Dao of Money

The trials began with a simple round that Chen Ren had already anticipated. One he absolutely needed to cheat through.

“The first round,” the announcer declared in a high-pitched voice that rang across the coliseum, “will be the task that every alchemist faces on their very first day before a cauldron—ingredient analysis! Until one can do that,” the man continued, “they cannot call themselves a true alchemist. It is the foundation upon which every flame, every pill, every concoction is built. We have many, many talented young alchemists here today… but now, let’s see who among them truly knows the tools of their trade.”

As the words left his lips, Chen Ren felt a shift in the air. He narrowed his eyes at the qi around the announcer, simmering out in waves.

All of it was flowing directly toward the rings on his hand. The moment the thought settled, one of the rings glowed and a table materialized in front of Chen Ren with a flash of orange light, an exact replica of the shade of the ring on his hand. On the table, there was a woven basket, filled with unfamiliar ingredients. To the side, there was a parchment, a pot of ink, and a sharpened quill. Dozens of identical tables appeared all across the field in front of every participant.

Gasps echoed in waves—some of the younger alchemists were probably seeing spatial rings in action for the first time.

So that’s how they’re doing this, Chen Ren thought. There was little to no need for servants. One man and his ten rings were more than enough for a lot of showmanship.

When the last table had settled and the excitement faded to silence, the announcer turned once more to the participants, then to the crowd.

“Each of you has ten minutes to identify every ingredient before you,” he announced. “Those who fail to meet the standard—who identify the fewest—will be eliminated.”

Another flare from the man’s rings, and a massive hourglass—easily three meters tall—appeared beside his platform, its upper chamber already glowing faintly with golden sand.

“Your time starts now,” the announcer declared. “Prove yourselves well.”

As the announcer’s final words echoed across the arena, a stentorian cheer swept through the crowd. The kind of cheer that made the ground tremble and goosebumps rise on arms.

Chen Ren ignored it.

He reached into the basket and pulled out the first ingredient—a slender blue herb with a long, almost tortuous stalk and veins running through its surface. The texture was unfamiliar. The scent was faint, bitter. He had never seen anything like it before.

A rare herb, he guessed. They were not pulling punches.

Whoever had put the ingredient list together was making sure this trial wasn’t something anyone could pass through with surface-level training.

Next to him, Tau Liu leaned slightly and whispered, “Good luck, Sect Leader Chen. I know you’ll do well.”

On his other side, Jie Foong gave him a quick, encouraging nod before focusing on her own table.

Chen Ren almost chuckled. He nearly replied that he didn’t need luck—he had help.

As he eyed the blue herb again, a voice rang crisply inside his head. “That’s Yinxiao Vine. Crush the stalk to test for shimmer.”

He smiled faintly and wrote it down with swift, practiced strokes before reaching into the basket again.

This time, it was a silver-white herb shaped almost exactly like a feather, soft and translucent at the tips.

“That one’s Windtrace Fern. It grows only near spiritual springs.”

The answers came instantly.

Chen Ren didn’t waste time questioning or thinking it over. His hand flew across the parchment. Herb by herb, he moved down the pile. His fingers were quick between one ingredient after another. For a brief second, he felt as if his mind was clearer than it had ever been during alchemy work. It was like having an encyclopedia in his ear.

By the time the giant hourglass had poured about half its golden sand, Chen Ren had already breezed through most of the pile. Only three ingredients remained.

He looked at them but didn’t move to touch them.

“Why did you stop? Chen Ren, show them to us.”

“I’m not getting everything right. If I do too well, they’ll start getting suspicious. I just need to pass.”

With that, he dropped down on an act, knowing Gao Moyue was undoubtedly watching him closely.

So he leaned forward again, furrowed his brows, and began flipping back through the ingredients he’d already recorded, pretending to second-guess his own answers. He scratched his head, rubbed his chin, and even erased one name before rewriting it again—acting the part of a young, slightly uncertain but hard-working alchemist.

