Dao of Money

Chen Ren followed Zi Wen down the quiet corridor, Yalan padding silently at his side. To his surprise, Whiskey had chosen to tag along as well, the lunari hopping from chair to chair before finally clambering onto the top of a shelf as if he had business in the matter. Sori, too, perched solemnly on his master’s shoulder, wings tucked tight as its sharp eyes swept the hall.

Training had consumed Chen Ren’s recent days—bone-grinding hours of body cultivation and the elusive trials of soul cultivation—but even so, he hadn’t forgotten the tasks he had set for his people.

Feiyu was still buried in weapon designs, refining the sniper models after their devastating display against the Blazing Ember Sect. Xiulan had full control of the sect’s daily affairs, running them with a steadiness he no longer needed to question. Qing He, as always, drifted to her own pursuits, appearing when she wished, vanishing when it suited her.

Hong Yi was bent over a different challenge—translating Chen Ren’s sketches of carriages into reality. Not true engines, not yet, but runic arrays could mimic comfort and smoothness well enough, and Chen Ren intended to see it through.

Beyond that, the branches of his influence spread wide. The noodle shops had already grown beyond Cloud Mist City, sprouting into other towns like roots from the same trunk. The women’s mall, focused on perfumes and clothing, had taken off faster than expected—Xiulan’s reports painted it as nothing short of a sensation. The moonshine brewery thrived under Zi Hen’s management, its reach already stretching into pubs across neighboring cities. Even the pill business, though limited, was turning steady profit, with test shipments getting ready to be sent into cultivator-dominated cities to measure long-term demand.

Every venture poured spirit stones and coins back into his coffers. For now, he was overflowing.

And yet, none of those things were what he considered the most crucial.

That weight rested squarely on Zi Wen’s shoulders. The task he had entrusted him with mattered more than coin, more than commerce, even more than face.

And today, Zi Wen was ready to speak. The door of his room shut behind them with a soft thud, and Zi Wen wasted no time.

“I am fairly certain Sori has found the location, sect leader,” he said, his tone even but carrying the faint weight of triumph.

Chen Ren didn’t answer at once. Instead, he slipped the medallion from one of his spatial rings. Its surface glimmered faintly before light burst from its center, expanding until a glowing map hovered in the middle of the room.

Whiskey let out a startled yelp, springing onto the table with his tail bristling, then chattered angrily at the illusion as though it had offended him.

Chen Ren ignored the lunari. His eyes narrowed on the terrain etched in pale light. “Are you certain she found this?”

Zi Wen nodded without hesitation. “Yes, Sect Leader. Sori flew across countless ranges, and I made sure she understood exactly what to look for. She’s clever. She knew what we needed.” He glanced at the bird resting on his shoulder, pride flickering in his eyes.

Chen Ren inclined his head slightly. “So where is it?”

Zi Wen reached into his own ring, pulling free a scroll and spreading it wide across the table. The parchment bore the sprawl of the Kalian Empire, mountains and rivers sketched in careful strokes. A map they had purchased from the Tang clan.

Chen Ren and Yalan leaned in, eyes following as Zi Wen began to mark several points with a brush dipped in ink. Whiskey had lost interest by then, hopping down from the table to investigate Chen Ren’s shelves, claws scratching noisily against the wood.

Chen Ren let him be. His focus was fixed wholly on the map.

This was it—the location of the next medallion.

He had meant to search for it ever since the holographic map had been revealed, but hesitation had dogged him. Were these locations simply going to get in more trouble with demonic cultivators? The thought had gnawed at him. And yet, the golden dragon’s voice lingered in his memory, urging him to seek the medallions. If they were as important as claimed, he couldn’t afford to turn away.

Zi Wen’s brush circled a patch of rugged terrain along the Empire’s spine. “It was difficult to narrow down,” he admitted. “The Empire is riddled with mountains and rocky passes. But what helped was that Sori communicated with the other striker beak flocks. Together, they traced the right region.”

The ink mark glistened dark against the parchment. A small circle.

Zi Wen tapped the map, his brush leaving a final dark circle over the parchment.

“In the end, we narrowed it to the Empire’s middle belt. The terrain is harsh—storms, fractured ridges, unstable passes—but it matches what we were looking for. I believe it fits. Of course, we’ll need to confirm it ourselves.”

Chen Ren’s eyes lingered on the hologram still floating in the air, then back to the ink marks. Turbulent or not, the logic held. Zi Wen’s careful tone, his thorough explanation—it all fit together too neatly to doubt.

