Dao of Money

It didn’t take long for Yu Daoxing to ask Chen Ren to sit down alongside Murong, who looked like he had seen stars in the afternoon from how shocked he was. Chen Ren stayed calm, folding his hands in his lap as the man repeated the same questions—were the pills on the parchment real, and could Chen Ren deliver them on time?

Chen Ren reached into his robe without hurry and produced three small pills wrapped in oiled paper. They were the same ones sold by the Divine Pill Apothecary in Broken Ridge City. He laid them on the desk between them and said, “These three are the cheapest items on the list I gave you. Twenty percent below market, but the purity is the same—if not better.”

Yu Daoxing picked one up with long, wrinkly fingers. He turned it against the lantern light, studied the texture and the slight iridescence, then frowned. “Why do they look… different?” he asked.

Chen Ren allowed a small grin to curl at the corner of his mouth. “Flavoured,” he said. “My master added something so they don’t taste bitter. Easier for your men to take when they’re injured without feeling like they had eaten something rotten.”

Murong’s eyes lit. “Can I try one?” he blurted, already reaching. “I always thought the pills were too bitter.”

His face lit up in a hopeful, childish manner.

A single look from his father snapped him back. Yu Daoxing’s expression hardened; Murong folded his hands into his sleeves and sank lower into himself. The man’s gaze returned to Chen Ren with a new weight.

“These are good, if they work as you say,” Yu Daoxing said. He tapped the parchment with a knuckle. “I will have them tested by clan members. If they pass, I want larger batches.”

Chen Ren inclined his head. He tried his best to maintain his posture relaxed and unbothered. Yu Daoxing’s finger traced down the parchment until it stopped at the section Chen Ren guessed was about the offensive pills and their uses.

“And these offensive pills?” the elder asked. “Do you have samples of those? If they truly let a middling cultivator wound a foundation establishment cultivator, then I need proof.”

“I can try to get them,” he said. “My master keeps those compounds guarded and it would take time to convince him. I traveled here on a cultivation journey to learn the empire’s paths, not to throw myself into a war. If you approve the prices, I can ask to dispatch the samples to Red Peak City. They can arrive within the week.”

“Then why try to sell them now?” the man asked back

Chen Ren glanced at Murong, keeping his face calm. “I made a friend of your son,” he replied. “He cares about the clan and the war that was going on. After he heard of my master, he asked me to help.”

Yu Daoxing turned that sharp gaze to his son. “Is that true?”

Murong’s mouth opened, closed, opened again. For a long breath no words came. Finally he bowed his head and nodded so hard it looked like his head was about to fall off his neck. “Yes, father. I—I couldn’t sleep. I saw my cousins hurt. I wanted to do my part for the clan.”

The man’s face softened just enough that Chen Ren noticed it. Yu Daoxing tapped the parchment with a knuckle and said, “If these pills perform as written, the Yu clan will be interested in buying batches. And you,”—he looked at Murong—“you will be rewarded.”

Murong swelled with pride, ready to speak, but Chen Ren stepped in. “We can talk about the price after you test every pill. Let the results speak first.”

Yu Daoxing inclined his head. “I will need clan approval once you send me the pills and if you want to truly help, you should hurry. We have been in talks with other alchemists as well.”

Chen Ren’s smile was small and steady. “I doubt they can give you what I can.” He folded his hands. “I believe our business here is done for now. I will return once the batches are ready to deliver. Will that be acceptable?”

Yu Daoxing looked down at the three pills on the desk, then back up. He measured Chen Ren as if weighing his whole existence. At last he nodded once. “Yes. Bring proof and then you will get an answer.”

Chen Ren rose from his seat, bowed once more to Yu Daoxing, and the old man nodded.

“Your name is Renjie, right?” Yu Daoxing asked.

“Yes,” Chen Ren answered.

“I will remember it.”

“I hope you do. We should meet a few more times while I’m in the city.” Chen Ren kept his voice even. Then he turned and left the room.

Out in the corridor, the afternoon light slanted across the stone. Suddenly, Murong lurched forward and almost knocked into him and Chen Ren Instinctively lashed out with lightning. Before he could step back, the young master threw his arms around him and hugged him tight.

