Dao of Money

Li Xuan darted to the right. A greatsword tore through the air where he had just been, the edge of it wrapped in violent dark qi. The strike landed with a deafening boom, shaking the ground and leaving a crater large enough to swallow a carriage.

He had no chance to counter. From behind came the harsh rattle of iron links. Li Xuan’s legs tensed, qi surging into them as he leapt upward. A chain of twin blades hissed through the spot he had stood, sparks flying as the weapons scraped against stone.

He took advantage of being airborne and tightened his grip around his sword. He used the fourth strike of the Seven Sword Arts [Thunderfall Slash] and forced lightning through the blade until it howled with power. Bolts split the sky as he slashed downward, rain of thunder falling toward both of his foes.

But the two only grinned. The giant, senior Li Shijun with the greatsword met the lightning head-on, his weapon steady like a mountain. Sparks flew, but he did not budge. The chain-wielder danced through the storm, his body weaving between the bolts as though they were no faster than drifting leaves.

Li Xuan hit the ground, knees bending to absorb the impact. He barely had a breath before both men surged at him together. His qi flared in panic, and a barrier of lightning spun out around him, crackling with blue arcs.

The greatsword fell again. This time not a single strike, but a wave of savage qi that split the earth. The moment it touched the barrier, the shield shattered in a violent burst. The force blasted Li Xuan off his feet, hurling him into the air like a rag doll.

He twisted, trying to right himself, but the chains were faster. They whipped up with a metallic shriek, binding his limbs. The blades bit through his robes, scoring lines of pain across his skin as they dragged him down. His body slammed against the ground, breath ripped from his lungs.

Before he could recover, the chains pulled tight again, lifting him into the air. Dangling, his vision cleared, and there, waiting with a calm smile, was the second senior brother.

“We were ordered to train you,” Li Kuangdao said lightly, tugging the chains as if he were reeling in a fish. “Not to cut your flesh. So my blades won’t bite deep… but this will suffice.”

His fist came without warning. It smashed into Li Xuan’s nose with a crunch.

White pain exploded in his skull, lightning sparking uncontrollably across his body, dancing from skin to chain in a wild storm. Though the seniors didn’t seem to be fazed by it.

Li Kuangdao’s fist hammered into his chest, driving the air from his lungs and sending him crashing to the ground in a heap. The chains loosened and clattered against stone, but relief never came.

A shadow loomed over him. Li Shijun stepped forward, dragging his blade across the earth, sparks skittering from the dark qi clinging to its edge.

He spoke in a raspy, low voice. “Unfortunately, I believe juniors should be taken seriously. So I will use my sword—to cut everything inside of you.”

The man’s free hand reached for him. Li Xuan’s heart lurched. He rolled hard to the side, grit scraping his skin, and forced himself upright. His grip tightened on his sword until his knuckles went white. Lightning flared again, answering his call.

Gritting his teeth, he launched into an [Rolling Thunder Slash]. His blade blurred, arcs of light flashing so quickly that his senior’s eyes actually widened for the first time. Li Xuan’s strike sliced across the man’s robes, fabric tearing, and drew a thin line of blood. For a breath, Li Xuan’s spirit soared.

He pressed harder, body flowing with the art, slipping close and slashing across the towering frame. Cuts opened across reinforced cloth, faint streaks of red showing through. Yet Li Shijun only grinned—a wide grin that made his bones chill.

The next thing he knew, though his strikes landed, Li Shijun stood as if carved from stone. The unease burrowed deeper with every exchange, until finally, when Li Xuan’s blade angled for his shoulder—a hand clamped over his head like an iron vice.

Panic flared. He swung wildly, sword flashing, but the greatsword came down with brutal precision. Metal screamed as it struck his weapon. The dark qi wrapped around the heavy blade seeped into Li Xuan’s own, gnawing at it, breaking it down before his very eyes. Tiny shards of steel rained to the ground.

His eyes went wide. His breath caught in his throat. “You can’t do much without your sword,” Li Shijun murmured.

Desperation clawed at him. Lightning erupted across his body, wild and uncontrolled, zapping his captor as he twisted to throw a punch. But the man’s grin only stretched wider, unbothered by the sparks crawling over his skin.

The greatsword lifted, qi howling along its edge, and with one savage stroke it came crashing down—aimed to cleave across Li Xuan’s shoulders.

Agony burst across his shoulders. Li Xuan screamed as the blade tore a shallow line of fire across his flesh, only for a sudden kick to slam into his ribs. The impact hurled him sideways, and his body smashed against a boulder with a sickening crack. Blood spilled hot down his face from his head—nose—he wasn’t sure.