Chen Ren kept up the act—frowning at his own parchment, occasionally scratching down a fake correction—until the voice of the announcer rang out once more.

“Time’s up!” he called out. “Please hand over your parchments and return to your original positions!”

The field shifted with motion as alchemists began turning in their sheets, some trudged with reluctant steps, while others moved forward briskly. Chen Ren did the same, sliding his parchment onto the collection table before stepping back to his spot.

He looked around again.

Huh…. Most of them didn’t look happy. Frowns, downcast gazes, nervous shifting—all signs that the ingredients had indeed been rare and obscure was there. Whoever curated the round hadn’t wanted it to be passed easily.

He glanced to the side at Jie Foong. She stood still, head slightly lowered, eyes fixed on the dirt beneath her feet like it had personally insulted her.

“It’s okay,” Chen Ren said quietly. “You’ll pass.”

“I don’t know, Sect Leader Chen… I only recognized five ingredients. The rest… I just guessed.”

“I’m sure the others had it hard too. You’re not alone,” Chen Ren said, trying his best to console her somehow.

“But the Darkmoon disciples,” she said, finally lifting her gaze. “They look so confident.”

Chen Ren followed her eyes.

Across the arena floor, the three disciples from the Darkmoon Sect were huddled in a tight knot, speaking in low voices. They were trying to keep discreet, but the smiles gave it away. One of them, a taller youth with a jade badge on his belt, even let out a short, smug laugh.

Chen Ren didn’t recognize the first two. But the third—

Confirming his thoughts, Yalan’s voice rang in his head.

“It’s him. The fool.”

Chen Ren immediately understood who that was. For a moment, the man looked back and their eyes met, and for the briefest moment, neither backed down. Chen Ren couldn’t help but smile, recalling how he set the man up.

The man scowled and turned away. Still petty, Chen Ren noted. Maybe the sect had given him another chance to prove his worth by letting him take part in the trial. Yeah, probably, or else he wouldn’t be here.

Before he could dwell further, the announcer raised one hand high in the air, and once again the entire arena quieted down like a spell had been cast.

“This year’s first round,” the announcer said, drawing out the pause, “was particularly difficult, it seems.”

The audience broke out into a murmur. The nervousness in the air increased by a tide. Though he stayed still, maintaining his posture with his hands behind his back.

The announcer paused, letting the tension thrum in the silence like a string pulled taut. He scanned the crowd, smiling slightly—feeding off the anticipation.

“Out of the sixty-seven alchemists who gathered for this year’s trials,” he finally declared. “Only thirty have made it to the next round.”

Chen Ren could swear he heard at least fifty gasps at once.

“Not even half,” the announcer said. “A testament to the sheer difficulty of this year’s trial. And, the one who managed to score the highest… is someone very special.”

He paused again, milking the anticipation.

“A new face in these trials. But not a stranger to the city. The sect he leads has been making waves in recent weeks for its innovative pills and rising name in the apothecary scene.”

Chen Ren’s stomach tightened.

“Give a round of cheers to—Chen Ren! Sect Leader of the Divine Coin Sect! Fourteen out of eighteen ingredients… correct!”

Regardless of the sad news that more than half will be dropping out, a roar of cheers erupted around him. Chen Ren didn’t feel pride, if anything, he felt the pressure as every eye turned toward him.

And along with the gazes came a pressure—a particularly vile, watchful presence wafting down from the VIP stands like a low-grade poison. His gaze flickered upward, but before he could pinpoint it—

“He’s furious,” Yalan’s voice whispered in his mind, amused. “Wang Jun wants to know how the hell you got one wrong. He’s demanding a reinspection.”

“Tell him to shut up.”

“That’ll go well.”

But he didn’t have time to focus on Yalan or Wang Jun’s rage. The announcer had resumed speaking, listing the names of those who passed.

Unsurprisingly, all three disciples of the Darkmoon Sect have made it to the next round. Second place with twelve correct, third place with eleven correct and fifth place with ten correct. In fourth place Tau Liu came with ten correct. A polite round of applause followed for all of them and Chen Ren gave a quick look at Tau Liu, who offered a brief nod in return.

