Dao of Money

The carriage rolled through the snow-laden terrain at a sluggish crawl, its wheels groaning with every turn as frost bit into the wooden spokes. More than once, the horses had to halt, steam pouring from their muzzles, while Zi Wen lifted his hand from the driver’s bench. Qi rippled outward from his fingers, sweeping the road clean of snow in a shimmer of pale blue light before they could press on again.

Chen Ren, eyes half lidded, focused on the sound of the stops, his brain stirring thoughts he shouldn’t have had time for. An enchanted carriage, he thought to himself. He’d heard of them before.

The clans and sects flaunted them as much for convenience as for status. The Guardian Sects even went beyond that—he remembered gliding in their skyship. It had been smooth, convenient and way too fancy.

Compared to that, this journey felt like dragging one’s feet through tar.

Maybe it was a business idea to think about later. It certainly wouldn’t be bad. But now, time was the one thing their halting progress gave him in excess, and he had no choice but to use it well.

Unlike his earlier schemes, this plan somehow had to work. Failure meant corpses in the snow.

Though he actually doubted that part. He had much more power than he let on, especially with the dragon. Though still wounded, the advice it had given was enough for Chen Ren to bet that if things actually went wrong, it would appear.

Yet Chen Ren refused to place his life—or theirs—entirely in the claws of a half-healed guardian.

So he had set pieces in motion, contingencies layered upon contingencies. And if fortune smiled, Qing He would cut through the chaos and turn defeat into victory.

For now, however, his words had a simpler purpose.

“Calm yourself, Hong Yi,” Chen Ren said, though his companion’s trembling was loud enough to rival the creak of the wheels.

The man sat hunched in the corner, knuckles bone-white, eyes darting to the windows and back at him again. He had argued against coming until the last moment, and even now his body screamed reluctance. Only the silent puppets seated beside him—faceless, stiff, their lacquered joints whispering faintly whenever the carriage rocked—reminded Chen Ren why he had insisted on dragging him here. Without Hong Yi and his constructs, he wouldn’t have one of the contingencies plan.

“Everything will be fine,” Chen Ren repeated, not so much to reassure as to tether the man to his seat. “The pieces are in place. All you need to do is what you’ve always done.”

But Hong Yi’s silence was a brittle shield, his fear thicker than the snow outside.

Chen Ren closed his eyes briefly, feeling the rumble of the wheels beneath his boots.

Zi Wen rode at the front, his qi flaring faintly each time snow piled too high for the horses to push through. Ahead, the road wound pale and endless, but the carriage behind felt more suffocating than the storm outside.

Feiyu and Yalan had already gone two days ahead with a handful of mortals, carrying their share of the plan. Qing He was hopefully succeeding in the errand Chen Ren had asked of her. He tried not to think too hard about her absence; his trust in her steadied him more than he’d admit.

The head, Wang Jun, had been the loudest in his protests, but Chen Ren had left him behind. He could not risk dragging the head into the jaws of the Blazing Ember Sect only to watch him be snatched away. He was useless in battle, and a burden in strategy. He had placed him under Xiulan’s care instead, with instructions that would hopefully keep both of them alive.

As for Li Xuan, half a mind had tempted Chen Ren to bring him along, but suspicion was a burden he could not ignore. The beast rising was still gnawing at the village, and Li Xuan’s steady hand through the winter proved valuable enough to warrant his station. Chen Ren had only told him, “I’ll explain later.” when the man had asked where he was going again with everyone else. Sometimes that was enough; sometimes it had to be.

That left him with Hong Yi.

The man broke the silence again, voice tight, eyes fixed on the frost gathering at the corners of the window. “I really think we should just run away. The Kalian Empire is vast. If we go to the capital—”

“For the fourth time,” Chen Ren muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Hong Yi pressed on, desperate. “It’s big. I know. Bigger than Cloud Mist City, bigger than ten of them together. We can hide there. No sect will find us.”