“Thank you so much, Renjie,” Murong babbled into his shoulder. “My father never spoke to me like that. Thank you for giving me the credit. Thank you. Thank you so much. I promise I’ll share whatever reward he gives me—”

Chen Ren eased his hands gently on Murong’s back and tried to pry the boy off. He took a breath, steadying himself. “I don’t need anything from you,” he said. “If the deal goes through I’ll earn enough to cover my cultivation resources till the next realm. Don’t worry.”

Murong pulled back, eyes bright and earnest. “No, there’s no way I won’t repay the debt. Please, is there nothing I can do to repay you?”

Chen Ren paused. He watched the hope on the young man’s face and thought fast. Murong probably had little money and few cultivation resources to spare, but he had the clan’s reach—records, scouts, patrol reports, and relatives who still went down into the Sinkhole. That could be turned into something far more useful than coins and spirit stones.

“You can do something for me,” Chen Ren said at last, watching Murong’s face change. “I need a list. All the Tier-2 beasts in the Sinkhole and their exact locations.”

***

A week went by pretty fast in Red Peak City, and things moved faster than Chen Ren had expected.

He spent mornings with Luo Feng, kneeling in cramped stalls and dusty market plots while Luo Feng fingered roots and leaves like a man reading a book. Together they hauled samples back to the little room in the inn they were using to keep the plants: brittle stalks that smelled faintly of sinkhole earth, leaves that shimmered with a faint inner glow. Luo Feng marked each scrap with careful strokes and muttered plans about soil, shade, and where the plants might take root. Chen Ren tested them between cultivation sessions—a steady, boring kind of work that felt like building the same wall, brick by brick. His soul cultivation crept forward too and he progressed deeper into the second step of soul cultivation.

More important than plants or practice, he finally got Yalan to move the pill batches from Jadefire Hall to Red Peak City.

He had seen her true form before, but he had not expected her to turn the two-week distance between Broken Ridge and Red Peak into a two-day round trip. She arrived like a shadow that had learned to run, returning in forty-eight hours with crates. The amount stunned him: rows of jars, bundles of wrapped pills, slips of paper with tiny, precise notes. Yalan only shrugged once, tired but satisfied. “It would have taken a day but I got busy killing a pest,” she said, like it was the most ordinary thing in the world.

Along the way she’d also found Anji and gotten reports from her. Jadefire Hall had begun taking on more hands. Work had grown; recipes had multiplied. They were even recruiting more disciples to keep up. Small faces from the trials were turning up at the Hall’s doors—one of them was Biyu, one of the finalists. Hun Tianzhi had persuaded him to join; money and resources did the rest.

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Anji had also finally freed herself from the manager position. She’d found a steady mortal disciple to take the post and was planning to move back to Meadow Village. Funnily, Wang Jun grumbled when the news reached him, complaining that it meant extra work when they returned. Chen Ren could tell from the way Wang Jun’s lips flattened that the complaint hid more pleasure than duty; the man liked teaching, and he’d said so before: Chen Ren picked things up too fast for his own good. And he preferred someone like Anji.

Once he had the full crates and jars from Jadefire Hall, he did not waste a breath. He sent a few samples of every pill straight to the Yu estate and settled in to wait.

He had expected at least three days before they contacted him. He did not expect Young Master Murong to burst into the inn the very next morning—gold-threaded robes, a new polearm slung across his back, eyes bright as if he’d swallowed the sun and tell him to come with him to meet his father. Chen Ren noted the showiness and ignored it. If Yu Daoxing had called so fast, there were only two likely reasons: they either loved the pills far above his expectations, or the cooling period was ending and the clan needed the pills as soon as possible. Chen Ren put his money on the latter.

When they met again, Yu Daoxing had forbidden his son from attending. The old man sat alone in the same lacquered room, that slow gravity in his face.

Before Yu Daoxing could speak, Chen Ren folded his hands and said, plain and steady, “I think you all have tested the pills I sent and found them satisfactory.”

Yu Daoxing’s nod was short. “Yes. Do you have batches of them ready?” the elder asked.

“I do,” Chen Ren replied. “Depending on how many you need, I can get more. But it depends on what price we decide on.”

Here we go, Chen Ren thought to himself as he brought up the main conversation he was hoping to have. And Yu Daoxing’s eyebrows rose instantly in confusion.

“The prices were on the parchment you gave me,” he said slowly. “A bit high, but we can haggle.”

Chen Ren cleared his throat.