Through the haze of pain, he tried to summon lightning again, forcing qi through battered meridians. But before the power could gather, chains wrapped around him once more. The twin blades dug into his flesh, grinding against bone. He cried out, fingers clawing desperately at the cold metal, but the links only bit deeper.

When he lifted his head, he found nothing but the cold gleam of his seniors’ eyes like wolves circling a broken prey. His heart sank.

The next few minutes blurred into torment.

Without his sword, his arts were crippled. Every fist form, every movement technique, meant nothing before the suffocating control of the two who caged the battlefield.

Whenever he ripped himself free of the chains, the greatsword was waiting, its edge forcing him to stumble, to dodge, to throw himself aside just to breathe another second. Each clash left him bleeding anew. Every punch that landed rattled his bones. Every kick drove him closer to collapse.

His qi strained to hold him together—forcing healing into torn flesh, forcing strength into trembling limbs, forcing lightning to flare in weak defiance. But the cost was too high. His dantian burned, his body screamed, and still the two pressed forward with smiles, relentless as executioners.

The third time he was slammed into the ground, the stone beneath him cracked. His vision swam. Another kick sent him rolling across the dirt, limbs limp, blood streaking his path.

And this time… he could not rise. He wanted to—He wanted to stand, to fight, even if only for the smallest, most foolish chance of victory. But his body had betrayed him.

His muscles refused to move, his bones throbbed with fire and his qi—the usual explosion of qi was now flickering like a dying flame.

All he could manage was to lift his head a fraction, just enough to meet their gazes. His seniors looked down at him, expressionless, then spat at the ground before him.

The sound rang louder than any strike.

Li Shijun tilted his head, the dark qi on his blade fading into a lazy haze. His voice was low but full of disdain. “And here I thought you would give good competition. Guess you’ve really lost your way—ignoring Master Xiaosheng’s teachings, running off to protect a lowly village when you should have been on the walls.”

Li Kuangdao nodded, his chains clinking softly as they retracted. “But as seniors, it’s our job to bring you back to the right path. Rebellion is good at your age, but it gets beaten out of you too.”

Li Xuan’s teeth ground together. His battered body trembled, but his eyes still burned. “I did what a true cultivator should,” he rasped, voice rough but steady.

Shijun scoffed and rolled his eyes. “No, you didn’t. Don’t lie to yourself! You follow a set of codes that only make you weak. Be righteous when you have the power to be.”

He reached into his sleeve and flicked something to the ground. A small pill rolled across the cracked earth, gleaming faintly. “Eat it and return here tomorrow. You need more sparring.”

Both men smiled at each other, a quiet, satisfied grin, before turning away. Their heavy steps echoed against the courtyard stones as they left leisurely as if they had simply finished a morning exercise.

Li Xuan lay there, the world tilting, blood sticking his hair to his face. He stared at the pill for a long time. A part of him wanted to crush it under his fist, to spit on it and reject anything from those who had just humiliated him. But every second his body screamed louder. He was used to pain—he had endured pain his entire life—but he knew the truth. If he didn’t heal, he might not survive tomorrow’s “lesson.”

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And Master Xiaosheng… Master Xiaosheng would not care if he died. Not anymore.

His arms trembled as he dragged himself forward, inch by inch over the blood-streaked stone. He picked up the pill and placed it in his mouth. Bitter sweetness burst across his tongue.

In an instant, his body swirled with energy, warmth pouring into torn flesh, knitting veins and bone. He closed his eyes, letting the pill do its work.

Alone in the empty training grounds, the only sound left was his ragged breathing and the soft sound of his body putting itself back together.

Li Xuan didn’t even know when he had passed out. The next thing he remembered was waking to the orange glow of evening. The sky stretched wide above him, dyed in firelight as birds wheeled lazily through the fading sun. On any other day, he might have admired the sight, but not now.

With a groan, he pushed himself upright. His bones cracked as he moved, the sound echoing in his ears. Pain throbbed through his body, but it was dull now, bearable. His wounds had closed; he wasn’t bleeding anymore. One night of rest, and he would be whole enough to fight again.

Fight again. The thought sat like iron in his stomach. Tomorrow will be the same. It has been the same for three days now. Every strike, every chain, every broken rib—he had endured it under the excuse of training. But was it really? Or was it simply punishment dressed as teaching?

Maybe it was the heavens themselves mocking him. Even with superior spirit roots, even with more resources than most disciples could dream of, he had only reached the peak of qi refinement. By now, he should have already stepped into the foundation establishment realm. Others had.

Chen Ren might have already.