Chen Ren turned his gaze on him, dark eyes holding no warmth. “Have you ever been to the capital?”

The words cut through Hong Yi’s rambling like a blade. He froze, blinked, then muttered, “...No. But it’s big.”

A sigh slipped from Chen Ren.“Yes, it is. And the Emperor is my uncle. He’ll surely welcome us with open arms.”

“Really?” Hong Yi immediately straightened, widening his eyes.

Chen Ren’s scowl was answer enough. “Obviously not. Do you know how many people are murdered in that city every day?”

“Why would I know that?” He shook his head uneasily.

“Exactly. You don’t. But I do. And if you think the jaws of the Blazing Ember Sect are dangerous, you’ve never seen the maw of the imperial capital. The capital devours men like you before you even set foot in its gates. On average, it’s around two hundred to three hundred people. Murdered here and there. That’s just the bodies they bother to find.”

Hong Yi’s eyes widened, pupils shrinking as if the snow outside had blinded him. “You’re bluffing.”

“I’m not.” Chen Ren’s reply was flat. “I asked Tang Yuqiu a while back. She told me the numbers. Easy enough to find if you know which tongues to loosen. And a good number of those corpses? Cultivators. Hong Yi, you need to understand that the capital is massive with a lot of powers there. Of course, there’s no saying that the Blazing Ember Sect won’t be able to get there, especially with the demonic cultivator connection. But this, this is the only way forward—we’ve to face them head-on, and let the pieces fall into place.”

For a long breath, Hong Yi didn’t respond. He stared at him like a ghost, but finally, his head dipped. Dissatisfaction bled across his features, but he said nothing more.

One of the puppets beside him stirred. Its lacquered hand, stiff but deliberate, rested lightly on Hong Yi’s shoulder. A gesture of comfort, though its painted face showed none. Chen Ren’s brow twitched. Did he… teach them that?

The thought passed, swept away by the cold rush of wind through the carriage slats. His attention shifted outward, toward the fleeting blur of the snowbound landscape. They were getting close. He could tell.

Two days had already passed since their journey began. From the first morning, Zi Wen had reported five qi refinement cultivators tailing them, their presence detected by the keen senses of Little Yuze and Sori, the striker beak, a Tier 2 aerial beast that was small enough but sharp-eyed to prove its worth tenfold. Both the beast had taken care of the cultivators.

The Blazing Ember Sect had kept their distance since, but Chen Ren couldn’t feel safe or comfortable right now, no matter what, knowing what was going to come next.

He touched his chest briefly, and thought about his star space. Unfortunately, he hadn’t gotten any time to learn about soul cultivation or look for manuals on body cultivation. So, it still lay fractured, unstable, a burden that he hadn’t been able to mend.

Chen Ren only hoped he wouldn’t have to strain himself in the battle ahead. Plans could be made and allies relied upon, but in the end, his body was still a cage with broken bars.

Like that, the carriage pressed on. From time to time, Hong Yi traded places with Zi Wen on the driver’s seat, his nervous hands stiff on the reins. Even Chen Ren took a turn, sitting at the front with the snow whipping at his face. It was a skill he’d never thought to learn before—driving a carriage—but with every creak of the harness and snap of the reins, he forced the rhythm into memory.

Hours passed by them, one after another, he stared at the snow veiling the mountains until the gorge loomed nearer. Then, when Hong Yi was driving, Zi Wen stiffened. Sori let out a shrill cry somewhere beyond the trees, its feathers pulsing with qi. Zi Wen locked eyes with Chen Ren.

“Sori sees Yalan coming,” he said.

Chen Ren nodded, rising to his feet. “Hong Yi, slow the carriage!”

The wheels protested, hooves stamping clouds of frost as the carriage rolled to a halt.

Chen Ren stepped down first, boots sinking into the snow. Zi Wen followed, and from the far side, Hong Yi emerged, a puppet trundling at his shoulder.