“Master Yu Daoxing, those prices are all right, but we need to talk about a hidden one that I didn’t include in it.” He met the man’s eyes. “I’m not native to Red Peak City. I had to send word to my master, get his approval, pull samples, then bring the batches here. Transporting and storing such valuable pills isn’t like carrying herbs. They need special care and fast, guarded transport. I use high realmed spirit beasts for that. Keeping them fed, guarded, and steady costs coin and manpower.”

Yu Daoxing’s face shifted at once—confusion folding into a small, cold curiosity. The mention of a high realmed spirit beast was not casual talk; it suggested resources and backing. Chen Ren didn’t push the point, seeing that the man had already gotten it.

“How much are you quoting for that?” Yu Daoxing asked in a flat voice and stroked his beard.

Chen Ren’s reply was ready. “I’ll keep the healing pills at the prices written, still cheaper than city alchemists. For the unique offensive pills, I ask an extra ten percent on top. That covers rare ingredients, my master’s oversight for batch stability, secure transport on those spirit beasts, and a delivery guarantee.”

Yu Daoxing frowned, quick and sharp. “All of them are already seven to eight spirit stones each to begin with.”

“They take a long time to make,” Chen Ren said, watching Yu Daoxing’s face for the smallest change. “They’re not something you’ll find anywhere else. And they’ll change the tide of battles in the Sinkhole. Even if you don’t find the ruins you’re chasing, pushing deeper with these pills will let you recover your investment, if not turn a profit.”

Yu Daoxing’s jaw tightened. “There’s more to it. The deeper we go, the higher the chance of death.”

Chen Ren shrugged, blunt as a blade. “That’s your clan’s problem. I’m just an alchemist. I can help you win, but my master will not be pleased if I undercut his work. If any other major power wants these pills, they have to pay far higher prices.”

The old man’s eyes flicked, weighing the claim. He tried a number. “Nine spirit stones each?”

“At least ten,” Chen Ren said immediately, still keeping a neutral mask.

And then, dance began—the old ritual that all transactions wore. Yu Daoxing argued the prices by talking about various moot points, but Chen Ren kept sticking to his original ones about transport costs and the rarity of the pills.

Words soon folded into numbers, numbers then folded into conditions.

Safe to say that neither gave ground easily. The old man saw in his resolution that Chen Ren wasn’t going to give pills for a cheaper price.

At one point Yu Daoxing grew frustrated enough to reach up and scratch his bald head. “I can’t go higher than nine,” he admitted at last. “I can add wen on top of it. You know, you should keep in mind that we will be buying a lot.”

Chen Ren watched the twitch in the elder’s hand, the way the cave of his mouth tightened when he chose words. It was then that he talked about the condition he wanted to talk about from the start. “Then how about this? Twenty-five percent of any resources you recover from the Sinkhole on every expedition that uses my offensive pills. Quarter of what you find goes to me.”

Silence hit like a dropped coin. Yu Daoxing’s eyes narrowed. “Twenty-five percent is too much,” he said at once.

“I believe it’s the right price.”

“Ten percent,” Yu Daoxing countered finally, bargaining like a man who’d traded for decades. “And I will pay eight spirit stones per unique pill. We will buy the healing pills in bulk at the prices on your parchment. Also, our clan will decide what resources to give you.”

Chen Ren folded his arms and pretended to think. He let the pause stretch long enough for the weight of the offer to sit. He could have pushed—taken less money up front, demanded more resources from the sinkhole—but there was a limit to even pushing things.

A quiet breath left him. Then he sighed, soft and practical. “Alright. Ten percent. Eight spirit stones for the unique pills. Healing pills in bulk at the discussed prices. I’ll draw the contract.”

And then Yu Daoxing sighed, looking at him with a weariness that had nothing to do with age. “You’re taking a lot out of the Yu clan, Renjie,” he said bluntly.

Chen Ren smiled, smooth and careful. “Trust me,” he replied. “What I’m selling will help your clan rise above the others. Speed and advantage always cost resources.”

He said it like a man who believed it, but the truth lived quieter in his pocket. Eight spirit stones a pill left him a profit of about two to four spirit stones on each one—enough margin to earn a massive profit and he wasn’t adding up whatever he might get from the Sinkhole. If everything went as he hoped, and if the Yu clan kept buying, he would be far richer soon. He didn’t yet know about the medallion, but the numbers on the deal already looked like his best deal ever.

***

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