Dao of Money

Chief Muyang was old, older than anyone in Meadow Village suspected, and far older than he ever intended to admit. Not even to his wife or children. But the truth was simple, a century ago, he had made a mistake… or a miracle, depending on how one looked at it.

He still remembered it vividly.

He was a boy not older than fifteen, and was wandering along the creek behind his family home, when he stumbled upon it—It was a crystallized drop of water, perfectly shaped like a teardrop, shimmering under the sun. It had looked magical even to his young mind, and since he had always been too curious for his own good, he drank it.

Everything changed after that.

Over the next month, his body grew stronger, faster, sharper. His skin looked so fresh and smooth that the village aunties whispered he must be blessed by the heavens. And it certainly helped him charm five of the prettiest girls in the village behind the barn. Those were, without question, some of the best moments of his life.

Until the cultivators came.

He no longer remembered which sect—their robes, their names, all of it faded in the long stretch of years—but he remembered the danger. They were searching the entire village for a treasure. Apparently, a wyvern with drops of dragon blood had flown over the area some months back. When wyverns underwent their passage into adulthood, they shed tears that solidified into miraculous treasures—treasures so valuable that even the sect leader wanted them personally.

Muyang had felt ice crawl down his spine when he realised what he had done. He had drunk the treasure they wanted.

And cultivators weren’t known for their mercy.

If they discovered the tear had been absorbed into his blood, they might kill him just to refine it out. So, at fifteen—barely a man, and still smelling of barn hay—he made the decision to run.

While the cultivators searched the nearby forest, questioned his family, and inspected every corner of the village, Muyang took the chance to slip away into the night.

Once he reached a city, he had no money or rations, and also needed a place to hide. Hence, he did the only logical thing he could think of. He joined the army.

For the next two decades, Muyang served in the mortal division of the emperor’s forces. The mortal army wasn’t anything impressive. There was no prestige, no special treatment, and certainly, no admiration from the public. In short, they were the ones sent to do all the menial tasks cultivators didn’t bother with. Like, clearing bandit camps, escorting caravans, handling disputes in remote towns, hauling supplies across deserts. Many didn’t like what they did, but for Muyang, that was perfect. He didn’t want attention, he wanted obscurity.

And obscurity he would have had… if he hadn’t grown even stronger.

With the wyvern tear empowering his body, Muyang quickly became one of the best soldiers in the entire division. His endurance was unmatched, his reflexes sharper than seasoned veterans, and his strength at times felt inhuman. He earned praise, medals, and respect. But that also meant more attention from the cultivators.

Hence, after almost twenty years of service, he quietly withdrew.

He returned from the army and spent the next decade of his life as a wandering merchant. It wasn’t as if he particularly liked the job, but merchants moved a lot. And rarely drew the attention of cultivators unless they operated near major sects. Muyang traveled from town to town, never settling down, always wary. He didn’t realise it at first, but somewhere along the way, his caution had turned into fear.

Fear of cultivators. Fear of being discovered. Fear of someone realising he had drunk a wyvern’s tear.

And then… he visited Meadow Village.

At first, it was meant to be just another stop on his route—a small, unremarkable place, but as he walked along its fields and watched the villagers going about their simple lives, something stirred inside him. The desire he had been suppressing for decades.

He wanted a family.

He wanted children.

Meadow Village seemed safe enough. Far from the capital. Far from his own home village. And although the Soaring Sword Sect existed in the region, their disciples rarely descended the mountain, and when they did, it was only for quests or inspections. Nothing exciting ever happened near the village. Nothing dangerous.

So Muyang stayed.

He found a woman he liked, married her, and became a farmer. Life slowed down. Years passed quietly. His children were born. By the time the villagers elected him as chief, he was already in his seventies, but to everyone else, he looked barely forty. They chalked his appearance up to good health, good food, and good luck. Muyang let them believe it.

The next few decades passed peacefully. He lost some wealth due to bad investments—something he still cursed himself for—but at least it made him look even more ordinary. He stopped collecting his army pension as well, letting the military records assume he had passed away. One less thing tying him to his past.

But he was happy. Truly happy.

He lived far from cultivators, surrounded by his children—who were already raising children of their own—and he was certain he would live another hundred years at the rate his body was aging. Life had finally settled into a simple rhythm he could trust.