They stood on a narrow path cut along the slope, the cliffs pressing tight on either side. Below stretched the descent into the gorge—an endless maw of stone and shadow. Somewhere down there, the Blazing Ember Sect would be waiting. But this place, at least, should still be beyond their sight.

“Where is she?” Hong Yi asked, looking around. The man’s restlessness spread in waves.

Stolen novel; please report.

Zi Wen held up a hand as Little Yuze peeked his head out from one of the trees. “Sori saw her. Wait.”

Chen Ren’s breath frosted in the air. He stilled, senses straining, and then, there. A ripple of qi brushed faintly against his skin.

From above, a figure dropped onto a snow-laden branch, the wood bending under her weight before she pushed off and landed lightly on the ground. Yalan stretched, and shook off the snow that was on her fur.

“Travelling this stretch wasn’t easy.” She licked her paws as if trying to clean herself. “I’ve got snow all over me. And a pesky snow leopard thought I was worth chasing. Barely bigger than a cub. So I just scared it off.”

“But you still made it in time. Are they already there?”

Yalan’s eyes narrowed. “Yes. They’ve almost finished setting up camp, and their scouts have already swept the surroundings. The only reason I slipped past was because Shen—” her lip curled faintly ”—Linao loves nothing more than drowning his disciples in tasks. They’re incompetent enough that I slipped through the cracks.”

“And Feiyu? The others?”

“Far. Far enough to avoid detection. Those little toys of his are more useful than I expected. The mortals are scared, of course, but Feiyu’s keeping them steady. But… no sign of Qing He.”

Chen Ren exhaled, breath misting in the cold. “We’ll delay as long as we can, but we need to be there when the meeting begins. If we’re late, they’ll spread more cultivators across the valley. Slipping through will only get harder.”

Yalan continued her self-grooming. “Then we move with the tide. Still—” her eyes swept the gorge, the cliffs—“I hope your plan holds. It’s… too full of variables.”

Chen Ren’s lips twitched, almost into a smile, but there was no humor in it. “I have backups.”

“And backups can fail.” Yalan countered. “I know you’re doing everything you can, but sometimes all your scheming won’t matter. Sometimes you need fate to turn its head your way.”

Chen Ren sighed. “More than fate, it depends on Qing He. If she succeeds, then everything else falls into place.”

Zi Wen, who had been silent at the side, spoke at last. “Do you think she can? Do what you asked of her?”

“I hope so. But whether this plan lives or dies… it depends on how quickly she can move. I’m certain, even now, she’s forcing herself past her limits. Doing her best.”

***

Qing He flew deeper into the heart of the volcanic mountain, heat rushing her from all sides like an eager predator. The air itself writhed in fire, and she saw pools—no, rivers of molten rock spilling from cracks in the walls and glowing like veins of liquid jade. The suffocating heat should have been unbearable but her qi wrapped around her, protecting her from the flames as she slid through the sweltering dark.

The ambience reminded her of the old days—days she spent hunched over in alchemy furnaces. A corner of her heart almost missed it, the intoxicating balance of fire and essence. The other part scoffed at herself for such weakness. Why long for those suffocating halls? Her current life was far freer. There were no posturing elders, no endless demands from sect leaders who wanted her skill but not her independence.

Still, she couldn’t help but smirk, remembering the look on their faces. How many times had some puffed-up elder tried to throw his weight at her, only for her temper, and her fists to cut him down to size? She had to admit, the most satisfying part was never the fight itself, but watching those men crawl to the sect leader with their grievances, whimpering like beaten children. And to then see them disciplined instead of her? A sweetness she still savored.

Her lips curved faintly at the memory, then froze.

A flicker of movement in the corner of her vision snapped her mind back to the present. She stilled mid-flight, qi pulsing under her skin as she pivoted. Three shapes emerged from the haze, silhouettes rippling in the heat.