Zi Wen continued, his brush moving again. “There are a few large cities around the area. If the medallion is anywhere, it should be within one of them.”

Chen Ren gave a slight nod. Reasonable, he thought. And again, relief flickered through him that he had shared the truth of the medallions with those he trusted. Keeping such things hidden would have been a weight he could not afford, and with them working openly at his side, every search, every plan became smoother.

Still… his mind turned elsewhere. If the cities yield nothing, the medallion could be in the countryside. Or hidden among forgotten ruins. And the demonic cultivators might also be looking for it. We would need to be really careful of them.

Yalan’s voice cut through his thoughts. “What cities have you searched so far?”

Zi Wen shifted, then dipped his brush into ink again, marking three points across the parchment. “Around the area, there are three main ones. Brightwind City here—loud, bustling, merchants flooding the streets day and night. Then Pening Town—built high on a mountain peak, serving as a trade hub between Brightwind and the last, Red Peak City.”

At the mention of the final name, Chen Ren stilled. His brows furrowed, and without meaning to, his gaze found Yalan’s across the table. A flicker of recognition sparked in her sharp emerald eyes.

“Red Peak City…” Chen Ren murmured.

“I thought the terrain looked familiar,” Yalan said softly, her whiskers twitching as she studied the hologram.

Zi Wen’s gaze moved between them, confusion clear on his face. “Is there something wrong with Red Peak City?”

Chen Ren exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening. “No. Nothing is wrong with it.” He paused, then added. “It’s just… that is where I’m from. Red Peak City is the seat of the Chen Clan. My home.”

Zi Wen’s eyes widened, surprise breaking through his usual calm. Chen Ren rarely spoke of where the body owner was from, never more than a few clipped words. Since founding the Divine Coin Sect, he had carried himself as though he had no clan, no roots. And in truth, he hadn’t. Not anymore.

Yet now, with the medallion’s glow casting shadows across the room, that silence cracked.

“So…” Zi Wen ventured carefully, “do you think we should start in Red Peak City? It might be easier to search there first.”

Chen Ren shook his head, jaw tightening. “No. And if you’re thinking of asking my clan for help, forget it. I can’t.”

“Huh?” Zi Wen frowned, confusion clear on his face. “Why not?”

“Because I was banished from the Chen Clan. I won’t go into the details, but they don’t like me. If we step foot in their halls, they won’t offer aid. They’ll throw us out. Easy as that. Might as well give up.”

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Zi Wen blinked, clearly unsettled by the admission, but before he could push further, Yalan’s voice cut in. She hadn’t moved from the map, her amber eyes tracing the inked circles with sharp intent.

“It’s possible the medallion is there, Chen Ren,” she said quietly. “Maybe even with your clan.”

“And why do you think that?”

“Because… they already had one medallion,” Yalan replied, her tone matter-of-fact. “If it was passed down, that means someone in your clan was once chosen as a guardian. And if one branch of the Chen Clan inherited it, there’s a good chance another did as well. Even if not, your clan may hold records, scraps of knowledge, something. If Wang Jun’s words are true, then these medallions weren’t scattered by chance. They were entrusted. Which means your clan could hold another, or at least the trail to it.”

The logic was clean and undeniable and his frown deepened.

Yalan wasn’t wrong, in fact, she was right. If the medallion was within the Red Peak City, then so was his path. And that path led straight to the people he had spent years trying to avoid, the ones who had cast him out, who still knew the name Chen Ren from before the transmigration.

He clenched his fist slowly. He wanted nothing more than to leave the past buried. Yet fate, as always, clawed it back to the surface. And this time, maybe he couldn’t run away.

In the end, it didn’t matter—his clan had never cared for him. If he returned now, he couldn’t simply walk into their halls and ask for the medallion. They would never hand it over. It would never be that simple.

For a moment, his gaze strayed. Whiskey was on the shelf again, little paws prying at a pouch of dried fruit as if the lunari had claim to it. Chen Ren sighed inwardly, but turned his eyes back to the map. The inked circles glistened under the sunlight. A choice loomed.

“Even if we go,” Chen Ren said at last and shrugged, “they won’t give it.”

Yalan’s whiskers twitched, and she let out a sharp snicker. “Give it? No. They hated the sight of you. If you set foot in Red Peak, I’ll be surprised if they don’t challenge you to blood duels just for the chance to kill you.”

