhale. His arms braced the counter. Sweat beaded at his brow—not from fear, but from restraint.

He closed his eyes for a moment. Just a little longer. Endure this farce a little longer. The pill was worth it.

A single pill. That was all he needed. The one Elder Tiefang had promised him upon success. With it, the bottleneck standing between him and the foundation establishment realm would shatter, and he would finally crawl out of the mud these people forced him to wallow in. If that happened… even a core elder might look his way and take him as a disciple.

“Rough one?” a voice called from behind.

Yeqing’s spine stiffened. He turned, plastering the same gentle smile he had used on the cultivators.

It was Zixin—one of the mortal staff who worked alongside him. He didn’t like talking to them amiably, because it was far beneath him, but he had to keep up his act.

Yeqing nodded with a weary sigh, wiping fake sweat from his brow. “Entitled types,” he said. “I was almost certain he’d start swinging.”

Zixin chuckled and leaned against the side of a display shelf, glancing toward the door. “If he did, Sect Leader Chen would’ve dealt with him. I doubt any of these troublemakers could give him much trouble.”

Yeqing’s smile tightened.

Chen Ren? That so-called “sect leader”? A half-baked cultivator in the middle stars of qi refinement, with neither strength nor reputation to back his title. The very idea made Yeqing want to laugh aloud.

But of course, he couldn’t.

So he nodded again, playing his role. “Still, wouldn’t be good for business if a fight broke out.”

“True.” Zixin scratched the back of his head, then looked at the empty shelves near the front. “Anyway, I think we need to restock the shelves. Those rogue cultivators cleared out most of the Qi Replenishment Pills.”

For the first time since stepping into this disguise, Yeqing’s eyes shone. But his face remained neutral.

“Really?” he said mildly, dusting off the corner of the counter.

“Yeah,” Zixin replied, glancing toward the shelves. “With the way pills are flying off the racks, we’ll be empty by tomorrow. Better to restock early than get caught scrambling. Jadefire Hall should’ve finished brewing another batch by now.”

Yeqing tilted his head, seizing the opening. “Do you want me to go get them?”

Zixin scratched the back of his neck. “You sure? Last time you went up there, you passed out halfway up the hill.”

Yeqing stiffened. He hadn’t known that.

Recovering quickly, he forced a sheepish chuckle. “That was a bad day. I think I’ll be fine now. Staying behind this counter isn’t exactly good for my body. Might even help me stretch my legs.”

Zixin narrowed his eyes, then seemed to shrug the thought away. “Alright. I’ll talk to Manager Anji. If she says yes, both of us can head up there tomorrow.”

Yeqing smiled faintly. Not alone, then. Things would be much easier if he went alone—but well, it was only a small setback, not a dead end.

“Sure,” he said. “Let me know.”

With that, the conversation drifted off, and the two of them fell back into their routines—sorting, packing, guiding, smiling. Yeqing buried himself in the rhythm of work, though every second itched against his nerves.

He hated to admit it, but the shop… was doing well. Exceptionally well.

Pill shops rarely had steady traffic even in core districts, yet here, they had cultivators coming and going like flies to spirit honey. New customers. Repeat customers. Guards. Cultivators. Merchants. Wandering clansmen.

And every pouch sold was another stone chipped off the Darkmoon Sect’s mountain of influence.

No wonder Elder Tiefang was worried about this.

Yeqing glanced at the long line forming again by the doorway. The name “Divine Pill Apothecary” was already spreading like wildfire across the city. If it wasn’t stopped, this wasn’t just going to be a competition.

It was going to be a war. And Yeqing was here to stop that. Give Divine Coin Sect a big blow before the tide could rise.

Because despite how hard life was, the only reason Darkmoon sect disciples were able to get a lot of resources was because of them maintaining a monopoly.

Yeqing worked diligently until the sun dipped low, his smile never faltering as he handed out pills and answered questions with the tone of a humble shop worker. But as soon as the final customer left and the shutters were drawn, he bowed out early with a yawn and a polite excuse about the bathhouse.

His steps, however, carried him nowhere near warm water or steam.

Yeqing slipped into the flow of the city’s main road, only to veer off toward the crumbling edges of Broken Ridge. His robes gathered dust, and his pace quickened. He had ten minutes. If he didn’t reach in time, his face might begin to melt like wax under heat.

He brushed past the crowds—elbowing a merchant, nodding at a guard—and then, suddenly, his heart skipped.

His instincts, honed from a decade of harsh sect life, screamed.

Yeqing stopped.

Am I… being followed?

His head turned, sweeping over the crowd behind him. He squinted his eyes, trying to see anyone suspicious.

Nothing.

A false alarm? Or was someone actually watching?

His jaw tightened. He had been too focused lately—too upright in his role. That was dangerous.

He resumed walking, slower now, scanning alleys and rooftops every few steps. But no shadows moved with him. No qi signatures followed.

The house appeared five streets later—a mold-ridden shack pressed between two collapsed tenements. Its door was warped, the tiles overhead cracked. Yeqing slipped inside, and only once the door creaked shut behind him did he release a slow breath.

Then, his face began to change.

With the quiet squelch of shifting flesh, his nose narrowed, cheekbones sharpened, and jaw grew lean. The dull look of the shop worker melted away, revealing him—shrewd eyes the color of black jade, a thin scar running from his brow to the bridge of his nose, and the usual downward smile on his lips that never made it to his eyes.

Yeqing stared at the mirror nailed crookedly to the wall, rubbing his temples as he muttered, “Four pills left. Four days to get the recipe and bolt.”

He turned toward the wardrobe in the corner of the room. Pulling it open, the scent of sweat and faint fear rolled out. Inside, bound with layered ropes and a gag, was the true owner of his stolen face—a gaunt man with frightened eyes and blood crusting at the edge of his mouth.

The captive—Han Fei stirred, and his eyes bulged as Yeqing crouched beside him.

“Still alive,” Yeqing said lightly, plucking a pill from a pouch at his waist. He flicked it into his palm, then leaned in close. “You should thank the heavens. If I were any other cultivator, you’d be floating down the city’s waste river by now.”

He opened the gag just to force the pill into the man’s mouth and made sure he swallowed.

The mortal coughed as the pill scraped down his throat. His bound limbs twitched, and his eyes—already ringed with exhaustion—fluttered as the drowsy effect of the concoction began to settle in.

Yeqing watched dispassionately, then clicked the wardrobe shut.

“Be grateful,” he muttered, brushing off his hands. “You won’t need food after that pill. And you’ll sleep for longer than you’d like.”

He turned, letting his shoulders sag slightly as he surveyed the small space that had become his den of lies. A cracked lantern flickered on the table. A chipped basin stood unused in the corner. The thin mattress on the bed creaked beneath him as he sat down heavily, resting his head back against the rough pillow.

The day had worn on him.

He had assumed this mission would be a simple one—pretend, observe, report. But every interaction drained him. The fake smiles, the bending of pride, the forced respect toward mortals.

He hadn’t been on spy quests before and he realised why it was so hard. But maybe tomorrow would be the last day he’d have to preserve.

His eyelids lowered as he let his breath even out. He wasn’t going to cultivate, just wanted the mindless quiet of meditation to numb his thoughts.

It was perhaps because of that numbing silence that he didn’t feel it; didn’t feel the subtle pressure of a gaze.

Someone was watching him through the cracks of his window.

Yeqing, unaware of the presence, fell into the darkness of his meditation.

***

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