More names followed, but he doubted he needed to be careful with anyone. Chen Ren listened without really hearing, until he heard that Jie Foong passed seventh from last with six right.

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She exhaled beside him, visibly relieved, her posture straightening for the first time in minutes. “Thank the heavens…”

Chen Ren gave her a quick nod. “Told you you’d make it.”

The rest weren’t so lucky.

The moment the last name was called, those who hadn’t made the cut began filing out of the arena with their shoulders low. Some looked devastated. Others resigned. A few tried to keep their expressions neutral, but their pace gave them away.

One round down, Chen Ren thought. More to go.

Once only thirty alchemists remained on the field, the announcer stepped forward again.

“Now that the first round is complete,” he declared. “We move to the practical side of alchemy. In this round, you will be required to produce an entire batch of pills—twelve, to be exact—in a very limited timeframe. But quantity alone isn’t enough.”

He raised one finger.

“Each of those twelve pills must meet a purity threshold of fifty percent or higher. Only those who succeed will proceed to the final round.”

There was a pause as the weight of that statement settled across the participants.

“You may choose any pill you’re comfortable with,” the announcer added. “But the time limit is strict. Fifteen minutes. Not a second more.”

In a second, Qi surged from his body, flowing into the spatial rings on his fingers. They flared briefly with pale light—then pop, pop, pop—a cauldron appeared in front of each alchemist, neatly spaced out on the arena floor.

Chen Ren’s gaze slid to the side as a massive table shimmered into view near the center. It was stocked with dozens of common ingredients—roots, shavings, dried herbs, powdered minerals—all standard fare for Mortal grade pills.

The announcer gestured toward it. “You have five minutes to gather what you need. Once the signal is given, the round will begin.”

That announcement was met with a surge of movement as alchemists darted toward the table.

Chen Ren stood still for a second longer. If the last round was like taking a walk through a garden, this would be like running through a mountain. I would have to work to pass this round.

He’d spent nearly every night over the past week practicing for this event. Repetition. Flame control. Batch production timing. And still, it wasn’t perfect. Getting all twelve pills out of a batch was already hard enough, but consistently hitting fifty percent purity?

That’s where it breaks most people.

But he didn’t need to be the best. He just had to pass.

He moved toward the table, weaving through the crowd, hands quick as he selected ingredients for a basic Qi Replenishment Pill—a recipe simple enough to keep steady but clean enough to impress.

Just as he was placing the last root in his pouch, he felt it—that prickling sensation at the back of his neck.

He looked around before he saw where it came from.

Across the other side of the table, the three disciples from the Darkmoon Sect stood with their own bundles of herbs clutched in hand. They weren’t moving anymore. Just watching him.

All three wore identical smirks—thin, crooked faces full of smug delight. They whispered to one another, glancing at him between chuckles like a private joke was unfolding at his expense.

Chen Ren didn’t look away. He didn’t rise to the bait either. He just gave them the smallest nod, turned, and walked back to his cauldron.

Let them laugh.

To the surprise of no one, the three Darkmoon Sect disciples followed him, with squared shoulders, steps in sync, like wolves circling a deer they thought was already bleeding.

The one in the center led the charge. Taller than the others, with striking violet robes and a silver clasp marking his status as someone important, he wore the kind of smirk that made people itch to wipe it off.

“Well, well,” he drawled, voice loud enough for nearby alchemists to hear. “The Divine Coin Sect must be truly desperate having its sect leader stoop to compete in a trial meant for disciples.”

Before Chen Ren could respond, Tau Liu stepped in from the side. “Shut your trap, Ningkai.”

Ningkai shrugged. “Did I say anything wrong?” he asked innocently, though his tone dripped with mockery.