Zi Wen’s expression shifted, the calm lines of his face giving way to something unsettled. His eyes flicked between them. “But… why?” he asked, hesitant but earnest. “If it’s not too private, Sect Leader Chen… may I know why your clan hates you so much?”

Chen Ren said nothing. His jaw tightened, silence weighing heavy in the room.

Yalan broke it for him. Her voice was even, but the words carried no softness.

“Chen Ren’s parents died when he was still young. The clan mistreated him, and when they discovered his spirit roots were few, it only worsened. In his younger days, let’s just say his habits weren’t the best—he grew rough and reckless. The other children, especially those of the younger generation, took every chance to grind him further into the dirt. Until at last, they found a way to cast him out entirely.”

That… had been true. The previous owner of his body had gone through a lot with his family simply because he had only a few spirit roots.

Chen Ren winced, the words dragging old ghosts of memories to the surface—shouts, laughter, the sting of fists, the taste of blood when pride wasn’t enough to shield him. He forced the memories back down and said quietly, “It was for the best. I found my path once I left them behind. Once I saw the wider world… and touched my dao. That was the change for me. But my clan? They won’t change their view of me. Not now. Not ever.”

Zi Wen gave a slow nod, but Chen Ren caught the faint flash in his eyes—something between respect and pity. It was a look of a man reevaluating what he thought he knew of his leader. Chen Ren let it pass. His past didn’t need polishing, and even if Zi Wen knew the truth of his hedonistic days, it changed nothing.

Yalan’s voice cut through the stillness. “Even if they hate you, we still need to go. My instincts say the medallion is there.”

Zi Wen shifted, his hand brushing against the map. “But what if we find more demonic cultivators instead? I’m certain they hold some of the pieces already. If Red Peak has one—or more—they’ll be there as well. They won’t hesitate to strike.”

Yalan flicked her tail. The cat looked clearly unbothered by even the thought of it. “Then we find out first. Rumors leave trails. If demonic attacks have touched Red Peak, we’ll hear of them. But answer me this, Chen Ren: even if there are demons in that city, will you refuse to go if there’s a chance the medallion lies there?”

Chen Ren went silent. He knew the answer, even if his lips didn’t shape it.

Every time he had spoken with the golden dragon, he felt himself sinking deeper like a man trapped in a mire. The mud clung, dragging him down inch by inch. Each new truth only pulled him further in.

And if he did nothing? Then he would sink faster, without even a rope to clutch.

The businesses, the markets, the coins—they had been his distraction. A shield against the storms of the wider world. But coin alone could not buy him out of fate. Not anymore.

His silence was his answer.

The sound of pages rustling broke Chen Ren’s heavy thoughts. He turned his head just in time to see Whiskey sprawled across the floor, tiny paws smearing ink as he scrolled through an open book, licking the corner of a page as if testing whether wisdom tasted better than wine. For a fleeting moment, Chen Ren almost laughed. The beast’s antics had a way of cutting through even the darkest moods.

He shifted his gaze back to Yalan, giving her a small nod. “Alright. Let’s do it. We’ll go to Red Peak City. To search for the medallion… and perhaps find a few business opportunities while we’re at it.”

Yalan’s whiskers twitched upward, her tail flicking. “You always think of money.”

“Money is important everywhere,” Chen Ren replied without shame. Then his eyes moved to Zi Wen and back again. “I’ll ask Tang Yuqiu if she has more information on the Chen Clan. I was… kept more or less as a servant there. I only know the general operations. But the Tang Clan did business with them. She might know more.”

Zi Wen inclined his head. “I can send Sori. She’s fast enough to get a reply back within days. Once we have that, we’ll decide our next move.”

Chen Ren nodded. “Good. That will give me time to think of a way to pry the medallion from their hands if they have it. And—”

A strangled noise cut him off.

All three turned sharply.

What the fuck?

Whiskey was on the floor, clutching his throat with both paws, rolling back and forth as rasping coughs burst from him. His tail thrashed wildly, his round eyes bulging.

“What now?” Yalan snapped, ears flattening.

Chen Ren’s gaze darted to the desk. A single gap in his belongings caught his eye. The blood drained from his face. The egg. The dead egg he had taken from the Soaring Sword Sect.

A cold premonition gripped his chest.

The air tightened around him.

Before he could move, before anyone could react—Qi erupted from Whiskey’s tiny body. It surged outward in a violent wave, cracking the wooden floorboards, scattering the map, and shattering the illusion of the hologram.

“Fuck!”

***

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