And then that man arrived.

Chen Ren.

In a singleday, the boy had brought more cultivator attention to Meadow Village than Muyang had seen in the entirety of his long life. The locust crisis had pushed the village into desperation, and Muyang himself had tried to handle it. He tried everything—burning fields, trapping them, even using his enhanced strength—but he was still powerless. He had no intention of fighting the swarm to the death either.

Then Chen Ren appeared and solved it all.

Muyang was grateful… but he wasn’t comfortable.

Even as he thanked Chen Ren in front of the villagers, deep down he hated that someone capable of drawing cultivators’ eyes had walked into his quiet life. He forced himself to maintain the act of a weak, clueless village chief. It wasn’t difficult—he had played the role for decades.

But Chen Ren didn’t stop.

He created a sect.

A sect. In his village.

Muyang had wanted to destroy the idea the moment he heard it, but what could he do? He might have a long life and a strong body, but he was still only a mortal. He had no cultivation, no techniques, no ability to stand against cultivators if they got angry. So he watched helplessly as the Divine Coin Sect sprouted from the ground and began attracting attention like a torch in the night.

He panicked when Chen Ren recruited mortals. He panicked again when they began training. And he panicked even more when new cultivators started visiting the village.

But slowly—painfully slowly—Muyang realised something.

The sect didn’t bring trouble. It brought stability.

A lot of young mortals finally found a path forward. Even that boy Zi Wen, who Muyang had quietly liked over the years for not acting like a typical cultivator, finally had a place to belong. Despite becoming part of the Divine Coin Sect, Zi Wen remained humble and respectful, and that made the old chief soften toward the idea of having cultivators around.

And as months passed, the sect only grew larger. More disciples. Strange innovations. Growing influence.

Every time Muyang looked away for a few days, something new had popped up. At first, it terrified him. Then… he accepted it.

Because Chen Ren never bothered him. None of them did. They didn’t pry into his past nor did they overly care about him.

No one suspected a thing.

In truth, all of Muyang’s anxiety came from his own fear—fear of being discovered, fear of the sect drawing predators, fear that the tear he had drunk a century ago would finally be traced back to him.

The other villagers loved the sect.

It still annoyed Muyang sometimes—how easily everyone trusted cultivators—but he couldn’t deny what he saw with his own eyes. Chen Ren and his people weren’t arrogant. They weren’t demanding. They didn’t throw their weight around like the cultivators Muyang had fled from decades ago. The Divine Coin Sect helped with farming, helped with the defence, and treated mortals like actual people rather than tools.

Even his own family warmed up to them.

His sons started talking about how joining the sect could lift the family’s status. His wife insisted the sect had brought prosperity to the village. And when the beast rising came, Chen Ren and his sect didn’t abandon them.

They stood at the front and fought to protect everyone from countless threats.

For the first time since Chen Ren arrived, Muyang felt something close to relief.

Until he saw the weapons.

Weapons wielded by mortals—ones that could pierce and kill spirit beasts. Ones that changed everything he understood about power in the empire. He watched a metal bolt tear through a creature that should have taken a squad of people to kill, and his stomach dropped.

Mortals with weapons like that…

It was a recipe for disaster.

Even if the villagers cheered and worked twice as hard to join the sect just to get their hands on those weapons, Muyang’s anxiety grew. Something like that couldn’t stay hidden forever. If the empire learned of it, if the sects learned of it, Meadow Village would be swallowed whole by their greed.

But weeks passed. Then months.

Nothing happened.

The beast rising ended cleanly. The refugees who came seeking shelter brought business to the village. The Divine Coin Sect expanded again, but they didn’t draw any unwanted attention. The empire didn’t descend on them. No powerful sect barged through the gates.

For a brief moment, Muyang allowed himself hope.

Just one moment.

The moment ended when he sensed cultivators watching the village.

He didn’t see them, but he knew they were there. He always had a slip of spiritual sensitivity ever since he drank the tear, just enough to tell when cultivators were too close for comfort. So when one night he felt several qi signatures hiding around the outskirts, examining the village like hawks watching prey, he nearly collapsed.

He thought it was over. His anxiety took the best out of him.