That man with far less talent than him had walked steadily forward, step by step, while Li Xuan, blessed and chosen, stumbled.

He clenched his fists as he left the training grounds and made his way into the sect’s streets. His body was steady, but inside he felt hollow.

A voice called out suddenly. “Li Xuan!”

His shoulders tensed. He turned sharply, qi ready to surge, only to pause when he saw who it was.

A tall man stood there, waving with an easy smile. He recognised him instantly. Elder Yan Xiu, the vice sect leader of Soaring Sword Sect.

Li Xuan’s eyes widened. He hurried forward, bowing low.

“This disciple greets Elder Yan Xiu.”

The elder’s smile softened. He lifted a hand in dismissal.

“No need to bow your head like that, Li Xuan. It seems you’ve been having a hard time in the sect these days.”

Li Xuan slowly raised his head. His lips tried to form a smile, though it was faint and strained.

“No, Elder Yan Xiu. It’s only training.”

The elder’s brows lifted. “Training with two foundation establishment cultivators while you are still at qi refinement?” His tone carried no sharpness, only a solemn tone. “Even in my time, training was never so harsh.”

He paused, then tilted his head.

“Do you want some tea? We can discuss some matters about you while drinking.”

Li Xuan blinked. “Matters, Elder Yan Xiu? What matters?”

“Why don’t you follow me to my chambers?” the elder said with a faint smile.

Li Xuan hesitated only a moment before nodding. He could not refuse the vice sect leader, no matter what his condition was. Even if his body longed for rest, curiosity stirred in him. What did Elder Yan Xiu want with him?

There was only one way to find out.

He followed in silence as the elder led him toward the inner sect gates. Li Xuan had seldom stepped into that part of the sect. The two disciples guarding the gate glanced at him strangely when they saw him walking behind the elder. Their eyes lingered with curiosity, but they said nothing.

Inside, the paths of the inner sect were quieter, cleaner, yet every disciple they passed looked at him the same way—eyes questioning, lips whispering after they moved on. Li Xuan kept his gaze steady, though his heart felt uneasy.

At last, they reached a secluded courtyard. Elder Yan Xiu opened the gate himself and walked in, motioning for Li Xuan to follow. The air inside was calmer, fragrant with herbs and tea leaves.

They entered a small room where a low table waited. On it, two cups of tea had already been poured. Steam curled upward in the evening light.

“Sit,” Elder Yan Xiu said gently.

Li Xuan obeyed, lowering himself onto the cushion. Even when he sat, he felt a slight throb in his head.

His eyes lingered on the cup before him. It was full, and the tea was still warm.

“Why don’t you take a sip before we continue?” the elder said.

Li Xuan nodded, lifting the cup. The first sip was smooth, carrying a subtle sweetness. At once, a wave of comfort spread through his body, soothing tired muscles, washing away lingering aches. His breath came easier.

He almost sighed in relief but noticed the pair of eyes on him. So he set the cup down carefully and looked at the elder.

“What do you want to talk to me about, Elder Yan Xiu?”

Elder Yan Xiu smiled over the rim of his cup. “Always quite eager, the young ones.”

He took a slow sip, then set his cup aside. “I want to talk about your discipleship. I’ve been watching you for some time, Li Xuan. I don’t think Master Xiaosheng… suits you.”

Li Xuan blinked. “He’s just trying to discipline me, Elder.”

“I know how you train,” Yan Xiu said. “Every waking moment. You don’t need the whip. He’s venting his frustrations on you. For a promising disciple, that is the worst kind of teaching. So, I want to give you a chance.”

“A… chance to do what?”

“To soar.” The elder’s eyes warmed. “You’re one of the few who act righteous without being told. Many would disagree with your choices, but a sect needs a spine like that. I won’t have you rotting in the outer sect.”

Li Xuan’s hand tightened around the cup. “Are you saying… transfer me to the inner sect?”

Yan Xiu nodded. “Yes. Under my tutelage. You’ll have resources, guidance and space to grow. But I will ask something in return.”

Li Xuan drank again to calm his racing heart. Of course there was a price. There was always a price. He thought of Master Xiaoshen’s cold eyes, of chains biting into flesh, of dark qi chewing at his sword. He thought of how every talk with his master turned into a wall he could not cross.

“What is it you want me to do, Elder?” he asked at last.

Yan Xiu leaned back and smiled. “Recently, we discovered a tower in the Corpse Lands. It’s old and sealed. The sect will send selected disciples to explore it. I want you among them.” He paused, watching Li Xuan’s face. “But not for the sect. For me. Be my eyes in there.”

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