They were twisted creatures created from stone and fire, monsters. Slit pupils glowed like incandescent embers, wolfish frames strained with reptile scales, claws scratching at the charred rock. Their muscles trembled, tensed for aggression.

Qing He hovered in place. The twitches in their movements were signs that they were going to attack soon, but she simply stayed there, waiting for it.

Before she could finish counting to ten, the left-corner creature lunged. Its maw gaping as it belched a stream of molten lava. The river of fire hissed against her barrier, but she didn’t flinch. Her qi surged outward, flaring with killing intent. The protective barrier around her solidified, firmed up and clenched together until a blade of pure qi formed in the air before her.

She didn’t play with them, no, she didn’t have time. And with a single stroke, the sword cut the beast down.

It split apart mid-leap, its body cleaved clean in two. Scalding blood sprayed into the air, evaporating instantly against the heat of the surrounding. The sword of qi pulsed once, then darted toward the remaining two.

They barely had time to snarl. One after the other, they were carved apart, their death cries smothered in the roar of the lava streams.

Their corpses collapsed into the molten rock below, and in that instant, the force sustaining them—the strange qi that let them endure such a place—bled away. Their flesh blackened, dissolved, and was gone.

Qing He exhaled softly, watching their remnants vanish. Her fingers curled, steady on the flow of her qi, but her eyes grew colder.

So this mountain has beasts too… and if three of these linger at the edges, what waits deeper inside?

The heat devoured the corpses as if the mountain itself wished to erase them. Flesh bubbled, scales sloughed, and in moments nothing remained but drifting ash. Qing He’s lips curved faintly. She liked that—the clean finality of it.

Just two days ago, in another mountain’s depths, she had not been so lucky. No rivers of lava then, only stone and stale air. When she felled a Tier 3 beast that fancied itself ruler of the cavern, she had been forced to spend long moments melting every last scrap of its carcass with controlled fire. A tedious task, but necessary. Qing He despised leaving traces. More than once, her “carelessness” had drawn storms upon her head across the centuries. It was a lesson she no longer needed to relearn.

Once her senses assured her no other beasts prowled nearby, she drifted deeper. The heat wrapped around her, but her qi barrier held steady, shimmering with faint distortions against the waves of molten air. Let this be the last, she thought.

She did not relish the alternative. If her quarry wasn’t here, then she would have no choice but to intervene directly—tear her way to Chen Ren and the others, and fight by their side. She had no hatred for the boy. On the contrary, he was tolerable, even amusing at times. But she had already glimpsed enough shadows around him to know he carried secrets thick as armor. She preferred to watch from a distance, to maintain the illusion that she was simply a wandering cultivator with convenient strength. A mirage of power, not its full reality. Once illusions shattered, they could never be woven again.

Four sites she had searched already. Four hidden places scoured clean, but they were all empty. Two had yielded artifacts worth pocketing—glittering blades of curious make, a ring that hummed faintly with spiritual light. Trifles to her, perhaps, but treasures enough to make decent gifts if those children trailing after Chen Ren survived long enough to grow into them.

But this time—this one—she willed it to be different.

She rounded a jagged bend where the rock narrowed, shadows curling across her path. Her qi surged without hesitation, a ripple spreading out like water through the stone. And there it was: a wall.

Quite normal to untrained eyes, but her senses sang with certainty. This was no wall—it was a concealment.

Sects adored hiding their secrets in places like this, mountain hearts and volcanic wombs. Their arrogance was always the same: No one will dare reach so deep.

Qing He lifted her hand. Power rolled from her fingers, and the air warped as her qi pressed outward. The false wall trembled, cracked, then peeled apart under invisible force, opening a gaping wound in the cavern. A hole yawned into darkness.

Her eyes narrowed, a flicker of anticipation breaking through her mask. If you’re here, then the boy’s plan might yet hold. If not… then he and his little entourage will suffer longer than they realize.

With a final breath, she stepped forward, into whatever secret the mountain had been guarding.

***

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