He spent the whole night rehearsing how he would run away again, how he would smuggle his family out, where he would hide, what name he would take this time.

Then… after a few days, the cultivators disappeared.

Muyang waited another week, expecting trouble, but everything stayed normal. The fields continued to grow. The disciples trained. Refugees worked in the village. No one mentioned seeing anything strange.

So Muyang forced himself to breathe again.

He assumed it was a false alarm—maybe they were just passing by or investigating something unrelated. He returned to his routine of pretending to be a harmless old man with no ambition in life.

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And with how well the village was thriving, with how much money and manpower poured in because of the sect, Muyang even started to believe that maybe—just maybe—the Divine Coin Sect wasn’t the disaster he feared.

After all, none of them had sensed anything abnormal in him.

But then he received the one piece of news that shattered every calm thought he had forced into his head.

Zi Wen had come running, saying that City Lord Li Baolong’s carriage was headed straight toward Meadow Village.

Muyang’s heart nearly stopped.

He was terrified of sects, yes, but nobles were just as dangerous. Nobles were cultivators with status, ambition, and connections. They demanded taxes, favours, and tribute. They came with their own agendas, and when nobles kept their attention on a place, that place changed. Usually for the worse.

The last thing he wanted was noble attention on Meadow Village.

But he had no choice. Because he couldn’t hide from the fact that he was the village chief.

So he dragged himself to the front of the Divine Coin Sect, forcing his expression to look calm, prepared to greet city Lord Li Baolong.

But it turned out the heavens had chosen the day to mock him. Rather than just the city lord, it was the princess of the empire herself who came to the village.

Princess Yanyue.

Muyang felt his soul leave his body for a moment when he saw her and learnt who she was.

It was like he had tried to avoid stepping into one pit… and tripped straight into a deeper one filled with spikes. He didn’t even want attention from the local cultivators, and now a princess had appeared at his doorstep with an entourage that could wipe the entire village out by accident.

And all because of Chen Ren.

Who even was Chen Ren to draw this kind of fate? Had the heavens finally decided to punish Muyang for drinking that tear a century ago? Was this the moment everything unraveled?

He didn’t know. And more importantly, he didn’t want to know.

Fortunately, the princess spared him.

She didn’t ask for him. She didn’t demand an audience or talk about matters related to the village. Her eyes didn’t even linger on him.

Her entire focus was on Chen Ren.

And for the first time since he became village chief, Muyang was genuinely grateful that no one cared about a mortal like him.

He quietly slipped away the moment he could, retreating to the safety of his house like a mouse escaping a hawk’s shadow. He hoped—prayed—that the princess would discuss whatever she needed with Chen Ren, finish quickly, and leave.

A village this small shouldn’t interest someone of her standing. She had ministries, nobles, Guardian sects, and the entire empire at her behest. Surely she wouldn’t want to stay in a countryside village surrounded by farmers and chickens.

But she didn’t leave.

Not on the first day. Not on the second day.

When the third day came and City Lord Li Baolong finally left, Muyang actually felt his knees weaken in relief. At least the man was gone. At least one threat had disappeared.

But the princess? She remained.

That made his anxiety rise to a level he hadn’t felt in decades. Even after a full week, the princess was still staying inside the Divine Coin Sect.

Every morning he woke up hoping—praying—that she would finally leave, praying that he would get the news of it. And every morning he heard from passing villagers that the carriages were still there.

Too many thoughts flooded his mind, one after another, each worse than the last. He wondered if the Divine Coin Sect had always been secretly connected to the royal family. Maybe they had a hidden background. Maybe Chen Ren had some noble blood.

Or—worse yet—maybe the princess had somehow taken a liking to Chen Ren during one of his trips outside the village.

The young cultivator wandered too much. He made businesses everywhere. He met nobles, merchants, city lords—people Muyang would rather stay a thousand miles away from.

Chen Ren was rising in the empire, and if the princess had really taken an interest in him… that was the worst-case scenario imaginable.

Because Chen Ren had no reason to leave Meadow Village. He was building everything here. His sect. His businesses. His disciples. His influence.

If Princess Yanyue became connected to him in any way, stronger cultivators would surely come. Royal envoys. Guardian Sect elders. Ministers. Maybe even the Emperor someday.