“No. I don’t think you did,” Chen Ren said and his words clearly surprised Ningkai as his lips sealed shut. “I admit our sect is still small. Barely formed. Not even a decade old. But isn’t it strange? Even with all your resources, prestige, and years of formal training… I still did better than you in the first round… Says a lot about where the Darkmoon Sect is headed, doesn’t it?”

“And let’s not pretend this is just a disciples’ contest,” Chen Ren added. “This is a trial for alchemists. And we all qualify for that title, no matter our rank or robes.”

That was when the other disciple—the spy, the one who had disgraced himself working in Divine Pill Apothecary—growled low in his throat. “Speak within your limits,” he spat. “You might call yourself a sect leader, but you’re weaker than me and you know it.”

Chen Ren took a step forward and raised and eyebrow.

“Maybe,” he said. “But you’re the one who made a fool of himself folding herbs and scrubbing mortar bowls in my shop. I still remember how you botched even the weighing scale.” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “If you want advice… stop underestimating cultivators just because they have fewer stars than you in their realm. You might live a decade or two longer that way.”

The man flushed, fury flashing in his eyes. He took a step forward, hand rising slightly.

But before it could go any further, Ningkai stepped in, one hand pressing down on his shoulder.

“We’re in an alchemy competition,” he said coldly. “Save your temper. You’ll get your revenge by defeating him, not throwing tantrums like a child.”

The spy huffed through his nose but nodded, eyes still locked on Chen Ren with unhidden hatred.

“Let’s see if you’re still grinning after you lose,” he said. “When your Divine Coin Sect’s ‘prestige’ crumbles into the dirt.”

Chen Ren didn’t respond.

He just turned away and returned to his cauldron. Let them talk. Once he was in his position, he placed stuff down and looked over at Tau Liu and Jie Foong, who were already looking at him.

“Trash talk doesn’t suit them,” he said dryly.

They both gave small nods in agreement before returning their focus to the ingredient table. There wasn’t time for pettiness—not now. Chen Ren selected a second set of ingredients on instinct and put them on the side. Just in case.

One failed batch and it’s over. Fifteen minutes sounded longer than it really was especially when a standard Qi Replenishment Pill batch took at least nine minutes with good control. And even then, half the results were usually unsalvageable. If his hands slipped or the balance went off by a breath, the purity would dip below acceptable range.

He couldn’t afford that.

Then, Yalan’s voice rang in his mind again.

“Wang Jun said he can help you.”

“What? How?”

“He said to follow his instructions exactly. Step for step. And you’ll get a clean batch.”

Chen Ren hesitated, eyes flicking over to the cauldron before him. Was it worth relying on the head now? They hadn’t planned for him to step in during this round. But if there was ever a time for a wildcard…

“…Fine,” he muttered. “Let’s hear it.”

At that moment, the announcer raised both hands once again, voice echoing across the arena with theatrical flair.

“Now that everyone has selected their ingredients,” he declared, “the second round of the Flames of Merit Trials—the Cauldron Round—will begin!”

The crowd let out a restrained cheer, and the announcer gave one last nod.

“Good luck to all our alchemists. Show us your flame, your craft, and your mastery.”

With a smooth flick of his fingers, the massive hourglass beside him reset, golden sand collecting at the top.

A pulse of qi flowed outward from his rings and every cauldron in the arena flared to life in unison, lighting up with bright, eager flames.

Chen Ren immediately moved, tossing the first ingredients toward the cauldron, but Yalan’s voice cut in before he could continue.

“He said to dim the flames. And only add the Jadeveil Root and Spirit Ash Powder first.”

His hand hovered in the air. “You sure?”

“Wang Jun also said if you start second-guessing him, he’s going to stop helping.”

Chen Ren sighed inwardly. Of course he would.

He calmed his breathing, pushed a wave of qi toward the fire, dialing it back to a steady simmering pulse. Then, carefully, he dropped in the two named ingredients.

They hissed as they met the flame, sinking into the swirling depths of the cauldron, a faint lustre rising with the steam.

We hadn’t planned this, he thought. But if Wang Jun’s going to help, I’ll take every advantage I can get.

***

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