And if that happened…

Muyang’s secret would surely come out.

With that fear squeezing his chest every waking moment, Muyang couldn’t do his job as village chief. His responsibilities piled up while he barely held himself together.

When villagers came asking for advice on the new buildings being constructed to house the refugees, Muyang turned them away with excuses. When the guards asked him about reinforcing the walls, he mumbled something and pushed them out. When his wife tried to sit with him, he couldn’t even look her in the eye without feeling another wave of dread.

He stopped leaving his house for more than a few minutes at a time. And soon, rumours spread across the village that he was on his deathbed.

But what could he do?

His head was filled with panic, questions, threats, and terrifying possibilities.

And the worst part?

Princess Yanyue and Chen Ren weren’t even coming out of the sect.

Not once in a full week and the worst part was that no one knew what they were doing inside.

That silence made Muyang’s thoughts spiral into directions he never thought he would consider. Dark, blasphemous thoughts. Things that made his skin crawl.

What if Chen Ren somehow seduced the princess?What if he tried something improper?What if the princess actually allowed it?

If anything like that happened, Muyang didn’t just fear cultivators.

The Royal Inquisitors would descend on the village like wolves, tearing it apart until they found every last person they thought was responsible. And Muyang was sure, they would start by dancing on his head.

Because he was the chief. And chiefs always got blamed first. He felt sick just imagining it.

And after contemplating on it for longer than he should, Chief Muyang simply couldn’t take it anymore.

The fear. The questions. The sleepless nights.

He needed to know what was going on inside that sect.

Only then could he figure out whether he should run, hide, or start digging his own grave.

So after days of isolating himself in his house, Muyang finally stepped outside. The moment villagers saw him, several people froze mid-step. A few even gasped and started whispering amongst themselves.

They clearly expected to see him next as a corpse being carried to the cemetery.

He ignored all of them and continued walking stiffly through the village, heading toward the one person who might know something—Zi Wen.

Normally, Zi Wen was everywhere: helping farmers, scouting the forest, training young disciples, feeding Sori, wrestling with Little Yuze. But even he had been unusually absent the past week. That only made Muyang’s anxiety worse.

Thankfully, the heavens took pity on him for once.

Just outside the village gates, Muyang spotted Zi Wen sitting on Little Yuze’s back. The massive wolf immediately perked up when Muyang approached, tail swishing like a happy dog as Zi Wen slid off and scratched behind his ear.

“Chief Muyang,” Zi Wen said brightly, “you look healthy. I heard rumours that you were sick. Even Sect Leader Chen was worried.”

Muyang forced a stiff smile. “No, no. I’m alright. Just rumours. People like to exaggerate.” He paused, voice tightening with seriousness. “You said Sect Leader Chen was worried? What is he doing these days? I haven’t seen him outside for a while.”

Zi Wen blinked before replying. “Oh, he’s been spending time with Princess Yanyue. And now for two days, he’s been locked in the room.”

Muyang’s heart dropped straight into his stomach.

Locked in the room? For two days?

His worst nightmares suddenly felt real, and his mind raced with all the wrong possibilities at once. His face turned completely pale.

“In… in the room?” he stuttered. “Zi Wen, don’t you think that’s a little… untraditional? Both are unwed even if they are youthful. This is, this is highly improper—”

Zi Wen just stared at him blankly.

“Unwed?” Zi Wen repeated slowly. “Chief, what does that have to do with breaking through in cultivation?”

Muyang froze mid-breath.

“…Cultivation? The Princess and Chen Ren are in a room together right?”

“The princess and Sect Leader Chen?” Zi Wen blinked again, probably realising what he was thinking about and burst out a chuckle. “They’re not even in the same building. Princess Yanyue is staying in another room. Sect Leader Chen is busy pushing past the qi-refinement realm to the foundation establishment realm. What were you thinking, Chief Muyang?”

All the colour flushed back into Muyang’s face at once.

Relief hit him so hard he felt his chest flare in happiness. He didn’t even care that Zi Wen was looking at him as if he had gone senile. He had lost his mind with worry. But now the suffocating fear vanished instantly.

But then another thought struck him.

“Foundation establishment realm?” Muyang blurted out, eyes widening. “Already?”

***

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